“Was there anyone new in her life?” asked Santosh at last. “Was there anything strange or abnormal in her habits or routine?”
“She had been shooting for a new music video and had been rather tired due to extended cosmetic makeover sessions as well as extra power yoga classes,” replied the producer sadly. “We would have released the new album next month along with the video. The song was to be used as the soundtrack for an upcoming film.” It was evident that Priyanka’s death had affected him deeply.
“Which movie?” asked Santosh.
“A new thriller by Lara Omprakash,” said the producer. “It had taken us almost a year to find the right sound for the film. Lara too was very excited about it.”
“Would you know whether Priyanka had a drug habit?” asked Santosh suddenly.
“Why on earth would you think that?” the producer said indignantly. “Priyanka was on a perpetual high—from her music. She didn’t need drugs!”
“Another question,” said Santosh carefully. He had noticed the small blue logo of Blue Magic Tantra Records on the producer’s yellow bandana. It wasn’t the same type of scarf as the ones used in the murders. “What was your relationship with her?”
The producer looked directly at Santosh and tears welled up in his eyes. “I loved her—not only as my protégée but also as a special friend. Unfortunately Priyanka never thought of me as anything but her producer, so the matter ended there.”
“I have to ask this,” said Santosh. “Where were you at the time that Priyanka Talati was killed? Monday night between eleven and midnight.”
“I was here all night,” said the producer, not seeming to take any offense at the aggressive line of questioning. “We were recording a track for Shivaraman Mahadevan—the leader of the Indian fusion group Samudra. You can ask any of the musicians. They’ll tell you that I was here from eight p.m. onwards until the wee hours of the morning.”
Santosh and Nisha thanked the producer and left the air-conditioned interior of the Blue Magic Tantra office for the heat of Mumbai city.
“We will need to check the tabloid reporter’s contacts list,” said Santosh, “to see whether Priyanka’s cosmetician or yoga instructor were on it. Also, we should find out the exact address of the former husband in Andheri and pay him a visit.” Nisha nodded as she unlocked the doors of the car and got into the driver’s seat. Santosh settled into the passenger seat next to her. That was the precise moment at which both of them saw it.
Tied to the steering wheel was a bright yellow scarf, identical to the ones that had been used in the three killings.
Chapter 30
HARI PADHI GOT into the driver’s seat, belted up, and started the car. On most days he did not bother to drive his car to work, preferring to use a Meru Cab, one of the hundreds of air-conditioned aqua-colored taxi cabs that jostled for space alongside the older but less comfortable black-and-yellow cabs. But today was different.
After about fifteen minutes of driving along congested roads, he parked near a school. Locking the car, he stepped out, passed the school, and headed down a narrow lane that led to a famous temple.
As he drew closer to it, the lane became slightly more crowded with holy men, hawkers, and beggars. He stopped at a small s
hop to buy some incense sticks, sandalwood paste, basil leaves, flowers, a ritual stole, and a watermelon. He then passed through the small wooden gate that led to the Durga Temple.
It was early morning by Mumbai standards and the temple was almost empty. It took Hari less than a few minutes to reach the goddess. He lit the incense sticks before the large idol of Durga. Then he dipped the flowers into the sandalwood paste and placed them along with the basil leaves at the feet of the deity as part of the ritual offering. He draped the stole reverentially around the shoulders of the deity.
Next he placed the watermelon on a small platform in front of the statue. He bowed down to pray for a few moments before he lifted a pocketknife and split open the watermelon with a single swipe. The red insides of the melon lay exposed as bloody juices oozed out.
A watermelon or gourd was an acceptable alternative sacrifice in the modern age. In medieval times, an animal or human sacrifice would have been the norm.
Chapter 31
THE SCARF ON the steering wheel had left Nisha and Santosh stumped. Santosh had immediately phoned Jack and they had agreed that the cloth should be given to Mubeen for comparison. His verdict had been quick—the fabric and the dye were identical to those used in the other three scarves.
Why would he do that? wondered Santosh. Why tie a scarf to the steering wheel of investigating detectives? Nothing about him suggested he was into playing games with cops. The ritual was his thing.
Santosh put aside his thoughts for a moment. He had to pay a visit to Priyanka Talati’s former husband, accompanied by Jack.
Nothing in his life to date had prepared Jack for the ordeal of traveling on a Mumbai Local train. Santosh had suggested that it would be more efficient to reach Andheri—where Priyanka’s ex lived—by train rather than car. He was absolutely right. Making the journey by commuter train cut the travel time by half. What Santosh had avoided telling Jack was the fact that getting on or off a Mumbai Local train at most times of the day was a test that could easily have been devised by the toughest marine.
Transporting an incredible eight million commuters daily, the train was the very lifeline of Mumbai, but the notorious Mumbai Local had the ability to make people shudder simply to think about it. Trains were usually badly overcrowded with people packed inside like sardines. The doors rarely closed and passengers were often left hanging out, clutching the guard rails for dear life.
Thankfully their journey from Churchgate station to Andheri was uneventful because it was not rush hour. Even though they had been unable to find seats for half the journey, the train was not too overcrowded and they were able to find comfortable standing room.
While they were in the train, Santosh’s phone rang. Holding the overhead bar with one hand, he passed his walking cane to Jack. Using his free hand, he pulled out the cell phone from his pocket. He looked at the screen to see who the caller was. Rupesh.
“We have a small problem,” began Rupesh.