“Exactly,” said Santosh. His eyes gleamed. “But the ritual is post-mortem. The murder is the same each time. The art is in the ritual, and that is very important, Nisha. That tells us something. It tells us that we should be paying very close attention indeed to the ritual.”
“The eggs,” said Nisha.
“Indeed, the eggs. And the heat. You notice how hot it is in the room?”
Nisha nodded.
“It’s a story he’s telling us, Nisha,” said Santosh, turning to leave. “And he’ll keep on going until he reaches the end of his tale.”
Chapter 40
JACK MORGAN WAS seated on a folding director’s chair while the director herself ran around barking instructions like a woman possessed. The movie involved a star-studded cast and Lara Omprakash was at her cajoling best, attempting to squeeze the finest performances out of her actors.
Lara had suggested that Jack drop in and spend the day with her at Film City, an integrated complex boasting several studios, recording rooms, gardens, lakes, theaters, and open ground for larger custom-built sets.
The shot neared completion. Lara shouted: “Cut! It’s a wrap,” and high-fived the executive producer.
“Let’s have some lunch while we still can,” she said to Jack, leading him away from the buzzing set to her luxurious vanity van. “I have to shoot a cameo appearance for the film and will be needed by makeup and wardrobe in a short while.”
The van had been customized for her on a truck chassis fourteen meters long that could be compressed to half the size when it was on the road. The vanity offered Lara the comfort of a lounge, kitchenette, gym, office, bedroom, and washroom.
The driver of the van—Bhosale—switched on the generator that powered the beast and asked if she needed anything. Lara tipped him and told him to go have his lunch as she and Jack settled down in the lounge. She opened the refrigerator and took out a chilled beer for Jack and an orange juice for herself. “My cook has prepared Greek salad, quiche, chicken and mayo sandwiches, and banana bread,” she said, pulling out the food and placing it on a walnut-veneered dining table.
Jack helped himself to the beer and settled into a plush leather massage chair. Lara laughed. “You always loved being massaged,” she joked.
“And you were always happy to offer the service,” retorted Jack, smiling. It was evident that the two had shared substantially more than a business relationship.
Lara put down her glass on the table and sat next to Jack on one of the arms of the massage chair. She reached over and began to knead his shoulders. Jack felt the tension in his muscles easing.
“Why didn’t you stay on with me in LA?” he asked softly.
“You knew that I would eventually leave,” replied Lara. “Mumbai, Bollywood … this is my life. Yes, what we had was great while it lasted, Jack, but I could never have made LA my life.”
She slipped into the chair until she was in Jack’s lap. He held her in his arms as she snuggled into his body. A moment later their lips were locked in a passionate kiss. Jack’s hands moved toward Lara’s breasts. Unexpectedly, she broke away, got up, adjusted her clothes, and ran her fingers through her hair.
“What happened?” he asked, slightly bewildered.
“This place isn’t private enough,” said Lara. “I feel as though we’re being watched. Let’s meet for dinner at my place where we can carry on our conversation.” She smiled.
“What conversation?” asked Jack playfully, reaching for a sandwich.
Fifteen minutes later, he was comfortably ensconced in the chauffeur-driven Mercedes-Benz that Santosh had arranged for him, and around an hour later he was back at the Private India office.
In Santosh’s room he plonked himself down on one of the visitors’ chairs. Santosh was his usual gloomy self. He began to pace around the moment Jack sat down.
“What’s the matter?” Jack asked curiously.
“Were you just with Lara Omprakash?” Santosh inquired.
“Yes. I left her about an hour ago. I’m meeting her later tonight though.”
Santosh remained quiet and contemplative. After a substantial pause he said, “I need to tell you something, Jack.”
“Sure, Santosh
, what’s the matter?” asked Jack, leaning forward in his chair.
“I have just had a call from Rupesh,” replied Santosh, choosing his words carefully. “Around thirty minutes ago, Lara Omprakash was discovered—strangled—inside her vanity van.”