“Rupesh,” he said, carefully, “you surprised me.”
“So it would appear,” said Rupesh. His hands were thrust into his trouser pockets as he stepped into the office. “Your man Mubeen let me in. That boy needs his beard trimming.” He stopped. “Hard at work, I see,” he said, gesturing with his chin at the magnet board.
“Working on some ideas,” said Santosh, waving a hand as though it were nothing, when in fact his brain simmered with possibilities. He stepped over to his desk. “What can I do for you?”
“You could start by giving me the promised case updates,” smiled Rupesh, looking carefully at the magnet board. He glanced out of the open door. “Is the lovely Nisha not here?”
“She’s chasing a lead.”
“Is she?”
“I think we’re close to cracking this, Rupesh. If you could just wait a day or so for the status report.”
“How about you tell me who your number-one suspect is? And please, Santosh, don’t say the Attorney General.”
“It’s the Attorney General,” said Santosh, enjoying the look that passed across Rupesh’s face.
Chapter 86
NISHA RETURNED TO the yoga studio, passed Fiona the receptionist, saying, “Just one more minute of her time if I could,” and ignoring the protests, knocked quickly on the door of Devika Gulati’s office, waited for “Come,” then let herself in.
Devika, who had been expecting Fiona, looked startled to see the investigator return. “Did you forget something?”
“No. Did you?”
“I’m quite sure I have no idea what you mean.”
“What I mean is, why didn’t you tell me you’d spent time in prison on drug charges?” asked Nisha brightly.
Devika gave a short dry laugh. “You never asked,” she replied. “Why on earth would I volunteer information like that?”
“But now it’s out in the open,” said Nisha, “why don’t you tell me about it?”
Devika’s eyes were hard. “You seem very well informed. Why do you need me to tell you?”
“I could pull the file,” fibbed Nisha, “but I think I’d like to hear it from you.”
Devika’s smile widened. “I don’t think so. I don’t think you could ‘pull the file’ just like that. That, after all, is the sort of thing policemen do, and …” she gave Nisha a look of fake sympathy, “you’re not a policeman. So be a good girl and leave my office.”
“Sure,” said Nisha with a grin, “I’ll do that, go home, log on to social media, start spreadin’ the news …”
Devika’s face flared, a look in her eyes that made Nisha glad of the pressure of the Glock at her hip. And then, as quickly as it had appeared, the yoga guru’s anger died down and she gave a quick, gracious nod, as though defeated by a superior opponent. She waved Nisha to a chair opposite.
“I was young. And a fool,” she began. “A terrible combination. I left home and joined a psychedelic rock band. Headzone, they were called. Drugs, booze, and sex were all part of the territory. So much so that I was busted for possession.”
“Possession of what?” said Nisha.
“Smack.”
Nisha made a surprised O with her mouth.
“A kilo of it,” added Devika.
“A kilo?” said Nisha. “Why so much if you were just a user?”
Devika stood and walked behind Nisha’s chair. Nisha felt herself tense, grateful that she was able to see Devika’s reflection in a picture that hung opposite. On the pretext of shifting in her chair she brought her hand to the waistband of her trousers, reassured by her gun there.
“I was smuggling it for my lover—the singer in Headzone.”