Private India (Private 8)

“There’s something else,” Mubeen was saying, watching his boss carefully. “The DNA from the hair belonging to Nalin D’Souza tells us that he is this particular female’s father.”

Santosh froze. He glanced out into the main operations room where Rupesh stood at the far side, his back to the office as he made his call.

“The Attorney General is the killer’s father?” he whispered to Mubeen.

“It would seem so, sir, yes.”

Santosh hobbled over to the board. “Okay, let’s think about this. What if Nalin D’Souza was Aditi’s father, Lara Omprakash the mother? But Lara turned her over to the orphanage, where she was brutalized by Elina Xavier.” Santosh was pointing to the magnet board. “That’s motive for two of the murders.”

“It would make the Attorney General a potential victim,” said Rupesh from the doorway. Santosh grimaced, fearing the worst, but Rupesh was brushing past him to the magnet board, forgetting to strut for once, intrigued by what he was witnessing.

“It would, wouldn’t it?” Santosh said, looking at his old friend, and for a moment it was as though the two of them had forgotten their differences.

“Mubeen,” he said, without taking his eyes off the board, both he and Rupesh gazing intently at it now, “run the name Aditi Chopra through PrivateTracker.”

Mubeen left them and for a few moments Santosh and Rupesh stood, each lost in thought.

“No,” said Santosh, “I don’t think so somehow—I don’t think D’Souza is a potential victim, not in the way we’re thinking: the yellow garrote, the icons. It’s women—women who are the targets.”

“What about Mayank Patel, the security guy?”

“True,” said Santosh. “But that was a killing of convenience. To hide his …” he corrected himself, “her tracks. There was no ritualistic element. And I don’t think she’d allow the Attorney General to die in such a prosaic manner, not if our theory is correct. If we’re right,” he waved a hand at the magnet board with its emerging pattern, “and this has something to do with avenging the injustices of the past, then she’d have something special planned for the Attorney General. Something special that won’t interrupt the pattern.”

Something struck him, and gripping his cane, he hobbled to the other side of the desk, flipping up the lid of a laptop and hammering at the keyboard until he straightened with a triumphant noise.

“She bought the shoes,” he said. “An ‘A. Chopra’ is on the list of fulfilled orders for the Oakley shoes.”

Rupesh frowned, though his eyes shone. “Right. Well, I don’t understand what you’re talking about and we’ll have words about that presently, but for the time being why don’t you explain what you mean.”

“I mean she was trying to set D’Souza up. The shoes, the hair. That’s it,” he exclaimed, and his cane was a drumbeat on the floor as he moved over to the magnet board and raised the stick to point at the names.

“Lara Omprakash was Aditi’s mother. Let’s say Lara gave her away to the orphanage, where she came into the orbit of Elina Xavier. But the orphanage burned and she was turned out on the street, only to be picked up by Ragini Sharma. Didn’t Nisha say …?”

Something struck him.

Something that turned his skin cold.

“Oh dear God,” he said.

“Sir.” Mubeen had arrived at the door. “I have a match for Aditi Chopra on PrivateTracker.”

“It’s an arrest, isn’t it?” said Santosh. He closed his eyes.

“Yes, sir.”

“And the arresting officer,” said Santosh, “it’s Nisha Gandhe, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

She’d been sent the yellow garrote.

Nisha was the next victim.

PART THREE

Chapter 88

NISHA SAT IN the Honda, watching the front of Yoga Sutra. She could have sworn that there was a figure standing behind the window, looking out at her, made indistinct by the frosted glass of the frontage. It was little more than a shadow but even so—she couldn’t shake the sense that while she was watching Devika, Devika was watching her.