“And that’s the connection,” said Nisha, stepping forward. “It’s hospitals, isn’t it? Ram Chopra is doing deals with medical companies. Fragments of a hospital gown found at Greater Kailash …”
“Precisely,” said Santosh.
“Then surely this brings Chopra even further into the frame?” pressed Nisha. “Or … maybe not Chopra himself, then at least his associates. Whatever his dealings with Surgiquip, perhaps they’re being blocked and this is him cleaning house?”
“Maybe,” said Santosh. “It would be convenient, wouldn’t it?”
Nisha rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Just because it seems obvious doesn’t mean it can’t be the truth.”
“Noted,” said Santosh. “But the important thing is we now have a thread, and we have to keep pulling at it and see what unravels.”
He waved his hands at Neel and Nisha like a crazed scientist releasing his flying instruments of death. “Go. Go. Keep pulling that thread.”
Chapter 22
SANTOSH ASKED THE taxi driver to drop him off near the main gate of the Delhi Memorial Hospital. He heard barking and wondered why a hospital needed guard dogs as well as security officers.
He took the elevator to the tenth floor. It was one of Delhi’s largest hospitals and was part of the state government’s health service. It had over five hundred beds but the corridors were usually to be found overflowing with patients awaiting a free bed. Santosh tuned out wailing babies as he knocked on the door to the office of the chief administrator—a South Indian man whose full name was an awe-inspiring Mangalampalli Gopalamenon Thekkaparambil, everyone simply called him MGT. He and Santosh had known each other at college although they hadn’t really been friends. In those days MGT had hung out with either the stoned or the drunk. Santosh had been neither.
“Come in,” announced the voice from inside and Santosh entered, instantly reminded by the stench that MGT was a chain smoker. Out of deference to his visitor, MGT was moving an ashtray from his desktop and waving ineffectually at smoke that still hung in the air.
“Good to see you, Santosh,” he said, reaching to shake Santosh’s hand. He was tall and lanky, with a full head of jet-black hair and a stubbled chin.
“You too,” said Santosh. “Why in heaven’s name do you have guard dogs at the gate?”
“Oh, there’s a separate VIP wing in the hospital,” answered MGT. “Usually top politicians. We need dogs to protect the dogs.” He laughed, revealing stained yellow teeth, and then changed the subject with the expertise of a true bureaucrat. “So what was it that you wanted to meet me about?”
“Private has been recruited by a medical services firm to find out the average turnaround time of hospital beds in India,” said Santosh. “I was hoping you could help me with that.”
“That’s privileged information, Santosh.”
MGT’s secretary knocked, entered, and handed him a small slip of paper. He looked at it, opened his desk drawer with a key, and placed the slip inside, locking the drawer afterward. Santosh watched impassively, wondering what was so important it needed locking away.
MGT fixed Santosh with a hard stare. “Why don’t you stop bullshitting and tell me why you’re really here?”
Rumbled. “Apologies, MGT—old habits die hard,” he said, shifting in his seat. “Can you keep a secret?”
MGT gave a slightly noncommittal shrug. “Try me.”
“This is about murder,” said Santosh and, careful not to reveal too many salient details, went on to explain his theory concerning the body parts at Greater Kailash.
“A serial killer at large?” asked MGT, his eyes widening theatrically.
“It’s one of the ideas I’m working on, yes. Whatever the motive, the fact remains that there’s a common theme.”
“And what would you like me to do about it?”
Santosh looked sharply at him. “Well, I thought you might appreciate being informed.”
MGT gave a tight smile. “You wondered if we might have a killer stalking the corridors of the hospital?”
Santosh felt himself shunted to the back foot, not somewhere he liked to be, especially as he wasn’t sure whether MGT was mocking him or not. He pressed on. “As well as thinking you might like to know, I also wondered whether anything I might say would have any relevance to you; whether it might ring any bells?”
“Well, I’m afraid it doesn’t.”
“I see. And this doesn’t worry you, this …”
“Theory of yours? No, Santosh, funnily enough it doesn’t.”