“It’s for all of you,” said Santosh. “Go have a good meal. It’s my good deed for the day. My good deed.”
“Thank you, sahib,” said the washerman. “May God bless you and the memsahib. If there is anything that I can ever be of help with …”
“Now that you mention it, there is something that you could help me with …” began Santosh. At Private, Neel had reconstructed a larger sample of hospital gown from the tiny fragment they’d been given. Santosh pulled it from his pocket …
Chapter 56
SANTOSH PICKED UP his phone. It was Neel. “Patel has been murdered,” said Neel. “It’s our boy, no doubt about it. His driver was killed and he was kidnapped from Delhi Golf Club then taken home. A housekeeper found what was left of the body this morning.”
“What do you mean, ‘what was left’?”
“He’d been eviscerated. The housekeeper found most of his internal organs nailed to a wall.”
“Most?”
“The heart was missing.”
“Certainly sounds like our man,” said Santosh.
“So we can assume that Patel was an enemy of the organ-harvesting operation?”
“We never assume, Neel.”
“True,” replied Neel. “You want to visit the crime scene?”
“Better that I stay away,” replied Santosh. “No point getting Sharma all worked up. In any case, I have a meeting at noon.”
“You want me to go instead?” asked Neel.
“That would be good,” replied Santosh. “Oh, one more thing, Neel.”
“Yes?”
“That hospital gown came from Delhi Memorial Hospital. Chances are that most of the bodies were from there. Everything seems to be adding up, given that it’s the closest hospital to the Greater Kailash house and the black van seen there was owned by Arora, their chief surgeon.”
“Your hunch turned out right,” said Neel.
“Any luck with the online search?” asked Santosh.
“The biggest supplier from India seems to be a Dr. O. S. Rangoon. I’m searching various databases to find if someone matches up.”
“What did you say the name was?”
“Dr. O. S. Rangoon.”
“Don’t bother with an online or directory search,” said Santosh.
“Why?” asked Neel.
“Dr. O. S. Rangoon is simply an anagram of ‘organ donors.’ Try tracing the cell phone number instead.”
Chapter 57
SANTOSH MADE HIS way to his appointment on foot, partly savoring the heart of Delhi as he moved through the streets, partly thinking about the case.
He passed newspaper vendors and cast his eye over headlines. Patel’s murder dominated the front pages, of course—no attempts made at suppression or spin there—and one or two of the newspapers had linked his death with that of Kumar.
Suddenly a free-sheet was thrust into his hand. They were being handed out by a young man who walked on swiftly, moving against the tide of pedestrian traffic and giving out leaflets to whoever would take the