A TEMPORARY OFFICE had been set up in a conference room at the Oberoi. There a police tech guy in a headset sat watching the surveillance feed from vans parked outside Arora’s and Thakkar’s houses. Opposite sat Commissioner Sharma and Nanda. All three men jumped slightly as the door to the meeting room slammed open and in burst Jack, Santosh, Nisha, and Neel.
“Well?” said Sharma, standing. “Did you pick him up?”
“You were wrong,” said Nisha bitterly, “just as I said you were. The killer is not Ibrahim. Ibrahim was his latest victim.”
Sharma seemed about to take it up with her, but Santosh was already moving in to calm the situation. “It simply means that Private’s theory currently remains the most plausible,” he said, looking quickly between Sharma and Nisha, “and it seems as though the killer is reaching the closing stages of his campaign. If we stay here for the time being, we’re perfectly situated to—”
“Hey,” said Neel from the other side of the room. He’d taken a seat beside the tech guy. “What’s this?”
The investigators clustered around his monitor. There on the feed from Dr. Arora’s residence they could see a figure leaving the grounds then crossing the street.
“Who’s that?” asked Sharma.
The figure was careful to keep his back to the camera as he stepped into a BMW parked at the curb. Rear lights flared. A moment or so later the car drew away.
The tech guy looked nervous as all faces swung toward him. “We didn’t see anyone going in,” he said defensively, hands upraised.
“Get Red Team in there, now,” demanded Sharma, and the tech guy relayed the order into his headset. Seconds later they watched as armed officers from the surveillance van appeared on screen and ran to the gates of the house, nimbly climbing the low wall and disappearing into the grounds.
Sharma was pacing, hand to his forehead. “Jesus! Jesus! Somebody went in there right under our very noses. Run that plate, Nanda. Tell me you got the plate, right?”
“I got the plate, boss,” said Nanda. “Running it now.”
“He must have got in through the back,” said the tech guy. Into his headset he said, “Red Team, get a couple of guys around the back, see if there’s access.”
“You didn’t check access?” exploded Sharma.
The tech guy quailed. “I don’t know, sir, I don’t know. That would be down to the team commander on the ground.”
“For fuck’s sake!” Sharma swept a coffee cup from the conference room table that dinged off the wall and left a brown splat on the wallpaper.
Jack looked disdainfully from the stain to Sharma. “That’s on your bill,” he said, finger pointed. “Now, will you calm the fuck down and act like a professional.”
All stood waiting now, watching the screen intently, the camera trained on Dr. Arora’s gate.
Santosh glanced at Nisha, who stood with her hands on the small of her back, also watching. “Was that him?” he asked.
“I think so,” she nodded. “Same build. Same height.”
The call came back. The tech guy directed it onto overhead speaker. “Go ahead, squad leader.”
“Sir, Arora’s dead. No sign of the killer, just the body all tied up and jars full of … stuff.”
“Stuff?” barked Sharma.
“Sir,” they heard, “it looks as though the killer fed him bits of skin and heart, then poured blood into him until he drowned.”
Chapter 105
“WE KNOW THE killer found another way in,” said Santosh suddenly. “He’s determined. Sharma, deploy more men at the house of Thakkar—send men around the back. My guess is he’ll be on his way there now.”
“The idea was to mount covert surveillance,” hissed Sharma, rounding on Santosh. “We want to catch him, not send him scurrying for cover.”
“He knew we were there,” reasoned Santosh. “He was looking out for a surveillance van. He evaded it easily.”
“If he knew we were there, then why did he allow himself to be seen on the way out?” said Sharma. “Why draw attention to himself?”
Santosh put a hand to his forehead, thinking hard. “I don’t know,” he said, feeling suddenly useless, knowing that the eyes of the room were on him, the great detective, head of Private India, outfoxed by a killer moving around under his very nose.