Penumbra

8

Seven days into her new job Rana Rao was still familiarising herself with the ways of the Homicide Division.

For the first five days she had worked noon till ten, going through standard practice and routine with Varma Patel, a sergeant in her fifties who had been in the department for ten years and knew the answer to everything. Varma seemed content to be office-bound, doing her investigations via powerful computer networks and her com-screen. After three days of Varma’s company in the stuffy offices, Rana had had a waking nightmare: this would be her in another ten years, gone to fat and happy to see out the rest of her police life working in the claustrophobic confines of the eighth floor. Varma had laughed when Rana admitted that she would find just one year of this kind of work more than enough. “Don’t worry,” the sergeant had confided. “Vishwanath has you marked out for better things. Investigations, so I’m told.”

“He has? Does that mean I’ll get out of this prison some day?”

“Be patient. Learning the ropes takes time. You need to walk before you can fly.”

It seemed that some of her desk-bound colleagues on the eighth floor had hard about Vishwanath’s plans for her; either that or they resented her because she was a woman.

A couple of officers made it known that they found her attractive. One afternoon Varma had nudged her and said, “What do you think of Naz over there? I think you’d make a fine couple, and I’m not the only one. Naz thinks you’re the best thing to happen to the department in years.”

Rana had sighed. “I’m not interested in anyone at the moment. I’m too young to think of anything like that. I need to concentrate on my work.”

A couple of days later Naz had found an excuse to talk to her. It wasn’t long before he asked her out to dinner. He was sneering and arrogant even before she refused his offer. “So it is true what the boys in the computer room say. You really are the virgin queen. Or perhaps you prefer women, ah-cha? What a waste!”

The best course of action, she knew from the past, was to ignore him. She had concentrated on the new computer systems she had to learn, the system of filing and cross-referencing she had had no need for in her old job. Indeed, the more she learned of her new posting, the more she realised it had nothing at all in common with her previous police work. In Child Welfare she had been left alone to get on with her own projects; she had been her own boss with no one constantly looking over her shoulder to check if she was following orders. Here, it seemed that she had to have her every breath okayed by her colleagues. She could not open a file without being briefed by the officer working on the case. It was daunting to have her every idea and initiative stifled by authority. She felt like a schoolchild who would never be allowed out into the real world.

She had spent her third day in the shooting range beneath the police headquarters, learning how to use a handgun on a variety of targets, stationary and moving. At the end of the day she had been handed a body-holster that fitted beneath her jacket, and a small pistol. Despite its size, the gun felt bulky next to her ribs. She had never carried a weapon in Child Welfare, and the thought of actually using it filled her with dread.

On the morning of the sixth day she had attended a seminar on interview technique on the tenth floor. She’d sat through a fascinating two-hour talk on how to go about extracting information from a murder suspect. In the afternoon she’d been ordered down to the fifth floor where a technician was giving a demonstration on what he called the “crawler’, the latest model of forensic robot which investigating officers took with them to the scenes of crime. She’d been picked out to recite what she had learned and to demonstrate the new model, and after initial apprehension she had performed reasonably well. Rana felt that at last she was getting somewhere.

Halfway through her shift on the seventh day, Investigating Officer Vishwanath emerged from his office, made straight for her desk and pulled up a chair.

He was a tall, imposing figure in his sixties, with an eagle’s beak of a nose, thin lips that seemed cynical and eyes that had seen everything. He was feared by Rana’s colleagues on the eighth floor, and something of their trepidation when in his presence—though Rana had yet to speak to him—had rubbed off on her.

She felt her mouth go dry and her face burn as he regarded her.

“Lieutenant, you come highly recommended from Commissioner Singh. I hope you accord to expectations. How are things at the moment? Settling in?”

She managed barely a nod and a meek “Yes, sir.”

“Very good. Things a bit different from Child Welfare, no doubt.”

“Very different. Of course the work here is more pressing, but I’m learning.”

“Very good. Oh, and if Naz and his cohorts bother you again, tell them that I’ll have them back in the basement quick sharp, ah-cha?”

She nodded, suppressing a smile of delight.

“Have security checked your apartment yet, Lieutenant?”

“No. I didn’t know they had to—”

Vishwanath waved. “Routine procedure. I have the premises of all my staff swept every few months. We’re dealing with killers here, don’t forget that. In the past, criminals have been known to bug the homes of investigating officers. The next security sweep will be in about a month’s time, so your apartment will be searched then, ah-cha?”

Rana nodded.

Vishwanath slapped the desk and stood. “Oh, and one more thing. There are a few files I’m too busy to look over at the moment, concerning cases I think might be connected. Could you go through them, correlate likely significant factors, and download the files and your report to my terminal before ten?”

“Ah-cha, sir. Right away.”

Vishwanath called over to Naz to send the files to Rana’s terminal, nodded at her and strode away. Rana watched him go, aware of the flutter of her heart. Now if someone as mature and polite as Vishwanath were to ask her to dinner… She dismissed the thought. She was being stupid, indulging her fantasy of being swept away by a surrogate-father figure.

She glanced across the room at Naz, who looked as if he’d just bitten into a rotten mango.

For the rest of the shift she concentrated on the files describing the investigations, in minute and stomach-turning detail, of eight murders committed within the city limits over the past ten years. In each case the murder victim had been lasered in the head at point-blank range. On the cheek of each victim had been scored a crucifix. The dead were all businessmen—in one case a minor politician—who had been investigated on suspicion of corruption, bribery and drug trafficking.

Rana pored over the reports, downloading data on the dead men from outside sources for factual corroboration, and made her report two hours later. “Though it would seem at first glance that these cases are obviously linked,” she began, “there is the very real possibility that because the second murder was reported in great detail—i.e. the cruciform cutting was mentioned—the third and following murders might very well fall into the category of copy-cat crimes. However, examination of the case material suggests that all the murders are connected…” She went on to list her reasons, and only when she completed, signed and downloaded the report to Vishwanath did she wonder if she had come down too vehemently in favour of the single-killer hypothesis.

That night she was unable to sleep for worrying that Vishwanath had found her report shallow and facile. It occurred to her that the notes were old cases presented to her as an initiative test.

The following day she began a new shift pattern: from eight in the evening through to six the following morning. To her dismay there was a message from Vishwanath flashing on her screen when she began work that night. She accepted it with a heavy heart, expecting a reprimand. She read, with relief: “Excellent report re. the crucifix killer, Lieutenant. We must discuss the details when I have the time.”

It was a quiet shift. The office was all but empty, only Rana and one other officer working at the files. Midnight came and went and Rana experienced the strange isolation of working the night shift. Beyond the long windows of the eighth floor a vast ad-screen floated by, exhorting night-workers and insomniacs to try an ice-cold bottle of Blue Mountain beer.

She worked through the files that had built up over the past few days, assigning them to various desks. For the past week she had promised herself that she would slip down to Howrah bridge after work and look in on Vandita and the others, see how they were keeping and how Private Khosla was getting on with his new posting. But always at the end of every shift she had gone home and slept—or, in the case of last night, not slept—too exhausted to brave the crush and look for her friends. Tomorrow, she told herself. In the morning I’ll leave here, keep myself awake with a strong coffee, and go see the kids.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the main door crashing open and Vishwanath running across to his office. He emerged seconds later carrying a com-board and speaking hurriedly to forensic, head cocked to one side, for all the world as if he were talking to himself. He paused long enough to gesture impatiently at Rana. “Ah-cha, you, Lieutenant. Come with me!”

Rana stood and crossed the room, then dashed back to her desk for her com-board, grabbed it and gave chase, disbelieving. She hurried down the corridor and joined Vishwanath, Naz and the forensic team in the elevator.

Vishwanath nodded at her from a great height. “Pleased you could make it, Lieutenant,” he said, but his acerbity was sweetened by a smile.

Naz pointedly ignored her.

“It seems as though we have another crucifix killing,” Vishwanath continued as they descended. “The governor is getting impatient to have the crimes cleaned up. He says it ‘doesn’t reflect well on the image of the city’. Personally speaking, I am more concerned about catching the killer in order to save lives in future.”

They stepped from the elevator and into the underground car-park. The transport situation was a far cry from what she had been used to in Child Welfare. Two new squad cars were waiting, engines running. Vishwanath signalled for herself and Naz to join him in the first car, while two forensic officers took the second.

As the driver swept them up the ramp and on to the midnight streets of Calcutta, quieter at this time but still busy by the standards of most cities, Vishwanath turned in the passenger seat. “I hope your com-boards are loaded with the details of the previous crucifix killings?”

Rana held up her board in reply.

Something in Naz’s hesitation gave her an exquisite surge of cruel pleasure. “I… was in the process—”

Vishwanath gave Naz a look that cut him dead. “I don’t want excuses, Lieutenant. Copy the details from Rana’s board. On second thoughts, I think Rana should do it for you.”

Uncomfortable with her commanding officer’s overt favouritism, but at the same time enjoying Naz’s discomfort, Rana took his board and connected it to her own. Seconds later she had downloaded a copy of all the relevant data on the murders, plus a copy of her own report for good measure.

“The killing occurred in Pathan,” Vishwanath said, “north of here at the Hindustan Plaza hotel. We have yet to learn the identity of the victim.”

Rana entered the details into her com-board, then sat back as the squad car carried them into the exclusive district of foreign embassies and consulates. They passed grand colonial buildings of white brickwork, like so many wedding cakes, set in lawns as vast as cricket pitches. There was so much unoccupied space in this suburb that Rana found it hard to believe they were in the same city; just two miles south of here was the teeming, chaotic heart of Calcutta. This place filled her with an uneasy feeling, like agoraphobia. She much preferred the familiar hurly-burly of the city centre and the surrounding slums, where she had spent so much of her life.

The Hindustan Plaza was a fifty-storey obelisk of sheet obsidian reflecting the distant lights of central Calcutta and the occasional floating ad-screen. There was much frantic activity in the forecourt: local police cars, beacons pulsing, an ambulance, redundant in the event, all watched by a gaggle of curious guests and uniformed staff.

Rana followed Vishwanath, aware that the little group of investigators and forensic scientists was the centre of attention. A local sergeant rushed up to Vishwanath, almost doubling himself up in obeisance, followed by the hotel manager who gabbled something about an “unfortunate incident” and how “this had never happened under my managership before’.

“I’m delighted to hear it,” Vishwanath replied. “Now if you would show me and my team to the room in question…”

They rode in the elevator to the fourth floor. Rana stepped out on to a plush red carpet and followed the dancing manager and the sergeant along the corridor. They came to an open doorway. A pulsing low-powered laser cordon barred the way.

Vishwanath said, “Who discovered the body?”

“The maid, sir,” the sergeant replied. “She noticed that the door was slightly open. When she looked in… This was at eleven.”

“No one else has entered the room since then?”

“Only the hotel manager and my constable, sir. He confirmed that the victim was dead and contacted me immediately.”

Vishwanath nodded and signalled to the two forensic officers. They knelt before the open doorway and removed two crawlers from silver sterile bags, then placed them on the carpet. The crawlers dashed off into the room like hyperactive turtles.

“Do you have the name of the victim?” Vishwanath asked the hotel manager.

“Ah-cha. He was one Ali Bhakor. He was an eminent businessman of my very own acquaintance, sir.”

Rana entered the dead man’s name into her com-board and peered through the doorway. She could see along the corridor into the lounge, and the chair upon which the late Ali Bhakor slouched. Only the man’s left arm could be seen, hanging limply over the side of the chair.

“Have you accounted for Bhakor’s movements last night?” Vishwanath asked the sergeant.

“Ah-cha, sir. I’ve detailed his known actions since six. Also I’ve interviewed the maid and bell-boy.” He proffered his com-board, and first Vishwanath, then Naz and Rana downloaded the relevant file.

While the crawlers gathered forensic evidence, Rana took the opportunity to read the meagre file. Bhakor had arrived at the hotel at six the day before, had dined alone at seven and returned to his room at eight. He had spoken to no one during that time other than hotel staff.

The crawlers scuttled back over the threshold and were retrieved by the forensic scientists. They examined the read-outs and then passed the crawlers to Vishwanath, Naz and Rana. Rana downloaded their findings into her com-board and cross-referenced the data with that compiled by the crawlers from the scenes of the other so-called “crucifix killings’. She detected a number of possible correlations. Identical cloth fibres had been discovered at three of the crime scenes.

She reported her findings to Vishwanath.

“It’s a slim connection, Lieutenant. The fibres might be of a cloth commonly worn. I want them checked and a full forensic report on type, origin, availability, et cetera.” He killed the laser cordon. “Ah-cha, let’s take a closer look.”

They passed into the room.

The forensic officers filmed the scene and the murder victim and then examined the body, taking tissue samples and readings with instruments unfamiliar to Rana.

Ali Bhakor sat slumped in the armchair, arms dangling over the side, legs outstretched, his fat chin resting on his chest. There was something pathetic and undignified about his posture that was even more grotesque than the wound that had killed him. The right side of his face was blackened with the impact of the laser charge, but the left side was unburned and wore a strange expression of startled surprise. Rana had expected to be repulsed by the sight, but the strange fact was that it seemed no more sickening than the cosmetic effects of a hundred sensational holodramas.

Carved into the padded flesh of his left cheek was the bloody shape of a crucifix. Something about the mutilation, perhaps the sight of the blood or the fact that the crucifix was the killer’s cynical calling card, seemed to Rana more ghastly than the laser burn.

She noticed the com-screen in the corner of the room. After receiving clearance from forensic, she accessed GlobaLink and typed in her commands. Ten minutes later she had compiled a file of news reports and court cases concerning the dead man. She downloaded the file into her com-board and returned to Vishwanath.

“I’ve found out a little about Ali Bhakor, sir.”

“Go ahead.”

“Like all the other victims of the killer—if they do share a common killer—Bhakor had a criminal record.” She passed her com-board to Vishwanath. “Two years ago he was implicated in the import of illegal substances from Burma—heroin-plus and slash. Ten years ago he was jailed for a year for smuggling precious gems from a colony world.”

“Do you draw any inferences, Lieutenant?”

“Well, obviously the branding of the corpse with the crucifix… Perhaps the killer sees himself or herself as taking part in some kind of moral crusade to clean up the city.”

“That’s certainly a possibility.”

“Or, perhaps these are vengeance killings. All the victims might have opposed the killer in some way in the past, perhaps with business deals.”

“When you get back to HQ I want you to check all the business dealings conducted by all the victims over the past ten years—and if you find nothing, go back twenty years. Also, if these are vengeance rather than morally motivated killings, reconsider the implications of the crucifix. It’ll be a complex, time-consuming task, but this is priority, Lieutenant. Drop everything else and concentrate on this case.”

“Ah-cha, sir.”

A forensic officer stood up after examining the corpse. “Standard 100 laser charge, sir. Might have been any one of a dozen types of weapon available over the counter. Just like all the charges used on the other victims. We estimate that he died between eight and eight-thirty yesterday evening.”

Rana moved to the window and stared at the screen of her com-board, reading through her notes on the other killings. She knew that somewhere among the morass of data and evidence were the facts that would lead to the solution of the puzzle. They would not leap out at her, but had to be considered minutely from every angle.

She looked up from the board. “Sir.”

Vishwanath lowered his own board. “Lieutenant?”

“It just occurred to me. The scenes of the crimes—there is a link.”

Across the room, she noticed Naz look up with irritable curiosity.

Vishwanath fingered the touch-pad of his com-board, frowned at the screen. “I don’t see…”

Rana wondered whether she had been mistaken in mentioning this. “Well, the connection is tenuous, to say the least. There were three hotels, three parks, a public toilet, a nature reserve and a golf course.”

“And the connection, Lieutenant?”

“None of the victims was killed at home or at their offices. Maybe—”

She stopped. She had just called up a street map of the city, and positioned the crime scenes on the map. She stared at the screen of her com-board.

“What is it, Lieutenant?”

Silently, Rana held out her com-board to Vishwanath, who considered the revealed pattern on the street map. The locations of the murders, joined like a dot-to-dot, formed a crucifix spanning the city limits of Calcutta.

“So, it looks like they’re connected, Lieutenant.” Vishwanath paused, staring at the screen. He handed it back to her. “What do you notice about the crucifix?”

She stared at the cross, laid over the city on a roughly north-south axis. She shook her head. “I’m sorry…”

“It isn’t complete. Look—the vertical bar is made up of six points. The lateral bar comprises two points to the left, but only one to the right. There is a point missing, to the right.” He stabbed a forefinger at the place where the next point should logically follow. “A region of slums to the east of the city, Lieutenant. If our killer has a symmetrical mind, then perhaps this is where he will strike next.”

“And if he isn’t symmetrical,” Rana added, “then it might be anywhere at these three points, north, south or west.”

“I’ll have patrols concentrate on those areas,” Vishwanath said. He stared at the screen. “Also, for the killer to form this crucifix suggests that he arranged to meet his victims at the various locations. It’s hardly likely that he’d just happen upon people he considered evil-doers at these points. Which suggests that he must have known, or at the very least had contact with, the victims to arrange a meeting.”

Rana nodded. “I’ll run checks and interviews with the victims” contacts to see if they received calls from a common acquaintance.”

“Excellent, Lieutenant.” He gave a slight smile, and Rana felt as if she had received a medal of honour from the president himself.

Ten minutes later Vishwanath decided that they had done all they could at the scene of the crime. The body was loaded on to a stretcher and taken away, the room sealed for a more thorough forensic examination later.

As they left the room, Vishwanath said to Naz, “I want you to stay here, Lieutenant. Interview the staff. The usual routine. Download the file to my terminal by noon.”

Naz saluted, trying not to let his disappointment show at being given the donkey work.

Vishwanath and Rana descended in the elevator, moved through the crowd still gathered outside the entrance and climbed into the squad car.

Rana’s shift was due to end shortly after she arrived back at headquarters. She spent a further hour making her report, downloaded it to Vishwanath, and asked if she could leave. She was tired after the long shift and the mental effort of collating her report. Seconds later the reply flashed on her com-screen: “Off you go, Lieutenant. Well done.”

She took the elevator down to the ground floor and paused on the steps. She recalled her earlier resolution to visit Vandita and the other kids when her shift ended. But the sun was rising, burning up the grey mist of dawn, and the kids would be up and at work by now. She would call on them tomorrow.

She left the police headquarters and began the short walk home through the rapidly increasing heat of another Calcutta day.