“Jaswal started his career with the army and was part of the Indian Peace Keeping Force sent to Sri Lanka in 1987. He opted for early retirement upon his return—traumatized at seeing Tamil Tigers blowing themselves up with explosives strapped to their chests.
“He then became a journalist for the Indian Times in Mumbai, working as the newspaper’s senior correspondent in New York. A plum posting that most would have coveted. But not Jaswal. He returned to India to enter the political arena, claiming he wanted to ‘make a difference.’
“We were acquainted in the days when he was a journalist and I was with the Research and Analysis Wing. He used to try to pump me for information.”
“Were you friendly?”
Santosh looked at Jack. “I didn’t particularly trust him, if that’s what you mean.”
Chapter 8
THE CHIEF MINISTER’S Residence at Motilal Nehru Marg occupied over three acres of Delhi’s prime real estate, a sprawling white-stuccoed bungalow reminiscent of the colonial era, surrounded by sweeping lawns.
Santosh and Jack stepped out of the battered Fiat and into the cold Delhi air, where Jaswal’s secretary waited for them. They were whisked inside without any of the usual security checks, and then ushered into a book-lined study where the Chief Minister, Mohan Jaswal, sat behind his desk.
Now in his early sixties, Jaswal had a youthful vigor that belied his age. He had not an ounce of fat on his body and he sported a neatly trimmed white mustache. His crisp white kurta pajama and sky-blue turban indicated his Sikh faith.
“Good to meet you, Mr. Morgan,” he said, and the two men shook hands.
“Just Jack is fine.”
And then to Santosh, Jaswal said, “It’s been years.”
“I know,” replied Santosh curtly.
There was an awkward moment between the two acquaintances, broken only when Jaswal invited them to sit. Tea was served and more pleasantries exchanged: yes, it was cold outside; yes, Jack Morgan had been to Delhi many times before; yes, he was delighted to set up a bureau in the city; no, Santosh had not lived here for very long. Just three months.
All the while the two men from Private sipped their Kashmiri tea, answered Jaswal’s questions politely, and waited for him to get to the point of the meeting.
“I need you to handle an exceptionally delicate matter,” the Chief Minister said at last.
They waited for him to continue as he took a puff from a bronchodilator. “I hear news of a gruesome discovery at a house in Greater Kailash,” he said. “Any more than that, however, is being kept a secret from me.”
Questions forming, Jack leaned forward before stopping himself and sitting back to watch Santosh take the lead.
“What sort of gruesome discovery?” asked Santosh, thanking Jack with the merest incline of his head. His hands were knotted together on the head of his cane; his heart beat just that tiny bit faster. Ushered in to see the Chief Minister, he’d wondered if this might turn out to be a dry, political request. Evidently not.
“Bodies,” sniffed Jaswal. “Up to a dozen of them, in various states of…decomposition. It seems they were being melted down in some way.”
“Some kind of corrosive involved?”
“It would seem that way. Body parts were found in thick barrels full of the stuff.”
Jack shifted forward. He and Santosh exchanged a look. “What sort of barrels?” asked Santosh.
“Plastic, as far as I’m aware,” said Jaswal.
“Hydrofluoric acid,” Santosh and Jack said in unison. Even Santosh allowed himself a thin smile at that one.
“That’s significant, is it?” asked Jaswal, looking from one to the other.
“Very,” said Santosh. “It tells us that whoever is responsible is concerned firstly with hiding the identity of the victims and secondly with disposing of the corpses. In that specific order. Which means that the identity of the victims is extremely important.”
Jaswal raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that always the case?”
“Not at all. For many serial killers the process of killing is what defines the act; the choice of victim can be random, based only on the ability to fulfill that need. It’s what often makes them so hard to catch.” He threw a look at Jaswal. “What’s your particular interest in this discovery? Over and above curiosity.”
“The house in which this…grisly operation was discovered is government property.”
“And yet you’re not being given any information?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
For a moment or so, Santosh seemed to be lost in his thoughts before he collected himself and addressed Jaswal once more. “Do you believe Ram Chopra is the one suppressing information?”
Jaswal shot Santosh a wintry smile. “What do you think?”
“What I think is irrelevant. It’s what you think that is important.”
“Point taken. And the answer is yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“That’s one of the things I’d like you to find out.”
“Of course. But let me rephrase the question. Why might Ram Chopra want to keep you in the dark regarding the discovery at Greater Kailash?”
“Possibly to wrong-foot me, make me appear ill-informed. Possibly something more.”
“How did you find out about the bodies?” Jack asked.
“Police tip-off,” said Jaswal. “Nobody directly involved with the case. I’m afraid you’ll be on your own with this one.”
Santosh looked at Jaswal, knowing that if Private accepted this job then Jack would jet off and it would be he, Santosh, who entered the lion’s den.
Santosh was intrigued. Bodies. Hidden motives. It would be messy. Just the way he liked it.
On the other hand, there was something about the case that troubled him. But he couldn’t pin down what it was.
Chapter 9
SANTOSH WAS RELIEVED to leave Jack with Jaswal. Finances were not his strong suit. Haggling, negotiating, “doing business” even less so. Besides, as soon as Jack had finished with Jaswal he was flying back to the States. And Santosh had a crime to solve.
A cab dropped him off on the outskirts of Mehrauli, home to Private Delhi, and he went the rest of the way to the office on foot, his cane tapping briskly and a new spring in his step as he passed quaint shops, restaurants, and pubs near the twelfth-century Qutb Minar tower.
He came to an antiques shop tucked away in the old quarter, bell tinkling as he went inside. He nodded to the proprietor and passed through the shop to a door at the back.
Through that he entered a clinical-looking anteroom, bare save for a second door and a retina-scan unit. Santosh bent slightly for the scan and the door slid open, allowing him to access the Private Delhi office.