“Why?” asked Sharma.
“The bodies at the Greater Kailash house could put Jaswal in a fix. Having an animal like Roy as Health Secretary could put him in an even bigger fix. My thanks for bringing these things to my attention, Sharma. I shall approve Roy’s promotion at once.”
Chapter 13
NISHA’S HUNT FOR a black Tempo Traveler van sporting a zigzag pattern had taken her to the Regional Transport Office. The visit had cost Private India the price of a bribe, but for that Nisha had been given the name of a workshop, Truckomatic, that might customize vans.
Fifteen minutes later she entered Truckomatic, a large industrial paint shop that rang to the sound of pneumatic lifts and sprays. According to the owner—a gym rat who gave Nisha a long look up and down before deigning to speak to her—Truckomatic customized over a hundred vehicles each month.
Nisha showed him her pad. “Something like that,” she said. “I was wondering whether you’ve anything similar.”
“Sure,” grinned the owner. “For around two hundred customers at last count. We have a catalog of around a thousand concepts. This is one of the more popular ones.”
“This one was on a Tempo Traveler,” probed Nisha.
“That certainly narrows it down.”
“Does it narrow it down enough that you could give me a list of customers?” asked Nisha.
The owner grinned again. “Give me a few days and I could, I suppose. But what’s in it for me?”
Nisha sighed and reached for her pocketbook, thanking God for Private’s no-questions-asked expenses policy.
Chapter 14
“I’VE NEVER SEEN this cigarette before,” said Nisha, placing the butt she’d found on Neel’s spotless white table. “Can you find out which brand it is?”
“Easily done,” said Neel, crossing to his bookshelf. He scanned the various medical and scientific journals and catalogs until he laid his hands on the book he was looking for. He brought it back to the table.
“What is it?” asked Nisha.
“You see, Sherlock Holmes had his power of deduction, Superman had his X-ray vision, Dick Tracy used his two-way wrist radio, but Bob Bourhill depended on cigarette butts.”
“Bob Bourhill?” asked Nisha.
“A sleuth tasked with figuring out the cause of fires in the forests of Oregon. He spent years cataloging cigarettes, cigars, and cigarette butts. He’s the acknowledged expert in this narrow but important field.”
Neel used a magnifying glass to examine the butt and then consulted his book.
“Bourhill codified the characteristics of cigarette butts across the world and his book on the subject is updated each year. If it isn’t in the book, then it doesn’t exist. Ah, here we go…This one is a very exclusive brand. It’s by a company called the Chancellor Tobacco Company in England. The cigarette is called Treasurer Luxury White. Very expensive. Only sold in England and only at exclusive locations. Not available through ordinary retail channels, and certainly not in India.”
Nisha grinned. “Remind me to thank Bob Bourhill when I see him.”
Chapter 15
THE SMALL GROUND-FLOOR apartment in Vasant Vihar was ideal for Nisha, her eleven-year-old daughter, Maya, and their maid, Heena. It had been pricey—Vasant Vihar was an expensive area and property prices in Delhi had gone through the roof—but Sanjeev had left her with money and, having bought the apartment, Nisha had saved the rest. Financially she was well off.
But for all that, nothing could fill the emotional hole Sanjeev had left. It was as though his absence were a malignant presence. Like a shadow in their lives. And it was with them now as they sat at the dining table, finishing a dinner prepared by Heena. It was an unspoken thing. We wish Papa were here. Telling stupid jokes or singing to himself or even just being grumpy. Whatever. We wish Papa were here.
Not for the first time, Nisha thanked her lucky stars for Heena. Without Heena she couldn’t work. And there were times that Nisha thought work was the only thing that allowed her to cope with losing Sanjeev.
Heena was also blessed with the ability to know when Nisha and Maya needed a little mother–daughter time. Like now, as she cleared the table and left them to settle down into the living-room sofa.
“Why couldn’t we just get pizza from that new place down the street?” asked Maya, snuggling into her mother. A cartoon was on TV but neither was really watching it.
“Junk food. Not good for either of us,” replied Nisha. “Better to eat healthy home-cooked meals prepared by Heena.”
Nisha felt her daughter’s shoulders shake, the all-too-familiar signal that tears were imminent, and all Nisha could do was hold her and try to cuddle the pain away.
“I miss Papa,” said Maya, the tears now rolling down her cheeks. “I miss the times he took us out for pizza and ice cream. I don’t want the pizza or ice cream. I just want Papa back.”
“I know, baby, I miss him too,” said Nisha, thinking, God, so much. I miss him so much.
“I feel so lonely,” whimpered Maya. “You’re always working.” The pain in her little girl’s voice, and the bald truth of the statement, made Nisha feel wretched. “But at least when you were late, it was Dad who would tuck me into bed. Now there’s only Heena. The apartment feels so cold and empty.”
Nisha hugged Maya tighter and thumbed tears from her face. “Tell you what,” she said. “On the weekend, we’ll go out. How about a movie followed by pizza?”
Sniffing, Maya nodded and Nisha felt bowled over by her bravery. This frail little thing, forced to cope with so much at such a young age. “You and I make a great team,” she said into Maya’s hair. “I promise that we’ll take a holiday together in the hills soon. What do you think about Shimla? It’s not too far from Delhi.”
“The last time you said that, we had to cancel the holiday because of work,” said Maya, and Nisha cringed at the memory.
“No cancelations this time, I promise,” she said.
Maya brightened up more. Nisha passed her a box of tissues to wipe away her tears.
“Now, what about that essay you were supposed to write for your school competition? The one about how to improve the health of Delhi’s citizens?” asked Nisha.
Maya rolled her eyes. “It was due earlier today. It’s already been submitted.”
“I see. And does it have a title, this masterwork?”
“It’s called ‘Health Care, Fair and Square?’ It’s about how everybody should have access to health care whether they’re rich or poor, young or old, whatever their nationality. How we should treat health care a bit more like we do education, so more people get a fair shot.”
Nisha awarded Maya with an impressed look. “Wow, well, that’s very, very commendable, Maya. I’m delighted. Can I have a copy to read?”
“I saved one,” beamed Maya. She fetched it then snuggled back into position. “I’m pretty pleased with it, actually. Especially as most people have just talked about, like, how many hospitals there are in the city and stuff.”