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 cancellations 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.”
“Yours has got a bit more substance,” said Nisha, leafing through the A4 pages.
“Well, I don’t want to be big-headed, but...”
“You’re going to be anyway.”
“Yeah,” laughed Maya. “Fingers crossed I’ll win.”
“You never know.”
“The prize is being handed out by some real bigwig, a guy called Amit Roy from the government.”
“Very good. With any luck you’ll meet him.”
Mother and daughter cuddled on the couch, hugging each other in a home that felt empty. The winter winds of Delhi howled outside and the branches of the Indian lilac tree that touched their living-room window tapped a rat-a-tat-tat rhythm on the pane.
With Maya snoring gently beside her, Nisha lifted the essay to read but had only got through a few sentences before she felt her eyelids grow heavy.
She laid it down, guiltily, promising herself she’d return to it first thing.
Chapter 16
The killer was disappointed. Rahul’s murder had been relegated to a short piece in the newspaper. Little more than a sidenote.
What disappointed him even more — though of course he was not in the slightest bit surprised — was the fact that no publicity had been given to the find in Greater Kailash. All those corpses. All that evidence. It should have been the lead item on the news. And yet there had been nothing.
The usual suspects were once again covering their asses. But he knew who they were; he had done his research.
Arranged on the surface before him was a series of photographs, a selection of Delhi’s great and good. Men who would whimper when they died. The killer was choosing his next victim. He knew the method, of course.
Now to decide who died next.
Chapter 17
Delhi’s governmental hub was the Secretariat, based in the area known as Indraprastha Estate. There, Chief Minister Mohan Jaswal was to preside over a press briefing.
Santosh sat alone, one eye on the lectern at the front of the room from where Jaswal would conduct the press conference, another on the journalists around him. To his left sat Ajoy Guha, a familiar face from DETV. Broadcasting from Delhi’s media hub at Noida, and boasting twice the viewership of the other news channels put together, DETV was known for its fierce reporting, outspoken views, and hard-hitting investigations, and the fiercest and most outspoken show of all was Guha’s Carrot and Stick.
Guha was tall and lanky with slightly thinning hair and a narrow face accentuated by wire-framed glasses. He sat scribbling into a notebook. Santosh admired his methodical approach. You didn’t become the country’s highest-paid news anchor for nothing, he reasoned.
Guha stopped writing and put the notebook away. He took out a box of Nature’s Way lozenges and popped one in his mouth.
Next Santosh saw Jaswal, standing just outside the door. The Chief Minister took a puff of his bronchodilator then entered, approaching the lectern and adjusting the microphone.
He wore a pale yellow turban, color-coordinated with the kerchief in his pocket. Perfect for TV cameras. There were advantages to being Sikh — the turban and white beard instantly caught the attention.
Like the seasoned campaigner he was, he began to field questions from the press. Innocuous queries at first. Camera flashes went off like little bombs. Santosh watched with interest as the conference rumbled on, wondering if the issue of the corpses in Greater Kailash would come up.
And then India’s most fearless reporter weighed in.
“Just one final question, sir,” said Guha, waving a sheaf of papers. “I have with me copies of police reports indicating that up to eleven corpses were discovered in the basement of a house in Greater Kailash. The question to you, Chief Minister, is this: why didn’t you tell us?”
Who leaked? wondered Santosh. Let’s see how Jaswal gets himself out of this.
Jaswal didn’t miss a beat. “Neither the police nor the Lieutenant Governor have informed me of this matter,” he said.
Good play, thought Santosh. It wasn’t a lie but it wasn’t quite the whole truth either.