Karan Parmanandka - The Monsoon Murders

THE
MONSOON
MURDERS

THE
MONSOON
MURDERS

Karan Parmanandka

SRISHTI PUBLISHERS & DISTRIBUTORS

Registered Office: N-16, C.R. Park

New Delhi 110 019

Corporate Office: 212A, Peacock Lane

Shahpur Jat, New Delhi 110 049

First published by

Srishti Publishers & Distributors in 2016

Copyright Karan Parmanandka, 2016

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

This is a work of fiction. The characters, places, organisations and events described in this book are either a work of the authors imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to people, living or dead, places, events or organisations is purely coincidental. The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the Publishers.

The scene on pp. 93-94 is inspired from One time at the beach featured in Ingmar Bergmans Swedish movie Persona (1966).

This edition is for sale in the Indian subcontinent only.

Dedicated to
those who are,
those who were,
and those who never could be

Inspired from real life cases.

Prologue

T he car rolled into the street that housed his apartment. He looked around for his umbrella, but seemed to have had left it in the office. The rain was gentle and his house was just a short distance from the road. He reckoned he could run the distance, and looked forward to the cup of coffee to warm up his bones. He stepped out of the car, shutting the door behind him.

Just then, he had a feeling of being stared at, like a set of eyes piercing his back. He turned around. Across the road, he could see a glinting black object peeping from a partially constructed building, but the rain made it difficult to make out the barrel of the gun.

Though he could barely see the gun, he clearly felt the sharp sting of the bullet hitting his right shoulder. Instead of ducking for cover, strangely he reached out for his shirt pocket and pulled out his spectacles. He gave a short jerk to spread out his glasses and carefully put them on to get a better look at the wound. Shoot him again, K whispered to Debu. This time Debu was more accurate. The bullet pierced through the rain and hit its target right in between the lungs. He felt his breath being knocked out. It was the wrong time to die, he thought. His job was still unfinished. But at the same time, he was thankful for having been shot in the chest, the only respectful way for a police officer to die.

It is said that when one is fatally hurt, his entire life flashes by. But that did not happen with him. He could only think of two people as he lay there wounded.

The Call

T he caller was an unfamiliar voice with a proposal too tempting to resist and too difficult to accept. Roy picked up his watch. It was seven in the morning, more than a day since the murder. He would have to set out immediately if he hoped to make any sense of the crime scene. He noticed the dark clouds only when he stepped out of the building, but figured that he did not have the time to go back for the jacket.

His bike cut through the nippy monsoon air swiftly, but calmly, hoping to make the fifteen minute journey in five. No sooner had the bike turned the street corner that it began to pour. But this wasnt the day for Roy to turn back. He kept up his steady speed, soaking up the rain. Only when he halted at the red light did he wonder back to the call.

Is it Roy Konte?

Yes, Roy had responded, still groggy from sleep.

Hello. This is Chandra from Fox Capital Pvt Ltd. We have some work for you. Want you to look into the death of one of our employees.

The mention of death jolted Roy out of his snooze. Well, you see, I dont investigate murders he was cut short.

What makes you suppose that its a murder? Anyway, we can discuss all that later, Chandra said. Right now, I ask you to go to straight to his apartment: Evita Building, Hiranandani Township, Flat A1705. Chandras voice was curt and authoritative, and made Roy dislike him immediately.

Wait a second. You dont understand.Call me when you are done, he said as he disconnected the call.

Roy sat on his bike, waiting for the light to turn green. He was still unsure about taking the case, but decided to visit the scene before making up his mind. Though Roy hadnt dealt with the banking world, there was hardly anyone in the city who had not heard of Fox Capital a wealth management powerhouse catering only to the ultra-rich. Whereas most of the finance firms had their offices to the south of the city, Fox Capital was based out of Hiranandani, and had established a niche for itself by catering to the new money.

While Roy was excited at the assignment, he did have a few concerns. Why did Fox Capital want someone other than the police to investigate the matter? Who was Chandra and what was his relation to the firm? But above all, why was he selected for the job?

The Murder

H iranandani Gardens in suburban Mumbai was an upscale township built at the turn of the century. Home to the nouveau riche, it was a cluster of spacious apartments in an otherwise asphyxiated city. Within Hiranandani, Evita was a newly constructed building and boasted of some of the most luxurious apartments of the township the kind of building Roy would have no business visiting in ordinary course of his life.

The discreet nature of his job had taught Roy to leave minimum trace of his visits. He entered the building stealthily, trying to muffle the sound of his footsteps within the lavishly laid carpets. But he was unable to avoid the attention of the guard hunched over the register, who looked up at Roy with a questioning glance. Without batting an eyelid, Roy walked up to him and complained of the visitors parking their cars in his allotted space. The guard stood up in attention and assured him that the mistake would not be repeated. Behind the guard, Roy noticed a pair of security cameras staring straight at him, recording all movements to and from the building. Though one could fool the guards, it was going to be difficult for anyone to enter the building undetected.

Roy took the elevator to the seventeenth floor. He saw a couple of gentlemen standing outside the designated apartment with an official air about them. From the angle at which they stood, he was unable to make out their faces, but Roy could smell out a policeman amongst a crowd of thousand and these two certainly fit the bill. They spoke in hushed voices, and made assured movements, confidently conducting their affairs under the authority entrusted by law. The thickly-built middle-aged guy was pouring instructions to the younger fellow, who hurriedly took down notes in his handbook. Roy wanted to avoid meeting anyone from the force, but it would be impossible for him to enter the apartment without their approval.

Roy approached them politely. Hello officers.

The senior police officer turned towards him. A few moments of surprised silence, quickly followed by a smile, Look whos here, if not my old friend Roy. What a pleasure to see you, he said.

Even among these morbid surroundings, Roy was pleased to have bumped into Ketkar. In his early fifties, with a pot belly and a lazy personality, Ketkars smile could have put anyone at ease. But Roy knew that behind this relaxed exterior was a mind who understood crooks, one who knew how to charm criminals into dropping their guard, and then pounce for the kill. Ketkar was one of only a handful of people in the team with whom Roy shared an easy equation. Great to see you too Ketkar, Roys voice was more subdued, for he had not forgotten the circumstances under which theyd met last.