Second Lives by Anish Sarkar Read Free Book Online Page B

over Goa within an hour!’
    I defended Omar. ‘Being at the wrong place at the wrong time isn’t a crime. We don’t have anything to hide.’
    Well, maybe just the one thing.
    We soon spotted a police patrol jeep parked off the beach, and Omar stopped the Innova behind it. Neel motioned to us to remain inside, and stepped out alone. I saw that he had taken out his Army ID, which was a good move. Policemen generally treat the military with respect, even deference.
    However, the conversation was brief. I could see the cops get visibly agitated. Two of them jumped out and came towards our vehicle, while a third one spoke animatedly on the phone. We were bundled into the jeep and driven to the Panjim police station.
    For the next couple of hours, we tried to convince the sub-inspector who grilled us that we had not killed the man nor did we have any clue as to who might have done it. He was not unpleasant (our obvious affluence and perhaps my being a woman ensured that) but endlessly probing and provocative in his questioning. It’s a time-honoured tradition of law enforcement in our country that whoever reports a crime automatically becomes the prime suspect.
    We stuck to the truth as far as possible. Each of us had to reveal the minutest detail about ourselves, and we spoke about our childhood friendship. My status as the owner of one of the prominent residences in Goa certainly helped our cause.
    Just as I was thinking the interrogation was coming to an end and we would be allowed to go, a man walked in. He was in plainclothes but the sub-inspector jumped to his feet and saluted clumsily. My heart sank. Here was obviously a senior officer, come to pile further misery on us!
    ‘My name is D’Mello,’ he said in a raspy voice. ‘Detective John D’Mello.’ I guessed he watched a lot of James Bond films.
    He was in his mid-fifties, very dark and rotund. His salt-and-pepper moustache matched the grizzled crew-cut, and the head seemed to erupt from the cascading rolls of flesh above his thick shoulders. He stared at us with small, shrewd eyes.
    ‘I am heading the investigation into the Grishin case. Can one of you tell me what exactly happened here?’
    I glanced at Neel. He turned to D’Mello and began, ‘Well Detective, it all started with the death of our friend Rachel…’
    D’Mello listened with half-closed eyes as Neel narrated the sequence of events again, from our meeting with Zoe to the lead about Grigor. We had decided earlier that the best policy was to hide nothing and prevent any suspicion about our motives.
    When Neel finished, D’Mello said softly, ‘So it seems that I’m not the only detective here.’
    None of us replied to that.
    ‘Why didn’t you come to the police earlier?’
    I said with some asperity, ‘We understood from Mrs Fernandes, Rachel’s mother, that the police hardly bothered to investigate Rachel’s death. They pronounced it a suicide without checking all the facts!’
    ‘That’s a very big accusation, lady,’ he said coldly. I noticed that his nose was like a big uneven lump stuck on to his face. Maybe it had been broken sometime.
    ‘I suggest you speak to Mrs Fernandes and also review Rachel’s case file yourself.’ I knew I was sounding aggressive but I didn’t care!
    ‘I’ll definitely have to do that now.’ D’Mello gave me a long, hard look. ‘However, I do want to know why you thought it wasn’t a suicide in the first place.’
    Omar chimed in. ‘We know Rachel from childhood. There wasn’t a nicer and more positive human being in this world. It’s impossible to believe she would take her own life. And Mrs Fernandes will tell you the same thing.’
    ‘And you think you’re the first friends of a suicide victim to feel that way?’
    I added, ‘We now know that Rachel was doing a story on Anna Grishin, so maybe there’s a connection there.’
    ‘Many reporters have tried to solve big cases on their own and become famous.’ D’Mello rubbed the sides