IN A MEETING room of Delhi’s Oberoi Hotel assembled a group of people who could never have expected to assemble in amicable circumstances.
On one side of the table sat the Police Commissioner, Sharma, who wore a uniform that strained at its buttons, as well as a distinctly sour expression, and beside him his assistant Nanda, who wore no expression at all, as though he were simply an interested bystander, an impartial observer.
Across from them sat Jack Morgan, relaxed, stubbled, his polo shirt open at the neck and a dazzling grin never far from the surface; Santosh, whose own stubble gave him a weary, troubled look; beside him Neel; and on the end Nisha, who glared with unreserved distaste at Sharma.
The cop cleared his throat to address the Private team. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me. The reason I wanted to—”
“Wait a minute,” cut in Jack. “Wait just a goddamn minute. I told you we would agree to meet on one condition. Let’s see that condition met first, shall we?”
Sharma picked up a hotel pen then placed it down again. His eyes dropped to the tabletop and his color rose as he cleared his throat and mumbled something.
“A little louder, please,” said Jack. “Aim for audible and we’ll take it from there.”
“Okay,” said Sharma, throwing back his shoulders, “let’s get this over with, shall we? I would like to say sorry to you, Mrs. Gandhe,” he nodded toward her, “for your treatment at the station the other day. It was inexcusable. I of course accept that you have nothing to do with the spate of killings, and I should never have insinuated as much. Please accept my apologies.”
“Thank you,” said Nisha tightly.
Sharma’s eyes rose to meet hers. “How is she?” he asked, with a tenderness that took her by surprise. “How is your little girl?”
“Oh, she’s…Well, she’s bearing up. She still has night terrors. She still talks about the killer as the good man. She hopes that he’s read her essay.”
Sharma nodded, tucking his chin into his chest. “And what do you think? Do you still think he’s a good man?”
Nisha’s hackles rose. “Oh? We’re starting that again?”
“I’m interested to know what you think, that’s all,” responded Sharma.
“Okay then,” began Nisha. “Our theory here at Private is that—”
Now it was Santosh’s turn to clear his throat, sitting upright in his chair. “Wait a minute, if you would. Perhaps we might first learn what is the purpose of this meeting? Up until now, Commissioner, you’ve made it very clear that you have no intention of cooperating with us. Why the sudden change of heart?”
Sharma shifted. “Not long ago somebody said to me that the fervor we’re seeing on the streets is the kind in which revolutions are forged. I didn’t agree with him then, but I’m beginning to agree with him now. Things have gone too far, they’ve gotten out of hand. We need to put a stop to it and I’m proposing that in order to do that we pool our resources. We are, after all, investigating the same thing.”
“The same two things,” Nisha reminded him. “We have a serial killer on the street and an organ-harvesting network.”
“If you’re suggesting that my own investigations into either of those things have been half-hearted then you’re wrong,” said Sharma, with a touch of wounded pride. “In fact, I’ve established the identities of all the major players in the organ-harvesting network. I believe I know the identity of the killer.”
Eyebrows were raised on the other side of the table.
“In return for you sharing what information you have with me, I will give you that information,” he continued. “And in return for giving my team access to what I’m told is your state-of-the-art investigative technology,” he waved a hand at Jack, “I’m prepared to patch you into a surveillance feed I’m setting up at the homes of Thakkar and Dr. Arora.”
“We accept,” said Jack happily. “That seems like an excellent pooling of resources. You’re right: too many people have died. We need to prevent any more casualties.”
“Wait.” Sharma held up a hand. “As part of the treaty, I would like your assurance that you won’t use any of your investigative findings against the Lieutenant Governor.”
“Oh yes?” said Jack. “And what about you? Do you have anything damaging on the Chief Minister?”
For the first time since the beginning of the meeting, Sharma smiled. “Oh yes. Something very damaging to the Chief Minister. It appears that Jaswal and Thakkar are old buddies from NYU. No doubt you’ve been sitting on that information too?”
Jack ignored the question. “Do you have any evidence that Jaswal is implicated in the transplant network?”
Sharma let them dangle for a moment, then his smile broadened. “No. As far as I know, he’s clean. But then as far as I know, Chopra is clean too. They run Delhi, for God’s sake. Why would they get their hands dirty with something as tawdry as this?”
“The answer, Mr. Sharma, is money,” said Santosh. “The answer is always money. But I grant you, all evidence points to both men being innocent.” He paused. “At least in this particular matter.”
“That’s what you’re here for, is it? To make sure that nothing potentially damaging emerges?” said Nisha, her voice dripping with contempt.
“It was Chopra who insisted we put a stop to this, young lady,” snapped Sharma. “It’s to him we should be thankful.”
Nisha scoffed. “Thankful? What’s clear is that the state government has allowed things to reach boiling point in an attempt to score political points. And don’t call me young lady.”
“And what have you been doing at Private, then?” retorted Sharma. “Twiddling your thumbs?”
“The political situation made it difficult for us to come to the police with our findings,” said Santosh calmly. Did he imagine it, or did he feel Nisha’s eyes burning accusingly into him?
“Very well, very well,” said Sharma, hands spread. “Then let this be the dawn of a new era between us.”
“Good,” said Jack. He looked left and right at his colleagues, drawing a line under the dispute. “You said earlier you know who the killer is. How about starting our new dawn by sharing that particular piece of information with us?”
“It’s a man named Ibrahim,” said Sharma. “He’s been working with Dr. Arora at the Memorial Hospital, but he’s gone rogue. He’s been negotiating with someone else to shift his business to them instead of Thakkar’s mob, ResQ. Most likely he’s trying to destroy the entire ResQ network—Kumar, Patel, Thakkar. With all the key players gone, he’d have a free hand to expand with a rival corporation.”
Nisha was shaking her head. “What about Roy’s murder?” she said.
Sharma shrugged. “Roy was Health Secretary. We’ll have to ask Ibrahim why he deserved to die when we catch him.”
Still shaking her head, Nisha looked across at her colleagues. “No, no, this is wrong.”
“Well, let me hear your better ideas, then,” frowned Sharma.
“Wait. If you think it’s Ibrahim, then why come to us?” said Santosh. “Why not just bring him in?”
“Because I want to be sure. Because I’m betting you can help find him. Because your associate Mrs. Gandhe here has seen the killer, remember?”
“And because you want to tie up any political loose ends,” said Nisha.
Sharma rolled his eyes. “To our mutual benefit.”
Jack signaled cool it and then turned to Sharma. “You’ve got surveillance on Thakkar and Dr. Arora?”
“Logic tells us they’ll be the next victims,” said Sharma. “In the meantime, if we could locate Ibrahim, that would be helpful as well. Unless you really have been sitting around scratching your asses, I’m guessing you’ve got to Ibrahim and I’m guessing you have something on him.”
Santosh nodded. “We have cell phone numbers.”
“Then we can trace him,” said Neel, the first words he’d spoken since the meeting began. He looked at Santosh. “We can trace him more quickly than the police. We have the StingRay.”