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“The fact that one woman’s hobby could often be another woman’s hubby,” she replied.
Chapter 28
“I SAW YOUR report,” said Jack to Santosh. “You seem to have a serial killer who has a fetish for yellow garrotes.”
“Three victims in roughly twenty-four hours between Sunday and Monday nights,” replied Santosh. “Worrying average. Unfortunately, we’re no closer to finding him than we were after the first murder.”
“Have you tried finding out whether there was anything to link the victims?” asked Jack. “Did they stay in the same locality? Did they work in similar professions? Did they eat at the same restaurant? Did they use the same hairdresser or dry cleaning service? Do they have a common friend or boyfriend?”
“I’ve been plugging data into PrivatePattern since this morning but can’t find anything to link them,” said Nisha. PrivatePattern was the Private organization’s proprietary analysis tool. Investigators from all over the world fed case data into the system and allowed the software to throw up possible links and matches.
“The first victim was a doctor from Thailand, the second was a journalist working for a Mumbai tabloid, and the third was a famous pop singer,” she continued. “I have tried cross-referencing various elements from their lives but have drawn a blank. The main link so far is the security consultant—Xilon—whose technology was in use at all three locations. The only other definite link is the fact that the first two victims spoke to each other extensively over the phone.”
“What about the third?” asked Jack. “Any phone conversations with the other two?”
“Priyanka Talati—our singing sensation—did not believe in keeping an intrusive cell phone by her side. Her personal assistant answered phone calls for her but he is quite emphatic that Priyanka never received a call from either Kanya Jaiyen or Bhavna Choksi.”
Santosh perked up. “The reporter—Bhavna Choksi—was writing a story about people that work with celebrities, right? Was the singer—Priyanka—on Bhavna’s list of contacts?” he asked Nisha.
“No,” she replied, glancing down at her notes. “There were no celebrities on Bhavna’s list. Only people that worked alongside celebrities—helping them with their travel arrangements, physiotherapy, styling, pets, public relations, psychiatric counseling, clothes …”
“Okay, let’s forget that angle and focus on the murders. What was common to them?” asked Jack.
“All the victims were women,” replied Santosh mechanically. “None of them was sexually assaulted. All of them were killed by strangulation with a yellow garrote. The security firm at all three murder sites was the same. There was no forced entry at any of the locations. There was no trace evidence except for a single strand of hair—minus any DNA—at all three murder sites. The strangler left props—varying across the killings—at all the murder sites.”
“Refresh my memory a little,” said Jack. “What were the props?”
“The first victim was left with a lotus flower and a dining fork tied to her hands, and a toy Viking helmet tied to her feet. The second was found with a rosary in one hand and a bucket of water in the other. The third was found lying on a faux animal skin, half a rupee coin placed on her head, and a small brass bell-shaped pendant hung around her neck.” Santosh rattled off the details from memory.
“If you can’t find a link between the victims then try finding what connects the props. The killer is trying to tell you something,” said Jack quietly. “Find the pattern that fits the props and you will crack this case wide open.”
Under the conference table, Hari nervously clutched a small pendant in his right hand as he prayed to God that his secret would remain buried. He anxiously hoped that the husky-voiced woman he had spoken to earlier remained unaware of the latest developments.
Chapter 29
BLUE MAGIC TANTRA Records was no backstreet operation. Everything about the studio where Priyanka Talati had made her chartbusting albums screamed “big time.”
Santosh felt shabby, old, and out of touch as he and Nisha were led through the swish studio then deposited in the control room. Through floor-to-ceiling glass they watched as Priyanka’s music producer moved up and down a huge mixing console on a leather-backed swivel chair, his fingers dancing over sliders, head bobbing to music they couldn’t hear.
In his late thirties, he wore Kai-Kai sandals, faded jeans, and a gray company T-shirt printed with the logo “Blue Magic Tantra” in electric blue. And something else—a yellow bandana.
Now that’s interesting, thought Santosh, as the producer swung on his chair and waved at them through the window of the control room. A yellow bandana. The same fabric and dye, perhaps?
Moments later they sat down for coffee with the producer. “Priyanka was one of the most talented and versatile singers that India has ever produced,” he said sadly. “I was convinced it was only a matter of time before she’d be nominated for a Grammy.”
“She lived most of her life outside India, is that right?” asked Santosh, using a sip of the brew to surreptitiously study the bandana.
“Yes,” said the producer. “She studied music at the Yong Siew Conservatory, part of the National University of Singapore. Her parents were divorced. Her mother lived in Singapore—working as an accountant, I think—while her father lived in Thailand from where he continued to work for the merchant navy. Priyanka’s growing-up years were divided between Singapore and Thailand.”
“What about her personal life?” asked Nisha. “Did she have a husband or boyfriend?”
“She married rather young—unfortunately to the wrong guy,” said the producer. “He turned out to have a serious drinking problem. Even worse was the fact that he used Priyanka for target practice when he was sloshed. She’d been single for several years now but the divorce proceedings were dragging on … Nasty.”
Santosh kept quiet. Any reference to drinking inspired loathing and longing within him almost simultaneously. Loathing for his lack of self-control. And longing for yet another drink.
“Could we have his name, please?” asked Nisha. “Any idea where he lives?”
The producer provided a name but was not sure of the exact address. He told them that the apartment was somewhere in Andheri.
