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He made pretend-grumbling sounds but she imagined him reaching for a pen and paper. “You could have come to the office to request this, you know. Then I would have had the benefit of the famous Nisha perch.”
She felt herself color. “That’s a thing?”
“What can I say? It’s a thing.”
“Okay,” she smiled, “I don’t really think I want to know. But the reason I can’t come in person is because this is strictly off the record, just you and me.”
“I see,” he said. “Private and confidential, eh?”
“Very good. Don’t give up the day job. Are you ready?”
“Fire away.”
“It’s the director Lara Omprakash.”
“As in, the recently deceased director Lara Omprakash.”
“The very same. She was apparently childless, but the post-mortem examination reveals she may have given birth.”
“Got you.”
“Thanks, Ajay.”
She left the study. Tonight the family was watching television in the living room and sharing a pizza. Sanjeev was indulging in his favorite pastime—channel surfing—much to the chagrin of Nisha and her daughter. Why were men never interested in what was happening on the selected channel but always interested in what else could be happening on some other channel?
“Hold it right there,” said Nisha befor
e Sanjeev could change the channel once again. It was the local news carrying a bulletin regarding the life and times of Ragini Sharma. The bulletin was less than two minutes long but the file footage was supplemented by black-and-white photographs of the early days of the politician.
“Why are we watching this?” complained Nisha’s daughter. “I want to watch Hannah Montana.”
“Just a minute, sweetheart. I need to see this because of work.”
She continued to stare at the screen as old photographs appeared within the montage, accompanied by melancholy music and a hushed voiceover. Where had she seen that face before?
And then the penny dropped.
Chapter 64
“SHE WAS NO social worker,” said Nisha emphatically. “Unless ‘social worker’ is a euphemism for ‘madam.’”
“Think carefully, Nisha,” said Santosh. “The incident that you mentioned was a long time ago. You could be mistaken.”
“I am absolutely certain. I never forget a face. It was her,” replied Nisha adamantly.
“Let’s go over this once more,” he said slowly. “Take your time and don’t leave out even the smallest detail.”
Nisha took a deep breath and began narrating her story once again. “When I had just joined the police service, I was initially posted to the Anti-Vice Squad. I distinctly remember we received a tip-off that a batch of young girls was being held captive at one of the establishments in Falkland Road, in the notorious red-light district of Mumbai.”
“And what happened next?”
“We raided the establishment,” answered Nisha, “and found several girls—most of them minors—inside the place. Some of them had already been forced into sex with male customers.”
“What did you do once you were inside?” asked Santosh.
“We rescued the girls and took them to a remand home. A couple of them were found in possession of drugs and were arrested. We also filed charges against the owner of the brothel—the madam.”
“And you believe that the madam was none other than Ragini Sharma?” asked Santosh incredulously.
