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The Attorney General smiled as he disconnected the call. It was always good doing business with people whose interests were aligned with one’s own.
Chapter 69
HURT, NISHA TWISTED and in the bouncing beam of the flashlight caught a glimpse of her assailant. A grubby man wearing filthy shorts and a ripped vest, his hair was long, reaching his shoulders. In his upraised hand was a short club of some kind, ready for another attack.
“Who are you?” he demanded, advancing on her.
But she was in no mood to answer questions. The pigeons were terrifying, but grimy guys with big sticks she could deal with.
As he advanced she dazzled him with the torch and pivoted at the same time, sweeping his legs from beneath him.
The club spun off as he fell badly, and with a shout of pain so loud she didn’t even bother drawing her gun. In a second she was astride him, pinning him to the floor and dazzling him again with the flashlight. Now she saw him for what he was: a grimy, broken-down old man. She felt mildly nauseous as she was hit by the stench of his unwashed body and bad breath. On his clothes was the odor of cheap alcohol and stale tobacco smoke.
“We can do this either the easy way or the hard way,” hissed Nisha. “Answer a few questions for me and I leave you with enough cash for a tipple. Play tough and I leave you with busted kneecaps.”
He blinked in the light, his eyes adjusting. “Why? Who are you?”
“My name is Nisha Gandhe and I’m an investigator,” she replied, out of breath. “I was hoping that a visit to this place would help me find out a little more about Elina Xavier.”
“Why do you want to know?” he asked cautiously.
“She was murdered a few days ago and research into her background showed that she had once been the headmistress of this orphanage,” replied Nisha. “Why don’t you begin by telling me who you are and what you’re doing here?”
“I used to be the night guard for the orphanage,” he said, lips loosened by the promise of more booze. “I stayed here until the place shut down during the Mumbai riots.”
“Why would the riots affect an orphanage?”
Pinned beneath her, he still managed a shrug. “Riot’s a riot. Riot doesn’t care what it destroys.”
“And what are you doing here now?”
Again he shrugged. “It’s here or the streets.”
“And you were an employee during the years when Elina Xavier was the headmistress here?”
“Sure,” said the man. “I was officially employed here at that time. She was a real tight-ass, that one.”
“What do you mean?” asked Nisha curiously.
“She had all the trustees wrapped around her little finger. She could do whatever she wanted and get away with it because they were all on her side. She was arrogant and bossy with everyone here.”
“How was she with the children?”
“She was a harsh taskmaster, demanding discipline, courteousness, and hard work from the kids.”
“Anything else that I should know?” asked Nisha, tightening her grip on his wrists.
“There were rumors … but I never saw it happen,” said the man suddenly.
“Rumors about what?” asked Nisha.
“That she beat the children,” he said uncomfortably. “I remember hearing them crying and screaming at night, but I was never sure whether it was because of Xavier.”
“Was there any evidence to suggest that she abused the children?”
“The housekeeper who cleaned the dormitory would talk of soiled sheets and bloody welts,” replied the man cautiously, “but then that woman hated Xavier. I could never be sure what to believe.”
“Why didn’t the trustees take action? Why would they sit by quietly if there were instances of abuse?”
