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“Yes. What of it?”
“Well, it seems that one of the cases she had been hearing pertained to a case of corruption brought against the twelve trustees of a charitable foundation called the Sir Jimmy Mehta Trust.”
“And?” asked Rupesh, curious now.
“The foundation was established by a wealthy Parsi banker. It ran several charitable projects including a children’s orphanage in Mumbai. Unfortunately, the trustees were accused of siphoning off a substantial part of the endowment.”
Santosh could see Nisha scribbling on a piece of paper. She passed it to Santosh. It read, AG was chief trustee.
“What does that have to do with our case?” asked Rupesh, faking ignorance.
“One of the twelve trustees was the Attorney General. In fact, he was the chief trustee in later days. The case was pending in Justice Anjana Lal’s court and if she had found the trustees guilty, such a ruling would have invalidated his appointment to the office of the country’s highest law officer.”
There was a pause at the other end of the line. Rupesh was figuring out how he would get himself out of the mess they had created by their investigation.
“Are you still there?” asked Santosh, knowing full well that Rupesh was still on the phone.
“Yes, I’m here.”
“What do you suggest that I should do in this matter?” asked Santosh innocently.
“Give me some time to think it over,” replied Rupesh. Santosh knew that he meant: Let me discuss the matter with my political masters.
Chapter 82
“THE YOGA INSTRUCTOR,” gasped Nisha, looking up from the computer on which PrivatePattern, the organization’s analysis tool, had created several relationship maps.
“What?” asked Santosh.
“The yoga instructor who visited the judge’s home three times per week was also the instructor to Priyanka Talati and Lara Omprakash.”
“Interesting,” murmured Santosh, getting up from his chair and walking over to check the output on Nisha’s computer.
“Even more interesting,” said Nisha, “is the fact that our murdered journalist was scheduled to meet this same yoga instructor—Devika Gulati—as part of her investigation into people who work alongside celebrities.”
“Do you know where we can find her?”
“She has a yoga studio in Walkeshwar,” replied Nisha. “And there’s something else,” she added, reading an email from police HQ. “The overall build and clothing of the unidentified man at Shakti Mills matches with the description of the missing engineer from Xilon Security. Could this be our perp?”
“He’s not our perpetrator. Let them find out the extent of decomposition of the corpse,” replied Santosh. “I’m pretty certain that this engineer would have been killed before the other murders happened. He was used by the perp to obtain CCTV, security, and access details, and eliminated after he was no longer of any use.”
“Should I ask Hari to go to N. M. Joshi Marg police station and check the man’s belongings and crime-scene report?”
“Sure,” replied Santosh. “Speaking of Hari, how is he doing?”
“He’s come to work today after your chat with him yesterday,” said Nisha. “There’s still an uncomfortable silence between us, though. I’m feeling lousy that we allowed Rupesh to arrest him and subject him to the third degree.”
“I know what you mean,” said Santosh. “It will take a while for him to open up to me. In the
meantime, please try to communicate with him. Ask Mubeen to help.”
“Sure, I’ll try.”
Chapter 83
DEVIKA GULATI RAN Yoga Sutra, a stylish studio in upmarket Walkeshwar.
Nisha parked outside, giving the building an appraising look. Under Mumbai’s property development rules, it was illegal to build within five hundred meters of the coastline. Yet Yoga Sutra was almost on the edge of the sea, no doubt with glorious views of Marine Drive and the Arabian Sea.
