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“To be honest I couldn’t care less. It’s Baba’s lover’s thing, her pet project.”
Santosh shook his head. “And that’s why you left the room to call for backup. You weren’t calling for backup at all.”
Rupesh gave a sideways smile. “In a manner of speaking, I was.”
“You bastard. Nisha was there … Women are dying,” said Santosh with disgust.
“It ends tonight. Your man Mubeen will find two bodies.”
“Two bodies?” said Santosh.
“Gulati and your gorgeous assistant. That, I have to admit, is something of a loss to mankind.”
“So Devika Gulati isn’t the killer?” said Santosh quickly.
“Oh no,” said Rupesh.
The vultures, although they’d been agitated by the new arrivals, were now swooping closer and closer, leathery wings beating the air above their heads, their shrieking cries becoming louder and louder.
And then one dipped. It soared over Santosh’s head and he heard the rustle of air above him, flinched, hunched his shoulders, and saw as Rupesh went to ward off the vulture with his gun.
Santosh saw his chance. He drew his sword.
It was not the first time he had drawn the blade from the sheath of the cane. Most nights he worked the action. He often shook it close to his ear to listen for the telltale rattle common to cane-swords.
It was, however, the first time he had ever used the blade in anger.
But he was no swordsman. He carried the cane-sword because … Well, why not? He needed a cane, why not have it be a weapon as well? Who knows? It might come in handy on the off-chance he ever found himself staring down the barrel of a gun inside the Tower of Silence.
So he swung his blade wildly, grateful that at least it hit home.
Chapter 92
MUBEEN PARKED BEHIND Nisha’s Honda, jogged to the window, and cupped his hands on the glass to stare inside. Empty. He glanced across the road at the yoga studio, seeing a dim light inside, then crossed the road and tried the front door. Locked.
Where the hell were Santosh and Rupesh?
He pressed his face against the frosted glass and could make out the reception area, a desk, framed photographs, like wall smudges in the half-light …
But wait a moment. Something wasn’t right. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom he could see that a large statue of Buddha in reception lay belly-up on the floor. Yoga mats were in disarray, chairs overturned and, in fact, many of the photographs that should have hung on the wood-panelled wall were on the floor.
And through the door to the studio, covered with a white sheet, he could just see something that looked suspiciously like a body.
With a curse he stepped back from the glass, delving for his cell phone in his jeans pocket.
Santosh. No answer. Shit.
He dialed again. This time, he dialed for the cops.
Chapter 93
RUPESH YELLED IN pain and surprise. As he whipped his wounded hand away from the blade, his gun dropped to the stone and skidded close to the edge of the pit. Bleeding, Rupesh fell to his knees, clutching at his wrist. He was momentarily unable to believe the turn of events.
Santosh, meanwhile, was off balance. The force of the thrust had taken him onto his bad leg and he’d pitched forward, and for a moment the two men faced each other, kneeling as if enacting some bizarre greeting ritual—surrounded by rotting corpses.
“You fucker.”
Rupesh was the first to recover. Hatred blazing in his eyes, he launched himself at Santosh, shoulder-charging him backwards before he had a chance to defend with the sword, then leaping away as Santosh swung from a sitting position.
