Aditya found the remote on one of the sofas and switched off the television, which was now playing
Led Zeppelin’s version of Killing Floor. Rohit was still sitting on the floor, sobbing. Aditya pulled out his phone and dialled his subordinate at the Bandra Police Station. He explained the situation briefly and gave him the address. ‘Get an ambulance too,’ he instructed.
His head was reeling as he sat down on the sofa. He had just killed somebody. A civilian. A woman. But what if you had not fired the shot? he asked himself. You have saved a life. Prevented a cold-blooded murder.
He was still grappling with his emotions when he heard the sirens. He went to the door; Rohit, too, was by his side when he let the police in. Among them, he recognised Sub-Inspector Apte from the WTC incident.
‘Sir.’ Apte saluted Aditya.
Aditya acknowledged him with a brief handshake and realised that, for the first time in his life, his hands were unsteady. ‘Take my statement once you’re through with the formalities,’ he told Apte.
‘Yes, sir. We are waiting for the ambulance.’
Aditya then called Gokhale and informed him of what had happened. ‘I will be there right away,’ Gokhale said. Next, he dialled Meera’s number. She picked up on the fourth ring.
‘Hey, what’s up? All okay? It’s three-thirty in the morning!’ she said.
‘I ... I shot her,’ Aditya managed to say. Then, without warning, his breathing became shallow, and he felt as if he was in a daze, his emotions strangely benumbed.
‘Aditya, talk to me. Are you all right? Is Rohit okay?’ Meera sounded anxious.
‘I killed her, Meera,’ Aditya said.
‘I am on my way. You hang in there,’ Meera said and disconnected the line.
Aditya was in the courtyard when he made the call to Meera, and Rohit was standing next to him. The two men looked at each other, drained out and unable to speak or move, but each offered his silent support to the other. The quiet was broken by the wailing siren of the ambulance. The white van, its blue lights blazing, sped up along the driveway and halted right next to the two men. Four paramedics jumped out of the van, two of them carrying a stretcher.
Apte led the paramedics into the house. Rohit followed them in. Aditya waited outside. He saw the lights go on in Sam’s cottage; the old man appeared at Paradise’s gate a few minutes later.
‘What happened?’
Aditya told him.
‘God bless her soul.’
It was around 4 a.m. when Gokhale drove in. He walked up to Aditya, patted him on his shoulder and said, ‘Don’t worry. We will manage this.’ He then proceeded to the house, where Apte and his team were securing the scene before the body was taken away.
The police photographer was taking pictures when Gokhale approached the spot where Tanvi’s body lay. All the men working on the scene ceased their activity and stood to attention on seeing the Commissioner. He acknowledged them and said sternly, ‘Not a word of this to the media. I will call for a press conference myself tomorrow; but until then, not a word goes out. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, sir,’ his subordinates said in unison.
Gokhale indicated to the waiting paramedics to get on with their jobs. Two of them lifted and strapped Tanvi’s body to the stretcher. They walked briskly out of the house towards the ambulance parked in the garden. The other two paramedics led the way, opening the doors of the van and climbing in. They then helped their colleagues with the stretcher, which was placed on a narrow bed in the back of the van. Rohit climbed in after them and occupied a seat by the bed. Aditya stood by the back door and looked at Rohit, who seemed to have regained a bit of his composure. He sat quietly, staring at Tanvi’s lifeless body. The inside of the van resembled an emergency room, stocked with medical equipment, monitors and oxygen tanks.
None of that will be of any use today, Aditya thought as he watched the ambulance speed away.