The medical examiner, Dr Dharma Irukulla, phoned Mona and told her that though the victims had died between 11 a.m. and 1 p.m., they had not died simultaneously because rigor mortis had started to appear on just one of the faces—S.R. Reddy.
‘Also,’ Dr Dharma said, ‘prima facie, none of them appeared to have suffered a heart attack due to natural causes. Rompy Reddy was possibly en route to one, given the level of plaque in his left coronary artery, but it hadn’t reached the stage of blocking the vessel entirely and causing an arrythmia.’
‘So, the heart attacks were sudden but not natural?’
‘Yes. I found no clots, no cholesterol, no fatty deposits, no calcium and no fibrin that usually triggers an attack in someone suffering from a heart disease. In Babloo Jubilee’s case, a toxicology report will tell us how much cocaine he had in his system. But there was no tear in his aorta, no unusual atherosclerosis, and it doesn’t look like the heart walls had thickened. I don’t think he had a heart attack because of a cocaine overdose.’
‘I suppose he would have had residue in his nostrils.’
‘True, but that can be from the night before.’
‘How will the toxicology report help?’
‘Maybe there are metabolites that will give us a clue. Something is not right about these four deaths. The same office, and two on the same floor. Though an autopsy can’t ascertain the exact time, something tells me their deaths were staggered. Perhaps by twenty minutes or so.’
‘But you can’t be certain?’
‘I can’t be sure. Twenty minutes is an average. It could be half an hour between the first two deaths and only five minutes between the next two. It is difficult to pinpoint.’
‘It might be a stretch, Dr Dharma, but could the heart attacks have been induced one after the other by someone with a criminal intent?’
‘A deeper examination is necessary to be sure. Perhaps they were injected with a reactive agent. If so, the agent would have metabolized into chemicals we would find in the toxicology report. It would help confirm that these were murders and how they were committed.’
‘Did you find syringe punctures?’
‘Not yet, but we’re looking. We have a chemical that can phosphoresce in special lighting. The chemical reacts with the reactive agent, and it gives off electrons that we can see in the special lighting.’
‘Artificially inducing heart attacks sounds very dramatic.’
‘The Nazis used phenol injections at Auschwitz. The Russians, under Stalin, induced vascular embolisms by injecting syringes of air into veins. Maybe modern spy agencies still use them, though the Russians sure seem happy to openly poison dissidents.’
‘Are you saying the Government of India could have killed these four people?’
‘No, no, of course not. Bharat Mata ki jai! It is possible that one person alone did this.’
‘A terrorist?’
‘No, no, ACP. Just a deranged individual or criminal.’
‘How so?’
‘Calcium gluconate and potassium phosphate, or both, can induce a heart attack, but they would have to be administered separately. These chemicals raise potassium levels in the body and appear as routine metabolites in a toxicology report. There’s also succinylcholine, used by anaesthesiologists, that breaks down into metabolites routinely found in the body’s own chemistry. And then there’s potassium chloride, which would also show up in a toxicology report as high level of potassium that the body releases during a heart attack.’
‘Sounds like the murderer has medical background,’ Mona said.
‘Or a pharmacist.’
‘How long before we have something definitive?’
‘I’ll try for the earliest. If you submit a written request, we’ll open up their hearts to visually inspect the walls and valves and let you know. But I can confidently say that murder must not be ruled out.’
Mona hung up. Pavani stood waiting with a list of the people who were in the building during the critical two hours and ten minutes.
‘Ma’am, since the lockdown, the administration and other staff have been coming to the office in rotation, which is every alternate day. So, only half of the admin staff was present. The marketing department works out of office mostly, and the editorial department arrives late in the afternoon as they work till after midnight. However, some editorial staff was here at the time: ex-editor Sukhi Puri, recently terminated editor Rocky Borkataki and current resident editor Canning Sairam.’
Mona brightened at the mention of Rocky Borkataki. They had met during the investigation of Bastard Das’s murder in Mumbai some years back. ‘Is Rocky still in the office?’
‘No, ma’am, but we can summon him.’
‘Any other visitors?’
‘Several, ma’am,’ Pavani said, ‘including two Tollywood producers. Rowdy Panja Naidu met Sankatram Reddy, while Raghupathi Pullaiah met Rompy. Maximillian Reddy, an industrialist, and Swami Bonanand, also came to meet Sankatram. A realtor named Bharathi Rao came for Rompy.’
‘Anyone for the others?’
‘A starlet, Gurleen Kaur, met BJ. A former player from their cricket team, Richard Lessness, also met him. A minor functionary of the Sanskriti Suraksha Sangh (SSS), Nageshwar Rao, came to meet Canning Sairam. Dr Kiran Mulukutla, a cardiologist, dropped in to meet the features editor, Mrs Magnolia Reddy, who is Sankatram Reddy’s wife … widow. She was wailing and slapping people, so they let Sukhi Puri take her home.’
‘No worries. We can interview the two of them together,’ Mona said. ‘Where does Magnolia stay?’
‘Jubilee Hills. Posh area.’
‘I take it that none of the other visitors are in the building at the moment?’
‘No, ma’am.’
‘Okay, so we have a number of away-from-crime-scene interviews to conduct.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Mona’s phone rang just then. ‘Yes, ma’am?’
‘Please, call me Sharmila.’
‘Of course, ma’am.’
‘Can you talk?’
‘Yes, ma’am. But there isn’t much to report at the moment.’
‘Four heart attacks! The TV channels are going to town with speculations. I can hardly believe it to be a coincidence.’
‘Yes, ma’am, but we have no conclusive evidence suggesting otherwise,’ Mona said. ‘At least not yet.’
‘Keep me posted.’
As soon as Sharmila Rao ended the call, Commissioner Chandravardhan rang Mona.
‘Sir.’
‘Ramteke, the TV channels are asking me about some conspiracy theory about the four heart attacks.’
‘Sir, I think Hyderabad witnesses more than four heart attacks each day. But maybe not on the same premises.’
‘True, true. What do I tell these bastards?’
Tell them to fuck off, a voice inside Mona’s head commanded. Out loud, she said, ‘Sir, please tell them that the investigation is on and we don’t have any answers for them yet. Till then it would be helpful if they don’t concoct any theories from there end.
The commissioner had barely cut the call when Mona’s phone rang again. This time, her face lit up. ‘Hello, boss,’ she said, her voice sounding chirpy.
‘You sound chirpy.’
It was Sandesh Solvekar, an ACP but still posted in Gadchiroli, far away from Mumbai, presumably combatting non-urban ‘urban naxals’.
‘You sound low, sir.’
‘Arre, Ramteke, please don’t call me “sir”. We are the same rank. “Boss”, though it sounds filmy, is better.’
‘Okay, boss.’
‘What to do, Ramteke? You know what’s worse than a lockdown in the city? A lockdown in the forest.’
‘How many cops does it take to impose a lockdown in the forest?’
‘Is that a trick question? I would have ignored the lockdown order if the district collector wasn’t living in the next bungalow. She comes over all the time to nag me.’
‘Who is the collector?’
‘Pushpa Purandare. Do you know her?’
‘I’ve seen her,’ Mona said. ‘She’s a fox. And she’s got a big bum.’
‘You know, she sends reports to the chief minister saying that I’m not enforcing the law. Nobody here wears a mask, not even for thirty seconds. Even those with a cheap mask leave it hanging on the chin. How many youngsters can we slap around? Perhaps she will be impressed if people wear masks in the district headquarters at least.’
‘What a bitch.’
‘That’s not the worst. The isolation, the loneliness, the waiting and the arguments over the phone really get to you.’
Mona said nothing. Poor Boss, she thought. He was too good a person. She thought of telling him to spank the collector; it would probably end the nagging and the complaints, but she refrained from doling out unsolicited advice.
‘The TV channels are reporting the four deaths due to heart attacks in a newspaper office,’ Solvekar said.
‘Boss,’ Mona said and then paused. ‘It may be more than a coincidence.’
‘What?’ Solvekar went quiet for a moment. ‘Sounds like an interesting case. How I would have loved to come and help you. After all, I’m only a nine-hour drive from Hyderabad. But I’m sure the chief minister’s people are already sitting on your head. It doesn’t sound enticing at all.’
Mona thought for another second. ‘I will call you and pick your brain at some point.’
‘Anytime, Ramteke.’
Mona hung up and put her phone on silent again.
‘Ma’am, shall we start with Sadhana who worked closely with Sainath Rao?’
‘How closely?’
‘Ma’am, if it were that close, he wouldn’t have put his dick into the paayasam.’
Good point, Mona thought and nodded.
Pavani looked out of the glass door and gestured for a short, plump lady in a lemon polyester sari, a pink blouse and an oily plait to come in. She was dry-eyed and, though she wore a cheap surgical mask, her eyes conveyed a business-like attitude.
‘Sadhana, tell us about Sainath Rao.’
‘Ma’am,’ Sadhana said and then the words abruptly gushed out of her. ‘Mr Sai was an efficient man. He didn’t have many original ideas, but he was good at following orders. He was lucky, I think. He followed office timings. He had a big car, and was always spic-and-span. He was God-fearing. And he always brought me paayasam from a famous pilgrimage in Kerala. Thinking of it now makes me want to vomit.’
‘The facts, please,’ Mona said. ‘Why do you say he was lucky?’
‘Ma’am, he was promoted as HR manager by default when the company declared bankruptcy three years ago. The previous manager was sacked for embezzling funds. So, Mr Sai, who had joined from Indus Tin Ltd. eighteen years ago as a clerk, was promoted. By default.’
‘That means you too could, by default, become the next HR manager?’
Sadhana’s face lit up and then fell. ‘Doubtful,’ she said. ‘Shrek Fund will bring in its own HR manager.’
‘How can you be so certain?’
‘Last winter, Shrek Fund sent a gentleman from Kolkata. He spent a week interviewing people in each department. A lot of forms were filled out. He noted that the place was run poorly and that no professional HR practices were in place. He will probably take Mr Sai’s place when Shrek Fund takes over. I am sure they are happy that Mr Sai masturbated to death.’
‘So, Sai wasn’t a good manager?’
‘Not at all, ma’am. He made me draft all the termination letters this past year when editions were shut. Dozens of those who were sacked wrote to him again and again for final settlements. But because the company had no money, he never replied to their emails. And now this heart attack. So sad! Who will look after his mentally retarded son now?’
‘That’s not the correct term.’
‘Sorry, ma’am. He doted on his son who has Down’s syndrome, I think. The boy is twenty years old, but mentally he is only five. Mr Sai even took him to that pilgrimage in Kerala this year. The boy could only travel by car; travelling by train was not convenient. But this time Mr Sai decided to splurge and bought airline tickets to Kochi. Poor boy.’
‘Did Mr Sai act differently of late?’
‘Not at all, ma’am,’ Sadhana was quick to answer. ‘We came in to work every other day due to the pandemic, unlike the marketing staff that worked from home. We worked for an hour or so and then left. The thumb scanner has not been used since Covid began, so attendance was not electronically monitored. We could come and go as per our own convenience. Nobody in administration worked from home; we attended to all official matters from the office only. Mr Sai had been complaining loudly that no journalists came to work, and what kind of a newspaper office was it.’
‘But the paper came out every day?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Mona paused. ‘Would anyone have any reason to kill Mr Sai?’
‘Well, maybe the staffers who were terminated or are still waiting for their November 2019 salaries. But even if they wanted to, they are late. A heart attack has proved to be faster than an assassin’s knife.’
‘What assassin?’
Sadhana drew a blank. ‘I don’t know, ma’am, I was just saying.’
‘So, he had no enemies?’
‘Can’t say, ma’am. He was one of those people who smiled at everyone while twisting the knife in their backs.’
‘A typical Telugu Brahmin,’ Pavani observed.
‘Or a Brahmin from anywhere,’ Mona said.
‘Ma’am, I can’t say such things or I’ll be sacked,’ Sadhana remarked.
‘Nobody in the office was his enemy?’
‘Maybe in editorial. I think Sukhi Puri used to summon him and make him stand outside her cabin just to scream at him. The former editor-in-chief seemed friendly enough, but he was a north Indian so Mr Sai didn’t trust him.’
‘I thought Rocky was from the Northeast?’ Mona said.
‘Yes, ma’am, same thing. He didn’t trust Canning Sairam Sir either. Called him “Cunning Sairam”. Rocky Sir came up with that name.’
‘Why didn’t he trust Canning Sairam?’
‘Sairam Sir was a fellow Brahmin, but he was a Brahmin from Vizag.’
A paranoiac with his penis in paayasam, Mona mused. ‘Okay then.’
Sadhana was dismissed.
‘What do you think?’ Pavani said.
‘Too early to say anything.’
Pavani pointed to another short, dumpy woman in a purple sari and lavender blouse and waved her in. Ms Rajkumari, secretary to all the three Reddys said that she had not noticed any unusual activity lately.
‘Ma’am, they came in occasionally for an hour or so, sometimes even half an hour, due to Covid,’ she said. ‘But they made us sit for the whole day.’
‘Did any of them seem disturbed or tense lately?’
‘Well, ma’am. There was definitely tension because the ongoing case at the National Company Law Tribunal was nearing a conclusion. Shrek Fund was expected to play a bigger role after that. Maybe it would have taken over. Also, the Reddys were trying to scrounge up money to pay salaries. They didn’t even have money to pay the pending corporate phone bill, much less the current dues.’
‘Aside from business matters,’ Mona asked, ‘anything on the personal front?’
‘Rompy Sir looked a bit tense. The union had threatened to strike because they hadn’t been paid their May wages, and the last time they were paid was half of the wages in April, two months ago. With the holiday season coming, they put pressure on Rompy Sir. The union’s general secretary, Ghattu Katcha, even met Rompy Sir this morning, but he came out of the room looking furious.’
‘What about the patriarch?’
‘Sankatram Sir? I can’t say, ma’am. His face was always clouded behind cigar smoke.’
‘And the son?’
‘Yes, ma’am. BJ Sir was feeling very stressed ever since the former editor-in-chief called him an illiterate eunuch.’
‘What!’ Mona was taken aback. ‘Rocky called him that to his face?’
‘No, ma’am. Borkataki Sir had messaged his then second-in-command, Canning Sairam Sir, on an app. Sairam Sir took a screenshot and forwarded it to BJ Sir who had Borkataki Sir sacked. Now Sairam Sir is in charge in Hyderabad.’
‘He sacked Borkataki for calling him an “illiterate eunuch” in a private message on an encrypted app?’
‘No, ma’am. Mr Sai sent a termination notice citing a differet reason. It said that when Borkataki Sir joined fourteen months back, the paper had sixteen editions, which had come down to just four. Also, advertising revenue had dried up due to the economic slowdown and pandemic restrictions. Cost-cutting was also citied as a reason.’
‘Poor Rocky.’
‘BJ Sir was so upset at being called an illiterate eunuch that I thought he would have a heart attack,’ Rajkumari said. ‘Maybe that is what it was, but who can say for sure? I know for a fact that he once telephoned an actual eunuch to ask if he looked like an illiterate eunuch, or even a literate one. Rocky Sir was a disrespectful man.’
‘Who was this eunuch?’
‘Someone called Manjula.’
‘If he was so tense, why did he call a starlet in for a meeting this morning?’
‘Ma’am,’ Rajkumari said. ‘Miss Gurleen could only come at this time before her shooting.’
‘What shooting?’ Pavani interrupted. ‘There are no film shoots happening because of the pandemic.’
Rajkumari shrugged.
‘Where is the shoot?’ Mona asked.
Rajkumari began to tremble. ‘Ma’am, I have no idea. I just fix the meetings.’
‘Anyway, she wouldn’t have come to office just to suck his dick,’ Pavani said.
Rajkumari stuck her tongue out in horror.
‘Why were the two film producers here? And why did they meet different brothers?’
‘I don’t know, ma’am,’ Ms Rajkumari said. ‘But they all appeared cheerful, the producers as well as the Reddys.’
‘And the swami?’
‘Chairman Sir always called Swami Bonanand to find out what will happen in the next tribunal hearing.’
‘Who’s Chairman Sir?’ Pavani asked.
‘Ma’am, Sankatram Reddy Sir.‘
‘I thought the company was no longer his.’
‘Ma’am, it’s true that he had no legal standing, but he was the chairman for so many years that it has become a habit.’
‘The swami can predict judicial adjournments, postponements, reserved judgments and other creaking of the wheels of justice?’
‘I don’t know. Swami Bonanand advised the company to declare a holiday on Ganesh Chaturthi six years back,’ Rajkumari said. ‘Also, he said to keep the Ganapati yantram at the entrance of the office. He also said that the generator house in the southeast corner needed to be demolished and that the car parking had to be filled with mud. Nothing seemed to work though.’
‘What a surprise!’ Pavani scoffed.
‘What about the industrialist, Maximillian Reddy, who was also here?’ Mona asked.
‘Ma’am, he was a good friend of Chairman Sir, though sometimes they fought and the newspaper printed front-page stories against him. When the company was angry, the headlines called him “Maxi” Reddy, like the long dress. Otherwise he was referred to as “Maximum” Reddy.’
‘Currently they were buddies, I take it?’
Rajkumari shrugged.
‘Who will know more about the dealings the Reddys had with these producers and industrialists?’
Again, Rajkumari shrugged.
Mona sized her up. ‘Okay, get out,’ she said. ‘But don’t leave the office yet. We may need to talk to you again.’
Rajkumari scurried out of the room.
Mona’s phone vibrated. It was C.N.T. Rao.
‘Yes, Minister Sahib?’
‘Ramteke, I’m told that you are working on the theory that these four deaths are homicides.’
Mona inhaled sharply. ‘Minister Sahib, I am still interviewing people. I don’t have any theories as of now.’
‘And yet, word at the Gandhi Hospital’s forensics department is that at least one of the deaths is a murder.’