Compass Box Killer Read Online Free PDF Page B

Unfortunately, I’ve used this trick enough times to recognize it.’
    Virkar ignored her and continued his conversation, ‘Yes sir, I’ll come right away.’ He dumped all the papers lying on his desk into an open drawer, locked it with his free hand and put the key into his pocket. He rose from his chair, casting one last apologetic glance at the slightly taken-aback Raashi. Then he swiftly walked away, while continuing to speak into the phone. His colleagues around the room seemed amused though they managed to maintain a straight face.
    Raashi’s agitated voice called out to Virkar, ‘I hope you know some better tricks, Inspector Virkar. Be ready with them the next time we meet.’ But Virkar had already reached the exit door.
    Raashi flung one final glance at Virkar’s receding back. She then switched off the spy camera feature on the mobile phone she had placed on Virkar’s table.
This one’s not going to be easy
, she thought.
     

 
6
    M oonlight bounced off the foam-capped waves of the Mumbai harbour as the Koli Queen, a small mechanized fishing trawler cut through the water, making its way out to sea. The two Koli fishermen, or nakhwas, were standing at the prow watching the water intently; their hands were itching to cast the blue nylon fishing trawl nets lying forlorn on the floor of the trawler. One of the nakhwas turned towards the single small cabin behind him and waved at the man at the wheel, pointing him towards the west. The man at the wheel waved back and turned the wheel towards what might be a potential cache of the few remaining shoals of fish near the Mumbai shoreline. Behind him, Virkar sat on a makeshift wooden bench on the open deck at the back of the trawler. It had been nailed to the wooden floor so as to keep it steady against the rise and fall of the boat. The trawler had set out around midnight and was scheduled to return to Mumbai only the next morning. Virkar reached out and opened a large thermocol icebox kept on one side of the wooden bench. He pried open the lid to reveal four bottles of Godfather Beer lying tantalizingly on a bed of crushed ice. Virkar popped open the cap of a chilled bottle and took a large swig directly from it. Letting the cold, malty fluid stream down his throat, he didn’t make any attempt to suppress the small burp that conveyed his satisfaction. His free hand reached into a plastic bag lying next to him on the wooden bench and drew out a few greasy pieces of red hot Jhinga Koliwada enmeshed with raw onion curls. Popping the fried prawns and onion curls into his mouth, he let the succulent spices seep into his tongue and then began to masticate the fleshy treat. The juices triggered off his thought process and soon he was immersed in nostalgia.
    Ever since he was a teenager, a midnight fishing trip was his escape from the big, bad world. The open deck of the boat was his refuge, the wooden bench his sanctum sanctorum. Something in the crests and troughs of the waves and the crispness of the midnight sea breeze always relaxed his wound-up senses, rejuvenating them to the sharpness he was known for. The beer and the prawns were just accompaniments to celebrate this happy state of mind.
    Having grown up in Mumbai’s Colaba Machhimar Nagar, a small Koli fishermen’s community nestled between the residential skyscrapers of Cuffe Parade and the office towers of Nariman Point, Virkar was adept at deep-sea fishing. When he was young, he would accompany his father and his crew in the fishing trawlers that set out each morning in the hopes of filling their dol, or net
,
with a good catch. But with the change of times, the Koli fortunes dwindled and the community began encouraging their young to educate themselves in the Catholic schools nearby. As a result, Virkar got himself an English-medium education at the Holy Mary High School. He hit a small speed breaker when he didn’t get into an engineering college and instead flirted with the idea of joining the Gotya