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Word Count : 3600

Song : Irulu Neelum Raave  \ Ezra |

https://youtu.be/VWuW_dAipqI

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30 | Think Like A Criminal

20 hours ago.

11th May 2023 

[1200 hours]

[Afternoon]

Leveling her left shoulder with the panels of the ancient-looking yet polished wooden doors, Rukmini tried to break through them violently with a loud yelp.

Hinduja sighed while sizing up the sight in front of her eyes. The young woman before her had gone all feral for the last fifteen minutes. "Calm down, Rukmini."

"But ma'am—" Just as the anxious police officer began her speech with an even more anxious tone with hints of frustration while still continuing with her failed attempts to break the doors, she was cut off by the criminal profiler in between.

Taking two steps forward, Hinduja said, "Despite being a really intelligent, smart, and efficient young officer of the department, are you aware of that one quality that you lack the most?"

Worried sick yet confused at the same time, Rukmini massaged her glabella. "What is it, ma'am?"

"Patience." There came a short, crisp, and calm reply, added to which was an even calmer smile—as if nothing was wrong; as if they were not alone and unarmed, locked up inside the office of a priest in an episcopacy somewhere in the northern part of Delhi by God knows who!

But then Rukmini was well aware of the lady before her. The amount of self-control and composure Hinduja Rao had was unlike anyone she had met in her life. The woman was capable of keeping her sangfroid even in the worst of circumstances.

Neither a flicker of distress nor a hint of panic—the woman looked as cool as a goddamn piece of iceberg from the Antarctic Ocean!

But as inspirational as her calm and composed demeanor was, it was scary—too scary; even unnatural perhaps. And to think that she was married, Rukmini at times wondered—what type of man her superior was married to, in reality?

And then, all at once, without any particular warning, Rukmini was forced to put a full stop to her intrusive thoughts as she saw her superior moving swiftly towards the closed office doors.

Tilting the side profile of her face towards the door, Hinduja pressed her right ear against it. "Somebody is coming in this direction. I can hear the footsteps." She muttered, as if in a trance.

And seeing this as a good opportunity, Rukmini started her incessant knocking on the door once again, while Hinduja carried on with the task at hand, which was pressing her ear against the door and listening to the footsteps that were approaching closer. And then, within a few moments, the sound of the footsteps ceased.

Both of them turned their faces around to look at each other in sync, just as the metallic sound of the door latch opening fell upon their respective ears.

The very next second, as the double-doored timber gateway unbolted, Hinduja and Rukmini focused their gazes at the stranger gaping at them in perplexity.

"Ms. Rao? Are you Ms. Rao?" Hesitancy bubbled in the stranger's eyes as he addressed her using her maiden surname. As the door opened wider, the body of the man came into their visibility range completely. Hinduja noticed the clothing that the man was garbed in; it was a similar kind of black cassock that Deacon Kenneth Martin, whom they met around twenty minutes ago and who had supposedly gone to call Father Emmanuel Albert, was dressed in—typical clergyman's clothing.

Hinduja stepped forward and said, "Yes, I am." She provided her response to his question.

The stranger nodded his head in recognition as something dawned upon him once again. "What happened? What were you two doing inside? And who locked you here?" He instantly inquired in incertitude.

"Some potty-eating dipshit locked us here." Rukmini mumbled unabashedly.

The unknown clergyman gasped while Hinduja turned her head to her left side to look at Rukmini with a pair of stern eyes. "Rukmini, language!" She warned.

"I apologise." Came the reply.

Hinduja sighed while shifting her focus back on the man before them. "Someone locked us inside, sir."

"That's strange." The man replied with his brows scrunched together. He then turned around to roam his gaze around the interiors of the massive religious edifice. Finding not even a shadow around, he volt-faced to face the ladies inside the office. "I guess it must be Cyril, Father Simon's nephew. He is a mischievous kid of nine, playing and pranking people all day long. I apologize for the inconvenience, though."

"It's okay." Hinduja replied promptly, while Rukmini looked around in suspicion, still not convinced by the clergyman's reasoning.

Nodding his head, he said, "Anyways, I am Father Emmanuel Alberto. You had a talk with me the other day, and just now Deacon Martin informed me that you have come here to meet His Excellency, The Most Reverend, Bishop Philip, so I rushed here."

"Oh." Now fully recognizing the man before them, both women bowed their heads faintly. "Father." They acknowledged him again, in sync.

Father Alberto nodded his head. "What work did you have with His Excellency, by the way?" He asked.

"It's confidential, father." Hinduja responded.

"Alright, Ms. Rao. I understand." The man bobbed his head with a faint and cooperative smile. Then, gesticulating with his right hand at the seating arrangements inside his office, he continued politely. "And if you don't mind, let's make ourselves comfortable inside and then talk."

Hinduja and Rukmini glanced at each other for a second and then turned around to make their way back towards the chairs they were seated on previously, while the father moved towards his chair set up on the other side of the table.

Approximately five minutes later, as all three of them were well settled on their respective chairs, Hinduja started with the impending conversation at hand. "Father, as per the protocols, we are not supposed to leak any of the details to you." She asserted. "But, just to give you a rough idea of what we are actually here for today, there is a criminal case for which we need his excellency's help, his knowledge regarding some things, to be precise."

As curious as the clergyman seemed, he chose to hold his horses. "Alright, young lady. His Excellency is out for a meeting, and he will arrive shortly. Kindly make yourselves comfortable. I'll ask someone to get you some water."

Hinduja nodded with a smile while Rukmini got up and walked towards the window as her phone beeped, signifying an incoming call.

And then began the continuous cycle of them twiddling their thumbs for hours. The hour hand of the clock went from being on the twelfth hour in the afternoon to the seventh hour in the evening. The intense sunrays of daylight transformed into setting sunrays of eventide, but the bishop was nowhere to be seen.

At last, Father Emmanuel Alberto did visit them once again, not to inform them of the bishop's arrival but to express his deep regret due to the bishop's supposed unarrival, courtesy of his extremely busy schedule.

So, with no other way out, the police officer-criminal profiler duo finally got up from their respective chairs and walked out of the clergyman's office while rolling their sore shoulders and heaving sighs. The regretful Father Alberto followed behind them to escort both of them out of the episcopacy's premises.

As the three walked through the massive bounds of the episcopacy to reach its exit, which was on the other side of the historical building, Rukmini's attention was automatically caught by a site completely distinct from the rest of the surroundings.

Amidst the mystical settings of the clergymen's office, laying in the center was a half-filled water pit with around eight to ten pristine white water lilies floating on top, with their round and wax-coated leaves floating beneath them, attached to their respective stalks. Exactly on top of the lilies, on the ceiling was a square-shaped vent, most probably a planned path for the sunrays to enter.

"Divine." Rukmini whispered, caught in an almost hypnotic daze due to the delicate allure of the snowy lilies.

"That they are." The father agreed with a smile, looking at the flowers himself.

Hinduja, on the other hand, remained silent, keenly gazing at the lilies with a mystifying affinity.

"Lilies are the celestial symbols of purity, rebirth, and love." The father said thoughtfully. "All the people here love them."

"Who planted them here?" Hinduja asked.

"Oh! His Excellency did. I mean, that pit has been there in place for years, so his excellency instructed the gardener to fill it with some loam and water and plant these lilies." He responded with a benevolent curve of his lips.

"Oh," Hinduja replied while wending her towards the exit with the other two.

A few minutes later, as the ladies egressed out of the magisterial exit gate, the priest said, "I apologize for the inconvenience you went through once again. His Excellency was deeply regretful about his unforeseen absence too. He was just too deeply stuck in this one meeting regarding the Pentecost feast. I hope you won't mind. Also, I'll try to arrange another meeting with his excellency for you, that too as soon as possible."

"It's okay, father." Hinduja faintly stated. "We shall take our leave now." And then, with a slight bow of her head, she turned around and quietly walked back towards Rukmini's SUV. Rukmini followed suit.

"What a waste of time!" Rukmini clicked her tongue. "I could have finished ten episodes of Panchayat today with all that time that I wasted here! Pradhan Ji was supposed to have a fight with that Banrakas in one of the upcoming episodes!"

Hinduja sighed.

***

Present Time

12th May 2023

0930 hours 

| Morning  |

As two raps resonated against the silent backdrop of her office, Hinduja let out a command. "Come in, Bakhtawar."

Immediately, within the next few seconds, the familiar-looking tall and leanly muscular man entered her office and closed the door behind him. "Good morning, madam." He then walked towards her table with his laptop bag hanging on his left shoulder.

"Morning, sit down."

And so he did.

"Any update regarding the Purohits?" She inquired while sorting out a few files kept on her table.

"No ma'am." He voiced out.

Hinduja exhaled.

"Alright, no problem. I have two things to discuss with you." She continued.

Adjusting the sleeves of his leather jacket, Bakhtawar nodded his head with a thoughtful expression and then clasped his fingers in front of him on the table.

"Okay, let's start with the first one, then." Gyrating the pen in her finger in a particular sequence, she said, "Think of this, Bakhtawar; do you have any help at home?" She asked.

Without much thought, he answered, "Yes, I do."

"Okay." Hinduja nodded and then continued. "And, as per what I know, none of your family members live with you?"

"No, they don't."

"So, god forbid, if something goes wrong back at your home, other than you, who is that next person who will be able to know about it?" Tilting her head on the headrest of the comfy leather desk chair, she put forward her next question.

With his brows knitted together, Bakhtawar said, "Other than me—obviously, it would be my help, Rufina aunty."

"Exactly!" Saying so, she snapped her fingers in triumph. "The help! Or perhaps, in our case, the cook! That day, ten years ago, the third person who was present in the Purohit Villa at the time of Kadambini's supposed 'accidental' death other than her parents was that cook!"

She then got up from her chair and stood up straight, supporting her fingers against the table. "Geeta didi, our help, or should I say that she is more or less like our family member—she told me about something very interesting yesterday while we were having breakfast. She said that all the maids in our locality have this group sort of thing, like an information or gossip group, to be specific. The maids have the type of information that's not even available to the public. They watch whatever happens in their respective employers' homes and then discuss it all when they are all together."

"So? How will this help us?" Bakhtawar asked, confusion visible on his visage like broad daylight.

Hinduja simpered. "Do you have any information regarding that cook? Like, his name, age, or just his identity in general?"

"No." He promptly replied.

"Why?" She shot back with a calm smile.

"We still don't have any data regarding that cook's identity because nothing disclosing his identity was mentioned in the FIR. Moreover, almost all the people in that area had or have servants who were employed by them from the servant agencies nearby. But astonishingly, none of the helpers who worked for the Purohits were employed by a servant agency—not even one. All of them were employed by the Purohits personally, from god knows where."

"Within your explanation lies our first answer, Bakhtawar. Neither a single detail about that cook was mentioned in the FIR nor was he revealed to the public, which clearly means that the Purohits did influence the investigation of Kadambini's death. They deliberately concealed the particulars of the cook and also hid his tracks along with their own." She reasoned.

Tracing his digits across his forehead, Bakhtawar said, "So you mean that cook was perhaps an important factor in Kadambini Purohit's case?"

Hinduja chuckled, "Important? In fact, I have a hunch that he was one of the most important pieces of this puzzle."

"But then, how is it related to the maid gossip group theory that you just told me about?" He inquired, his voice dripping with curiosity.

Hinduja smiled. Taking a turn around the chair, she walked towards the window on the other side of the office. "It's quite simple, actually. We are not able to get any data regarding the cook's identity, but, with the help of this gossip group network, we can. You just need to carry forward this one task. Put your men around the entire locality of Mandeville Enclave, where the Purohit Villa is located. Then ask them to dress up like other servants and befriend the other servants employed in that locality. Ask them to find out if that locality has any of those kinds of servant gossip groups or not." Clasping her slender fingers on the window sill, she carried on with her plan. "And if at all there is one, ask them to inquire about the Kadambini death case and also about all those servants who were working at the Purohit Villa ten years ago. If they somehow find out any servant who has worked in that area for more than ten years, we might as well get a clue about that cook, perhaps even the Purohits." She concluded.

Bakhtawar smirked. "That sounds like a really good plan, madam. I'll do the needful."

Hinduja nodded her head, still deep in thought. "Here is my second theory."

"Go ahead." Bakhtawar acceded.

Slightly turning her penetrating gaze away from the view outside the window, she looked at him straight in the eyes. "Think like a criminal, Bakhtawar."

"What do you mean, ma'am?" Scrunching his brows together, he questioned.

"I want you to think like a cold-blooded criminal and provide me with the answers to the questions I am going to ask you now. Alright?"

Bakhtawar bobbed his head without any doubt.

"Let's suppose you killed someone, and while you were committing the murder, someone saw you in the act. Or perhaps, that person was your accomplice in the crime. Now, in order to safeguard yourself from the law, what are the various measures that you will carry forward? Apart from clearing out all the evidence and cleaning the crime scene?" She quizzed, her eyes still latched to his.

"The most vulnerable eyewitness against me in this case would be the one who saw me while committing the murder, or even if he or she were to be my accomplice, then also he or she would be the most important eyewitness against me, apart from the physical evidence obviously." Scratching his stubble, he continued. "So, I'll try to get them out of the way."

Hinduja smirked faintly. "How?"

"There are three ways for this, actually." He replied. "I'll shut his or her mouth with money and send them to a distant place. This is one way."

"Second?" She questioned further.

"Eliminate them completely from the game, as in, get them killed. This is the second way."

"Third?"

"I will flee myself and ask him or her to flee with me too. I will keep them close, under my radar, always." His lips curled up briefly. "Sun Tzu said in the book 'The Art of War'--- 'keep your friends close; keep your enemies closer', but he forgot to add the third point, 'keep your vulnerabilities, your worst weaknesses the closest. Because, if by chance, your worst vulnerabilities are revealed, the world won't be what it used to be."" He elucidated with a composed demeanor.

"Good." Hinduja whispered. "So, what do you think the Purohits must have done with the cook?"

Within seconds, Bakhtawar was ready with his next answer. "Either of the three possible outcomes that we discussed just now. They could have shut his mouth with money and sent him off to some distant land. Secondly, they could have simply eliminated him from their path. Lastly, they could have taken him along with themselves while fleeing and kept him hidden in some place close to them for the last ten years."

"Reasonable." Slowly striding towards her office chair, she settled back on it. "But I don't think that the first two possibilities are feasible when it comes to the Purohits. Keshav Purohit and Nalini Purohit were people of influence, both in business and politics. I don't think they would have taken the risk of committing two murders in a single night, or else the whole spotlight would have fallen on them, which they clearly avoided at that time. Secondly, shutting off the cook's mouth with money and sending him off to some other place doesn't seem like a practical idea either, in the case of the Purohits. I mean, come on, the Purohits were not fools to let loose such an important eyewitness against them just with a handful of money. What if the plan would have backfired and the cook would have asked for more money in order to keep his mouth shut?"

"You are right, ma'am." Bakhtawar countered consciously. "Which means that there is only one possible outcome left. The cook is alive, and he is hiding somewhere with the Purohits—not with them, but definitely close to them. So, if we find the cook, we will be able to find the Purohits as well. And if we find the Purohits, we will most definitely find the cook too."

"Bingo!" A series of chuckles resonated in the office of the sub-divisional magistrate of the National Capital Region.

A minute later, as both of them silently went through their respective thoughts, Hinduja suddenly spoke out. "By the way, did you see that lady yesterday?"

Bakhtawar stared at his boss with incertitude. "Which lady?"

"The one who was present with Karim Bhai, Gurung, and you yesterday night—Dogra Saheb's assistant, I guess." She responded.

"Manorama Pandit?" He shot back.

"Yes, her."

"What about her?" He asked again.

"I don't know Bakhtawar, but I feel that I have seen her somewhere."

Scrunching his eyebrows together, Bakhtawar massaged his glabella. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Can you dig out some intel about her? Anything?" She asked in return.

"Alright, let me try."

Saying so, he fished out his laptop from his bag, lifted its lid, and started the work at hand.

Fifteen minutes later, a shrill chime reverberated in the formal bounds of the official workspace they were settled in as Bakhtawar started with his narration of Manorama's past and present. "Manorama Pandit is twenty-five years old. She did both her Bachelors and Masters in Business Administration from Christ Mary College, Mangalore, and just like Karim Khan, her position in the Dogra Corporation is also hereditary. Her father, Naagraj Pandit, used to be your father-in-law's assistant, even though your father-in-law never served as the chairman, while her grandfather was your grandfather-in-law's assistant, that is, Mr. Giriraj Dogra's assistant. Surprisingly enough, women in the Pandit household were never involved in business, but Manorama Pandit was. It was supposed to be her brother, Tejas Pandit, who was supposed to carry forward this family line of profession, but instead of him, Manorama did."

"Why didn't Tejas Pandit follow the family profession, though?" The spirit of inquiry caught her insides in a strange fire.

"Wait a minute, ma'am." Focusing his eyes alertly on his laptop screen, Bakhtawar drummed his fingers on the table.

"What happened?"

"Seems like we got our hands on a really interesting fact, ma'am." Shifting his focus from his laptop screen, Bakhtawar looked at her, appearing a little alarmed by some newly found information.

Clasping her fingers on the table, she squinted her eyes. "What?"

"Tejas Pandit is in the hospital—in a vegetative state, to be precise."

Her eyes narrowed even further. "And?" She whispered.

"He has been in this state for the last ten years."

***