The Murder at 100 Feet Road - PART 1

 

Asha had always believed there were three kinds of people in Bangalore.

People who complained about traffic.

People who caused traffic.

And people who claimed they didn't mind traffic, which was simply another way of saying they were liars.

She belonged firmly to the first category.

On a particularly damp Tuesday evening, she was sitting in an Uber that had moved exactly 300 metres in twenty-seven minutes when her phone buzzed.

MAYA: Are you still coming?

Asha looked at the road ahead. A BMTC bus, two autos; a delivery bike, a water tank lorry, a cow jaywalking and a man inexplicably carrying a sofa.

ASHA: I'm practically there.

It was a lie, but Bangalore had taught her that distance was a philosophical concept.

Maya was throwing a small dinner at her apartment in Indiranagar. Small, in Maya's vocabulary, meant twelve people, three bottles of wine, an artisanal sourdough nobody touched, and one person who would inevitably announce that they were "thinking of moving to Goa."

Asha arrived almost an hour late.

"You're late," Maya said.

"Traffic."

"I know. I invited Bangalore."

 

Maya hugged her anyway. She was wearing a dark green silk blouse and trousers, barefoot on the cool floor, her hair pinned up carelessly in a way that had probably taken forty-five minutes to make look careless.

 

Inside were Maya's friends: startup founders, consultants, a lawyer, a filmmaker, and a man called Rohan who introduced himself as "an investor" without specifying in what. Call it a virgo trait or Asha’s sixth sense, she distrusted him. Not because he was an investor, because he has worn a socks and a slippers and yes ankle length pants.

 

"You've met everyone?" Maya asked.

 

"Most of them."

 

"That's Rohan."

 

Rohan smiled.

 

"Asha."

 

"Yes."

 

"You don't look like a detective."

 

Asha paused.

 

"That's because I'm not one."

 

Rohan laughed.

 

It was the sort of laugh people used when they believed they'd said something clever.

 

Asha smiled politely. She was a corporate lawyer. Not a detective.

 

But she had spent enough years dealing with fraud, hostile takeovers, missing money and executives who suddenly developed amnesia whenever the auditors arrived to know that most crimes were committed by people who thought they were clever.

 

The dinner was noisy, expensive and mostly vegetarian despite the presence of a chicken dish nobody had been allowed to order because Maya's new boyfriend, Kabir, was "experimenting with plant consciousness."

 

Nobody understood what that meant. Kabir was a documentary filmmaker who wore linen shirts and had recently returned from a silent retreat in Dharamshala. He spent most of dinner explaining that humans needed to rethink their relationship with food.

 

He ate three pieces of chicken.

 

Asha noticed. She noticed everything. That was her problem.

 

The lawyer was Nikhil Mehra, a smooth, silver-haired corporate litigator who had once represented Maya in a property dispute. The food writer was Tara Menon, who had a popular Instagram account and the ability to turn a plate of dal into an ethical referendum. The startup founder was Vikram Rao, who had sold his company two years earlier and had since developed the spiritual calm of a man who no longer checked his bank balance. The political consultant was Dev Malhotra, who spent the evening claiming he was taking a break from politics while mentioning politics every four minutes. There was also Leena, Maya's oldest friend, an architect who had the suspiciously serene expression of someone who had already decided how everyone else in the room was going to die.

 

And then there was Rohan. Asha had not yet worked out what he did. This bothered her.

 

At 10:45, Maya stood and raised her glass.

 

"I have an announcement."

 

Everyone groaned.

 

"Don't worry," she said. "I'm not pregnant."

 

"Thank God," Tara said.

 

"You're welcome."

 

Maya looked toward Kabir. Kabir smiled. Maya smiled back.

 

Asha saw it. Something was off. Not between them; but around them. Everyone seemed to know something. Everyone except Asha.

 

"Actually," Maya said, "I wanted to talk about the house."

 

The room changed. Vikram stopped chewing. Nikhil put down his glass. Leena looked at Maya and Rohan leaned back.

 

Maya continued. "I've decided not to sell."

 

Silence.

 

Then Vikram laughed. "You've been saying that for months."

 

"I'm serious."

 

"That's a shame."

 

"For whom?"

 

"Everyone."

 

Maya smiled.

 

"Especially you?"

 

Vikram's smile disappeared.

 

Asha looked between them. Interesting.

 

Maya's phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at it. Her face changed for a second.

Then she turned the phone facedown. "Excuse me," she said and walked towards the kitchen.

 

Nobody spoke for several seconds.

 

Then Dev said, "So. Who wants dessert?"

 

At 10:57, the doorbell rang. Everyone looked toward the entrance. Maya didn't come out.

The bell rang again and Leena stood.

 

"I'll get it."

 

"No," Rohan said.

 

Everyone looked at him.

 

He shrugged.

 

"Probably delivery."

 

Leena opened the door.

 

There was nobody there.

 

Only a small brown envelope on the step.

 

She picked it up.

 

"Who's this for?"

 

No answer.

 

She looked at the envelope.

 

It had Maya's name on it.

 

Before she could open it, Maya came running from the kitchen.

 

"Give me that."

 

Leena stared at her.

 

"Okay."

 

Maya snatched it.

 

"Everything all right?" Kabir asked.

 

"Fine."

 

She tore the envelope open.

 

Asha saw her read the contents.

 

Maya went white.

 

Then she folded the paper and put it into her pocket.

 

"What was it?" Nikhil asked.

 

"Nothing."

 

That was the first lie.

 

There would be many more.

 

At eleven, Maya disappeared into the kitchen again.

 

Five minutes later, there was a scream. Not a movie scream; a Bangalore apartment scream. The kind that travels through three floors and causes four neighbours to open their doors. Everyone rushed toward the balcony. Maya was standing there, pale.

 

"He's dead."

 

Nobody moved.

 

"Who?" Kabir asked.

 

She pointed toward the garden below.

 

Asha looked over the railing.

 

A man lay on the grass.

 

Still. Very still.

 

"Oh," said someone.

 

"Oh?" Asha said.

 

"What are we supposed to say?"

 

"Maybe 'call the police'?"

 

That seemed sensible.

 

It was also when Asha noticed something strange.

 

Everyone was looking at the body.

 

Everyone except Rohan.

 

He was looking at Maya.

 

And Maya was looking at him.

 

The police arrived twenty-three minutes later. Which was impressive, considering Bangalore traffic. Inspector Prakash was a broad-shouldered man with a moustache that suggested he had personally solved several crimes before breakfast.

 

He entered the apartment, looked around once and said: "Nobody leaves."

 

Everyone nodded.

 

Then everyone immediately started checking their phones.

 

Prakash noticed.

 

"Phones away."

 

The phones disappeared.

 

"Good."

 

He looked at the body through the balcony doors.

 

"Who found him?"

 

"Maya," Asha said.

 

Prakash looked at Maya.

 

"Who is he?"

 

Maya swallowed.

 

"I don't know."

 

Prakash turned.

 

"Nobody knows?"

 

Silence.

 

Asha looked at the garden.

 

The dead man was lying on his back beneath the rain tree.

 

Mid-forties, perhaps.

 

Dark trousers.

 

White shirt.

 

One shoe missing.

 

There was blood beneath his head.

 

Prakash crouched near the balcony railing.

 

"Did anyone see him arrive?"

 

No one answered.

 

"Did anyone hear anything?"

 

Silence.

 

"Fine."

 

He looked around.

 

"Who is the owner?"

 

"Maya."

 

"Who lives here?"

 

"Just me."

 

"Any staff?"

 

"Cleaner in the mornings. Gardener twice a week."

 

"When was the last time you saw the garden?"

 

Maya hesitated.

 

"Yesterday."

 

"Anybody else?"

 

Everyone started speaking at once.

 

Prakash held up a hand.

 

"One at a time."

 

Then his eyes settled on Asha.

 

"You found the body?"

 

"No. Maya did."

 

"You touched anything?"

 

"No."

 

"You saw anything?"

 

Asha hesitated.

 

"Maybe."

 

The inspector raised an eyebrow.

 

"Maybe?"

 

"I saw Rohan looking at Maya."

 

"That's not a crime."

 

"I know."

 

"Anything else?"

 

Asha glanced toward the garden.

 

There was something bothering her.

 

"I saw someone running."

 

"Who?"

 

"I don't know."

 

"Man or woman?"

 

"Man."

 

"How do you know?"

 

"He was wearing men's shoes."

 

Prakash stared at her.

 

Asha sighed.

 

"Fine. That sounded stupid."

 

"A little."

 

"He was wearing dark trousers. White shirt. Or something white. He ran toward the back gate."

 

"Did you see his face?"

 

"No."

 

"Height?"

 

"Average."

 

"Build?"

 

"Average."

 

"Anything useful?"

 

"Probably not."

 

Prakash looked at her for another second.

 

Then he smiled.

 

"You're the lawyer, aren't you?"

 

Asha frowned.

 

"How do you know?"

 

"You answer questions like one."

 

"That's not a compliment."

 

"I didn't mean it as one."

 

The dead man's name was Harish Bhat.

 

He was forty-seven.

 

He owned three bars, two restaurants and a construction company.

 

He had been dead for approximately thirty minutes when police arrived.

 

Cause of death appeared to be blunt-force trauma to the back of the head.

 

The missing shoe was found twenty feet away.

 

His wallet was still in his pocket.

 

His phone was missing.

 

That mattered.

 

Prakash returned to the apartment.

 

"Now we know who he is."

 

Maya sat rigidly on the sofa.

 

"Do you know him?"

 

"No."

 

"Never met him?"

 

"No."

 

"Never spoken to him?"

 

"No."

 

Asha watched her.

 

Maya's left hand was shaking.

 

Just slightly.

 

Prakash noticed too.

 

"Mrs. Maya Rao?"

 

"Maya."

 

"How did Harish get into your garden?"

 

"I don't know."

 

"You didn't let him in?"

 

"No."

 

"You didn't invite him?"

 

"No."

 

"Did he threaten you?"

 

Maya looked at him.

 

"No."

 

"Did he ask you for money?"

 

"No."

 

"Did he know you?"

 

"I don't know."

 

Prakash sighed.

 

"You're making this difficult."

 

"I'm telling the truth."

 

"Are you?"

 

Maya stared at him.

 

Asha looked down.

 

Something glittered beneath the coffee table.

 

A tiny silver object.

 

She bent and picked it up.

 

A cufflink.

 

Black enamel.

 

Prakash took it from her.

 

"Where was this?"

 

"Under the table."

 

He examined it.

 

On the back were two letters.

 

HB.

 

Harish Bhat.

 

Everyone saw it.

 

Rohan stood.

 

"That could belong to anyone."

 

Prakash looked at him.

 

"Sit down."

 

Rohan sat.

 

Asha looked at his cuffs.

 

He wasn't wearing any.

 

Neither was anyone else.

 

Except Nikhil.

 

The lawyer.

 

Asha looked at Nikhil's shirt.

 

French cuffs.

 

One cufflink was missing.

 

Nikhil noticed her looking.

 

He slowly put his hands in his lap.

 

"Interesting," Asha said.

 

Nikhil smiled.

 

"I lost one earlier."

 

"Where?"

 

"Here."

 

"When?"

 

"I don't know."

 

"Convenient."

 

He looked at Prakash.

 

"Are you going to let her interrogate everyone?"

 

Prakash considered this.

 

"Actually, I'm enjoying it."

 

By midnight, the apartment had become a courtroom.

 

Everyone had a motive.

 

Nobody had a confession.

 

Harish Bhat, it turned out, had been involved with the house.

 

He had approached Maya six months earlier with an offer to buy it.

 

She had refused.

 

He had increased the offer.

 

She had refused again.

 

Then he had threatened to challenge her ownership.

 

"Why?" Asha asked.

 

Maya looked at the floor.

 

"Because the property papers are complicated."

 

"How complicated?"

 

"Very."

 

Nikhil answered.

 

"The house was originally owned by Maya's father. There was a family trust. Harish claimed there was a development agreement signed fifteen years ago."

 

"Was there?"

 

"No."

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"I'm a lawyer."

 

Asha looked at him.

 

"That's not the same thing."

 

Nikhil smiled.

 

"You're learning."

 

Prakash wrote something down.

 

"Who knew about this dispute?"

 

"All of us," Vikram said.

 

"Why?"

 

"Because Maya told us."

 

"Why would she tell everyone?"

 

"Because that's Maya."

 

Maya glared at him.

 

"What?"

 

"You've been trying to sell this house for months."

 

"I changed my mind."

 

"Because?"

 

"Because I decided I like living here."

 

Vikram laughed.

 

"That's bullshit."

 

Prakash looked at him.

 

"You seem unusually interested."

 

"I'm her ex."

 

Asha turned.

 

Maya closed her eyes.

 

"Ex-boyfriend," Vikram clarified.

 

"Of course."

 

"Two years."

 

"Three," Maya said.

 

"Right."

 

"Why did you break up?" Prakash asked.

 

Vikram smiled.

 

"She cheated."

 

Maya's head snapped toward him.

 

"That's not what happened."

 

"Really?"

 

"You were never there."

 

"I was building a company."

 

"You were sleeping with your co-founder."

 

The room went silent.

 

Tara whispered:

 

"Jesus."

 

Vikram shrugged.

 

"At least we know where the evening's going."

 

Prakash looked delighted.

 

Asha was beginning to understand something.

 

These people didn't need a murder mystery.

 

They were already a murder mystery.

 

At 12:40, Prakash announced that everyone would remain overnight.

 

Nobody liked this.

 

Especially Rohan.

 

"I have a flight at six."

 

"Cancel it."

 

"I can't."

 

"Why?"

 

"Business."

 

"What business?"

 

Rohan smiled.

 

"Investments."

 

Asha looked at him.

 

"You still haven't said what you invest in."

 

"Technology."

 

"Which technology?"

 

"Various."

 

"Very specific."

 

He glared at her.

 

Prakash said, "Enough."

 

The guests were assigned rooms.

 

Asha was given the study.

 

She couldn't sleep.

 

At 1:20, she heard footsteps.

 

She opened the door.

 

Nobody was there.

 

She walked downstairs.

 

The living room was dark.

 

Asha heard a faint sound from the kitchen.

 

She moved toward it.

 

A drawer closed.

 

"Hello?"

 

No answer.

 

She turned on the light.

 

Tara was standing there.

 

"What are you doing?"

 

"Water."

 

"At one twenty in the morning?"

 

"I was thirsty."

 

Asha looked at the glass in her hand.

 

It was empty.

 

"You're not very good at lying."

 

"Neither are you."

 

Asha smiled.

 

"What's in the drawer?"

 

"Nothing."

 

"Open it."

 

Tara stared at her.

 

Then she did.

 

Inside was a stack of napkins.

 

Asha looked disappointed.

 

Tara laughed.

 

"You thought I'd hidden a murder weapon?"

 

"No."

 

"What did you think?"

 

"I don't know yet."

 

Tara leaned against the counter.

 

"You really think one of us killed him."

 

"I think one of us is lying."

 

"Everyone is lying."

 

"Exactly."

 

Tara looked toward the garden.

 

"Do you know what Harish did?"

 

"No."

 

"He ruined people."

 

"How?"

 

"Debt. Blackmail. Deals."

 

"Did he ruin you?"

 

Tara looked away.

 

"No."

 

Asha waited.

 

Finally Tara said:

 

"He ruined my sister."

 

At 2:05, Asha found Maya in the balcony.

 

"You should sleep," Asha said.

 

Maya didn't turn.

 

"Did you know him?"

 

"No."

 

"That's your second lie."

 

Maya looked at her.

 

"You think you know everything."

 

"No."

 

"You're enjoying this."

 

"Someone's dead."

 

"I know."

 

"Then tell me the truth."

 

Maya was quiet.

 

Finally she said:

 

"Harish was blackmailing me."

 

Asha felt the pieces shift.

 

"About what?"

 

"The house."

 

"That's not enough."

 

"He had something."

 

"What?"

 

"Old photographs. Documents. Emails."

 

"Of?"

 

"My father."

 

Asha waited.

 

Maya whispered:

 

"My father didn't die naturally."

 

The story emerged slowly.

 

Maya's father, Rajiv Rao, had died twelve years earlier.

 

Officially, a heart attack.

 

But three months before his death, he had discovered that money was being siphoned from a family company.

 

Harish had been one of the people involved.

 

So had someone else.

 

"Who?"

 

"I don't know."

 

"You do."

 

Maya shook her head.

 

"He told me there were four people."

 

"Four?"

 

"Four people who knew what happened."

 

"Harish was one."

 

"Yes."

 

"Who were the others?"

 

Maya looked toward the living room.

 

Asha followed her gaze.

 

Nikhil.

 

Vikram.

 

Dev.

 

And Rohan.

 

"That's impossible," Asha said.

 

Maya shook her head.

 

"Not all of them."

 

"Which ones?"

 

"I don't know."

 

"You expect me to believe that?"

 

"No."

 

Asha looked at her.

 

"Then what do you expect?"

 

Maya's eyes filled with tears.

 

"To survive the night."

 

At 7:10 the next morning, the rain started.

 

Bangalore turned grey.

 

Police had sealed the garden.

 

Forensics arrived.

 

And Inspector Prakash gathered everyone in the living room.

 

"We have new information."

 

Everyone looked at him.

 

"The victim's phone has been found."

 

Rohan shifted.

 

"Where?"

 

"In this house."

 

Silence.

 

Prakash held up a plastic evidence bag.

 

Inside was Harish's phone.

 

"We found it inside the washing machine."

 

Everyone stared.

 

Maya looked confused.

 

Asha looked at the phone.

 

"Who found it?"

 

"Cleaner."

 

"When?"

 

"Six thirty."

 

"Was the machine running?"

 

"No."

 

Asha frowned.

 

"Why was the phone wet?"

 

"It had been inside."

 

"That doesn't make sense."

 

Prakash smiled.

 

"Good."

 

"What?"

 

"You're thinking."

 

He put the phone on the table.

 

"We recovered one message."

 

He read it.

 

You know what happened to Rajiv. Come alone. 10:45. Back gate.

 

Maya's face collapsed.

 

Asha looked at her.

 

"You sent that?"

 

"No."

 

"Someone sent it from your number."

 

"Impossible."

 

"Not impossible."

 

Asha took the phone.

 

The message had been sent at 10:32.

 

Eleven minutes before the doorbell.

 

Asha thought.

 

Then she looked at the envelope.

 

"Where's the letter?"

 

Maya handed it over.

 

Asha examined it.

 

The paper was ordinary.

 

The handwriting wasn't.

 

She turned it over.

 

There was a faint indentation.

 

She held it toward the window.

 

Three words were visible.

 

HE KNOWS EVERYTHING.

 

Asha looked up.

 

"Who brought this?"

 

"Nobody knows."

 

"Did anyone touch it?"

 

"Leena."

 

Leena stiffened.

 

"And you."

 

"Yes."

 

"Anyone else?"

 

"No."

 

Asha looked around the room.

 

"Then we have a problem."

 

"What?"

 

"The envelope wasn't sent to Maya."

 

Everyone stared.

 

"It was sent to whoever was supposed to find it."

 

At 8:30, Prakash called Asha into the study.

 

"Tell me what you're thinking."

 

"I think Harish was killed because he knew something about Maya's father's death."

 

"Agreed."

 

"I think he came here voluntarily."

 

"Agreed."

 

"I think whoever killed him knew he was coming."

 

"Likely."

 

"And I think the killer is still here."

 

Prakash smiled.

 

"That last part is useful."

 

Asha looked at the garden.

 

"There are footprints."

 

"We know."

 

"How many?"

 

"Three sets."

 

"Three?"

 

"Harish's. One unknown. And one that appears to belong to someone who walked through the mud after the rain."

 

"When did it rain?"

 

"About midnight."

 

Asha frowned.

 

"Then the killer didn't run away at eleven."

 

"Correct."

 

"He ran before midnight."

 

"Or someone wants us to think that."

 

Asha looked at him.

 

Prakash smiled.

 

"Now you're getting it."

 

The interrogation began.

 

First: Nikhil.

 

He admitted knowing Harish.

 

More than knowing him.

 

"He was my client."

 

"How long?"

 

"Seven years."

 

"Why didn't you tell us?"

 

"I was going to."

 

"When?"

 

"When it became relevant."

 

"Someone was murdered."

 

"Everything becomes relevant after someone is murdered."

 

Asha watched him.

 

"Did Harish threaten you?"

 

"No."

 

"Did he have documents about Rajiv Rao?"

 

Nikhil's expression changed.

 

"Why would he?"

 

"That's not an answer."

 

"No."

 

"You represented Maya's father."

 

"Yes."

 

"Did you know about the missing money?"

 

"No."

 

Asha smiled.

 

"That's three lies."

 

Nikhil's smile disappeared.

 

Next was Tara.

 

She admitted her sister had lost her restaurant because of Harish.

 

"She borrowed money."

 

"From him?"

 

"Through him."

 

"Meaning?"

 

"He arranged the loan. Then changed the terms."

 

"And you hated him?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Enough to kill him?"

 

Tara looked directly at her.

 

"Every time I saw him."

 

"Did you?"

 

"No."

 

"Where were you at 10:45?"

 

"In the bathroom."

 

"For how long?"

 

"Ten minutes."

 

"Anyone see you?"

 

"No."

 

"Convenient."

 

"You're very annoying."

 

"I've been told."

 

Dev was next.

 

He claimed Harish had been threatening him over an old political scandal.

 

"Which scandal?"

 

"The usual."

 

"That's not helpful."

 

"I advised a minister twelve years ago."

 

"Which minister?"

 

Dev laughed.

 

"You really don't follow politics."

 

"I follow corruption."

 

"Then you follow politics."

 

He leaned forward.

 

"Harish had photographs."

 

"Of?"

 

"People."

 

"Doing what?"

 

"Things they shouldn't."

 

"Did he have photographs of you?"

 

Dev didn't answer.

 

Asha smiled.

 

"Interesting."

 

Then came Rohan.

 

Asha closed the door behind her.

 

"Tell me what you really do."

 

"Invest."

 

"In?"

 

"Real estate."

 

"Ah."

 

"What?"

 

"Nothing."

 

She opened the folder Prakash had given her.

 

There were property records.

 

Company filings.

 

Loans.

 

Shell companies.

 

And one name appeared repeatedly.

 

Rohan Sethi.

 

Not as an investor.

 

As a nominee.

 

Asha looked up.

 

"You've been buying properties around this neighborhood."

 

"No."

 

"Through three companies."

 

"Those aren't mine."

 

"Your signature is on the filings."

 

Rohan went pale.

 

"Where did you get those?"

 

"Police."

 

"Harish gave them to you?"

 

Asha said nothing.

 

Rohan stood.

 

"You don't understand."

 

"Then explain."

 

"He was going to destroy me."

 

"Why?"

 

"Because the house."

 

"Everyone keeps saying that."

 

"Because the land under this house is worth forty crore."

 

Asha stared at him.

 

"And you wanted it."

 

"Not me."

 

"Who?"

 

Rohan looked toward the door.

 

"Your friend."

 

"Maya?"

 

He nodded.

 

Asha frowned.

 

"She wanted to sell?"

 

"She wanted the money."

 

"Then why did she refuse?"

 

"Because she discovered what was underneath the property."

 

"What?"

 

Rohan swallowed.

 

"An old drainage tunnel."

 

The tunnel had been built in the 1970s.

 

It connected several properties.

 

During the city's earlier expansion, it had been used as a service passage for drainage and utilities.

 

Most of it had been sealed.

 

Except one section.

 

Under Maya's house.

 

"Why does that matter?" Asha asked.

 

"Development rights."

 

"For what?"

 

"Basement parking."

 

Asha stared.

 

"You're telling me a man was murdered over a basement?"

 

Rohan laughed bitterly.

 

"No."

 

He leaned closer.

 

"He was murdered because the tunnel contains something."

 

"What?"

 

"I don't know."

 

"You're lying."

 

"I don't know."

 

This time, Asha believed him.

 

At noon, Inspector Prakash called everyone outside.

 

The rain had stopped.

 

The garden smelled of wet earth.

 

The forensic team had found something beneath the rain tree.

 

A metal box.

 

Inside:

 

Photographs.

 

Bank statements.

 

A handwritten ledger.

 

And a cassette tape.

 

Maya began crying.

 

Nikhil swore.

 

Dev sat down.

 

Vikram looked at Rohan.

 

Rohan looked at nobody.

 

Asha opened the ledger.

 

Names.

 

Dates.

 

Amounts.

 

Payments.

 

Her eyes moved down the page.

 

Then stopped.

 

One name appeared beside a payment made twelve years earlier.

 

Nikhil Mehra.

 

Amount: ₹18,00,000.

 

Asha looked at him.

 

Nikhil stood.

 

"That proves nothing."

 

"Probably not."

 

Another name.

 

Dev Malhotra.

 

₹12,50,000.

 

Then:

 

Harish Bhat.

 

₹40,00,000.

 

Then:

 

Vikram Rao.

 

₹7,00,000.

 

Vikram went white.

 

"I didn't take that."

 

Asha looked at him.

 

"You were twenty-four."

 

"I didn't take it."

 

"Then who did?"

 

He didn't answer.

 

Asha turned the page.

 

At the bottom was another name.

 

Rajiv Rao.

 

The amount was blank.

 

Next to it were two words.

 

REFUSED PAYMENT.

 

Maya covered her mouth.

 

Asha finally understood.

 

Rajiv hadn't discovered corruption.

 

He had refused to participate in it.

 

And someone had killed him.

 

The cassette was played in the living room.

 

Static.

 

Then a man's voice.

 

Rajiv Rao.

 

"If you're hearing this, I'm probably dead."

 

Maya began sobbing.

 

The recording continued.

 

"Harish thinks money is the problem. It isn't."

 

A pause.

 

"The problem is that everyone thinks they can buy the truth."

 

Another pause.

 

"There are four people involved."

 

Asha looked at the four men.

 

Nikhil.

 

Dev.

 

Vikram.

 

Rohan.

 

"One of them betrayed the others."

 

The tape crackled.

 

"And one of them killed me."

 

Silence.

 

Then Rajiv said:

 

"But the person who kills Harish will not be the person who killed me."

 

The tape stopped.

 

Nobody spoke.