“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m currently focusing on my career.” The words fell out easily, in the same order and cadence as a recited address. Clearly Sushma Sinha, ASP, had said them many times over. “There’s plenty of time for kids. I’m young.”
“Yes,” Saloni said, nodding. “You are. Careers are important. Especially for women. You know, we are also working women. We have—”
“Yes, a microloan, I know. What do you know about Samir Vora?”
Geeta’s eyes widened, but she bit the inside of her cheek and managed, she thought, to look the appropriate cocktail of confused and innocent. “Samir? Well, he was a drinker, you know.”
Saloni sighed. “And alas, the drink killed him.”
Geeta looked at Saloni while the ASP made a long, damning note. “？‘Alas’？” Geeta mouthed.
“Samir Vora’s death was allegedly due to alcohol poisoning. Last night, during the second death, many members of your village were also inebriated with, how did you say, ‘snacks.’？” She said the English word with an exaggerated Gujarati accent—which Geeta found a tad offensive—and it sounded more like “snakes.”
She tried to sit still but couldn’t get comfortable in the chair. Her clothes slid on the plastic and she kept sinking under the ASP’s interrogation, shoulders hunching in what was sure to be construed as guilt. How was Saloni still upright?
“I’m wondering how all these ‘snacks’ are magically appearing in a state that specifically bans such ‘snacks.’？”
Even Saloni, so dependably voluble, was mute then, her lips rolled inward. Geeta tried for a nonchalant shrug, thinking of how to best protect Karem. “Well, from what I hear, they come from here.”
The tortured man’s insistence of his innocence and ignorance, which had blended into the background, now grew louder. Sushma Sinha, ASP, had to lean forward to hear. “What?” Behind her, the office boy walked by with a tray of Thums Up bottles. Sushma Sinha, ASP, called out for one, but he blithely continued toward the holding cell. Saloni masked her sputter of amusement with a cough.
“I hear there’s a don in Kohra. He goes by Bada-Bhai—”
“Yeah, I’m familiar with Chintu. We’ve got our eye on him. He’s slippery, though, butters the right rotis.”
It likely wouldn’t do to point out that those rotis belonged to this very department.
“Well, if you can’t catch him on that, can you at least punish him for the dogs?”
Again, they had to raise their voices. “Eh?”
“Dogs. The dogs.”
“What?”
At that specific moment, the abusive officers took their soda break and their victim quieted, while Geeta hollered, “Kutte!”
Everyone looked.
It was unfortunate, of course, that while the literal word for dogs was kutte, it was also the colloquial term for “bastards.” For all the station to hear, Geeta had just cursed Sushma Sinha, ASP, and her fellow officers to her face.
“Not you! Not her,” she reassured the skeptical courtyard. “Actual dogs.” She lowered a hand a half-meter from the ground to indicate as such. “Puppies.”
“What about them?”
“He’s abusing them. He’s cutting his supply with methanol and then testing it on the dogs, some are going blind.”
“Really? Well,” Sushma Sinha, ASP, said with a shrug, “we’ll need more than that to nab him. Animal cruelty is a ten-rupee fine.” She stopped. “I mean, unless it’s a cow of course. And just how do you know all this?”
“I was—I found out by accident and he threatened me. That,” Geeta rushed on, “is why I didn’t come forward before. I was scared.”
“Yeah,” ASP Sushma Sinha said, devoid of concern. “You two seem real scared. Now, back to the deceased. Darshan Varesh.”
“Ji,” Saloni said. “What about him?”
“It’s interesting that no one seems torn up about it. Especially his wife. Or his sister-in-law. Sure, they’ve been crying all day, but they keep whispering about a pair of dumb earrings and some Sikh boy.”
“But it’s not exactly a tragedy, is it?” Geeta said. “I mean, he did attack Priya.”
“How do you know about that?” ASP Sushma Sinha asked, her voice like a sharp stick.
“I didn’t—you said—I mean I assumed—or I overheard…”
“What is this, multiple choice?” ASP Sushma Sinha’s eyes gleamed with triumph as she stood. “One minute.”
“Shit,” Saloni hissed when they were alone. “What’d I say, Geeta? Never reveal too much. Dammit!”
“Fuck,” Geeta whispered. “Fuck, fuck fuck.” When her head still felt light, she switched to: “Kabaddi, kabaddi, kabaddi.”
ASP Sushma Sinha, floating on importance, went straight to her senior officer, who watched her approach much like the women did when a child nagged them with a demand they had no time to entertain. She spoke. He shook his head in refusal. She insisted. He turned from annoyed to angry.
“What’s the need for all that? Just do it here, na?”
“Sir, I’d like to separate them and collect their statements.”
“Bey yaar, this again? Isn’t it enough that you’re so bored, you harassed those other two ladies all night? Asking them the same questions over and over again—” Saloni and Geeta exchanged a look, which Sushma Sinha, ASP easily caught. Her eyes darted between her superior and the women sitting behind him.
“Sir—” She held up a finger to politely quiet him, but he spoke over her. He walked to the table and she scampered behind.
“Meanwhile, the drunk fool of a husband is still inside snoring away.”
Which, Geeta realized, was why she didn’t allow them indoors. ASP Sushma Sinha’s face twisted in the loss of possibility, as though someone had just ruined the ending to an enjoyable book. “Sir, we should speak to every witness alone to verify the events. They just now mentioned that the victim attacked his sister-in-law prior to his death.”
The senior officer, whose name tag read M. D. Trivedi, sighed. “He did. She said so. Over and over.”
“But how did they—”
“Oi, ASP madam!” Trivedi thundered pitilessly. “Didn’t anyone teach you that there’s a difference between talking to a witness and interrogating a suspect? What, will you interrogate me next?”
“But, sir, this is the second incident in the same small village. Something’s black in the lentils. They knew about the attempted rape. They just now mentioned it!”
Trivedi expelled a generous sigh. He asked Geeta and Saloni: “How did you come to know of the attack?”
Geeta raised a meek hand. “I actually didn’t know, sir, until just now. But I’m not much of a gossip.”
Saloni nodded. “It’s true.” She whispered to Trivedi, “Not enough people like her. So…” She put an elbow on the table and leaned forward with prurient interest. “What’s this about a rape? Don’t tell me Darshan…” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “O baap re. Shame, shame.”