"You're moving in powerful circles," I said, recalling photos of the populist politician. His incitements to communal violence had resulted in rioting, arson, and murder. Each time I saw him on television or read one of his bigoted speeches in the newspaper, he made me think of the brutal madman who called himself Sapna: a legal, political version of the psychopathic killer.
"It was a snake-pit up there in his suite, I tell you, baba. But I got my interview. He has a weakness for big tits." She whipped a finger into my face. "Don't say anything!"
"Hey!" I pacified her, raising both hands and wagging my head.
"I'm... saying nothing at all, yaar. Absolutely nothing. I'm looking, mind you, and I wish I had three eyes, but I'm saying nothing at all!"
"You bastard!" she hissed, laughing through gritted teeth. "Ah, shit, what's happening to the world, man, when one of the most important guys in the city won't talk to _you, but will give a two-hour interview to your tits? Men are such sick fuckers, don't you think?"
"You got me there, Kavita," I sighed.
"Fuckin' pigs, yaar."
"Can't argue with that. When you're right, you're right."
She eyed me suspiciously. "What are you being so damn agreeable about, Lin?"
"Listen, where are you going?"
"What?"
"Where are you going? Right now, I mean."
"I was going to take a cab back to town. I'm living near Flora Fountain now."
"How about I give you a lift, on my bike? I want to talk to you.
I want you to help me with a problem."
Kavita didn't know me well. Her eyes were the colour of bark on a cinnamon tree, flecked with golden sparks. She looked me up and down with those eyes, and the forensic examination left her somewhere short of inspired reassurance.
"What kind of a problem?" she asked.
"It involves a murder," I replied. "And I want you to make it a page-one story. I'll tell you all about it at your place. And on the way you can tell me about Vasant Lai-you'll have to shout on the back of the bike, so that'll help you get it out of your system, na?"
Some forty minutes later, we sat together in her fourth-floor walk-up apartment on the edge of the Fort area, near Flora Fountain. It was a tiny apartment with a foldout bed, a rudimentary kitchen, and a hundred noisy neighbours. It boasted a superb bathroom, however, large enough to hold a washing machine and dryer without crowding. There was also a balcony enclosed in antique wrought iron that looked out on the wide, busy square around the fountain.
"His name is Anand Rao," I told her, sipping the strong espresso coffee she'd prepared for me. "He shared a hut, in the slum, with a guy named Rasheed. They were my neighbours when I lived there.
Then Rasheed's wife and her sister came to stay, from the village in Rajasthan. Anand moved out of the hut to leave room for Rasheed and the sisters."
"Hang on," Kavita interrupted. "I better get this down."
She stood up and walked to a wide, cluttered desk, where she gathered up a pad, pen, and cassette recorder. She'd changed out of her pantsuit, and wore loose harem pants and a singlet.
Watching her walk, following her quick, purposeful, graceful movements, I realised for the first time just how beautiful she was. When she returned and set up the recorder, tucking her legs beneath her on the armchair as she prepared to write, she caught me staring at her. "What?" she asked.
"Nothing," I smiled. "Okay, so Anand Rao got to meet Rasheed's wife and her sister. He got to like them. They were shy, but they were friendly, happy, and kind. I think, now, reading between the lines, that Anand got a little sweet on the sister. Anyway, one day Rasheed tells his wife that the only way they can set themselves up, in the little shop that they want, is if he sells his kidney-one of his kidneys-at this private hospital he knows about. She argues against this, but he finally convinces her that it's their only chance.
"Well, he comes back from the hospital, and he tells her he's got good news and bad news. The good news is that they definitely want a kidney. The bad news is that they don't want a man's kidney-they want a woman's kidney."
"Okay," Kavita sighed, shaking her head.
"Yeah. The guy was a prince. Anyway, his wife balks at this, understandably, but Rasheed convinces her, and she goes off to have the operation."
"Do you know where this took place?" Kavita asked.
"Yeah. Anand Rao checked into it all, and told Qasim Ali, the head man in the slum. He's got the details. So, anyway, Anand Rao hears about this, when Rasheed's wife returns from the hospital, and he's furious. He knows Rasheed well-they shared the hut together for two years, remember-and he knows that Rasheed is a con man. He has it out with Rasheed, but it comes to nothing.
Rasheed gets all indignant. He spills kerosene on himself, and tells Anand Rao to light it, if he doesn't trust him, and if he thinks he's such a bad guy. Anand just warns him to look after the women, and leaves it at that."
"When did this happen?"
