Free Compass Box Killer by Piyush Jha Page B

finally found his tongue.
    ‘Sorry, I can’t allow this,’ said Virkar sternly.
    The old lady timidly spoke up. ‘But, beta, this is the Devi maa’s prasad. I’ve brought it from the mandir myself.’
    Virkar signalled one of his men to take the thali from her hands. ‘Sorry, maaji, no prasad for Mr Colasco.’
    A policeman tried to take the thali from the old woman who looked close to tears. Suddenly, Putharan stepped forward and took the thali from her before the policeman could do so.
    He glared at Virkar. ‘Are you saying that you’re not going to allow us to practice our rituals?’
    It was Virkar’s turn to be tongue-tied. He knew that Putharan had seized the one weakness in the policing system of India—the fear of hurting religious sentiments. Anything that Virkar said or did now could be blown out of proportion, and the situation could easily turn nasty.
Attack is the best form of defence
, he thought, and said calmly, ‘Mr Colasco’s life is under threat. The prasad could be poisoned.’
    But Putharan was not going to give up so easily. He raised the thali above his head theatrically, and, speaking loud enough to be heard by everyone gathered in the small ground, said, ‘Are you saying that Devi maa’s prasad has been purposely poisoned by us?’
    A rumble of discontent rippled through the crowd. Virkar was aware of the failed politician’s attempts to squeeze sympathy for himself out of every opportunity. But he was not going to allow it. ‘Well, if it is not poisoned, please have some before offering it to Mr Colasco,’ he suggested. Putharan’s face suddenly deflated like a balloon. ‘I…er…it’s my fast today,’ he finally managed.
    He’
s good. No wonder he is a politician
. Virkar turned to the old lady. ‘Then maybe maaji can have some before offering it to Mr Colasco?’
    The old lady shrunk a few more inches. ‘I’m also fasting. I’ve been fasting for the past sixty years. I mean…every year on this day.’
    Virkar knew that he had the advantage. He turned to the gathered crowd and said, ‘I fear that this prasad may be poisoned. Is there anyone here who would like to taste the prasad before offering it to Mr Colasco?’ The group of people stared at the ground in silence. No one raised a hand or made eye contact.
    Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Virkar noticed that Raashi and her cameraman were standing on one side of the stage. The reporter, as always, was power-dressed, looking totally incongruous in their current setting. Virkar was about to curse under his breath, as was his usual practice whenever he saw her, but stopped when he noticed the admiring look on her face. Virkar was confused. He was expecting a fresh round of fighting but her expression seemed to indicate otherwise.
    ‘Inspector Virkar, can we please start the function?’ Colasco’s clipped words cut through Virkar’s thoughts. He and the policeman with the thali stepped away from the group and everyone quickly took their positions on the dais. As was the usual practice over the years, Colasco stepped up to the podium, ready to start announcing the prize winners. But as soon as he held the mike, a small flame burst out from the top of his head, and he fell on to the wooden dais, shaking uncontrollably while trying to wrench himself away from the steel mike that was stuck to the burning skin of his palms.
     

 
15
    W
ood is a bad conductor of electricity—that’s why he’s still alive
. The realization flashed through Virkar’s mind as he watched Colasco writhing on the wooden dais. If it hadn’t been for the wood, Colasco would have died instantaneously, given that the shock had been potent enough to cause a flame to emanate from his body.
    However, the electrically-charged steel mike stand burning Colasco’s palms was the biggest deterrent to providing him with any sort of aid. If Virkar touched either the mike or Colasco, he, too, would get a severe shock. There was no question of