Rising Tiger: A Thriller (50)

Moments later, a woman’s voice said something from the other side in Hindi.

“Police,” Vijay responded. “Open the door.”

He stood directly in front of the door, apparently unafraid of being shot, with his credentials extended.

When the door opened, he made some pronouncement in Hindi, retracted his credentials, and then, nodding at Harvath, switched to English and added, “Special Agent JJ, USG Delhi.”

An older woman stood inside the apartment, looking at both of them. For some reason, she didn’t seem surprised to see them. Stepping aside, she opened the door wider and invited them in. Even from where they stood, the apartment smelled like burnt saffron.

“Don’t say anything,” Vijay directed Harvath. “I want to do all of the talking.”





CHAPTER 31


“Mrs. Ali?” Vijay asked, trying to reconcile the age of their suspect with the much older, graying woman with the deeply wrinkled face who stood before them.

“Yes, I am Mrs. Ali. I’m his mother,” she responded, pulling her blue sari tighter around her. “What has he done now?”

“How do you know we are here about your son?”

The woman clucked and tilted her head from side to side. “Only a government employee would waste time with such stupid questions like this. I know my son. Why are you here?”

“We’re here about his motorbike,” said Vijay. “The one that was stolen.”

“You mean my motorbike.”

“Yours, ma’am?”

“Of course,” she replied. “I paid for it. Doesn’t that make it mine?”

“But it was registered to your son, Pinaki.”

The woman waved her hand as if someone had expelled a cloud of cigarette smoke too near her. “Technicalities. My money. My motorbike. Why are you here? Have you recovered it?”

“No, ma’am, we—”

“Do you have an insurance payment for me?” she interrupted.

“No, ma’am.”

“Then, Mr. Police Officer, why am I speaking with you? Hmmmm?”

She was a feisty one. Harvath tried to maintain a straight face.

“Ma’am, the motorbike was involved in a crime,” Vijay stated.

The woman rolled her eyes at him. “A criminal steals a motorbike and goes on to commit more crimes. This is most unexpected news.”

Vijay wasn’t happy to have walked up four stories only to get danced around by the suspect’s mother. “Where is your son at the moment, Mrs. Ali?” he asked.

“Wherever he is, I think we can agree that he probably isn’t on a motorbike.”

Trained to detect micro-expressions, Harvath saw the switch get flipped in Vijay before the ex-cop even spoke his next words. Bad cop has arrived.

“Two nights ago in Jaipur,” said Vijay, his voice icy cold and firm, “an American citizen was murdered. The killer used your motorbike in the crime.”

“My motorbike?” she stammered, realizing the severity of the situation. “All I did was give my son a small loan. He needed the motorbike for his work. It can’t possibly be a crime for a mother to help her son, can it?”

“That is going to depend.”

“Upon what?”

“Upon whether or not you answer my questions.”

The woman smiled, revealing surprisingly more gold teeth than Harvath had previously noticed.

Vijay didn’t smile back. “Your son’s motorbike,” he clarified, in hopes of securing her cooperation, “was used in the murder of an American citizen. We would like to ask your son some questions. Where might we find him right now?”

“He works for the Kumar family.”

“I am aware,” Vijay replied. “Where is he at this moment?”

“He moves around from warehouse to warehouse. It changes day by day.”

“Are you dependent upon any medications, Mrs. Ali?” the ex-cop asked, changing the subject.

The question took the woman by surprise. “Medications? What do my medications have to do with—”

“You’re refusing to answer me and are being purposefully evasive. Perhaps you’ll be more forthright at police headquarters.”

“Police headquarters?” she repeated. “Are you arresting me?”

“Only if you continue to resist.”

“Me? Resist? Who’s resisting?”

“Where are your medications?” Vijay asked, moving toward the bathroom. “Back here?” Looking at Harvath, he added, “She’s obviously not going to cooperate. Go to the kitchen or the bedroom and find me a garbage bag or a pillowcase. Let’s take any medication she has. I don’t know how long they might want to hold her.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” the woman protested.

“So then help us,” Vijay replied. “Tell us where your son is.”

“If I do, what will happen to him?”

“We just want to ask him some questions.”

“Do you think he’s the killer?”

It was a good question. Plenty of criminals, across time, had attempted to cover their tracks by reporting incriminating property missing.

“I can’t know whether to rule him in or rule him out,” said Vijay, “until I speak with him. But if you’re asking me as a parent…”