The Blue Bar (Blue Mumbai #1)(21)

“Do you have any clue how important the identification is in this case?” Shinde said.

“I’m sure Dr. Meshram has done his best.” Arnav stepped in. Shinde’s injury had made him ornery, especially after he learned that the bone in his upper arm wasn’t healing at the expected rate.

“Thank you, sir, I try.” Dr. Meshram offered a weak smile and held up his gloves to show he couldn’t shake hands. He turned back to Arnav. “My regular assistant is on leave. With an electrical problem in the ventilation system, and neither of the saws working, the cases had backed up. The man replacing my assistant is new to the job.”

“The body is still on the dissection table?” Arnav said.

“Yes. You can take a peek if you want. I’ll walk you through my conclusions.”

Masked and gloved, Shinde and Arnav stepped into the dissection room. The smell of formaldehyde and disinfectant rode the air-conditioned air. The decapitated body on the steel table was paler than before, and seemed waxier, the cut marks on the arms, breasts, and thighs almost black. A large, deep Y-shaped incision started at the top of each shoulder, ran down the middle of the chest, to below the stomach. It stood out as a welted scar—the stitched-up dissection.

“The subject is between twenty-five and thirty years old,” Dr. Meshram began. “We don’t have teeth or tooth enamel, so I doubt we can be more precise. I’ve sent bone samples for analysis as well.”

This wasn’t good news. The more precise the age, the better the chances of finding a match in the missing persons records.

“Stomach contents show she hadn’t eaten in a while. I’ve taken tissue and blood samples for examination at the Kalina laboratory.”

“What about the decapitation?” Arnav said.

“Happened a while after death. She died about ten hours before she was discovered.”

Ten hours. Arnav’s mind raced even as the pathologist spoke. So she’d died that morning. Whoever had done this had a lot of privacy, some infrastructure to get the body bled out, and help with this ghoulish operation—perhaps the men who dumped the remains.

“The culprit had her for at least a week, based on some of the healed wounds,” Dr. Meshram added.

Starved and tortured. Arnav saw daily the depravity of humankind paraded through his files, but this was extreme.

“Cause of death?” Shinde said.

“The culprit may have smothered her, because the lungs show edema, but we corroborate that by examining the nose and lips.” Meshram shook his head. There were no nose and lips in this case.

“Sexual assault?” Shinde crossed his arms.

Morgues were cold, but now Arnav felt a different kind of chill in the room. His hackles rose, as if in response to a threat. Someone had committed horrific atrocities for more than a decade, with no one the wiser.

“Yes. But we found no traces of the culprit. Based on the examination of her organs, she has given birth, at least once.”

A mother. Who was taking care of this woman’s child? Arnav fought for calm. He’d seen mothers on this table before, but the fate of this woman, who had been robbed of her face even in death, distressed him. The chemical whiff layered over the faint notes of rotting cabbage, which came from the bodies, did not help. The last time he’d choked at a morgue was ten years ago. He wasn’t about to start now. He stood straighter, fisted his hands.

“Identifying marks?” Shinde said.

“A birthmark under her left breast.”

The birthmark could only be used to corroborate her identity, not determine it. Dr. Meshram pointed to it, standing out like a pale shadow under the left breast.

“X-ray results?” Arnav said. “Maybe she underwent surgery at some point?”

It was better to speak than throw up. To Arnav’s relief, his voice stayed level. An inspector unsettled by a dead body. Shinde would never let him hear the end of this if he knew. He sneaked a glance at his friend, who didn’t look any better than Arnav felt. Like most Mumbai police officers, Shinde faked professional detachment.

“We did an X-ray, but found no supportive device in her body. We sometimes find pacemakers, but only with older victims.” Dr. Meshram picked up a ziplock bag. “You’d asked me to keep an eye out for these, however, and I did find them.”

Within the transparent bag, tiny blue sequins shone in the white light—the confirmation Arnav sought.

“She’s one from the same series of murders,” Arnav said. “No other way to determine her identity?”

“Only DNA to go on, unfortunately. Blood and tissue reports might help. It’ll take a while.”

“Nothing else?”

“She’s had laser hair removal done,” Dr. Meshram said. “All over her body.”

Arnav filed away that piece of information. Shinde thanked the pathologist, and Arnav left Dr. Meshram with a request to keep custody of the body till further notice. As per normal procedure, the pathologist only preserved tissue samples, and sent unclaimed bodies for their last rites within three days of the postmortem.

Once he had dropped Shinde back home, Arnav dialed Ali.

“Ji, saab.”

“I need that black Maruti van I told you about.” Arnav gripped the steering wheel, his gaze focused on the road slippery with rain.

“I’m trying to get a picture for you.”