The Blue Bar (Blue Mumbai #1)(89)

“We should call Mhatre sir,” Naik said. “Please believe me on this. He is not involved.”

Maybe not with the kidnapping, but what about everything else? Arnav recalled the photographs among Shinde’s papers—the picture of Mhatre, Joshi, and Taneja, champagne glasses in hand.

“He’ll alert Joshi,” Arnav said.

“Trust me, he won’t, sir.”

Trust. A word Arnav did his best to stay away from.

“I can’t explain for now, but I’m certain about him, sir.”

His head buzzing with painkillers, Arnav gritted his teeth against the shards of agony moving down his arm. The road ahead was a scattershot of nighttime headlights.

Mind desperate for answers, Arnav considered his options. To have faith in his assistant. And his boss, contrary to his better judgment. Or risk losing Tara and Pia.

He’d trusted his sister and she’d committed suicide on his watch. Shinde had betrayed him every step of the way. Tara had gone away. But it had been worth it to love and trust—Asha, Shinde, Tara. Asha was in too much pain. Shinde saved his life. Tara had a good reason to leave.

Tara and his unknown daughter—worth fighting for, risking his trust again, now and later.

“Go ahead,” he said to Naik, hoping he hadn’t put his family in further jeopardy while trying to rescue them, “but stay on Tara’s trail.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Find out who the bungalow belongs to. It doesn’t seem to have a name or address on the map.”

In the heavy silence that followed, Arnav watched as Tukaram navigated the congested Diwali traffic.

“Naik must be right.” Tukaram glanced at Arnav before focusing back on the road.

“I sure hope so.”

“You’re in this because of your girlfriend and daughter. I’ll retire next month with nothing to lose. But this will cost her if she’s wrong. Naik is sticking her neck out.”

Arnav had considered it before—but only about the risk to Naik, and his appreciation for her help. Tukaram had framed it well: his assistant wouldn’t call Mhatre unless she knew certain facts he didn’t.

His turmoil calmed, Arnav focused on the job ahead. He inspected his Glock—he might have to use it soon. Small enough to carry and big enough to fight with, but even with its lower recoil, it would still be the very devil for his broken shoulder. The shoot-out with Shinde returned to him in technicolor, how he’d flinched and missed, the blood and ringing silence amid the noise. Arnav took a steadying breath. One-armed, he had to shoot slower, keep extra-steady on the trigger. No flinches no matter how much it hurt. He’d come prepared, though, and packed reloads. This felt like the early days of his career, when shoot-outs were commonplace in certain zones of Mumbai. This time, his world was at stake. Arnav felt the twist of dread in his stomach.

“We’ll get them,” Tukaram answered his unvoiced thoughts.

“We must.”

“This Tara . . . you love her, right?”

Arnav shocked himself by snorting with laughter at the old man’s question. He’d never taken Tukaram for a romantic. In view of what was about to go down in the coming hour, he saw no sense in lying to Tukaram. Or himself.

“Yes.” That one word settled inside him, fitting like a bullet within a chamber.

When you close yourself off from people because they might end up hurting you, you shut out not only the hurt, but life itself. You have no control over what will happen to you, but you can choose whether to risk it all, or retreat. Given a chance, he would take a gamble at love again, make a start this Diwali. He could only hope he wouldn’t lose.

Naik called. He put her on speaker.

“We might all be headed in the same direction, sir,” Naik said. “They turned left toward Madh Island. We’ll arrive ahead of you.”

They were moving Tara to the farmhouse Pia was at. Tukaram smiled, a fierce grin, without taking his eyes off the road.

Arnav’s other phone flashed with a message from Ali: Friend still there. Girl is thrashing about.

Pia’s desperate cry over the phone echoed in his mind. At thirteen, he’d been a child, terrified and clueless when Asha ended her life. It must be so much worse for his daughter—to be snatched, gagged, and have her hair shorn off.

“Arrange a doctor on standby,” he requested Naik over the speaker.

Arnav crossed his fingers—Let Pia be OK. Let me reunite her with Tara. He heard Naik pass on the message to one of her constables.

“Did we pin down the bungalow owner?”

“Seems old.” Naik paused. “A constable is searching the records.”

“Naik?”

“I spoke to him, sir.” She sounded hesitant. She meant Mhatre.

“And?”

“We’ll have reinforcements soon. I assured him we have evidence for further action. He’ll keep this to himself. The station is not under his direct command at the moment, so he can’t talk to the inspectors on the phone. He’s heading there.”

If Mhatre was helping them, that took him off the suspect pool. The jackal was someone else.

The car would soon turn onto Madh-Marve, the tree-lined road reputedly haunted by a ghost-woman in bridal finery. The images of the disintegrating body at Aksa and the decapitated woman stuffed in the black faux leather suitcase flashed before his eyes.