Let's End Your FEAR

Chapter 10

When there were no obvious suspects, the first day of any homicide investigation was a blur of interviews and fact-checking that ate up the precious golden hours between a murder and the probability of it ever being solved. If you were lucky, you caught a spark - a tiny scrap of information that might lead you in the right direction, but Shetty and Yadav hadn't been lucky today. Fourteen hours into the Singh case without a glimmer.

Shetty parked the car on the street next to City Hall, and for a moment he and Yadav just sat there in the dark.

"You know your big problem, Nakuul? You take every murder so goddamned personally."

It was the one thing his ex-wife had said to him that still left him dumbstruck, all these years later. Even her end-game confession of all her infidelities had lost its punch as time passed, but not that. It was the very first time he'd ever considered the possibility that murder wasn't personal to everyone, and he still couldn't get his head around that.

It had something to do with empathy for the victim, he supposed. Not once had he ever been able to look at a body with the mental distance that would allow him to see it as just a body. Some cops could do that. Some cops had to do it, or they'd go nuts. Shetty had never been able to manage it. To him, it was never just a body; it was always a dead person, and there was a big difference.

But this one was worse than most. Only one day into the investigation and he wasn't just feeling sorry for the victim; he was starting to feel sorry for himself because he hadn't known the man, and that had never happened before.

'Long day,' Yadav  finally sighed.

"Too long. Too many sad people. You know, just once I'd like to work a case where everybody hated the dead guy."

Yadav grunted. "That ain't gonna happen. Nobody hates a dead man. It's not allowed. You could be the meanest son of a bitch on the planet, but once they put you in the coffin and lay you out in front of the people who hated you when you were alive, they all seem to find something nice to say. It's like a miracle."

Shetty scowled out the windshield at the deserted street. Maybe Yadav was right. Maybe Vivaan Singh had been just like anybody else, somehow elevated by death. But in his heart, he didn't think so. Yadav was silent for a minute.

'Except I think this one might be a little different, Nakuul.'

"Yeah, I know. I was just thinking the same thing,"

Nakuul closed his eyes, remembering all the mourners outside the nursery. It was a impromptu gathering you expect to see when a celebrity dies, or a beloved public figure, not some average John Doe nobody had ever heard of. The media had covered it, but also since it had snarled traffic on the street. They'd known the famous Vivaan Singh , and most of their attention was focused on the delicious, ratings-grabbing horror of  old man being tortured and beheaded instead of the poor old man tied to the tracks.

The irritating ringtone sang out from in Yadav's shorts. He ripped his pocket pulling out his cell phone before the irritating melody started again.

" Damnit, I'm going to ground that kid. Teach her to have a little respect for her father and classical composers."

"You should get one of those cell phone holsters for that thing."

"Oh sure. A cell phone in one holster and a gun in the other. I'd end up shooting myself in the ear."

Yeah, Yadav here.'

When Viraj turned on the map light and started taking notes, Nakuul got out of the car and leaned against the door, pushing speed-dial on his own phone, waiting for the answering machine beep on the other end.

'Hey, it's Nakuul. We've got some thing going here, and I'm going to be a little late I'll try to make it by ten. Call back if that's too late; otherwise, I'll see you then."

He flipped his phone closed and got back into the car, praying that ten o'clock wouldn't be too late; that his phone wouldn't ring in the next few hours.

Yadav waggled his notebook at him.

"That was the night manager at the Trilogy Super Club. Karan Singh was there last night, just like he said. Apparently he's there almost every night, solo, which tells you a little about his home life. But the place shuts down at one, and Anant put time of death between two and four, right? Right."

So he had plenty of time to get to the hotel and kill his father. Which means we don't have one person in that family we can clear. The old lady's in the house, and the son and the Imran are both supposedly three sheets to the wind and can't remember a damn thing.' He sighed and tucked his notebook in his shirt pocket. Nobody has alibis anymore. I hate that. So what do you think?"

Nakuul reached into the backseat to grab one of the two grease-stained bags that were probably teaking onto the seat.

"I think this car is going to smell like barbecue for the next year. Tell me again why we had to pick up dinner."

"Because if we'd sent Sameer he'd have come back with carrots and sawdust or some same vegetarian crap, that's why."