Patang by Bhaskar Chattopadhyay

den?’
    Harish shrugged. ‘Well, ask him yourself – there he comes!’
    DCP Singh’s vehicle pulled up at the mouth of the alley with a noisy screech. Protected under an umbrella held by one of his aides, Uday Singh got out of his jeep and walked up to where Rathod and Harish were standing.
    ‘What’s the situation, Rathod?’ the DCP asked.
    ‘Sir, we don’t have time for a SITREP right now – we’ve been standing here for the last 20 minutes. He may have disappeared by now.’
    DCP Singh was calmness personified. Ignoring the urgency in Rathod’s voice, he said, ‘Tell me the suspect’s name.’
    ‘Anthony Matthew, 36 years old, male.’
    ‘Where is he holed up?’
    ‘Left at that corner, then first right. Second building to the left. First floor.’
    ‘Tactical teams are ready?’
    ‘Yes, they are all ready.’
    ‘You have the warrant?’
    ‘Yes, I do.’
    ‘Good. All right, everyone. Let’s make a move, and do this nice and easy.’
    Rathod and Harish sprung into action. In less than 10 minutes, the door of Tony Matthew’s small one-room apartment was kicked in and a tactical team entered the room.
    ‘Clear! There’s no one here!’ Rathod heard the dreaded words from outside. He locked the safety of his pistol and tucked it back into his jeans. Then he took a deep breath and entered the room.
    The room was roughly 15x15 feet in area, with a doorleading to a cramped bathroom, which a combat officer was now checking. Judging by the precision with which everything had been arranged, it was quite evident that Tony was a methodical man. Against one wall stood a bed that had not been slept in. The adjacent wall served as a small kitchen, with a low granite-top shelf on which rested a small stove and some utensils and pulses. In the corner stood a small steel almirah with some clothes. Placed in front of the third wall was a desk and a chair. The desk was stacked high with books and notebooks. Stuck on the wall were several post-it notes, newspaper and magazine cuttings, photographs, notes, diagrams and blueprints. It seemed that Tony Matthew had done a lot of research on his victims and their movements, as well as on the locations where he had finally left their bodies. When Rathod looked closely at the papers pinned above the desk, his attention was caught by a beautifully drawn red kite. His heart began to race. A kite… Tony Matthew’s signature! But…was this evidence enough? And wasn’t it possible that the presence of that kite was just a coincidence?
    Suddenly, Harish, who stood behind him, exclaimed, ‘My God! Take a look at this.’
    Rathod turned around to face the fourth wall – the one through which he had come in. With the exception of the small section which accommodated the front door, there were at least a hundred kites of various shapes, sizes and colours hanging from the wall.
    An officer from the tactical team said in a low voice, ‘We’ve checked everywhere. He’s gone.’
    ‘Yes,’ Rathod whispered, his eyes still fixed on the kites, ‘but we came to the right place.’
    As officers continued their interrogation of Tony’sneighbours, Rathod intently studied the wall near Tony’s desk, occasionally clicking photographs of the post-its on his phone’s camera. Uday Singh had left. Rathod knew he would leave. He also knew that the DCP would have stayed back if they would have apprehended Tony. Someone would have had to speak to the media, after all!
    A constable came over to him and said, ‘Sir, this man wants to speak to you.’
    Rathod turned around to face a man in his late fifties dressed in a cheap shirt and lungi .There were two young children – a boy and a girl – standing behind him, watching Rathod curiously.
    ‘ Namaste sir, my name is Manohar Apte, I work at the Kurla post office,’ he said, joining his hands.
    ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Rathod.
    ‘Sir, I live in that flat over there.’ The man pointed towards his ‘flat’, a dingy room