Indie: Murder in the City

INDIE

MURDER IN THE CITY

a novel

by

Bryan Mooney

Copyright © 2015 by BME, Inc.

Second Edition: February 2015

First Edition: July 2013

All rights reserved.

Published worldwide by BME—all rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America and protected under all applicable worldwide copyright protections.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission from the publisher BME.

Published simultaneously in Canada, UK, India, Mexico, France, Brazil, Denmark, Italy, Spain, Japan, Canada, Brazil, Australia and other countries worldwide and protected under all applicable copyright protections.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, newspapers, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are also used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, government agencies, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Novels by Bryan Mooney-

DETECTIVE MYSTERY THRILLERS

Indie–Murder in the City

The Potus Papers

Eye of the Tiger

FICTION

Love Letters

A Second Chance

Box of Chocolates

Christmas in Vermont

Available wherever fine books are sold

To

My Bonnie

Javed Khan, a tough and seasoned homicide detective, was the best cop in New Delhi before being demoted to the Metro Division—but once again he was on the trail of a cold-hearted killer. He doesn’t know if the murderer is a psychopath, a serial killer, or a self-styled vigilante—all Javed knows is that he is going to catch the killer and bring him to justice. The city is on edge as the death toll rises. The police brass want the killer caught—or better yet, shot on sight. Something must be done and soon.

Doctor Indira Birwana, Indie to her friend, is a brilliant and beautiful doctor, who has worked hard to make her family proud. She returned home from the states for her father’s funeral and becomes fiercely protective of her precious younger sister, who has fallen in love with the boy next door. Indie’s joy turns to ashes when her sister and her fiancé are victims of a heinous crime. Indie’s heart is broken. But not her spirit.

Javed questions everyone involved in the deaths but his only lead to the killer is Indie. Soon, Javed finds himself drawn to her like no other woman. But duty and passion collide as the powder keg of angry citizens and violence is poised to explode as Javed’s search for the killer tightens. His own dark past collides with his sense of duty and law as the search movers closer and closer to finding the killer. Now Javed and Indie are both running out of time and must make a decision… before one of them dies.

Contents

Title Page

Novels by Bryan Mooney

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Preview of THE POTUS PAPERS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter One

Javed Khan paused in the dense tall grasses, the razor sharp edges cut deep into his arms and face. The air was still and quiet. He raised his hand, halting the hunting convoy behind him. The two hunters and the gun bearers at the rear stopped, frozen in their tracks. Javed sniffed the air around him before kneeling down to examine the deep footprints in the sandy mud. The experienced tracker stood taller than the group behind him, even taller than the big American. He was blessed with strong hands and broad shoulders from years of working in the forests with the teak lumbermen and the elephants they used to haul the heavy loads from the jungle. The toiling in the woods had made his body and muscles as hard as tempered steel.

This is the one, he whispered, tracing the huge footprint with his finger while motioning for the weapons to be brought to them by the gun bearers. This is the one we want. He is a big one… about four meters…

In English please, said his annoyed American companion.

He’s ten feet tall and easily five tons. And he’s close, very close.

You can’t tell all of that from a footprint! jeered the balding American congressman from Wyoming.

Shhh…quiet! An icy stare silenced him. He looked away at the fields beside them before turning his attention back to the task at hand. The seasoned tracker took the American newcomer’s hand and retraced the outline of the big elephant’s tracks they had been hunting for the last three days.

See how deep the impression is here in the dirt? That takes a mighty big animal to make such a track. Notice the bit of blood on the side of the footprint? It’s probably from a poacher who tried to bring him down and failed. So he’s wounded and crazy—crazy like a fox. Now squeeze the dung heap.

What? I’m not doing that.

Javed grabbed the Congressman’s arm and pushed both of their hands deep inside the steaming pile. See? It’s still warm, so he’s close, real close. He stood without brushing himself off while his intense gaze scouted the shoulder high swaying grasses that surrounded them. Now let’s just hope it’s a male. There’s no way in hell I want to tangle with a female rogue Indian elephant. No, sir. They’re the worst.

They walked down the narrow path waiting for the onslaught that was sure to come. Why do you carry that relic? asked the nervous Yank in a hushed cautious tone pointing to his guide’s .465 Holland & Holland Magnum hunting rifle.

Javed did not like to talk while he stalked his prey, especially when it was a dangerous quarry like elephants. He fondly recalled the countless times he hunted with his father in this same rugged terrain, hunting for wild boar, rhino, water buffalo, gaur, bears and tigers. Now his childhood hunting instincts were returning to him. His American companion carried the special government permit, which allowed them to hunt the marauding elephant that had been terrorizing his family’s ancestral homestead. He came home from the big city to help pursue this rogue and put an end to the panic in the village he grew up in.

Why? Because it works, that’s why, Javed replied dryly.

I’ll stick with my .460 Weatherby Magnum, boasted the Yank. This high velocity baby will bring down a Sherman tank.

Or go right through him… and not stop him at all. If it doesn’t hit the tiny brain at the back of his skull then he’ll keep charging you.

The seasoned tracker realized how much he missed being out in the bush, and he had been happy to see his mother again during this visit. They shared a meal together in the small one-room house where he was born and grew up in.

His mother had prepared a simple lunch for him before he left for the hunt—fritters in yogurt and beans. She had baked his favorite, a puffy bread called puri, accompanied by her traditional homemade tea. He loved her tea, which she made by boiling the tea leaves in a mix of water, milk and spices, using cardamom, cloves, cinnamon and ginger. His mouth still resonated from the taste of his favorite childhood meal. One day he would come back here, he vowed to himself, back to his birthright. He could always make a decent living here as a guide he reasoned.

The Yank pestered him again as he scouted to the left and to the right for their quarry. What do you do in the real world when you’re not hunting rogue elephants in the wilds of India? asked the nervous American now clinging close to his Indian guide.

I trained in New York for a few years but I’ve been a police detective in New Delhi for the last twelve years.

Homicide?

No, I was in homicide until last year. Now I’m assigned to the Metro Transit Division.

Yeah, who’d you piss off to get that job?

The governor. His ears perked up at a slight movement in front of them. Quiet… Shhhhh… He raised four fingers on his left hand high in the air signaling eighty yards, off to the left. Javed slid the powerful rifle from his shoulder and quietly released the safety. The beast was close. He could almost feel the breath of the mighty animal beat on his face. The caravan stopped. His hunting companion beside him held his rifle in the ready position. Then all at once their world changed.

They felt the ground quake before they saw the massive beast charge them. The elephant trumpeted its arrival with its head raging from side to side, the large flailing ears, its raw eyes signaled its only desire— stomp them dead into the earth. Five tons of anger charged them in a split-second. Eighty yards and closing fast.

Javed readied his rifle. Sixty yards.

This one’s mine, said the Yank, raising his rifle to his shoulder. The squatty hunter closed his left eye while he sighted the rogue elephant over the long barrel of his weapon. He squeezed off a roaring round of death headed straight for the huge bull elephant. Fifty yards. It kept coming. Forty yards. Charging. He pulled the trigger a second time. Again the air was filled with the blast of gunpowder, and again it failed to stop the charging beast. His rifle was empty. He fumbled to reload, dropping the shells onto the grassy green earth. Thirty yards. The branches on the trees shook violently announcing the unwelcome arrival of the huge angry beast.

The monstrous trumpet of the elephant blared then roared, its head held high in anger. The sound was deafening like that of a roaring avalanche. The ground shook beneath them. It was a storm of terror headed straight for them.

They could see its wild eyes.

It lowered its head to charge for the kill. Twenty yards.

Javed raised his rifle to his shoulder then steadied his weapon. His hand was firm as he squeezed the trigger. Ten yards. The weapon belched fire from the muzzle and propelled the killing shot through the elephant’s forehead. The beast dropped dead to the ground in a crash of rage landing mere feet from where they stood. The earth shook, and dust rose high above them in huge clouds from the tremendous weight of its fall. There was no sign of life left from the once-powerful animal. The mighty King of India lay humbled and dead before them. Javed walked to the side of the magnificent beast.

His terrified foreign companion stood frozen with fear. A large wet ring of moisture ringed the front of his khaki bush pants. Good shot, he finally managed in a hollow whisper to Javed. I must… get me one of those guns.

Javed walked around the magnificent dead creature and examined him, more as an anthropologist than as a hunter examining his kill. A trail of blood streamed down the side of the silent brute. He traced it to a festering wound made by the tip of a spear, which still dangled from its side. Just what he anticipated, a poacher. He stroked the surface of the once-proud animal and stood to say his farewells and pay his final respects. He had reverence for all creatures, but this mighty beast was one closest to his heart, and he was glad it was over.

Javed’s job was done, and it was time for him to return to New Delhi. While he loved being home he missed the sights, sounds and fast excitement of the city. He missed the late-night dinners and enjoying the tastes and captivating aroma of all the different foods of the capitol.

He missed the pulsating excitement of New Delhi. While he loved the intoxicating thrill of the bush country, he was always torn as to where his home truly was in India. Anytime he was away from it he missed the noise and the massive crush of people in the city and the telling allure of the women of New Delhi, some of the most beautiful women on earth. But most of all he missed his Tasha, his spunky fourteen-year-old daughter. She was his precious pearl. This coming weekend was his time with her. He was going to make the most of their weekend before he returned her to her mother’s house Sunday night. But for now, it was time to pack up and head home. Yes, he must admit, Delhi was now home for him, and he hurried to get back.

Chapter Two

What do you mean you’re married? she recalled saying nights earlier in New York to her now ex-boyfriend. The words still rang in her ears. She couldn’t believe she had wasted two years with him only to find out he was still married. Now she knew why he spent so much time in California.

Doctor Indira Birwana, Indie to her friends, could not understand it; she was bright, graduating at the top of her medical school class, attractive, even worked part-time as a model to help pay her way through school and had a good job as a top international health-care consultant at Global Health Care Corporation (GHC). But she always came up short when it came to selecting men. Just her luck, she thought, but never again was she going to let that happen to her.

She watched the twinkle of the city lights of New Delhi shine below her as the plane circled the capitol to make its final approach for landing. It had been a long fourteen hour flight from New York City, but she was nearly home.

Indie, returning home to her native India, wondered if she would find a different country from the one she had left years earlier. She realized that India as well as the whole world was changing. She felt a certain longing replaced with serenity at being home again. Her return was tinged with sadness because of the death of her father. Be strong, she told herself.

Turning away from the sights below she reread part of an article from an in-flight magazine written by Dr. Parma Bata, a noted Indian social anthropologist.

"… modern India is a wonderful and diverse country battling with itself to balance its centuries-old traditions, while embracing the bright new world of democracy, civil rights and high technology. Religion remains at the center of the universe for most of the billion-plus population, but growth has brought an onslaught of change to traditional values.

The ever-increasing demand for skilled workers has taken more Indian girls and women from their traditional place in the home out into the workplace, an uncommon sight from just ten years earlier. These women enthusiastically embrace the modern and Western ways of living, communicating and styles of dress. In the large cities of Mumbai, Bangalore and New Delhi, this new way of living only serves to heighten the conflict of old versus new and modern life versus tradition and the place for women in the traditionally male-oriented workplaces in this modern, emerging nation.

Men began to try to discourage women from working and going to school while preserving what they felt was the traditional Indian way of life for men that had been practiced for the past three hundred years. Men and boys would try to keep women in the only place they felt they belonged—the home.

Over the years what began as whistles and grunts slowly morphed into teasing, singing obscene lyrics, brushing, pushing, fondling, groping and ultimately—rape. But even with rape there were shades of gray, which includes offenses classified as minor rape. These acts by men and boys against women of all ages are lumped together under behavior the local police usually dismiss as Eve Teasing.

As the years passed, these acts became more and more an everyday occurrence in modern India with the patriarchal-elected leadership unable or unwilling to field a solution to this volatile problem. It is a fiery situation and is prime for an explosion. What will it take to light the fuse?"

Indie placed the article on the seat besides her. She found its contents disturbing and could not believe what she had just read. Has my homeland changed so much that respect for one another is no longer observed? But she recalled her sister had mentioned in passing about incidences which had happened on the streets of the capitol but she thought little more of it. She saw the lights of the city beneath her become larger and come into focus as the plane glided towards the runway. Home.

It was late Sunday night when the plane finally arrived. A large billowing cloud of white smoke trailed behind the huge Air India jumbo jet as all sixteen wheels of the massive aircraft touched the ground. The jet slowly taxied to its terminal at the ultra-modern Indira Gandhi International Airport to disgorge its passengers. The quiet airport was deserted at that time of night and seemed strangely antiseptic, clad in sparkling white floors, white walls and white ceilings.

The empty, modern building did not prepare those arriving for what was to come once outside the gleaming white monument to the country’s beloved icon and former prime minister. Outside the dazzling white and blue structure, the crush of the city’s twenty-four million growing population soon became evident to all visitors. People crammed the streets, the walkways, the cities, the markets and everywhere else.

Though tired from the long flight from New York, Indie’s spirits lifted when she saw the beaming face of her younger sister Nita waiting for her at the exit. She was accompanied by Ravi, her ever-present male friend, each wildly waving signs proclaiming: WELCOME HOME INDIE!

Oh, I’ve missed you both so much, she said gathering them in a group hug and showering them with kisses.

Nita kissed her on the cheek, Indie, I have missed you more than you know! We have so much to talk about.

I’ll get your bags, Ravi volunteered.

He never changes, Indie said, pointing in his direction. "He’s so sweet. Amma would have loved him. ‘A perfect husband,’ she would have said." Their mother had died suddenly years earlier from an embolism, and now their adored father was gone from them forever.

We’re just friends.

I see, commented Indie with a knowing smile.

Ravi had borrowed a car from a coworker to pick her up and after loading her bags into the vehicle he drove them to Nita’s apartment, all happy just to be together again.

Are you hungry? Nita asked her sister.

Famished, I try not to eat much on an international flight.

I have some of your favorites at home. It’ll be just enough.

They talked of old times in the back seat of the tiny Renault while Ravi drove through the downtown streets. Indie’s eyelids drooped by the time they pulled into the parking lot of the apartment building. It had been a long, gruelling flight.

Nita’s apartment was very small, featuring an efficiency kitchen, one bedroom and a small sitting area. She moved there to be close to school once her father had retreated to live at the lake house. It is so good to see you, Indie. I’ve missed you, she said hugging her again.

Once Ravi had left for the evening, the two sisters spent the night reminiscing about home and family. The tears flowed from both of them nonstop as they talked of years gone by until the early morning hours.

"I, along with Ravi, have made most of the arrangements for appa’s funeral, but I know you’re tired so we