She tried to open her eyes, to focus. She recognised the voice. She smiled. It was her father’s voice, and she was five again, and he was playing with her on the lawn of the mansion…
She opened her eyes.
“Rana?” Vishwanath said. He sat on a chair next to the bed, leaning forward and staring at her.
She turned her head slightly, managed a smile.
“I don’t want you to speak if it’s too difficult, Rana.”
She tried to lick her dry lips. She was aware that she was thirsty. “I’m fine,” she murmured. “Can… can I have water?”
He jumped up to fetch a glass of water, held it to her lips. The sensation of the cold, clear liquid wetting her lips and flowing over her tongue was a delight.
She dropped her head back to the pillow. The effort of drinking had exhausted her.
“You’re lucky to be alive, Rana.” He squeezed her hand.
“How… how long have I been—”
“Almost a month, Rana. You were in a coma for two weeks, and then in intensive care on a life support machine for a week. You don’t know how lucky you were. The laser missed your heart and spine by millimetres.”
“A month…” She marvelled to herself.
“The killer got away, Rana. When the medics found you, they thought you were dead.”
She tried to return the pressure on his fingers. “Did you… did you get him?”
Vishwanath shook his head. “He killed three security officers and got away. But we have the description of a tall, grey-haired man leaving the apartment buildings.”
Rana tried to sit up, but Vishwanath restrained her.
“No… disguise. He was in disguise. He has black hair.”
Vishwanath frowned. “Black hair?”
She tried to raise her head from the pillow, but fell back, exhausted.
“It was Klien,” she managed eventually. “Ezekiel Klien.”
Vishwanath stared at her. “Klien, the security chief at the port?” His tone conveyed disbelief.
“Klien… the crucifix killings. He did them all. I… I interviewed him. He knew I was getting close, so… so he came to kill me. He was in disguise.”
She remembered their confrontation, and his demanding from her the softscreen. But what did that mean? Why did he want the screen? Where did that fit into the scheme of things?
She was exhausted, too wrung out to say another word or even to remain awake. Her last sight was of Vishwanath staring down at her incredulously.
When she came to her senses again, Vishwanath was sitting on one side of the bed, Commissioner Singh on the other. She assumed that minutes had elapsed, that Vishwanath must have called Singh. Then she realised that it was dark beyond the window. Hours had passed.
She blinked from Singh to Vishwanath. “Two visitors now,” she managed. “Must be getting better.”
Vishwanath pulled his chair forward. “Rana, I want you to tell Commissioner Singh what you told me. About Ezekiel Klien.”
She turned her head to regard the overweight Sikh. She was aware of the weight of his regard, his reluctance to be convinced.
“Klien,” she said, her every word an effort, “Klien is the crucifix killer. I… I interviewed him. He knew I was on to him. Someone saw him kill Raja Khan, then walk to his house on Allahabad Marg. Only he was in the disguise of the silver-haired man. Same man who… who came to kill me. It was Klien.” She paused, licked her lips. “He has a… a capillary net. One of the prototypes.”
The words dried up. It was all she could do to look from Vishwanath to Singh, try to assess their reaction.
Vishwanath touched her hand. “We’re continuing our investigations, Rana. Rest, now. I’ll see you later.”
The two men left the room. She watched them in the corridor, talking animatedly in low tones.
She closed her eyes and slept.
Soon her cycle of sleeping and waking regulated itself. She slept during the hours of darkness and woke in the morning. The last of the tubes, those inserted directly into her stomach, feeding her for the past month, were removed and she was allowed to eat small meals. Her first breakfast of fried egg, vegetable cutlet and sweet chai was the finest she had ever tasted.
She was allowed out of bed, but only as far as the chair facing the window. The short walk of half a dozen steps exhausted her, but at least there was no pain.
She was examined regularly by a doctor, and once her surgeon introduced himself. “The laser went straight through your chest,” he said with matter-of-fact relish. “A millimetre either way and you’d be dead. As it was, it just broke a few bones and nicked your right lung.” He reached out and rubbed the back of her hand. “Touch you for good luck, Rana. We’ll have you out of here in a week.”
She looked forward to Vishwanath’s next visit. She did not want his praise so much as his acknowledgement that her investigations had borne fruit, that her work had led to Klien’s arrest. Then, no doubt, would come his censure for her pursuing interviews without notifying him of her intentions.
The next time Vishwanath visited, Commissioner Singh was with him again. She was sitting up in bed, leafing through a holodrama magazine, when the two men entered the room. Vishwanath closed the door behind him. In silence they took their seats on either side of the bed.
She smiled from Vishwanath to Singh, but they did not smile back.
“Lieutenant Rao,” Singh said, “the allegation you made against Ezekiel Klien is a very serious matter.” He watched her with an unflinching gaze.
“I know that,” she said. Something turned sickeningly in her stomach. “Of course it’s a serious matter. So is trying to shoot someone dead.”
Singh glanced at Vishwanath and sighed. “The fact is that we’ve investigated your claims, Lieutenant, and we cannot find a shred of evidence to justify taking any action against Klien in regard of the so-called crucifix killings or your attempted murder.”
She looked from Singh to Vishwanath, wanting to laugh out loud and at the same time wanting to cry with rage at the injustice. Vishwanath was regarding her with the gaze of a disappointed father.
She shook her head. “I know who shot me,” she whispered. “It was Ezekiel Klien.”
“Lieutenant Rao,” Singh began with manufactured patience. “We have questioned Klien as to what he was doing at the time of the killings over the past ten years. He has an alibi to account for his whereabouts on every single occasion.”
“What about the killing of Raja Khan?”
Singh glanced at Vishwanath, who said, “Rana, we have three witnesses who will testify under oath that they saw him at the spaceport that night.”
“And the morning he tried to kill me? I suppose he’s paid liars to testify for him then?”
Singh said, “Lieutenant, I’ve had some of my best men working on your claims. I’m sorry, but no evidence whatsoever was discovered to corroborate what you said.”
She fought to keep her voice calm. “Are you calling me a liar, sir? I know who tried to kill me!”
Vishwanath said patiently, “Rana, Klien was on duty in his office on the morning you were shot. We have witnesses who saw him.”
“But that’s impossible. Please believe me, I know who I was talking to. I know it was him. He introduced himself!”
Singh shook his head. “I can only assume that you were mistaken, Lieutenant. The alternative, that you are deliberately lying, is too offensive to contemplate. Ezekiel Klien happens to be an acquaintance of mine of long standing. Your bizarre claims have caused me severe embarrassment.”
He nodded at Vishwanath, who touched Rana’s hand, almost apologetically, before rising and opening the door for his superior.
Rana lay back and stared at the ceiling, tears of rage and betrayal tracking down her cheeks. She had considered telling him that Klien had demanded to know the whereabouts of her softscreen, but they were determined to disbelieve her anyway. What difference would it make to their assessment of the case if she told them?