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happy with her family—and move to Mumbai. ‘Maybe we can look at a wedding date in December,’ suggested Neelam.
    On their return to Kanpur, at his wife’s insistence, Amarnath Grover had spoken to a buyer for the bungalow. But now Ginni had gone missing, and he was headed tothe police station to locate his child. Power may be deft, but responsibility was leaden-footed; it would always be his.
    They went straight from the airport to the Malad police station where he met Neeraj’s friends Nishant Lal and Deepak Kumar, and his flatmates Haresh and Sushant, all of whom he had been introduced to during his last trip. A missing complaint had been registered the previous day, the inspector-in-charge told him. He also heard that his son had last been to a flat belonging to one of his friends, a girl called Maria Susairaj. ‘She lives close by,’ said Haresh. ‘She had called Neeraj at night to help her shift.’
    â€˜Let’s go to her house then,’ he said to Neeraj’s flatmates. ‘I’d like to meet and talk to her.’
    Ginni had never mentioned this girl. When he asked Haresh about her, he mumbled something, clearly uncomfortable. Maria’s flat was completely empty. ‘That’s strange,’ Amarnath Grover thought to himself. ‘Hadn’t the girl called Ginni to help in the shifting? If so, where was her stuff?’
    There was also evidence of some wet paint, which struck Haresh as odd. Normally tenants always ensured a house was painted before they took possession. But all those thoughts vanished as Maria started to weep. ‘Why are you guys questioning me like this? I am also upset about Neeraj. If you want I’ll come with you to the police station again.’ Sushant tried to console her. ‘It’s okay, Maria, take it easy, we’re all a little on the…’ He stopped short when a stranger walked into the room and stood behind Maria, holding her shoulder comfortingly.
    â€˜Uh, this is Emile, my fiancé,’ she said sniffling.
    Neeraj’s two flatmates gaped at one another, and after a hurried goodbye, shepherded Amarnath Grover out of the house.

    May 9, morning
    All of Neeraj’s friends—Amarnath Grover hadn’t realized just how popular his son was—eddied around him; their youthful energy, optimism, and determination inuring him against the anxiety that threatened to seep into his bones. ‘Uncle, we’ll keep up the pressure on the police, don’t worry, we won’t rest till they find Neeraj,’ Deepak Kumar assured him as they got into the autorickshaw to go to Malad police station again for an update. At the police station Amarnath Grover spotted a familiar face. ‘I see you on television every night, I like your style of reporting,’ he told IBN7 reporter Nishat Shamsi, and then asked, ‘Are the police telling you something that they’re keeping from us?’
    â€˜They’ll say something only if they make any progress. I think they’re just playing the wait-and-watch game for now, and not doing much to locate Neeraj. Sir, why don’t you go to Rakesh Maria instead?’ Nishat Shamsi suggested helpfully.
    May 9, 5.30 pm
    In his imposing office at the Mumbai police headquarters at Crawford Market, the Joint Commissioner and head ofthe elite Crime Branch, had just been debriefed on an exasperating murder case that his boys from Unit IX had solved. The unidentified body of a young man had been found inside Joggers’ Park at Lokhandwala in North Mumbai. The Crime Branch had traced it back to Chandigarh and found that the deceased, looking to emigrate to Canada, had paid a Mumbai-based travel agent for his services. When he found no progress on his travel papers he had come to Mumbai to demand the money back, only to be murdered by the fraudulent agent.
    Rakesh Maria was talking to journalists about the killing and the surge in white-collar crime at his