Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
DHRITHI
Dhrithi sat across from Inspector Vikram Mathur and met his quiet, focused gaze. She’d met all the bigwigs Virat had lined up and now, it was time for her interview. Interview or interrogation? Her heart thudded, a school’s marching band tucked away in her chest. She twisted her sweaty fingers together in her lap and forced her breathing to steady.
“Would you like some water?”
Dhrithi jumped, her nerves getting the better of her. “No, thank you,” she said, her gaze dropping to the scarred metal table she sat at. She was alone in the room with the policeman.
Virat was waiting in the next room. Ishaan had dropped them off in his swanky car. Amay had not come.
Amay had not come.
The depths of her disappointment surprised her. Why did it matter? He didn’t owe her anything. If anyone owed anyone something, then it was Dhrithi who owed him. He’d already helped her out so much including letting her live in his home like an illegal squatter.
“Mrs. Gokhale-“
She jumped again, her elbow clattering against the table. “Umm.” She rubbed at her aching elbow, swallowing hard in an attempt to wet her dry throat. “Could you please not call me by that name?”
His eyebrows shot up as he leaned back in his chair. “But it is your name?”
Dhrithi rubbed the edge of her long-sleeved shirt between her fingers, a nervous tic from a lifetime ago.
“It is but it also isn’t.”
The cop smiled, a faint, blink and miss, smile that she was probably imagining. “That’s not vague at all. Should I look forward to more answers with the same level of clarity?”
Dhrithi made a weird, strangled sound. She dropped her head into her hands, muffled laughter escaping her. She struggled for some semblance of control before looking up at him over the tops of her hands.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. Technically that’s my name but it never fit. It was just a title. I was never Mrs. Gokhale. They never allowed me to be.”
“Could you explain a little bit more about that to me?”
Dhrithi sighed, the last of her amusement fading away. “I married Varun Gokhale because he was blackmailing me.” She traced a jagged line on the table with her finger, not looking up at the policeman. “First with a school friend’s secret, then with my mother’s affair, and finally with my father’s terrible business sense that led the family to the brink of bankruptcy.”
“Did you tell your family that he was blackmailing you?”
She nodded, her eyes still on the lines carved into that battered table. They looked a lot like the lines Varun had carved into her, literally and figuratively.
“I told my father,” she said, exhaustion creeping up on her.
“And?”
Something in his tone told her that he already knew what she was going to say. She looked up at him and found the energy for a faint smirk.
“Three hundred crores, Inspector. Three. Hundred. Crores. What do you think he said?”
“He sold you.” The words were quiet but damning.
Dhrithi shrugged, the pain from her family’s betrayal so far in the past, she barely felt it anymore. There was so much that had come after.
“It wouldn’t have been the end of the world if your mother’s affair or your father’s bankruptcy had come out in the open, would it?”
“My brother Dhanush.” It was all she said.
The Inspector riffled through the notes he had on his desk. “He lives in America and is currently studying Aeronautical Engineering. My information says Varun Gokhale was funding his education.”
Dhrithi nodded. “My brother is autistic.”
“Ah.” The cop’s eyes softened with sympathy.
“He also tests on a very high intelligence spectrum, genius level actually. He’s good with facts and figures. He’s not good with emotions. Especially emotions he doesn’t understand.”
He didn’t say anything. He just watched her.
“I love my brother, Inspector. He is also the only person in this whole world who loves me. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for him.”
“What do you know about Varun Gokhale’s business interests?”
“It’s a multi-industry business spanning automobiles, cement, and dairy.”
“That’s the respectable side. What about the others?”
She held his gaze steadily. “I know nothing about any others.”
Neither of them blinked for a moment. When the Inspector finally lowered his gaze to his papers, she took what felt like her first breath in a long time.
“What happened on the night of your accident?”
The breath she’d just taken tangled in her chest, a tightening around her ribs that made it hard to see straight.
“I-“ Her voice cracked and she took a moment to steady it. “He came home in a mood. That happened sometimes.”
“Because of work?”
Dhrithi shrugged. “I don’t know. He never explained. But when he was in a ‘mood,’ I knew I should hide. So, I did. In the cupboard.” She swiped at the sweat beading her upper lip. “But he found me.”
When she fell silent, the policeman prompted, “And?”
Dhrithi’s shoulders drooped, what was left of her spirit draining out of her as the memory of that night slammed through her. “You’ve seen the medical reports. You know what he did to me, that night and the days and nights that went before.”
She shut her eyes, wishing she could shut out the images running in a loop in her brain.
“He told me to run,” she whispered. “He liked the chase. He liked to chase me. And then punish me for running from him even though he’s the one who asked me to run.”
She took a deep breath and clenched her shaking fingers. “I ran and then I saw the car keys. I wasn’t really thinking. I was scared and in pain and…I grabbed the keys, got in the car and left. He followed in another car and tried to stop me. The rest you know.”
“Do you think he was trying to kill you?”
“I don’t think anyone could ever know what was in his mind but if I had to guess, I would say no. I think he was just trying to get me to stop the car.”
“He was high on both cocaine and alcohol, a dangerous combination.”
“Yes,” she said, seeing no reason to deny it. Varun was an addict, an ill-concealed fact. That it wasn’t only cocaine and alcohol was information she didn’t volunteer.
“Did he frequently use drugs?”
“Yes.”
“Did he deal drugs?”
“I don’t know.” She frowned at the question. “Did he? Was that the other business?”
The Inspector smiled. “I don’t know,” he parroted back at her.
“So, you stayed for your brother,” he said now, pulling out a sheet of paper and staring at it.
“Partly,” she answered.
“And the other part?”
The words choked her, but she forced them out. “I didn’t know how to leave. He had too much power. I had no support. And…”
“And?”
“I was scared of him,” she admitted finally. “I thought of leaving him. All the time. I planned to that night as well. I wasn’t only hiding in the cupboard. I was trying to pack when he came home early and surprised me. I was trying to get free but-“
She stopped talking, her shaking hand going to her throat, surprised at the admission she’d made. She hadn’t come here for this. She’d planned to be more guarded, more careful.
“You are free now,” the Inspector said gently.
“Am I?”
“He’s dead.”
“People like Varun Gokhale never truly die, Inspector,” she replied. “His damned legacy will live on.” In every scar on her body. “Are we done?”
“One last question. Why did Varun Gokhale want to marry you?”
Dhrithi had often wondered the same thing. “My guess? I was the only girl who’d ever rejected him. He needed to change that. Are we done now?”
“Would you like to be present when we search your home?” he asked gently.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you have until tomorrow to decide.” He gestured to the female constable standing silently in the corner to lead her out. “Thank you for your cooperation.”
She walked out, past a standing Virat, and through the crowded police station until she reached the even more crowded pavement outside. She saw him then. In faded jeans, a tight, plain, black t-shirt, sunglasses on that lean, chiselled face, he stood out like a sore thumb.
Amay had come. He had come!
She was running even before she could process the thought. He held his arms out and she threw herself into his waiting embrace. His arms came around her, holding tight. And Dhrithi allowed herself to feel. Unvoiced emotion, painfully acute sensation, and a need that she hadn’t acknowledged since she’d woken from anesthesia.
Amay had come.
“Can we go home now?” she asked.
She saw the word slice through his formidable barriers. Amay swallowed hard looking over her head at Virat. Some unspoken communication took place and then he nodded.
“Let’s go home,” he said huskily.