13

The building that housed the headquarters of the Goa Police was designed as a Portuguese-style palacio, two storeys tall and as wide as a city block. Moulded arches, stucco walls painted mustard, canopies over the many windows. Inside, there was a green courtyard with offices on three sides.

Ignatius Coutinho, the police inspector in charge of special crimes, had been having a quiet morning. He had just asked for his third cup of tea and folded a newspaper to the sports pages when Gehna had been ushered in to his presence. An hour had passed since, and the inspector still had no idea what had happened in last night’s league knockout match between Sporting Clube de Goa and Salgaocar F.C. He shot another longing look towards the discarded news sheet.

‘I demand my one phone call,’ Gehna said from across his desk.

Inspector Coutinho sighed. You could always tell the ones who had been watching too many American TV shows. ‘You can have as many phone calls as you like. You’re not the one being detained.’

‘What I don’t understand,’ Gehna continued, ‘is why you think any crime has been committed here. Are the Goa Police running out of actual criminals to arrest? Were you guys just bored? Explain it to me like I’m a six-year-old, please.’

‘Look, young lady,’ Inspector Coutinho began in his sternest voice, ‘a charge of kidnapping has been made against that boy. It is a very serious matter and I would advise—’

‘Kidnapping! Why not call it murder while you’re at it?’ Gehna was losing her temper. She took a deep breath before continuing. ‘Tell me something, Mr Coutinho. How can I be kidnapped when I came willingly? When, in fact, the whole thing was my idea to begin with.’

‘Inspector.’

‘’Scuse me?’

‘It’s Inspector Coutinho, not . . . Never mind. Even if you came with him voluntarily, you still need your parents’ permission. There are laws about such things.’

Gehna thought about that for a minute. It made her madder than a poked rattlesnake. I can’t believe Nina. How could she be so immature? I left her a message that I’d be back in a few days. Many girls in my position wouldn’t have bothered to do as much.

‘It’s my birthday,’ she said.

‘Many happy returns of the day.’

‘No, I mean . . . thank you . . . but I meant that today is my eighteenth birthday.’ Gehna rummaged in her handbag and pulled out her driver’s licence. She handed it to the inspector. ‘See?’

Inspector Coutinho saw.

‘That means,’ Gehna explained, ‘that I’m not a minor any more. I’m a major. I don’t need anyone’s permission. But Eram’s only seventeen. If anyone’s been kidnapped around here, it’s him.’ She slowly lifted her hands, wrists locked together. ‘He’s innocent. Take me instead.’

Inspector Coutinho snorted. This was why he preferred dealing with commoners; most problems could be handled with a few well-timed slaps. The urban upper classes, on the other hand, knew they had rights and weren’t afraid enough of his uniform to relinquish them. It made his job harder.