A New Faith: Part 1: Chapter 7

Nadeem’s apartment was in northwestern corner of the city. Alia and Santosh got on a tram where the happy hour was underway. The regular clinking of glasses full of colorful cocktails interspersed with peals of laughter provided a pleasant background score for their journey. Unfortunately, neither Alia nor Santosh were in the mood of indulging. In any case, Sonia had a strict rule of not imbibing while on duty. 

In the rush hour, it took them about twice as long as off-peak to reach Nadeem’s apartment. Their tram had to stop frequently, people getting in and people getting out. The higher frequency of the trams meant that almost every intersection was busy. The pedestrians and cyclists made the congestion worse. 

Nadeem’s neighborhood was relatively quiet because there were a couple of commercial establishments located in it - a sports complex and a small garment factory. It was unusual to have two such establishments located in adjacent blocks as the city planners had aimed for not having dead zones anywhere in the city.  

All apartment blocks in Sequoia were more or less identical. Each one consisted of a six-floor building excluding the ground floor which was completely allocated for commercial purposes. The building was square-shaped and built around a ground-floor courtyard. The entries to each flat opened in a common balcony that overlooked the courtyard. During winters, the courtyard would be covered with a weather-proof ceiling allowing the use of the courtyard year-round. Of course, during summer, the ceiling was left open. 

Each flat was about 60 square meters with an open layout that included a large room and a bathroom. The room could be easily configured with prefab movable partitions to create smaller rooms that could serve as a bedroom, living room, and kitchen. Usually, when people decided to live together, they would try to find a couple of flats sharing a wall and merge them. Not that many people had chosen to pair up, though. Most preferred to live alone and hang out with others when they felt like it. 

The similarities among the buildings ended at the level of basic structure, though. The way each building looked and smelt and sounded and felt was completely different as the tenants, both residential and commercial, had gone out of their way to make it unique. These were the new homes of a people that had decided to build a new life from scratch. And they had been eager to put their personal stamp on it. 

Nadeem’s building was an inviting place with most of the corridor walls covered with murals that the residents themselves had painted. The cafe/lounge in the courtyard doubled as an art gallery that appeared to specialize in water-color paintings, mostly landscapes. But there were also a few exquisite sculptures depicting the flora of the tundra. When Alia and Santosh entered the building, the cafe was open and a few art enthusiasts were checking out the exhibit while in one corner a couple of tenants were catching up with each other in loud and carrying voices.

“Did you hear about Nadeem?”

“Who?”

“The guy who lived in flat #4D… I think?”

“What about him?”

“On the evening news, they said that his body was found in a park today morning.”

“What happened?”

“They didn’t say anything about that. They are urging folks to contact the police in case someone has any information about him.”

“Do you think it was a murder? That first murder from a month ago is still unsolved, isn’t it?”

“Dunno… maybe. Why else would the police be involved.”

“I think… I had seen him around. Did you know him? ” 

“Not really. I think he was into music. I was in Maryam’s flat when I heard him playing the flute. She is in #4E. He was quite good.”

“How do you know it was him playing it? Could have been a recording. Or someone else…”

“He is a total loner. I doubt he had anyone visiting. And he was definitely practicing. Or maybe composing a new piece.” 

Alia and Santosh had been surveying the building from the courtyard and had overheard this entire conversation which seemed to reinforce the observations from Santosh’s earlier visit here. How come the guy lived here for five years and his neighbors still knew so little about him? This case was becoming just as vexing as Qasim’s. 

Alia walked over to talk with them. 

“Hi! 

My name is Alia and this is my colleague, Santosh. We are from the police department and we are investigating Nadeem’s death. 

We couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. We would like to talk with you about Nadeem.”

“Uhh… we don’t know anything. I mean… we just knew that he lived here.

But we didn’t really know him!” 

Muscle memory is a powerful influence. People who came from places where the police were more often than not the bad guys, as a rule, tried to minimize their interaction with the police. There was nothing remotely oppressive about the Sequoia police department for the simple reason that it had been mostly invisible as there just hadn’t been much crime in the city.

Alia sighed, in her mind. She had gotten used to this. 

“You don’t have to worry about anything. We are here to only ask questions.”

“Ummm… okay.” 

This was the woman. She looked a bit on the older side - probably, the same age as Sonia. She had dyed her hair with henna into a vivid shade of red. Yet she was wearing quite sober clothes - grey formal pants and a plain white shirt. The guy seemed to be of a similar age and was wearing capris and a yellow kurta with thin blue stripes running down the length. He had a carefully groomed goatee and deep-set eyes.  

“My name is Lisa and this is my neighbor Kiran.”

“Thanks.

When did you last see Nadeem?”

Kiran straightened up. 

“I don’t remember when I last saw him, specifically. I have seen him around. 

I think he was doing something in music - professionally, that is. 

In the first 2-3 years, I think he was studying and his fellow students visited him a few times. I vaguely remember them talking about harmonics and what not. 

I hadn’t seen anyone visiting him in the last few days. 

He sat in the courtyard, especially, on the weekends. But always wearing his headphones. 

He may have chatted with folks. Dunno. Not a social guy.”

Lisa was nodding her head in vigorous agreement. “He was quiet as a mouse. Except - that is - when he was playing his flute.”

“Anything else?”

Both Lisa and Kiran shook their heads. 

“Okay - thanks! Is it okay if we get your contact details so that we can reach out to you in case we have additional questions?”

“Uhh… we don’t want any trouble. I mean… really… we don’t know much anyway.”

That instinctive fear of police. Again. 

“No trouble at all. We promise you. This is just in case.”

“Umm… fine. I guess.” 

Alia nodded at Santosh and he stepped forward with his notepad and pen. 

Alia wandered over to the cafe counter to chat with the barista. 

“I know who you are! I have nothing to say to you people. You are useless! 

Look what has started happening now. They have started targeting Muslim men. This is how it always is. We are targeted wherever we go. He did nothing to anyone. He went about his business. And yet, he was killed.”

Alia was taken aback by this unprovoked outburst but outwardly she maintained her composure. While Sonia and she had discussed this similarity between the two victims briefly, it had not even come up within the team so far. How had this guy reached that conclusion so quickly?

“Sir - it is too early to suggest anything like that is happening. And even if that were the case, I assure you that we shall find the guilty party and hold them accountable.”

“Did you know Nadeem?” Alia continued.

“Yes - I knew him. We chatted a few times. Usually, late at night when I was closing up the cafe and he was still here listening to his music.”

“What did you talk about? I am sorry, before we continue, please can tell us your name? Are you a resident in this building?”

“What are you going to do with my name and my address? Target me next?”

This was getting a bit irritating.

“No, sir! All the information you provide is strictly confidential. We shall not be releasing it to the public.”

“Yeah… we shall see! 

My name is Shahid. Yes - I live here - Apt # 5H,” he said pointing to his flat.

He had a well-tended beard and a crew cut. Alia could smell the jasmine oil that he used for his hair and beard. He was quite dark and about the same height as she was. But he looked strong. He was wearing a traditional muslim salwar-kameez that was beige in color. He continued to glower at Alia and Santosh. 

“It was nothing. Just chit-chat. 

Come to think of it - I did most of the talking. About customers and sales and all that. 

Sometimes we prayed together.”

“Sir - why did you think anyone was targeting Muslim men? Had anybody said anything to Nadeem? Threatened him in any way?”

“Oh - as if you don’t know. They have always been targeting us.” He glanced briefly and pointedly at Santosh.

Santosh was wearing a red dot on his forehead, courtesy of Tozi’s enthusiasm. Tozi happened to be experimenting with different colors for one of her makeup projects. And Santosh was one of her regular guinea pigs who allowed her to use his face for testing new ideas. Santosh thought that he had cleaned his face before leaving the office that evening, but apparently some red makeup had not come off. It looked quite similar to a Hindu teeka. 

“Who has been targeting you?”

“People like him,” again he stared at Santosh. 

Alia decided to ignore this accusation and focus on the interview. 

“When did this happen?”

“Ever since my childhood! All my life!!”

Shahid’s voice had risen. The rest of the people in the courtyard had stopped talking and were gawking at the three of them. 

An altercation was a rare event in Sequoia. Initially, as everyone had been still using their native languages to communicate, frustration and all kinds of other emotions frequently spilled out. Voices did get raised a lot. Fists were shaken. Violence, though, had been avoided. One might have expected a fair bit of violence given that city consisted entirely of young people who had few social structures to constrain them for the first time in their lives.

“I am asking you about incidents here in Sequoia?”

“Ummm… no… well… they still don’t treat us well here either.” Shahid’s body language was now distinctly defensive. Alia could tell that he was tense. He had, inadvertently, brought the spotlight on himself because of his shouting. He was looking around at the other people with blazing eyes.

Alia decided to change tack. She had to be careful in choosing her words to ensure that she was not disclosing any detail about the cause of death.

“Sir - right now we are here to talk about Nadeem. But, I am happy to take down any complaints that you have against anyone else while we are here. 

In the morning, we visited his work place to talk with his colleagues. Now we are here to talk with his neighbors and friends. Did he have any friends that you know of?”

Shahid relaxed somewhat. The tension in the air was still palpable, though. There was no question about Alia’s ability to handle any violence that Shahid may have wanted to cause. She was excellent at unarmed combat. Santosh, though, had only achieved the minimum level of competence required by the police department. He would have stood no chance against the muscular Shahid on his own. 

Moments before Alia had walked up to talk with him, Shahid had been scrolling through his social media feed where there had been numerous posts highlighting the fact that both victims were Muslim men. A muscle memory of another kind had kicked in - a paralyzing fear which could instantly transform into mindless violent action. 

As a 3-year old kid growing up in a village in northern India, Shahid had been traumatized by the public lynching of his father. A crowd of fanatical young Hindu men had continued to pulverize Shahid’s father’s body long after he had ceased breathing. The entire crowd had been wearing those Hindu teekas on their foreheads and saffron clothing. Their chants had haunted Shahid’s nightmares for several years. He had survived because of a kindly youth in the crowd had gotten scared of the sudden violence that his friends were inflicting on a poor man. That youth had quietly backed away and stumbled over the prone body of Shahid who happened to be wearing the traditional muslim skull cap. He realized that Shahid would not escape the violence unless he was hidden. He had picked him up and quietly rushed away from the location before anyone noticed him. 

Despite the five years of peace that Shahid had experienced at Sequoia, away from all the persistent terror of both natural disasters and human predators, that trauma had festered in his sub-conscious. He had clung on to his past through the addictive drip of social media. That connection had been sufficient to nourish his fears. 

Of course, he had heard about Qasim’s murder. Over time, that news had receded from his consciousness since he had not known Qasim. But the news of Nadeem’s death had shaken him to the core. While he was barely trying to process that at a personal level, the social media python had already started coiling around him, whispering horrifying stories. The sight of Santosh with that red dot on his forehead was a sufficient trigger for that subliminal fear to burst forth. 

Alia’s innate calm reasserted itself in the situation as the tension slowly started ebbing. Shahid thought for a few moments about what Alia had said. Did Nadeem have any friends? He hadn’t seen Nadeem hanging out with anyone at all. Maybe Nadeem would take off his headphones once in a while and briefly chat with someone in the cafe. But that was it. 

Shahid shook his head. 

“When did you last see him?”

“Not in a couple of days at least. I think, he had mentioned that he was busy with a show. He had been quite pleased that he was selected to play his flute in a show for the first time. We had celebrated that evening with the new pastry that I had introduced earlier this month.”

“Okay. Thanks for talking with us. If you do remember something, we request you to get in touch with us as soon as possible. Here is our contact information.”

Shahid gave her a tentative nod and took her card. 

Alia turned to Santosh, “Let’s call it a night. I am really tired. Tomorrow, we shall get the team to canvas the entire building in the evening. In the morning, Carlos and I will continue interviewing Nadeem’s colleagues at the concert hall.”

“Okay boss. I will write up my notes and send them to Tozi. Good night!”