The man lay face-down on the stone floor, dressed in white kurta pyjamas. He was tall and heavy set and very dead. Next to his body was a pistol in a matt-black finish.

Seeing a dead body up close can be quite unnerving, especially one that has begun to rot. I flipped open my veil, clenched my nose and picked up the gun. It was a Beretta 3032 Tomcat, compact and lightweight. 'Is this the gun you shot him with?'

Sapna nodded and shivered. 'He said he knew I was your sister. He kept saying, "No one can get Shabnam, but at least I can say I got Shabnam's sister." A sob escaped her lips and I grasped her hand once again. I, too, was guilty by association, complicit in the bastard's crime.

'I need to see his face,' I said.

'I don't,' wailed Sapna.

'Come on, help me.' I grabbed the man by his waist and tried to turn him over. He was like a large, inert boulder and I had to pin my leg against his hip and push with all my might before I succeeded in tipping him over on to his back.

Bile filled my mouth as soon as I saw his bloated body. The stomach had distended like a helium balloon and his hands and feet were as stiff as cement. Some kind of fluid had leaked from his mouth, nose, eyes and ears and congealed into a sticky mucous-like substance. His skin had turned a waxy greenish-blue. His face was almost unrecognizable because of the grotesque bloating and the eyes had sunk into the skull. All I could make out was that he had a large, clean-shaven face, disfigured with numerous pockmarks, perhaps the residuum of a childhood disease. His left ear had a deep cut, as though someone had slashed it with a knife. And in the middle of his forehead was a small disc-like hole where the bullet had gone in. There was surprisingly little blood.

'Any idea who this fellow is?' I asked Sapna, breathing through my mouth.

'No, didi. I'd never seen him before. He just grabbed me from behind as I was walking out of college and pushed me into a taxi. At least twenty students must have seen me being abducted, but no one dared to raise an alarm.'

'Did anyone see you when he brought you here?'

'I don't know. He bound and gagged me. I think I must have been unconscious when he brought me to this house.'

'Was there a… struggle?'

'Yes. He asked me to undress. When I refused he lunged at me, caught hold of my kameez and tore it in half. That's when I glimpsed his gun lying underneath the pillow and grabbed it. He charged at me like a mad bull and the gun went off. I swear, didi, I didn't mean to kill him. I only wanted to get away from him.'

'Didn't neighbours hear the gun shot?'

'They must have, but gun shots are so common in Sarai Meer, nobody pays any attention to them.'

'Then how did you go home in a torn kameez?'

'I took one of his kurtas from the cupboard, ran to the main road and took an auto-rickshaw home.'

I pictured the scene in my mind, then went to the cupboard and opened it. It contained a couple of shirts and pairs of trousers on thin metal hangers. All the shelves were empty, but when I peered deeper, I discovered a black canvas bag stuffed into the inner recesses of the bottom shelf. I pulled it out and unzipped it. It was full of stacks of crisp new hundred-rupee notes.

Sapna's eyes widened on seeing the cash. 'Oh didi, how much do you think there is?'

'I don't know. But at least seven or eight lakhs,' I said. 'Let's find out who this bastard is.' I rummaged through the dead man's kurta pockets and came up with a tattered black leather wallet and a clunky blue Nokia mobile. The wallet contained 3,325 rupees and a few coins, but not a scrap of paper which could identify him. I turned to the mobile. It was dead too. It probably needed recharging.

'OK, let me start removing evidence of our visit,' I said, and for the next half-hour proceeded to wipe every inch of the room with a handkerchief to make sure no fingerprints were left anywhere. I cleaned the pistol as well and put it into the canvas bag. When I lifted the bag, I found it was really quite heavy.

'What are you doing, didi?' Sapna cried. 'You are stealing money.'

'We need it more than he does,' I said, dropping the dead man's wallet into the bag.

We closed the door to the room as before, wiped the metal latch clean, crossed the courtyard and stepped into the alley once again. No sooner had I stepped into the street than a bearded man in a grey pathan suit pointed his grubby finger at me. 'Isn't she Shabnam Saxena?' he asked his similarly dressed companion, who gaped at me with his mouth open.

'Yes. It is Shabnam. SHABNAM IS HERE!' he screamed at the top of his voice.

'Shit!' I swore softly as I realized that I had forgotten to pull down the veil over my face. People were beginning to stare at me, even with my face now covered. I grabbed Sapna's arm and half ran, half walked to the mouth of the alley, lugging the heavy bag with me. Luckily an empty auto-rickshaw was passing by and I jumped into it, pulling Sapna in as the startled driver almost overturned. 'Take us to Kurmitola. Quick. I'll pay you five hundred rupees.'

The driver did another double-take and gunned his glorified scooter as though it was a James Bond vehicle.

We counted the money this evening. It is ten lakh rupees. I handed over the loot to Ma. She needs it more than I do. But Sapna was still inconsolable. 'Now I have got you involved as well, didi. The police will catch you,' she wailed. She clung to me like a daughter as we slept in Babuji's bedroom, but when I got up later to get a glass of water I found her missing. I discovered her in the bathroom, sitting on the wet floor, trying to slash her wrists with Babuji's shaving blade.

'What are you doing, Sapna?' I screamed and snatched the blade from her trembling fingers. Her whole body shook as if she was in the grip of a violent chill. I helped her back to the bed, and lay down with her, pulling the heavy woollen blanket over us completely, smothering both the cold and my sobs.

It was inside that blanket's dark cocoon, as I listened to my little sister's muffled heartbeats, that I had my first real epiphany. With startling clarity, the impermanence of life, the transience of fame and the true meaning of family were revealed to me. I saw the starkness of Sapna's predicament and the source of her poignant anxiety, and I decided in that instant that come what may, I would protect my sister. Even if it meant taking the rap for murder.

At the same time, I remembered Barkha Das's words – how the rich and famous manipulate the law and get away with murder – and wished I had an ace up my sleeve which could trump all our troubles, an ally in high places. Someone who could get the body disposed off and get the whole thing hushed up. And that's when it struck me, I know such a man. He is a part-time producer, occasional murderer and full-time philanderer. More importantly, he is the son of the Home Minister of Uttar Pradesh, who controls the entire police force of the State. And his name is Vicky Rai.

22 March

I called him up on my mobile. Luckily his number wasn't engaged.

'Is that really you, Shabnam? I hope my Caller ID is not playing tricks on me.'

'Vicky, I need your help.'

'So you want the National Award, after all?'

'No. It is much more serious than that.'

'Really? Have you murdered someone? Just joking. Ha!'

'I cannot talk on the phone. I need to see you.'

'Well I've been dying to see you for a very long time.'

'Can I come today?'

'Today? No, today is a bad day. Why don't you come tomorrow? Come straight to Number Six.'

'Number Six?'

'Yeah. That's my farmhouse in Mehrauli. Every taxidriver in Delhi knows the address. Tomorrow night I am throwing the biggest party on earth. Celebrating my acquittal.'

'I need to see you privately. Not at a party.'