Ryan got out of his jeep. It is no use: he thought. Is it a village or a forest?
He was standing at the outskirt of Sinsini village. Yesterday, in the evening he got an information that a similar type of shooting had occurred at this village. Spencer – Ryan's colleague and friend was keeping an eye on all over Anglesland's sensational news. He had informed him that this shooting was also done by a tall masked woman. That was why Ryan was here. He left the jeep at the outskirt and entered the thicket. There were patches of clearings amid the thick jungle, letting the sunray filter onto the land. He had imagined that this village must have become very popular in local media and would be guarded by police officials; and that he had to show his badge to those officials to enter the village. But here in reality he did not find anything of this sort. There were no media personnel either. Perhaps they were all here yesterday when the accident occurred. It must have been a stir in the locality. But see today in the morning it appears like nothing has happened. Just a regular day.
There appeared a house – more of a wooden store house. Is it deserted: he doubted. But he knocked the door. There came a groan from inside the house. He knocked the door again.
"Yes." From the house came out a hag. "What are you looking for?"
"I was looking for Mary's house. Can you tell me where she lives?" Ryan asked in English.
"Everyone is looking for Mary. Are you a police man? Are you a news reporter? Why are you looking for her? Leave her alone. Let her enjoy a cool Sunday morning's nap while she can."
"I am a policeman. Please answer my question."
The hag did not seem a bit pleased or surprised, as if saying in her mind: You are not welcome in our village. Yet owing to her sense of social responsibility she directed him to go straight.
Sorry ma'm, it is my duty: he said in his mind. Well it was just more than his duty; it was his obligation. Actually the tall masked woman had shot someone close to him. His uncle. His uncle's benevolent face flashed before his mind's eye. His uncle – an innocent nomad of Rejismundi. An old friend of him had come to meet him. There the tall woman appeared under the disguise of a nomadic dancer and hid her face under the veil and tried shooting his uncle's old friend; but unfortunately his uncle was shot dead. His uncle was an innocent nomad. After Ryan's parents' death, he had taken care of him. When he grew up to become six years old, his uncle sent him to Salmet, the nearby city. There Ryan studied in a government boarding school. He did well in his studies. From his very childhood he wanted to be a police officer. So he studied hard and did good physical exercise regularly – and lo – now he was a high ranking police officer. All this was possible because of his uncle's sacrifices. He headed forward in the forest. Again after nearly two hundred meters he came upon another hut. There he knocked too. The owner of the hut told him that after crossing such two more huts he would chance upon Mary's hut. He followed her instruction. Then he found himself standing before a hut – this one was the biggest he had encountered till now; besides it had a fence too. Ryan knocked at the door. A portly lady opened it. "Mary?" asked Ryan.
The old lady's heavily wrinkled face turned weary. But there was a slight glint of a smile. Yeah, she is enjoying her newfound popularity: thought he.
"Not another media man, I have told you everything," she said.
"Sorry to disappoint you," said Ryan, flashing his badge. "Police."
"Sorry," gasped Mary and she was looked shocked with her round eyes. After few seconds she recovered and invited him inside. A shriveled looking old man was also present there inside the hut.
Ryan said, "Sorry to disturb you; but I have some questions to ask you about the firing that happened yesterday."
Mary nodded but did not comment.
"Tell me everything about the shoot-out of yesterday first."
Mary narrated everything giving details about their appearances and dresses too. Ryan took out his sketch note and pencil and drew the girl, the boy and the middle-age man whom the girl called Papa.
"Wow, you draw very nice. Very lively," complemented Mary.
"Thank you."
"There is something I have not told anyone yet. For this after thought occurred to me very recently that actually I feel like the tall lady assassin was hurling her gun at Veronica; but she waited till she saw panic in her eyes. Then perhaps she shot the boy near her. I feel like she had no intention of killing the boy at first. Or it can be just opposite, that is, in her mind she was determined to shoot at the boy; but was hurling her gun at the girl. Who knows what is inside the mind of the devil?"
"Hmm, thanks for the point," said Ryan. A thing to ponder. "You were saying that the boy and the girl were asking you about someone?"
"Yes, they were asking about someone I knew very early. It is Andrew – Andrew Long…"
"Hold on," said Ryan while jutting down the name on his notebook. "I mean the scholar Andrew?"
"What scholar?" Mary was surprised.
"I mean, he was reading a lot of books and probably writing a lot in his notebook – like I am doing right now."
"You are nothing scholarly in comparison to Andrew. He had stayed with us and he writes too much. He said to me that he was writing a book – this must be a daunting task, come on…"
"Yes very much," agreed Ryan. "Tell me more about Andrew."
Mary told him everything she knew about Andrew.
After few minutes Ryan left Mary's house denying a glass of lemon juice offered by her husband. He headed toward where the tall masked woman ran getting shot and injured – where Mary had pointed him. He was thinking: Why Andrew's name came up here too? There at Kaizermagus, Ron was reading those books which were only read by Andrew. And he even inquired about Andrew. Then perhaps he was also searching for Andrew and he hit the jackpot. Perhaps, perhaps. Many a thing may have happened. – Leave thinking about Andrew now. You must concentrate on the tall masked lady. She is the priority now. She ran this way – she must not have come on her feet such a great distance – not a great escape plan. She must have come by a bike or a car. Either she was alone or with someone to drive her. But her past records say she loves working alone and loves little theatricals.
While thinking all these he was carefully looking for foot-prints or tyre-prints on the ground. But yesterday night's rain had cleaned every evidence. Even though, he walked a bit more. There was a highway over there. He thought that the lady assassin must have parked her car here and after the shooting incident must have ran for her car.