Dead in a Mumbai Minute (19 page)

By this time, if Dhingre didn’t know who you were, you weren’t worth knowing in the film industry. Which is why Kimaaya, whose first film featured Savitri Sharma, didn’t waste any time poaching him. He was in her service for about nine years, from her second film to her sixteenth, and he helped her navigate the dirty, difficult terrain to find her place in the spotlight.

And then, when Kimaaya decided he was no longer needed, he became redundant overnight. He had come too far to go back to working the floors, and none of the younger stars wanted to employ Kimaaya’s over-the-hill cast-off. There was a sense that something had gone bad between the two of them, though neither spoke of a fallout publicly. A few old-timers gave him work and that was about it.

But before I delved deeper into the past – which might even involve taking a closer look at Kimaaya’s role in the affair, despite what Shayak thought about it – I needed to look at the most obvious suspect first, and for that I had to find out what Viraat was doing on the lawn, in the dead of night, passed out. That was when Adlakha called me into his room.

‘I just got a call from Shayak,’ he said, pushing his glasses to the top of his head.

He didn’t look pleased, but then he never seemed to, if he could help it.

‘The Pratap Puri case is now no longer your headache. You, apparently, have better things to do with your time.’

‘Shayak has asked me to work on the Maaya Island murder.’

‘And how, I wonder, did that happen.’

‘I don’t think I understand what you mean.’

‘It is quite simple. How does someone who has worked here for five minutes get the assignment of the year?’

‘I think you should ask Shayak that.’

‘But I’m asking you.’

‘I can’t speak for him.’

‘You can’t even hazard a guess?’

‘I try not to speculate.’

‘Then let me offer you my explanation – and you can treat it as a friendly warning if you wish. I don’t know what happened in Calcutta, but Shayak is hoping to capitalize on your relationship to ensure you toe his line with this investigation.’

‘And why would he do that?’

‘All I know is that Kimaaya is one of our clients Shayak keeps close to his chest. Maybe he has a little bit of a crush.’

I shrugged.

‘And maybe he thinks you have a crush on him, which would make you very easy to control.’

At first I didn’t think I heard him correctly. Then came anger. Following which, after a few calming breaths, my insecurities stepped in to take over. Could Adlakha be right? Was Shayak using my feelings for him – and my greenness – to keep this investigation as tightly under his control as possible? But it was his company – if he wanted to exclude us all and run the whole show himself, he was well within his rights to do so. Yet he seemed preoccupied and happy to pass the reigns of the investigation over to me.

None of it made sense. And either way, it had absolutely nothing to do with Adlakha.

‘I will e-mail you my report on the Pratap Puri case,’ I said, as businesslike as possible. ‘I had an opportunity to speak with him at the island as he was one of Kimaaya’s guests the night of the murder. Unfortunately, he still won’t budge on his no-surveillance position.’

Adlakha just stared.

‘If that is all, I would like to get back to work now.’

Adlakha dismissed me with a wave of his pen. He had said his bit and, unable to get a rise, was now done with me.

The quicker I sent my report on Pratap Puri to Adlakha, the sooner I would have it – and him – off my back, so I spent the next hour or so on that. Once done, I turned my attention back to the files on my desk, choosing the one on Viraat.

His father was a businessman of some clout in Mumbai, with roots in heavy machinery. Viraat himself, after an uninspiring academic performance, went to Australia to study, after which he seemed to have no desire to break from Bondi Beach and return home to join the family business. That is when daddy decided to start a venture more in line with Viraat’s interests – an import outfit with a focus on Australian and New Zealand wines. Viraat seemed to know what he was doing, or had hired people who did.

But then he had begun to dabble in more risky ventures, investing crores in a vineyard in Nashik that went bust, buying a case of Bordeaux that was reportedly rescued from a 100-year-old shipwreck that proved to be a fraud, throwing grand parties for his friends whenever the fancy struck. And, on at least one occasion that I knew of, consuming wine worth crores himself, meant for a client.

I called the hospital and was told that Viraat had been released earlier that afternoon. I referred to the file again and found his home details. No answer on the landline or cell phone. I thought I might as well go over and see what I could find – perhaps he would be in a more cooperative mood now that he was at home.

When I got there a little after 4.30 pm I found the door open just a little bit, the lock smashed.

‘Hello?’ I called out. ‘Anyone there?’

There was no answer.

I pushed the door and at once knew something was amiss. A chair was lying overturned, a vase had met a similar fate, flowers and water spilled onto the carpet. I moved gingerly through the living area, careful not to touch anything. In the dining room there was a large wooden table and a bar, behind which was a stool that had toppled over. As I got closer, I saw a sight that sent a chill through me – a pair of well-heeled feet, attached to a body, lying on the floor. I inched forward with dread, for I had seen those shoes before.

It was Afreen, eyes wide open, blood turning the blue silk carpet beneath her a glistening black.

I heard a noise and swung around, acutely aware of how exposed I was.

‘What the hell happened here?’ I heard a man’s voice say. It sounded like Viraat.

With nowhere to go and nothing in sight that I could arm myself with, I stood my ground. Viraat turned the same corner I had a few moments before and saw me.

‘What are you doing here?’ he said, bewildered, shifty-eyed. He had shaved since I last saw him, and smelled like a duty-free store.

‘I had come to meet you. The door was open. I let myself in and found … this.’

He followed my gaze, and peered over the bar.

‘Duuuude! What the hell is this?’ he said, more dazed than shocked.

I didn’t know quite how to respond to that.

‘Who is that lying back there?’

‘It’s Afreen.’

‘What’s she doing on the ground like that?’

‘She’s dead, Viraat.’

I saw his eyes widen. His pupils were dilated.

‘I knew this would happen!’ he screamed, running a jerky hand through his hair. ‘I knew they were out to get me!’ He sat down on a bar stool.

‘Who is out to get you?’

He didn’t answer.

‘Why would they hurt Afreen?’ I asked.

‘Because they came for me and I wasn’t home!’

‘Whom are you talking about?’

Viraat could only shrug.

‘Was Afreen staying here with you?’

‘No!’

‘What was she doing here, in that case, with you out of the house?’

‘Who knows, man! Maybe she is one of them. Maybe she was here for more money.’

‘More money for what?’

No answer. And then he raised an angry arm and brought it down on the bar. Two things happened – suddenly the surface came to life like a TV screen and next, when he lifted his arm again, he knocked over a glass that was on it, spilling water everywhere.

I gasped: we had contaminated the scene. I watched mutely as the water danced around the surface of the luminous bar. Luckily there was not enough to spill onto the floor. Viraat hardly looked concerned.

I pulled out my phone and dialled Shayak’s number.

‘Yes,’ he said, curt.

‘There’s been another murder. Afreen’s been killed at Viraat’s house.’

I gave him a quick account of what I had found. Shayak swore. ‘I’ll tell Ajay to send a team out there. Do you have an evidence kit with you?’

‘In the car.’

‘Get to work.’

‘Before the police arrive?’

‘Try to get as much as possible before they do.’

What was going on here?

‘Whatever they say when they do get there, tell them to speak to me.’

‘Is there something I should know?’

‘This is not the time for questions, Reema. Get moving. They may not want us working on this case for long.’

‘But it has to be connected to the murder on the island! Afreen might have seen something.’

‘Reema, be careful what assumptions you jump to.’

‘Okay,’ I said, trying to focus on the task at hand. ‘What do I do about Viraat? He is here, contaminating the scene even as we speak.’

‘He’s wasted, isn’t he?’

‘Looks like it.’

‘Keep him out of the way,’ he said, hanging up.

I could not understand what was happening, but I had my instructions and they were clear.

‘Viraat,’ I said.

No response.

‘Viraat,’ I repeated.

‘Huh?’ he replied.

‘I need you to go to the living room.’

‘Sure thing,’ he said, still sitting.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and told the driver to bring the evidence kit – it was company protocol for the Investigations team to always have one at hand while on the job – up to the flat. I then led Viraat to the living room and stood guard. ‘Try not to touch anything. Keep standing for the time being.’

No reply.

‘Cool bar you’ve got there,’ I said.

‘Yeah? Thanks.’

‘It’s a screen?’

‘Yeah. Our newest product. Pitching it to nightclubs as a way of integrating ads and stuff at point of purchase.’

It seemed like a good idea. I could see the booze companies jumping at a fresh way of advertising their wares, particularly with all the legal restrictions on their marketing activities.

‘Well, it looks great.’

He nodded absentmindedly.

‘Do you know why Afreen was here, or how she may have gotten in?’

‘Nope.’

‘Or who may have wanted to harm her, or you?’

He shook his head. No more mention of those who wanted money.

My kit arrived, and I quickly dusted for prints on a chair before asking Viraat to take a seat.

‘What’s happening?’ he said.

‘I need to take some evidence. The police are on the way and I am sure they will have questions for you.’

I went back to the body, starting out by taking photographs of poor Afreen.

Single gunshot to the chest. No signs of a struggle – her hands and arms were free of defensive wounds. Her clothes were not disturbed, and there were no obvious signs of sexual assault.

I moved to the living room with the camera, starting with the lock on the front door. I had just finished when I heard the lift stop at Viraat’s floor. Out came Ajay and two constables.

‘Reema, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave,’ Ajay said.

‘Shayak said you should speak to him.’

‘We have spoken already.’

I stared open-mouthed as the DCP and one of the constables entered the flat and the other officer took guard at the door.

It didn’t seem as though I had much of a choice in the matter, unless I wanted to take on the Mumbai Police. I packed up my kit, took the lift down and waited in the lobby.

Fifteen minutes later, Ajay and his men left, leading Viraat away in handcuffs. Ajay turned to me.

‘Shayak called again. Much as I would like to help, there is nothing for you here. I have told him as much.’

I watched his retreating back with frustration, unsure why this latest roadblock had presented itself. But there was no point in wasting more time. I flipped through my notebook and found Afreen’s address, which I had made a note of at the island, along with the contact information of everyone present.

I cursed Mumbai traffic for the ninety-four minutes it took me to reach Afreen’s apartment in a very unfashionable part of town. It was in a four-storey building, and I walked up a steep, narrow staircase to the top floor. Confronted by a standard-issue padlock, I put on my gloves, took the right tool from my kit and eased it open.

I stood outside the door, knowing that I was about to cross a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. What was I doing here, in direct violation of orders from my boss and the police? Was I willing to lose my job over this? Perhaps even risk arrest?