Dead in a Mumbai Minute (21 page)

The words came out with a confidence I simply did not feel, and I almost lost my resolve when I saw disappointment staring back at me.

‘Fine,’ he said, getting up. ‘This is the last time I will bring it up. If you ever change your mind, you know where I live. But remember – no door remains open forever.’

I bristled at his words but reminded myself that he was hurt. ‘The loss is mine,’ I said.

Shayak stepped into the hallway and turned to me. He leaned in and kissed the top of my head.

‘Somehow, I doubt that.’

He left me holding the handle of the door, winded and bereft and filled with the certainty that I had just made the worst mistake of my life.

TEN

I
awoke feeling shaken on all fronts, fighting for focus, till a call jolted me out of it. It was Madhav Pande. ‘I got your message on Facebook. What is this about?’ he said abruptly.

‘You may have heard about the murder on Kimaaya’s island.’

Long pause. ‘Yes.’

‘I think you can be of help to her.’

‘Who are you?’

‘I am working on the investigation. My company is employed by Kimaaya.’ I kept it vague but banked on the fact that I didn’t think that Madhav – no matter how reformed and rehabilitated – would be able to resist such a close connection with the object of his erstwhile affection.

‘If I am a suspect, I’d like to say that I was in Pune till yesterday. I can give you names of about twenty-five people you could call to check.’

‘I have other questions for you as well. Can you come to our office today?’

‘No.’

‘Then can I meet you somewhere?’

‘If you can make it here in half an hour, I am at Café Kalu.’

As I took directions, I was already pulling on my jeans and trying to tame my mane with a hairbrush. No time to make myself pretty. Half an hour later, when I got to the café, I saw a man tapping away on his tablet, sipping a cup of coffee. He was still very much the man from the courthouse picture, but he had lost the gaunt look and had an air of calm about him.

‘Madhav?’ I said.

He looked up and nodded. I pulled the chair across from him and sat down.

‘How is Kimaaya?’ he asked. His concern appeared genuine.

‘She is okay,’ I replied, reluctant to give this former – perhaps current? – stalker any fodder for fantasy, though apparently I had no compunctions in using his fixation to get information.

‘She needs my help?’

‘If you know anything about the murder, it might help us solve the case.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘How would I know anything about it? You think I am still following her, don’t you?’

‘I think there is a chance you may know more about her than most, and if your information might help catch a killer, I’d like to know.’

‘I haven’t got anywhere close to her since my release.’

‘Did you know Ashutosh Dhingre?’

‘No.’

I had to watch what I said next. I didn’t want to mention the paper with the dates found on Dhingre’s person to Madhav, but it was still possible that he had known about the marriage and divorce, and he had evidently guessed at her addiction. He could well be the source of the leak.

‘Have you ever spoken to anyone about the details of her life?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You must know things about her which not many others do.’

‘Why would I share our secrets with anyone?’ he said with a scowl.

My surprise at his pained words must have shown on my face.

‘You don’t understand, do you? No one does,’ he said.

‘I wish you would explain it to me.’

Madhav shook his head. ‘I was in love with Kimaaya Kapoor. Head-over-heels, ready-to-give-my-life-for-her, Yash Chopra in love. And in my mind, she loved me back,’ he said quietly. ‘It might seem unbelievable, but to me it was as real as you sitting in that chair right now. I’ve been told it’s called erotomania.’

I had read about the condition before, in college. It is a psychological disorder characterized by the belief that someone, usually of a higher status and often a celebrity, is in love with you. It is what fuels stalkers the world over, leading them at times to violent crime.

‘I stay away from Kimaaya now because I have to. My therapist is helping me through the worst of it, and I am getting better. It might surprise you, but I don’t want to feel this way. I want to lead a normal life. To have a job, to find a woman who really loves me. Start a family.’

I felt a sympathy I didn’t expect.

‘I am moving on, and part of that process has been to accept what I felt in the past and forgive myself for it. But now, as then, I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Kimaaya. Not intentionally, not otherwise.’

He had exploded a bomb outside her building – an act I wouldn’t consider harmless, even though it hadn’t injured anyone. But it was true: Madhav had never caused Kimaaya any physical damage, though fear and intimidation were the consequences of his actions.

‘What if it was a question of protecting her?’

‘There was a time I might have tried to. But I know that the Kimaaya of my mind is not the true one. The real Kimaaya has done much to cause herself harm. I couldn’t protect her, not from herself. And from an outsider – I’ve grown beyond that, I hope.’

‘What about in the past? You may have shared something which may not have been something you’d ordinarily consider harmful,’ I said. ‘You may have known things that could be valuable to some – and in the wrong hands, dangerous.’

‘Of course I knew things about her. I knew about the men she surrounded herself with but I also knew her loneliness, which drove her to seek comfort in ways that were as damaging as my own obsession. But would I tell anyone? No. Part of the whole deal for me was that I had a secret life with Kimaaya. I didn’t talk to anyone about her at all. Maybe if I had, someone would have told me I was insane and I would have got help before I ended up in jail.’

His composure was remarkable. It seemed out of sync with the young man I had read about. His therapist must be pretty good.

‘Are you including all of this in your screenplay?’ I asked.

‘My characters are real. The facts are not. Writing about that episode has been cathartic for me. Is it too much to hope that something good comes out of the darkest chapter of my life?’

From a possible liar to a probable one – Afreen’s ex-pimp.

Was I in direct violation of a clear directive from Shayak? I told myself that this wasn’t necessarily the case. Insofar as Afreen was a witness in the murder of Ashutosh Dhingre, ascertaining her true identity was very much within the purview of solving the Maaya Island murder. What I did with the information I gathered was the key. She could still be the one to have stolen Viraat’s watch, in which case she may well be the one who drugged him. Determining that would possibly clear Viraat of murder – a significant step forward.

I had called Vinod to pick me up from the café, and he headed to the address Jay had given me last evening. This was no red-light area: I was at a nondescript office block in a commercial neighbourhood. Outside the building hung a sign pronouncing the presence of Vikram India Impex. What they were imp-ing or ex-ing wasn’t clear.

I pushed the door and let myself in. A young woman in salwar-kurta was seated behind a little wooden desk. ‘Yes?’

‘I am here to meet Bobby Gill.’

‘Do you have an appointment?’

‘No.’

‘Your name?’

‘Reema Ray.’

She looked me up and down. Was she appraising my worth as an escort? I wasn’t sure what she concluded, but she picked up the phone and told her boss he had a visitor. It seemed like this was as an ask-no-questions sort of establishment. But I would still need an opening gambit.

She ushered me through the wooden door behind her, and there sat Bobby Gill, a big, heavy-set man with unusually pale skin and thick black hair. The air conditioner ran full blast and the room reeked of cigarette smoke.

Another appraising look, of a product that might make it to the market, an assessment of its viability and potential. No tinge of appreciation or otherwise. Either I wasn’t Bobby Gill’s type or his line of work had left him with no hunger of his own.

‘Hi,’ I said tentatively. I looked down, hoping to appear demure. Like I might be new to this.

‘What can I do for you?’ he said, neither warm nor brusque – purely businesslike.

I didn’t know how long I’d be able to carry on the charade, but I wanted to get his guard down before I threw Afreen’s name into the ring. By now, he might know she was dead, and be keen to disown her.

‘I would like to get some work.’

‘What sort of work?’

‘I think you must understand my meaning.’

‘Have you done this before?’

‘Once or twice, on my own.’

‘Why?’

‘I have been trying to get into films, and I need the money. Mumbai is an expensive place to live.’

‘Where are you from?’

‘Calcutta.’

‘Do you know what it involves, doing this full time?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘There are many different sorts of clients.’

‘The film industry has prepared me for that, and given me nothing in return.’

It seemed as though this was a story Bobby Gill had heard before. ‘Still, this isn’t for everyone. You look like an educated girl. You could find other work, I am sure.’ He was using his words with care. At once saying what he needed to, without spelling it out.

‘I have looked. Entry-level jobs paying 7000-10,000 a month. I couldn’t live in a Mumbai slum on that.’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘I will invest time and money in you. If you choose to give up in a few weeks, you leave me in the lurch.’

‘Is that what you said to Afreen?’

Gill’s expression turned stony. ‘I don’t know who that is.’

‘Your website suggests otherwise.’

‘Who are you?’

‘A friend of Afreen’s.’

‘From Calcutta?’

Was Afreen from Calcutta, then? I nodded.

‘Get out of my office.’

‘If you insist, but then I will have to go to the police with what I know. And you wouldn’t want me to do that, given that your star call girl is now dead.’

‘What do you know?’

Vagueness would be my saviour. ‘I work for an investigations firm. We are allied very closely with the police. Your best bet is cooperation with me.’

‘How do I know you are telling the truth?’

I gave him my card. ‘You can call DCP Ajay Shankaran to verify if you’d like.’

Gill cursed under his breath, and seemed to weigh his options. ‘This is just between us for now?’

‘For now.’

‘Afreen wanted out,’ he said at last.

‘So you killed her?’

‘Why would I do that? This is a commissions game. A dead whore is just as useless as one who doesn’t work for me. Plenty of clients requested Afreen for repeats. I was still hoping she’d come back to me. What did I have to gain from her death?’

‘You argued.’

‘She insisted we take her photos down from the site.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

‘Half the escort sites in the city have pictures of women who have never even worked for them. Models, actresses, you name it. At least Afreen worked for me at some point. Why should I take down her pictures? If you think about it, she was the one who was threatening me!’

‘How?’

‘She said she had friends who would ensure I paid. She wasn’t talking about you, was she?’

‘I doubt it. Who else could she have meant?’

‘Who knows?’

Prowling through Afreen’s life, she seemed, if anything, a little friendless. But I still knew precious little about her.

‘Any of her regulars who could have done this?’

He shrugged. ‘Not that I know of. But these girls don’t exactly share their life histories with me. And she saw clients on her own, too. All the girls do. They think I don’t know.’

‘Have you heard of a man by the name of Viraat Khanna?’

‘No, but many clients use fake names.’

I gave Gill an address.

‘Doesn’t sound familiar.’

‘It doesn’t bother you that the girls see other men?’

‘Why should it? As long as they are generous with their time when I need it.’

‘What other kinds of generosity do you expect?’

‘Look, I have better things to do then go about banging whores. I am a family man.’

‘So there was no personal animosity between the two of you?’

‘Afreen wasn’t the only one to have left me. I am not running a brothel here, where women are forced to stay. They all work for me completely voluntarily.’

‘Then let me talk to some of the others, maybe someone who knew Afreen?’

‘We don’t exactly have weekly meetings in our line of work. They are all independent agents.’

He made it sound as though the women had all the power in the world. I knew it to be otherwise. ‘There must be someone.’

Gill thought for a minute. ‘Afreen worked with me for a couple of years, so it’s been a while. But if I remember correctly, there was a woman who had brought her in at the beginning. She left the game herself some time ago, but I think I have her old number. Not sure if it is still valid.’

He pulled out his phone and scribbled. ‘Here. Ask her whether I ever mistreated her or any of the girls. But please don’t go to the police.’