Dead in a Mumbai Minute (22 page)

‘I won’t – unless I need to. But this is a murder investigation, so don’t be surprised if they follow the same leads I did and land up at your doorstep. I have one final question. Do you know Afreen’s last name?’

‘Nope. And I’m pretty sure I didn’t know her first name either.’

When I got back to office, I was summoned by a rather disgruntled-looking Adlakha.

‘I have just heard from Shayak’s secretary that he is indefinitely detained on some business,’ Adlakha said.

‘What about our investigation?’

‘We follow company policy. Play it by the book. Kimaaya Kapoor is our client. As lead investigator on that,’ he said with a sardonic smile, ‘you continue as you are. Keep me updated and remember not to meddle in the other murder.’

‘What sense does that make when the two cases are connected?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘We don’t even know who Afreen really is. How are we ruling her out as a suspect in the murder of Ashutosh Dhingre?’

He glared me down and I sat there equally determined not to flinch, wondering what I had done to rub him up the wrong way so soon.

‘Do we have any evidence that points to her?’

‘No, but– ’

‘I think I said it once already: no buts. If one murder isn’t enough for you, or you are unable to handle the case you actually have been given, you could always turn your attention back to the Pratap Puri case.’

I went back to my desk. Almost as soon as I talked myself down from full-on confrontation with Adlakha, I received an e-mail from Shayak fanning the flames of my exasperation.

Reema,

You have full authority to proceed on the Dhingre matter. I hope to be back before long but in case I can’t, follow your leads and your instincts. Remember what I said about the other business. Caution is your best bet in this situation.

In the coming days, you may hear things that may surprise you. I trust you will be able to sort out fact from fiction. Be careful whom you rely on. Play it close to the chest and, whatever you do, don’t take on Ajay Shankaran. Do not mail me, call me or try to contact me unless it is an emergency. Vinod is at your disposal round the clock.

Best,

S

What the hell was going on? It made no sense. Why would he disappear so suddenly, just when this Kimaaya business was in full swing? No warning, no instructions, except for this strange e-mail. Why didn’t he tell me anything over dinner? Be careful whom I trust? Was he referring to the Titanium team as well? I didn’t have much of a choice except to rely on the resources I had at hand, and in Shayak’s absence, Adlakha was my boss, as he had just made clear. And why couldn’t I contact him? What did he expect me to do? It was only my first month on the job, and just last night he was telling me that he would have liked me to have more training!

Amidst all of this, I still didn’t have the answer to one long pending question – and one I was fast getting the feeling was critical to this whole business: Who really was Shayak Gupta?

Desperately in need of a friend, I picked up the phone and dialled Rishi’s extension.

‘Reema here,’ I said. ‘Wanna get that drink?’

I was pleasantly surprised by Rishi’s choice of bar – with beer front and centre, at least fifty kinds from all over the world, in a frill-free, hole-in-the-wall sort of setting just right for my mood. I ordered a Belgian tripel and leaned back.

‘You look tired for someone who has just started the job,’ said Rishi.

I shook my head and thought of the schedule I had been keeping for the past few days, one that I definitely could not speak about to anyone, particularly after Shayak’s most recent advisory. ‘Is it always this crazy around here?’

‘Ebb and flow. And not everyone works hard.’

‘Is slacking off allowed at Titanium?’

‘Not encouraged, but thriving nonetheless. Just like everywhere else.’

‘What about your schedule?’

‘I should probably lie to make myself seem less pathetic, but the truth is that I have the soul of a hacker. I’m always on the job whether I need to be or not.’

‘One of those, are you?’

‘I try to come up for air sometimes.’

‘How long have you been at Titanium?’

‘Going on two years now. Started straight out of college, a little guppy.’

‘Now you are the shark?’

He grinned. ‘Turns out there is a lot of hacking to be done at Titanium.’

Rishi explained what his department did: internal systems and security was a part of it, but they also aided Investigations when the need arose and were the first responders when clients came under cyber attack and wanted systems that were hack-proof, a term he used with much derision.

‘Of course, no system is hack-proof. But try explaining that to them.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Anything can be hacked. It just takes the right hacker.’

‘Or does that just mean guys like you aren’t doing a good enough job?’

‘Whether it is a household safe or a top-secret defence facility, if something is being guarded, someone will try to break in. They’ll find a way, even if it takes months or years to do so.’

‘You sound as though you approve.’

‘I understand the spirit. You can get all righteous and call some hackers ethical and others not, but it really is the same thing at the end of the day.’

‘What about electronic surveillance? You guys handle that too at Titanium?’ I asked, taking a sip of beer.

‘We handle the tech aspects, but the actual footage is Security’s baby.’

‘And the surveillance on employees? That must not go down well.’

Rishi’s eyes narrowed a fraction before he smiled. ‘You are staying in one of the company flats, then.’

I nodded.

‘I wouldn’t worry about that overly. We try to keep it as unobtrusive as possible. I doubt anyone even looks at all the footage. It is more of an insurance policy.’

‘Or a veiled threat to anyone gutsy enough to play dirty with Titanium.’

Rishi laughed. ‘The machinery that is Titanium takes some getting used to. Lucky for me, I have my own place.’

‘How long have you lived here?’

‘All my life. I’m an old Mumbai hand. I floated around for a while just after college, spent a little too much time lying about in Goa, but otherwise I rarely feel the need to even leave town.’

A plate of perfect, crisp fries and a bowl of fluffy, buttery popcorn arrived. ‘Sorry,’ said Rishi, ‘but this is about the only food this place has to offer.’

‘It’s perfect,’ I said. ‘Would you believe I have never been to Goa?’

‘What are you saying, woman!’ Rishi said. ‘Get your ass over there as soon as you can!’

‘It’s not overrated?’

‘There are many Goas. You can hang about with the tourists, and that experience I would agree is overrated, or you can create your own version of it.’

‘And what is yours?’

‘Hiking through the hills. Getting lost on winding roads. Drinking too much beer at Sunset Bar in a little spot of the undiscovered south, with a view of the sun going down over the Arabian Sea 365 days a year.’

‘Sounds like love. Why did you come back?’

‘I needed to.’

‘Work?’

‘Yup. And I love Mumbai too.’

Rishi started telling me about all his favourite bars in town. ‘The great thing about this city is that it has something for you even if you hate all those shiny new clubs.’

‘I don’t remember telling you that I am new to Mumbai.’

Rishi laughed again. ‘Oh, please. You’ve got noob written all over you.’

He was the second man to have told me that. But unlike Pratap Puri, I got the feeling that Rishi was just trying to extend a warm Mumbai welcome to me.

‘Mumbai is always full of fresh blood,’ he said. ‘It’s one of its many virtues for the vampires waiting for a nibble.’

The next morning, I showered and headed to a neighbourhood café for a big breakfast and coffee before striding towards office with a confidence I didn’t feel. But I had renewed my resolve to fake it till I could make it.

The good thing about cryptic messages from absent bosses is that they were open to interpretation. Shayak told me I had a free hand in the Dhingre business, and for me that meant investigating Afreen’s murder as well. How could I look into one without considering the very real possibility that the two events were connected? And if they were, how much less efficient would it be to examine only half the evidence when the real clues would most likely lie in the intersection between two victims, and the crimes that had claimed each?

To that end, first I spoke to Mrs Dhingre, who said she had no idea if her husband knew a woman by the name of Afreen. I looked through his address book and the file, and found no mention of her anywhere. Afreen herself had denied knowing Dhingre, but I was treating everything she had said with a healthy amount of scepticism.

How could I find out more about the mysterious, tragically short life of Afreen when I didn’t even know her last name!

I finally decided to make use of the number Gill had given me for the very unoriginally named Mona, who had allegedly left the escort business after introducing Afreen to it. I made the call.

‘Am I speaking to Mona?’ I said.

‘Uh, yes,’ the woman replied somewhat tentatively.

‘My name is Reema, and I am a friend of Afreen.’

‘Okay,’ she said, still wary. I could hear a soft hiss as if she took a drag of a cigarette.

‘I’d like to come and meet you today, if that is alright with you.’

‘May I know what this is about?’

‘It’s about Afreen. It’s important.’

‘Why don’t you come to the bar and we can have a chat? Look for Miss Sara. No one calls me Mona anymore.’

My appointment led me to a part of town into which I had not yet ventured. Travelling through the maze of serpentine bylanes, I knew I had entered territory in which anything could happen. I doubted if even the long arm of Titanium could offer me much protection here, in the bowels of Mumbai. Vinod dropped me off with a warning: ‘Be careful, ma’am. Call if you need help. I’ll be standing outside only.’ I told him it wasn’t necessary, but didn’t think it would make a difference.

I walked down a narrow alley, unaccustomed to but unsurprised by the stares. I kept my eyes down, which served the dual purpose of avoiding potential lewd gestures and of ensuring garbage, spit, excrement and other bodily fluids I’d rather not consider stayed off my shoes. A rat led the way to The Heaven Bar, before it scurried through the narrow passage beside the yellow wall that signalled the start of the establishment. I swung the door open, overwhelmed at once by the tobacco-scented cloud that wafted towards me, almost immediately clinging to my hair, reminding me of nights when brandishing a cigarette was still allowed and still reeked of the romance of new adulthood, or old childhood. Now the wall of smoke hanging in the black air, thick and misty, made me flinch. I heard the crooner’s voice wrap itself around a familiar song. My eyes found the person it belonged to, her young face aged by hair a shade too light and lipstick a shade too dark, dressed in tight turquoise jeans and yellow shirt. A chunky gold necklace separated pointy breasts desperate for a lingerie upgrade.