Dead in a Mumbai Minute (29 page)

‘I owed forty.’

Terrence stepped in. ‘So let me get this straight: if he lived, you got 20,000. If he died, you got 40,000?’

‘Wait, you think I killed my uncle? For 20,000? That’s nuts, dude!’

‘I think we just established that it was for 40,000. That’s a fortune when you don’t have it.’

‘That’s not how it happened. You guys are sick!’

‘So is your story, in which you abandoned your uncle for dead.’

‘Hey, how was I supposed to know he was dead?’ he said, growing increasingly shrill. ‘I didn’t see or hear anything. I was just following instructions. I tried calling him like a million times but he didn’t answer and I had to get to work in the morning.’

‘Dude,’ said Jitin’s colleague from the side. ‘You could have come in late. Not like I set the watch by you or anything.’

Jitin rolled his eyes. ‘You guys can believe whatever you want, but I’m telling the truth. My uncle called me up earlier in the day, saying he needed a boat. I told him how much we charge for normal tours and that I was out all day anyway, and all of the next. He said I should let him know when I got in, that he had some urgent business that couldn’t wait. Then he said where he wanted to go and I was like no way, ’cause I’d lose my job for taking him out there. But when he told me what was in it for me, I thought it was an easy way to get him off my back about paying him the money I owed.’

‘Did he say why you shouldn’t set foot on the island?’

‘No, but I just assumed it would get him in hot water with Kimaaya. She seems so stuck up. All those years they worked together, she never came to his house or to any of the events he invited her to. Every time he’d be waiting, telling us all that she’d make it. Every time he’d make some excuse for her in the end.’

It seemed as though Jitin had suffered his share of disappointments at Kimaaya’s hands.

‘You weren’t worried?’

‘Of course I was! But what choice did I have? Even if I had wanted to play the hero, it would have been a bad idea. The jetty was a mess. I had to hoist my uncle – who’s scared shitless of water, by the way – onto it and, with no one to help me, it would have been a bad scene on and off the boat, man. And I had to get back before the boat was missed the next day.’

I knew that Dhingre had used the old jetty – we had the footprints to prove it. ‘You didn’t think you should come forward with what you knew when you heard the news?’

‘I was scared. Wouldn’t you be, in my position? It wasn’t like I knew who did it or anything. So what was the point?’

‘And the boss would have fired your sorry ass,’ Jitin’s colleague mumbled.

‘Has your boat been used for fishing of late?’ I asked.

‘Sure. All the time.’

That would explain the fish scales found on Dhingre’s clothes. I asked a few routine questions to confirm the timelines, and then we left. ‘Do you believe him?’ asked Terrence.

‘A story like that? He’d have to be pretty stupid to make it up.’

‘He does look pretty stupid.’

‘True. But I believe him.’

‘So do I.’

At long last, a picture of what happened was beginning to emerge in my mind – the how of Ashutosh Dhingre’s murder was being established. Unable to reach Kimaaya over the phone, he had arrived at Maaya Island by boat in the dead of the night to warn Kimaaya of the impending storm likely to be caused by the leaked documents. His nephew helped him onto land, after which he was intercepted by a man – Lalu Prasad – masquerading as a construction worker. It came to blows, and Lalu found the bottle by the gazebo and hit Dhingre over the head with it, and slashed his throat for good measure with a shard of glass. The murderer slunk back to wherever he was hiding on the island – probably in the workers’ quarters – and then snuck onto the boat and got back to the mainland.

Now, I needed to find out who Lalu Prasad really was, and why he wanted Kimaaya publicly shamed enough to kill for it.

I dropped off Terrence and sent Vinod to Archana to pick up some cash and other supplies I needed. It was just past noon.

Then I checked my mail. In my personal e-mail, the subject line ‘Snuffbox of dim sum’ caught my eye. I was about to hit ‘delete’ thinking it was spam, but it was just odd enough to get me thinking. This was undoubtedly a reference to the murder of Prakash Agarwal, the case that brought Shayak and me together in the first place.

I opened it.

I still remember the place I first held you in my arms. When darkness descends tonight you will be there again, my harbour in this tempest. Fear not the man you find there, no matter how much I have hurt you.

No doubt in my mind, the mail was from Shayak – who thankfully had not chosen poetry as his calling. He wanted to meet me on the
Titania
at sunset, at the coastguard jetty.

That was what the first two lines of his mail meant. The third threw me. Was he afraid that I’d listen to the rumours, to the police version of things, and think he was a murderer?

I had about six hours. But there was much to do in the meantime. As my brownie-baking session had shown me yesterday, it was time to go back to the source – to pay a visit to Kimaaya Kapoor’s Mumbai flat.

Compared to the Maaya Island affair, Kimaaya’s apartment was a hovel. It was the penthouse of a fairly old building which, like most others in the city, wore a grey and frazzled look despite being some of the most expensive real estate in the world. But this was Mumbai, and the sprawling four-bedroom duplex apartment with a view of the sea was true luxury.

Mrs Pereira greeted me with a smile and then went to fetch Kimaaya. I didn’t know how long she would make me wait – I had called, and she had warned me that she was going out and didn’t have much time to spare.

I took the opportunity to look around the living space. It was as different as it could be from the open, spa feel of her island getaway, and with an updated, modern vibe – all sleek lines, whites, blacks and greys. It had a softening sort of clutter provided by bric-à-brac, photographs, paintings and carpets, thrown together with artful artlessness. There were no celebrity shots, no awards on show. It felt more like Kimaaya here, more private and intimate.

The lady herself emerged about ten minutes later, looking every inch the star. A blue sheath dress clung to her ample curves, her hair in soft curls around her face softening the smoky eyes and nude lips. She was in slippers at the moment though they would soon be replaced by designer heels, her perpetual accessory to give that much needed lift, and her legs that never-ending illusion.

‘Shayak is in trouble,’ I said.

‘About these marriage and divorce stories?’ she asked, slipping on earrings. ‘What difference would it make to him?’

It didn’t surprise me she didn’t follow the news when it had nothing directly to do with her. ‘The police have him in a corner over this Afreen business. Somehow it is all connected with the Maaya Island case.’

Kimaaya’s face reflected genuine concern. I told her what I could – that there was a very real chance that Shayak would be taken in by the cops.

She collapsed on the couch. ‘I don’t know why this is happening to me.’

‘Not just you,’ I said, unable to hide my impatience. ‘Did you locate the papers, the original marriage and divorce documents that you said you kept in a safe here?’

‘Sorry, I forgot.’

‘Can you check now? See that they are all intact?’

‘Wait here,’ she said.

‘Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d like to see where the safe is.’

Kimaaya shrugged. ‘I guess everyone in your office knows anyway. Follow me.’

I trailed behind Kimaaya through the hallway to a large bedroom with picture windows opening out to the Arabian Sea. She led me into a dressing room the size of my flat. She squatted to remove a floor tile, revealing a small safe.

‘When was the last time you accessed this?’ I asked.

‘Before I went to the island, to put some jewellery away.’

‘I’d like to check for prints before you open it.’

She moved aside as I dusted for prints. I lifted the latents and handed her a pair of latex gloves. ‘Go ahead,’ I told her, ‘put these on.’

As she went through the contents of the safe I scanned the prints and compared them to Kimaaya’s, which I already had on my machine. They were a match. They were also the only prints I found.

I looked up to find Kimaaya pulling a folder full of papers out from underneath a stash of small bags and jewellery boxes. She rummaged through them and found the rehab certificate. It looked exactly like the scanned copy I had on the pen drive. If I had any doubt about its authenticity, I could forget about that now. Further down in the stack were the marriage certificate and the divorce decree.

‘It all looks exactly like I had left it.’

I took them from her and knew that looking for more prints would be a waste of time, but I did so anyway.

‘The only prints on the safe are yours,’ I said.

‘I told you: whoever it was that got those documents couldn’t have got them from here.’

‘Oh, I’m pretty sure your safe was the source. These three items are together in only this one place.’

‘So you are saying this man has been in my house?’ she said in horror. ‘Is it someone I know?’

‘We can’t rule anyone out at the moment.’

‘I feel so violated! How could this person have gotten past all the security?’

‘They knew exactly what they were doing, and were in no rush to do it. It probably happened while you were out of town at some point.’

‘How do I know they didn’t take anything else?’

‘Have you noticed anything missing?’

‘Not really, but it’s impossible to keep track of everything.’

‘Of course anything is possible, but it seems they knew what they were looking for and where to find it.’

‘Such a disaster!’

‘Kimaaya, right now I need you to think of anything that might help Shayak. Anything about this that you haven’t told me yet?’

‘I really can’t think of anything,’ she said offhand. ‘What I do know is that he’ll find his way out of this mess.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘When you’ve known Shayak for as long as I have, you expect him to get into trouble – usually because he is off saving the world. He’ll tell you very little of what is actually going on but no matter how impossible it seems at the time, you’ll always know that he’ll come out of it okay.’

I was amazed at how cavalier she could be with Shayak’s neck on the line.

‘You’re surprised? Don’t worry, Reema, I’ve done my share of worrying about Shayak when he was in the army, in the early days. It didn’t take me long to realize that nothing was more important to him than work. He was always in the business of putting the needs of others before his own and I must warn you that while it seems very romantic and noble at the beginning, it gets old very fast. Even if you think you aren’t as self-centred as me.’

‘This has nothing to do with me.’

‘Are you sure about that? I haven’t seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you in a long time.’

I shook my head.

‘You don’t seem very convinced yourself. You’d be crazy to turn down Shayak. Believe me, I know,’ she said.

‘If you feel so strongly about him, why didn’t it work for you?’

‘Because too much time had passed and damage had been done before I realized what I had thrown away all those years ago. Shayak is a real man – he isn’t a chocolate-faced child who will take my tantrums because he wants to shine in my reflected glory. He wants a home and someone to share it with. Besides, Shayak isn’t one to revisit old mistakes.’

I remembered his words in my apartment – that the door would remain open for only so long.

‘Shayak has made it amply clear that he believes, no matter how good he is to me as a friend, that as lovers we were all wrong.’

Why was she telling me any of this? ‘And you?’

‘I have been through enough wrong relationships to know how wrong feels inside out, upside down and in between. Ever since I got cleaned up I’ve been trying to change his mind, and it is finally over for me. I am ready to move on.’

‘With Pratap Puri,’ I said.

Her eyes widened. ‘How did you know that?’