Seduced by Murder (16 page)

“You are married?”

He looked startled and remarked scornfully, “Yes! Oh … so you have already started detecting on me! Well, mister, I am not weak like Shalini. Don’t try to … don’t try to …” he fumbled for the right word, gave up, and waved his twig-like finger at me threateningly.

Jeez, he was one of those sensitive ones. He was staring at Shalini again. I realized he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of the afternoon sitting there staring at her.

“I was told that you are a good friend of Shalini’s.”

“Friend?”

He said it with such rage that I couldn’t account for it.

“We were much more than friends, mister. You will not understand. Never. No one will. Ever.”

He pouted. His face was a sponge reacting to everything I said. I would have loved to play a game of poker with this guy.

“Can you explain this?” I showed him the SMS on Shalini’s mobile. He paled immediately.

“What?” he said stupidly.

With Rajesh as her support system, I was able to understand why Shalini was getting nervous attacks.

“This SMS came from a number registered in your name.”

“So?”

“So … you are a very smart man. My compliments.”

“Listen, mister, don’t try to … trap me. I know all your tricks.”

I had reached the point when I needed to have a few drinks and get smashed for sanity’s sake.

“And for my last and much admired trick, I do the disappearing act. Watch closely.”

He was listen-mister-ing me again when I walked out of the door.

In the kitchen, I gave Shalini’s phone to Malti, and told her to hand it to Paras. I walked out of the main door. The case was solved as far as I was concerned. Shalini was cornered. If Rajesh was an accomplice, he would confess too. The idealists were the easiest to break. I had two days to find the missing cash and make twenty-five lakhs.

I
tried to make an inconspicuous exit. The engine roared to life, shattering the peaceful ambience. The priest looked up from the
havan kund
and stared at me disapprovingly. Aditi stared at me disapprovingly. The guards at the gate stared at me disapprovingly. My reflection in the mirror stared back disapprovingly. This was too much hatred to counter in a sober state of mind. I drove out of the gates trying to remember the nearest pub in the vicinity.

Suddenly, a lady on a pink Scooty drove horizontally across the road, parking her vehicle in front of my car. She was off the Scooty in one swift movement, and walked towards me purposefully. She waved her hands in what seemed like a gesture of peace or apology. She took off a pink helmet, which gave way to a pink scarf. She was dressed in a vibrant pink top, and capris that were a lighter shade of pink.

She loosened her scarf, and I was relieved to see that her hair was not pink. She had a dazzling smile that ended with dimples on both cheeks. I decided to be civil. I always give the benefit of the doubt to cute ladies. Strappy pink heels accentuated her extremely toned and shapely calves, promising a great pair of legs. I waited as she approached me. I rolled down my window.

“Vishal Bajaj?” she asked sweetly.

“Who wants to know?”

“I am Anjali Singh from
Crime Busters
. Heard of it?”

Her name sounded familiar, and I remembered Babu mentioning her. I had heard of the publication all right. It pandered to readers who enjoyed glorified accounts of murders, rapes, and other crimes in the city.

I replied coldly, “Yes, I signed an online petition last night to ban the magazine.”

She grinned and disarmed me. It was an infectious smile.

“We are covering the murder of Anil Kapoor at his farmhouse. A private detective has been hired, whose vehicle registration number matches yours. We would like to interview you.”

Then she added quickly, “We will do a small write-up on you. Damn good publicity.”

She spoke fast and directly. I tried to think of the correct words to dismiss her, without being provocative. No sense in making the press your enemy.

She sensed my indecision and added, “More importantly, I can give you information that will help you in your investigation. Useless information that may be useful to you.”

“What sort of useless information?” I asked curiously.

“We have a plethora of Page 3 information that will shock you. Personal stuff about a member of the Kapoor family.”

I was tempted. Then I realised that she was most probably alluding to Anil’s homosexuality, in which case, any information she might have about his personal life would be redundant and useless.

She looked at me in anticipation and spoke with some impatience, “Listen, dude, let me buy you lunch. I am starving,
and have been waiting for you in this goddamn heat for the past forty-five minutes.”

“Well, if it is any consolation, the tan looks really good on you.”

“Wise guy. So, are we exchanging notes?”

“Sure. Why don’t you join me in the car? I suggest you remove your bike from the middle of the road though.”

“How will I come back? The auto-rickshaws will charge a ridiculous amount, and I get sick if I travel in a bus.”

“I will drop you back to your bike.”

“Swell. Give me a minute,” she said triumphantly.

“So, where are we going?” I asked her when she had slid into the seat beside me.

“Drive straight. I know this very good joint that serves the best Chinese food in town. And it’s cheap too.”

She took out a camera form her pink handbag, and took my picture. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Just clicking some pictures for the article, baba! Don’t tell me you are the shy kind. I am only making you famous.”

She held the camera protectively to her chest, and I knew I didn’t have a chance of reclaiming my picture using coercion.

“No, no. I am a hardcore exhibitionist. But I am not Vishal. I work for him. My name is Pranay.”

“O-h-ho, I knew it,” she said with a gleam in her eyes.

“You did?”

“Yes. You don’t look like a private detective.”

“How are they supposed to look?”

“Well, for one they should be pot-bellied and shabby. And most of them are middle-aged. You look more like someone working in an MNC.”

I thought about Pranay’s appearance.

“Affirmative. Except for the middle-aged part, you are bang on target about Vishal.”

“Boy, your boss pays you well!”

“My boss is a stingy bastard. Which part of my existence makes you think I am affluent?”

“Well if an assistant can drive a big car …”

“Aha … very perceptive. Actually, this car belongs to Vishal, and I get to use it as per the boss’s discretion. Generally, I commute by bus.”

“You should buy a Scooty. It is very convenient. My boss is also stingy. He pays me peanuts, but I need this job to make it big in the world of investigative journalism.”

“Come to think of it, even you don’t look like an investigative journalist.”

“Why?”

“Too much pink. Maybe you need to start wearing blue or purple for effect.”

She rewarded me with another one of her irresistible smiles.

“I hope I am on the right route.”

“Shit! You had to take a right back there,” she said a second after I had missed the turn. “Sorry.”

I replied gallantly, “No problem. Just be alert now. This is a one-way.”

I reversed the car on the one-way, and took the turn.

She suddenly asked, “Oh! Do you even like Chinese?”

“Yeah. Love it.”

All solids tasted the same to me. It was only the liquids I was fussy about.

“Thank God! My father always tells me how dominating I can be …”

“I think your Dad has a point though.”

“Shit. You had to take the left!” she said, just as I missed another turn.

She smiled sheepishly.

“I am so sorry. Sometimes I can be so absent-minded!”

Not even gods could have resisted that smile. I smiled back graciously.

“No problem.”

“Well, you are a sport, aren’t you? And thank God for that. I have just about had it with all the rude, chauvinistic, lecherous bastards who can’t get over the fact that I am an investigative journalist.”

Her pretty face contorted in fury, and her cheeks blazed pink. She looked at me, calmed down, and smiled again.

“I am sorry. I get worked up when I think about all that. I guess I just need to hang in there, till I get my big break. Hopefully, this story can do just that.”

The very good joint that served the best Chinese food in town was called Popeye.

“I didn’t know Popeye was Chinese,” I remarked.

“He is not. But don’t let the name make you judge the food! I hope you are not one of those judgmental types.”

“As non-judgmental as they come. And come to think about that, Popeye did have a slight squint, didn’t he?”

“You will love the food. Wait and watch.”

“Well, as long we order something with spinach in it, we should be okay.”

She knew each waiter by name, and they all responded to her like drones to a queen bee, fussing all over her.

“You happen to be a frequent visitor?”

“Yes, I just love this place. My goal in life is to start a Chinese restaurant next to a beach, and make money from the restaurant to open a bookshop. I think that is my destiny. What is your destiny?”

I wondered how investigative journalism would blend with a bookshop that was funded by a Chinese restaurant. I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. Then I noticed a young couple sitting and canoodling in a corner over some Coke. There was a group of young ladies yelling at each other in a corner, again with Coke bottles on their table. I looked around in a state of panic. None of the customers were having liquor.

“They serve liquor, right?”

“No,” she said disapprovingly.

“Not even beer?” I asked calmly, although I didn’t feel calm at all.

She shook her head and looked at me suspiciously.

“Are you one of those guys who like to get drunk in the middle of the day?”

Served me right for falling victim to her wanton charms. All of a sudden she seemed less charming.

I looked at her expressive eyes and shook my head.

“Heavens no! I don’t touch liquor before the sun sets. It is only when I am having Chinese food that I don’t mind a sip or two of chilled beer.”

“Good. I would hate for you to be a drunk.”

The waiter came and I picked up the menu to order.

“Why don’t you try their Tangy Mint? It is an out-of-the-world drink.”

With her smile endorsing it, it could be stale milk, three days old, and I wouldn’t have the heart to refuse.

“Sounds divine,” I said.

She dictated the order to the waiter.

“Okay, get one Tangy Mint, and one Strawberry Blossom. We will order the main course shortly.”

“How come you are not having the out-of-the-world drink?”

“Well, those are two of my favourite drinks. This way I can taste both,” she said, with another one of her celestial smiles.

“I feel so exploited,” I said.

She patted my hand and I immediately felt better. There is something infinitely reassuring about a woman’s touch. Especially if the woman has a dimpled smile and a great pair of legs. I decided to forgive her for treating me to a teetotaller meal.

“So when will you introduce me to Vishal?”

It took me a few seconds to register that I was Pranay.

“Difficult. He’s not very social.”

“That is where you will help me. You need to tell him that this can be a symbiotic relationship.”

“I know my boss. He would appreciate it if you do not mention his involvement in any of your articles.”

“You are wrong. He would love this extra mileage that the publicity can bring.
Amateur detective employed by the Kapoor family to solve the murder of the eldest son
. And I will tell you what. If you give me his picture, I will take you out for lunch again someday.”

“Tempting. With beer?”

“Okay, baba. With beer.”

“And you will delete my picture that you clicked in the car?”

“Shy, aren’t we? Okay. If you give me his picture, I will delete your picture. But seriously, Pranay, we will do the
article on Anil Kapoor’s murder anyway. Questions will be asked about the detective working on the case. If you are able to convince Vishal to meet me, I can write his side of the story. Otherwise, my editor will force me to cook up something fictitious, and I hate doing that.”

I hated the idea of her snooping around to find out why I was involved in the case. It would be devastating for everyone concerned if they found out about me and Aditi. I decided to save her the trouble of prying.

“Vishal would hate that too. You got Bluetooth on your mobile?”

“Yes. You have his snaps on your phone?”

“Yes. Switch on your Bluetooth. I’ll transfer the picture.”

I selected the only sober picture of Pranay I had taken at office once.

She took out her camera from her purse, and I deleted the unsolicited picture that she had taken in the car.

She saw Pranay’s snap and commented, “Yes. He looks much more like a detective. Shabby and fat. Now, tell me more about him.”

“More?”

“Who is Vishal Bajaj? What’s his agency called? And how is he involved in the investigation?”