Dead in a Mumbai Minute Read online

  For Ishani, Bappa and Nemo – companions through a crazy year

  Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ONE

  It seemed I did love trouble – at least of a certain kind.

  How else could I have ended up back on the Titania on the open water somewhere in the vicinity of Mumbai? With my head in a bucket, and with Shayak playing pirate and hitting the waves with more force than I was sure was necessary; breaking, if there was one, the nautical speed limit?

  I steadied myself and stood up in the tiny bathroom attached to the stateroom – both more pleasant than anything I could have imagined stuffed into the dimensions of a linen cupboard. If only I could enjoy the finer points of interior décor and space management with my stomach in my oesophagus. But I was determined: I could – and I would – get out of here.

  I did my best to clean up the tear-streaked face in the mirror. I had started the month of September in Calcutta, wrapping up loose ends after closing the two biggest cases of my career as a struggling private eye in August. I had got on a plane with nothing more than the clothes in my cupboard and, after a brief doze, when I woke up on the ground, my life changed irrevocably. In a Mumbai minute. I was part of the Investigations team of the mighty Titanium, a security agency started by Shayak Gupta, rumoured to keep safe the who’s who of the nation. In my brief time in the city, I had begun to suspect that was just the tip of the Titanium iceberg; I could only guess at what lay beneath the surface.

  And now, here I was, headed for an island I had never heard of till hours ago when I was awoken rudely by a phone call from Shayak way too early in the morning and told I would be accompanying him on a murder investigation. I had gleaned precious little from him since then: the island was 50 acres and had roughly twenty residents, all attached to the same household belonging to Kimaaya Kapoor, Bollywood’s reigning queen. Much in the manner of the Queen of England, if you asked me, overstaying her welcome with sheer tenacity and great genes. And generous help from her best friends Botox and butt lift (Kimaaya, not the queen). She was a good actress, even though her recent performances reeked of the desperation of youth slipping through the fingers.

  There was a dead guy on that island. But according to Shayak, that would be just the start of our problems: we had, give or take, two hours before the media would catch wind of it and, after that, we could expect to be on the receiving end of unrelenting attention from every player in the twenty-four-hour news cycle. It would be impossible to beat it, but we had to try to get ahead of it, and in Titanium’s capacity as security minders of the island, manage it.

  Meanwhile, Shayak was acting so strange about the whole business that I had no choice but to accept that even my new boss, reputed to be the man providing a safe night’s sleep to every top-billed star, might have a little bit of a crush on the comely Kimaaya. How else to account for his stony-faced silence?

  I ignored a fresh wave of nausea and headed resolutely out of the bathroom and up the stairs, holding on to the railing, the wall, the light fixtures – whatever was at easy distance – trying to stay upright as my head reeled and my innards whirled.

  As soon as I got out on to the deck and breathed in the salt air, I felt my head clear and my stomach settle. What would make me feel even better were words with Shayak.

  I walked to the helm, where he stood. Even the water stretching in every direction as far as the eye could see failed to soften me. ‘Got up on the wrong side of the boat this morning?’

  ‘How are you doing?’ asked Shayak. I could see the concern in his eyes, and it suddenly occurred to me that the choppiness of the ride might have nothing whatsoever to do with him.

  ‘Is it always this rough?’

  ‘This isn’t rough.’

  ‘Will I get used to it?’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not.’

  ‘Great. And you say I’ll have to make this trip again?’

  ‘Unless we can solve this murder case in a day, yes.’ Shayak reached into a cabinet to his left and pulled out a strip of pills and a bottle of water. ‘Take one of these.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’ll help with the seasickness.’

  ‘How long will it take to kick in?’

  ‘It’s pretty much immediate.’

  ‘Why didn’t you give it to me earlier?’

  ‘I tried, but you bolted rather quickly, and as you can see, there is no one else to steer this thing but me. I couldn’t exactly go chasing after you.’

  I did as I was told, feeling sick as the liquid hit my stomach. ‘Don’t you feel it?’ I asked. It didn’t look like he did – fresh as a glass of cold, mouth-puckering lemonade in crisp white shirt and blue jeans.

  ‘I’ve got sea legs on me to do an admiral proud,’ he said with his first smile of the morning.

  ‘And yet you don’t seem happy.’ In the face of Shayak’s dourness, I continued. ‘You still won’t tell me what’s wrong?’

  ‘I do not enjoy people being murdered on my watch.’

  ‘That’s not all.’

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough. Why don’t we just enjoy what’s left of the trip? You seem to be doing better now.’

  It was true. Being above board seemed to have helped much sooner than any meds could have possibly started work. If I hadn’t descended into the bowels of the ship – beautiful though they were – maybe I could have avoided the upchuck altogether. Yet another thing to blame Shayak for. If he hadn’t been so bristly, I may not have felt the need to flee and would have bypassed the bucket.

  ‘Maybe you could tell me why you are annoyed with me,’ I said.

  Shayak looked at me in surprise. ‘Not with you.’

  ‘Then? Why the foul mood?’

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘When isn’t it? Try me.’

  ‘It’s Kimaaya.’

  ‘Kapoor?’

  ‘Is there any other?’

  ‘I am sure there are many – even if you have eyes only for one of them.’

  Shayak laughed.

  ‘You should eat something,’ he said, looking more pleased than he should be, all of a sudden.

  ‘I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.’

  ‘Being on an empty stomach will only make it worse.’

  ‘But the kitchen is downstairs. I can’t go back there again.’

  ‘Don’t you remember my stash up here?’

  Of course. My first time aboard the Titania, when it was safely and comfortingly docked in Calcutta, on the relatively still waters of the Hooghly, Shayak had produced a veritable buffet of world cuisine stored in a cooler somewhere up here.

  ‘There’s a smoothie in there for you,’ said Shayak, pointing in the direction of a chill chest disguised as a table.

  I opened the top and saw a tall cup with a thick straw protruding from it.

  I took a sip. It was delicious. I could taste blueberries, mango and smooth, creamy yoghurt. My stomach gratefully received the offering. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I think I have cracked the secret to making you happy.’

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘Keeping you fed. At all times. The better the food, the less likely you are to fight me and anyone else you find in your way.’

  Easy as that made me sound, I couldn’t argue with
his logic, even though the tension simmering between us this morning seemed too large to be done away with by a blitz of fruit and dairy, no matter how restorative.

  ‘It won’t be long now,’ said Shayak.

  I scanned the horizon for anything that might betray life. ‘I don’t see anything.’

  ‘It’s a small island, and we’re still about fifteen minutes away.’

  I drained my cup and set it down.

  ‘So what are all these buttons and things for?’ I asked, taking in the formidable console before us.

  Shayak talked me through the main controls, and I tried to display more than a cursory interest in what was clearly his favourite toy. We were being guided by a GPS system, but it seemed as though Shayak knew his way well enough without it.

  ‘You want to have a go?’ he asked.

  ‘At what?’

  ‘At driving this big old jalopy.’

  ‘First of all, even I can tell that this ain’t no jalopy. And second of all, no.’

  ‘Why not? It’s easy-peasy.’

  My mind went into montage mode as I imagined Shayak – the wind in our hair, sun glinting off sparkly white teeth, his hand over mine – teaching me how to steer his boat.

  ‘Maybe later,’ I said, taking a seat.

  The sun warmed my face and soon I actually found that I was enjoying myself. Before long, I saw a speck emerge. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Shayak, grim once more.

  ‘It doesn’t seem very large.’

  ‘It’s not.’

  ‘It’s a closed-door murder,’ I said, a vein of excitement finally taking over from the gloom of the morning.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘It is an isolated island. The murderer might still be hanging around.’

  ‘It’s too early for assumptions, Reema. And this isn’t one of your detective novels: Mumbai, as you have just discovered, is only a boat ride away. The murderer may well be on his way out of the country by now.’

  ‘Still, having a crime scene so contained can be a good thing.’

  ‘That might be true, but don’t expect anything about this one to be straightforward,’ he said, taking a deep breath. ‘Let the show begin.’

  Shayak guided the yacht into what passed for a dock, right beside a smaller yacht and a speedboat. The whole arrangement was far more ramshackle than I had expected on the private island of a leading Bollywood star not known for discretion in her ways.

  ‘This is the temporary dock,’ Shayak explained before I could ask. ‘The main one is being renovated.’

  ‘Is that Kimaaya’s yacht?’ I asked.

  ‘No. I imagine it must belong to a guest. The speedboat is hers.’

  ‘I would have thought a yacht was a necessary accessory if you owned a private island.’

  ‘She had one till recently.’

  We disembarked, and I was surprised by how well Shayak knew his way around. Of course, Kimaaya was a client, a very prominent one, and he must have worked on the security plan for the island. From the little I had learnt about Shayak’s activities in the time I had been with Titanium, I knew he was hands-on with most of his biggest clients. It was, I had been told, his personal commitment that made him so sought after among the rich and famous. Now a murder had been committed here, and I couldn’t help but wonder whether heads would roll.

  A man in plain black uniform waited for us, one of Titanium’s security staff. He saluted Shayak.

  ‘Have the police arrived yet?’ Shayak asked.

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Good.’

  We had walked to a golf cart, and Shayak and the guard took the front seats, leaving me to climb into the back.

  ‘Sa’ab, I don’t know how this happened. I was at my station the whole night,’ the guard said. I heard the quiver in his voice.

  ‘Where exactly was the body found?’

  ‘You want to go there now, sir?’

  ‘Just tell me what you know.’

  ‘It is not far from the old dock.’

  ‘By the construction site?’

  ‘Not very close to that either; it was on the other side. Around 300 metres away.’

  ‘None of the workers reported any disturbance?’

  ‘It was away from the quarter, sir. And there is reduced staff strength right now.’

  ‘The site manager found the body?’

  ‘Yes, this morning, at around 5.30. He came to the house and I spoke to you immediately after.’

  ‘Whom does that other boat belong to?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir, but a number of guests from last night’s party came on that.’

  ‘Party?’ Shayak shook his head. ‘How many people?’

  ‘Not many – I would say no more than eight.’

  ‘Are they all still here?’

  ‘Yes, sir. All except one who left last night itself.’

  Shayak didn’t ask any further questions, and the guard volunteered no more information.

  The island was lush – far more untouched than I had expected. I could see the house in the distance and, as we drew closer, there was more landscaping – a small waterbody, with a pagoda connected by a bridge, hedges of flowers and a curved driveway with a couple more carts parked on it.

  We came up to the house – and I would call it that only loosely. It resembled a spa resort in Kerala or Bali more than a home the likes of me would know. Tapering wooden pillars held up a tiled roof with fluid lines. Flowing curtains and plants provided a veil from prying eyes – not that there could be many unaccounted-for peepers on a private island in the general scheme of things. But this was now the scene of a murder, and the openness of Kimaaya Kapoor’s home could only spell trouble for the security-minded.

  Shayak turned to the guard as we disembarked. ‘I’ll sit with you and the other man on duty later.’

  The guard gave a nervy salute.

  I followed Shayak into the house. There was no door, and consequently no bell, and I found myself standing in a magical, welcoming foyer sort of space, with low seats and a sunken fish pond. There was a wooden divider separating it from the main living area, giving the impression of openness without leaving the inhabitants completely vulnerable.

  We walked through to a living room where we found Kimaaya Kapoor, in a strappy top and yoga pants, talking to another woman. She turned to watch Shayak as we approached. The face I had till now only seen larger than life at the cinema seemed far more vulnerable and mobile before me. She was even more beautiful and delicate, the flirty, self-aware smile that had sold many a film ticket and tabloid was now replaced by a look of dismay.

  ‘Oh Shayak,’ she gushed, stepping towards him. ‘What a nightmare this is!’

  He watched her with a curious mix of anger and exasperation.

  ‘What will we do?’

  ‘I will do what I always do, which is to pick up after you,’ he said. ‘You will do your best not to get in my way.’

  Kimaaya didn’t seem to mind the cold words, except that they were uttered in the presence of a stranger. She turned her attention to me, starting at my feet, encased in black ballerinas, moving slowly up to take in my jeans and black top, before finally resting on my face with an icy smile.

  ‘Kimaaya,’ said Shayak, ‘this is Reema, my newest, brightest recruit. She’ll be lead on this case.’

  I was as surprised as Kimaaya at this.

  ‘What do you mean? Where will you be?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m here too. But it is critical I keep some amount of objective distance.’

  ‘But Shayak ...’

  ‘No buts. I don’t want to be seen too close to this business or they will be all over us like a swarm of locusts.’

  ‘Still afraid, I see.’

  Shayak shook his head.

  ‘Don’t forget that this is my failing. We are here to investigate, but before that I need to find out how this happened, and ensure you aren’t left so exposed ever again, at any location.’


  ‘Hard on yourself, as usual.’ There was a softness to Kimaaya’s words, which left me wondering.

  ‘Don’t worry, I blame you equally for this mess.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You shouldn’t have been here, Kimaaya. You weren’t supposed to be here with such little security, and you just wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘But after my South Africa schedule got cancelled, what did you expect me to do? Hang about uselessly in Mumbai, waiting to become tabloid fodder?’

  ‘You could have given me time to clear the island of the construction staff and up the security to an acceptable level.’

  ‘Well, there’s no point blaming me now.’

  ‘You and me both.’

  ‘Either way! Tell me what’s happening.’

  ‘I’ll be here for now,’ continued Shayak, ‘for as long as I need to be. But after that you are in Reema’s hands. Give her what she needs. Be nice. Try not to suck her into your vortex.’

  Kimaaya looked from me to him and seemed to decide it was time for her 500-watt smile. ‘Shayak,’ she said, stepping up, snaking her arms around him and planting a full kiss on his mouth, ‘only from you would I tolerate such talk on a day like today. It’s been horrid – just horrid! There is a dead body on my lawn that happens to be of someone quite important to me! And had you been there last night like you promised, I’m sure none of this would have happened!’

  She buried her head in his chest. I could almost see Shayak counting to ten before he took a deep breath and looked at me.

  ‘Reema, meet Kimaaya Kapoor, my ex-wife.’

  TWO

  I had hit the ground running from Day 1 in Mumbai, and had come up against a brick wall pretty damn fast.

  If Titanium had been a mystery to me before I had joined, one month into working there it was even hazier. What did it do? Who were the clients? Who were the directors? What was I doing there? Questions, questions, questions which no one was willing to answer. Least of all, Shayak.

  If I had been worried that it would be difficult to work alongside him after all manner of fireworks had gone off during the Calcutta investigations into Prakash Agarwal’s murder, it didn’t take long for me to come to the conclusion that I had been wasting my energy. Shayak was missing in action when I got to Mumbai, and I had barely even seen him.