Dead in a Mumbai Minute Read online

‘The bulk of our business comes from large international corporations in India, prominent businessmen and government agencies. We also do security details for politicians, and people you might call celebrities, such as cricketers and film industry personnel.’

  I wondered how Kimaaya would feel if she heard herself described as ‘personnel’.

  ‘And that’s it?’

  ‘Not enough for you?’

  ‘Something is not adding up.’

  Shayak nodded. ‘Once again, you are right. There is a component of our work that I am not at liberty to discuss. Most of it is for governments.’

  Governments, plural. Was Titanium a security contractor working with the army? If so, whose army? And what was the nature of this work? I was imagining secret missions and authorized assassinations.

  I was revisited by the feeling that I was being left out of Titanium’s most exciting assignments. But Shayak said he couldn’t talk about it, and that meant he wouldn’t, let alone involve me in it. ‘Where do I fit into all of this?’

  ‘Our investigation team is critical to our process. That is why, after years of operating mainly with consultants, I felt the need to develop our in-house capabilities further. Though we don’t typically take on stand-alone investigative cases, most of our clients require intelligence reports at some stage of their relationship with us.’

  ‘Such as?’ I felt silly asking now; shouldn’t I have cleared this up before I joined? Instead, I was won over cheaply, on a boat, by a speech. And perhaps a kiss?

  Shayak smiled. ‘I think we’ll need some coffee if you want me to get into all that.’ He picked up the phone and called for a couple of cups.

  Food, I suddenly remembered. But now seemed hardly the time to bring it up.

  ‘When a client approaches us for the first time,’ Shayak continued, ‘we begin with a risk assessment depending on their needs. If we are called in for an external security threat, we try to understand where the organization’s weaknesses are, who may have made the threat, how serious it is and so on. There is obviously a need for investigators there. If there is an internal breach, we begin by sending in forensic accountants to examine the books. Most often, the money tells the story. The next level involves digging deeper into the private lives of suspects. If the client is an individual, the requirements are often more straightforward – checking out stalkers, for instance or, in certain instances, accidents and other unforeseen events.’

  ‘Like the murder on Kimaaya’s island?’

  ‘It’s called Maaya.’

  ‘Cute, if a little narcissistic.’

  Before Shayak could respond, the door opened and two cups of steaming coffee were brought in by a liveried man. I was grateful to see a tray of muffins and croissants along with it.

  When we were alone again, Shayak pointed to a muffin. ‘Eat,’ he said.

  I was too hungry for pride, so I helped myself. I forced myself to chew like a human and not swallow like a greedy puppy.

  ‘We’ll come back to Maaya Island – cute or otherwise – on our way over tomorrow.’

  I took a sip of coffee. ‘Why am I the lead on the investigation and not Adlakha?’

  ‘Any reason you shouldn’t be?’

  ‘No, it’s just … unexpected.’

  ‘I am not big on hierarchy. Didn’t think you’d be.’

  ‘It’s not an objection, merely a question.’

  Shayak responded by taking a long sip of his coffee.

  It didn’t seem as though I’d get anything more out of him. ‘So this infidelity case I am looking into now is not the usual sort of case I’ll be dealing with?’

  ‘Absolutely not. Sometimes our clients come to us with this sort of request, and we prefer not to turn them away. Usually we’d outsource it but as Pratap is a friend and had very specific instructions on how he wanted it dealt with, I thought it best we keep it in-house.’

  It seemed a reasonable enough explanation. ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Humouring me.’

  ‘I’m not humouring you.’

  ‘You answer all questions from highly demanding employees?’

  ‘Some are more demanding than others, but I would like to think I hear everyone out,’ he said with a smile.

  I remembered that I still hadn’t told Shayak about the bottle. I briefed him now about what the label had revealed, the estimated value of the bottle and the fact that it seemed as though we had a couple of usable prints from it.

  ‘We need to ensure all the guests at the party are fingerprinted,’ I said.

  ‘The cops have that covered,’ nodded Shayak. His phone rang, and he stood up as he answered.

  ‘Viraat is awake and ready for questioning,’ he said, hanging up. ‘Lucky for us, I have it on good authority that one of the businesses his daddy has set up for him is wine import,’ he continued as we got moving. ‘In fact, he is one of Mumbai’s leading importers. Though he reportedly loses more money than he makes.’

  ‘Not surprising,’ I said, ‘if he polishes off bottles worth crores on a regular basis.’

  When we reached the hospital where Viraat Khanna was being examined, we found the police on guard outside. The officer on duty cleared the way for Shayak and me.

  ‘There you are!’ Viraat said as soon as he saw me. ‘I’ve been telling the cops I need to speak to you. Where’s my watch?’

  ‘Uh, how would I know that?’

  ‘You were there when I woke up. I assumed you must have taken it for evidence or something.’

  ‘No I didn’t,’ I said. ‘In fact, I didn’t notice a watch on you at all.’

  Viraat slapped his forehead. ‘Shit! Someone must have stolen it.’

  ‘Do you remember when you last saw it?’ I asked.

  ‘I know I had it on last night.’

  ‘Could you have taken it off, forgotten about it?’

  ‘No! And it isn’t in the room or anywhere else in the house. I asked Kimaaya to check. I’m telling you, someone must have stolen it, man!’

  ‘Was it valuable?’ I asked.

  ‘Hell yeah! It’s almost an exact replica of Rafael Nadal’s watch! I need it back.’

  ‘A man was killed here,’ Shayak said. ‘I think that might be more important than your knock-off watch.’

  ‘That was no knock-off,’ Viraat snapped. ‘It was made by the same watchmaker who made Nadal’s. I paid, like, over 2 crore for it.’

  What planet had I stepped on to? Wine and watches worth crores? In most parts of the world, each of those would be motive in themselves. It still was a possibility: though it might be spare change for the guests on the island that night, 2 crore would always be inducement for murder in my book.

  ‘Did you mention the value of the watch to anyone?’ I asked. ‘I might have.’

  ‘Last night?’

  ‘Puri asked about it.’

  ‘Who else heard?’

  ‘Everyone, I think. You don’t think one of them could have taken it, do you?’ He looked incredulous. ‘They are all, like, loaded. All except …’ he trailed off.

  ‘Now that you have had some time to think, can you remember anything else from last night?’ continued Shayak.

  ‘I think I got there around 9 pm or so. I had a bunch of people coming with me. I’d already had some to drink and when I got there, I had some more.’

  ‘Could you tell me what drinks were being served?’

  ‘Dude, what kind of a question is that? It was an open bar. Kimaaya had everything a good bar would stock.’

  ‘Wine?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Okay. What next?’

  ‘Soon after I got in, Poonam left. She like said she had a thing early in the morning at one of the orphanages she works at. But Pratap stayed,’ he said. I saw his eyes cloud over for a second, and evidently so did Shayak.

  ‘Did something happen with Pratap?’

  ‘Not really, but the dude seriously has trouble keeping hi
s junk in his trunk.’

  I had visions of Pratap Puri flashing everyone at the pool party.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Shayak asked.

  ‘It’s like he wants to do all the women in the room. Even Kimaaya was getting pissed.’

  ‘What about your girlfriend?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Afreen.’

  Viraat let out an unattractive snort. ‘Oh, her! Dude, she’s not my girlfriend.’

  ‘Whatever,’ said Shayak. Was that a flash of irritation? ‘Did Pratap say anything to her?’

  ‘You know. The usual. Nothing too bad or I would have socked him.’

  ‘Why, if she wasn’t your girlfriend?’

  ‘She was for the night.’

  ‘Did anyone confront him about his behaviour?’

  ‘Not really. He was a guest, and a friend of Kimaaya. Though she looked like she might.’

  ‘Anything else of note?’

  ‘No, man. It was a really chilled out night, for the most part. We grilled some meat, hung out by the pool, drank.’

  ‘Seawater was found on your shorts, Viraat,’ said Shayak. ‘Do you remember anything about that?’

  Viraat’s eyes widened. ‘Duuude.’

  We waited as he struggled to recall his actions.

  ‘Dude, that’s right. At some point I think I went to the yacht. I vaguely remember taking a dip. Thought it would be cool.’

  ‘Were you alone?’

  ‘Don’t remember. Think so.’

  ‘What were you doing on your boat?’

  ‘I think I went to get a bottle of Scotch. Yeah, that’s it. Kimaaya knows nothing about the stuff, so I went to get something decent from my personal stash.’

  ‘Is that the only trip you made?’ he asked.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘We have reason to believe a bottle of Scotch isn’t the only thing you brought from your bar.’

  Viraat squinted in concentration – it seemed to be a novel attempt for him. And then enlightenment.

  ‘Duuude,’ he said, almost a whisper. ‘Not that bottle. Please tell me I didn’t touch that bottle.’

  ‘Could you tell me what you mean?’

  It was infuriating, but I knew Shayak didn’t want to lead him in a rush to get answers.

  ‘A bottle of wine. I had acquired it for a client. I had to pull serious strings to get it, and it cost a bomb.’

  ‘Was it a Chateau Lalou?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘We found it at the crime scene. It was used to murder Ashutosh Dhingre.’

  As Viraat cradled his head in his hands, I quickly did the math. Between the watch and the wine, he had lost at least 3 crore in one night. It had turned out to be a seriously expensive party for him.

  Then, in a moment, Viraat clammed up, insisting he didn’t know anything about it, and that he wanted a lawyer.

  It was past 9 pm when we left the hospital. ‘Let’s go home,’ said Shayak.

  Seated in the car, Shayak scrolled through the forensics reports that had been sent while we were out.

  ‘Preliminary blood work came back from the lab. Viraat had flunitrazepam in his system.’

  ‘The date-rape drug?’ I asked.

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘That explains him passing out and the patchy memory.’

  ‘But not much else. What was he doing out on the grounds? Who gave him the drug? Why?’ he said. ‘It is possible that he is a recreational user. There were also traces of cocaine in his system.’

  ‘You still think he is connected with the murder?’

  ‘His wine bottle is now confirmed as the murder weapon. Even without the gash to the neck, Dhingre would have been a dead man from the blow to the head, it just would have taken a little more time.’

  ‘Everyone at that party had access to that bottle, and there is no connection between the deceased and Viraat.’

  ‘So he says. We still need to corroborate that.’

  Shayak handed me a piece of paper. ‘This is Ashutosh Dhingre’s address. I want you to go there tomorrow morning. Mrs Dhingre is expecting you at 8.30 am. Pack your bags tonight because the car will bring you directly from there to the boat, and we’ll head back to the island together.’

  ‘What do you want me to ask her?’

  ‘Let her talk. See what she says. You have a way with people.’

  We drove into my complex and Shayak and I got out, then the car pulled away. Was he planning to come up?

  ‘Good night, Reema. Call me if you need anything.’

  ‘Are you going to walk home?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘How far?’

  ‘Twenty steps away,’ he said, pointing to another building in the same complex – the fancier one.

  ‘Let me guess – the penthouse?’

  ‘It does have the best view,’ he smiled.

  ‘Good night,’ I said, shaking my head as I walked away.

  I didn’t know how I felt about Shayak being my neighbour. Between the boss next door and security cameras in the hall, it did seem as though, like Adlakha said, I had been kennelled. What happened if I brought a man back to my apartment? Would the whole office get to know? Would Shayak get to know?

  I walked into the flat, and my eyes went to the TV. I turned it on for the first time. It took me a while to figure out the channels; it had been so long since I had owned a TV that I still remembered them as idiot boxes and not as a canvas hung on the wall like art. When I reached the news channels, Kimaaya’s face was everywhere.

  Whether this murder was about Kimaaya or not, she loomed large over every aspect of it.

  The cameras captured no footage of the crime scene itself – Shayak’s guards would have seen to that – but there were plenty of chaotic images of people coming and going from Maaya Island – the police, the Titanium crews. They must have arrived in greater numbers after we departed. Then there was a news conference with Ajay. He kept it down to the facts: the victim’s name and relation to the actress, the location – thankfully vague – of the murder.

  ‘Is Kimaaya Kapoor a suspect at this time?’ asked one reporter. Ajay didn’t even justify that one with a ‘no comment’; he simply moved on.

  ‘Any suspects?’ another journalist asked more judiciously.

  ‘Too early to say, Swapan, you know that.’

  ‘Is the murder in any way related to Kimaaya?’

  ‘As soon as we are prepared to reveal these details, we will release them to the press,’ he said, before leaving the room. I was impressed. Ajay did not dodge the media, but he did not kowtow to them either. It seemed the sensible route: this was Bollywood and this was the most shocking crime to happen in connection with an actor in some time. On the other hand, Shayak’s determination to pretend the media would just go away seemed of little real value.

  And then I flipped to a channel showing a special feature about events at Maaya Island. ‘Though they have never admitted to any animosity publicly, sources say that Kimaaya Kapoor and Ashutosh Dhingre’s parting of ways was anything but amicable. One industry insider claimed Dhingre had been dismissed because of his disapproval of her on personal issues. Though it remains to be seen if that was a factor in his murder, it is definitely a mystery as to what he was doing on the private island of a film star whom he had had nothing to do with for some years.’

  I switched off the TV, unable to keep my eyes open anymore. I didn’t even bother to pull down the bed; I set my alarm, kicked off my shoes and trousers, curled up on the sofa and soon was dead to the world.

  ‘For the past month we would have been hungry, had it not been for the help from my daughters. That is why my husband was trying to get in touch with Kimaaya ji. How long can we expect our sons-in-law to tolerate this?’

  I was seated in Ashutosh Dhingre’s flat, speaking with his wife as she wiped her tears with her sari pallu.

  You wouldn’t think the Dhingre family was living hand to mouth. The two-bedroom apartment was not in a p
osh part of town, but they owned it. It was sparsely furnished, and yet there were photos of stars sitting shoulder to shoulder with those of the children and dead forefathers. The walls were clean, though they hadn’t been painted in a while. This brand of middle-class poverty was clearly new to the Dhingre family.

  ‘How did things get so bad?’ I asked.

  ‘We had been falling back more and more on our savings, but with three daughters to marry off, whatever we had finally ran out after the wedding of our youngest one last year. It has been getting harder and harder ever since he lost his job with Kimaaya ji. Finally it was down to one old producer who would give him small jobs from time to time. But he died so, for the past few months, there had been no work at all.’

  ‘Where are your daughters now?’

  ‘In their homes. They have married into families like ours only. By God’s grace, all are good.’

  ‘And your son?’

  ‘Finishing school this year. Now, whether he wants to go to college or not, he will have to find some work to support us.’

  ‘Mr Dhingre didn’t want to sell the house?’ With property rates being what they were in the area, the proceeds should have been able to buy them a comfortable rental and peace of mind for some time.

  ‘It is all we have to give our son. My husband decided not to sell it till there were no other options. It’s my son’s decision now. Since it is only the two of us, maybe he will rent this out and we can go live in some small room somewhere. He’ll have to wait till he is settled himself to get married since we can be of no help at all,’ she said, wiping her face once more.

  ‘Do you know why Mr Dhingre had gone to the island that night – and so late?’

  ‘No. He would never tell me such details of his daily activities,’ she said. Her mouth was a twist of withheld tears. ‘I think he just had enough and went to demand his due. We have no food on the table, eating only dal and roti, while that woman owes him her whole career, all her crores, all her houses. Couldn’t she do anything to help?’

  ‘He had tried to contact her before?’

  ‘Yes. Over phone. Always that Nimisha would answer and make some excuse or the other as to why Kimaaya ji couldn’t talk to him.’

  A fact they had both neglected to mention. ‘Do you know why they stopped working together in the first place?’