‘I want to see her too. Call me when she is up and about tomorrow, and you know what you are up to.’
‘Yes. We have to show her a good time, Reema. I can’t have her leaving with the idea that Calcutta is dead.’
‘But it is dead, Ma.’
‘Yes, but there is no reason for her to know that.’
It was about 8 pm by the time Amit got home.
‘Where have you been?’ I asked.
‘Don’t you sound like the jealous wife?’
‘Don’t be absurd. I thought I told you not to go to work.’
‘I wasn’t at work. I was at a friend’s place.’
‘Amit, you need to lie low.’
‘Yes, I know. This is a person I can trust.’
I let it go. If Amit wanted to expose himself that was his business. But I needed to up the ante of my investigation if we were to do anything more than wait around, for which Amit certainly didn’t need my help.
‘We are getting nowhere with this strategy,’ I said.
‘I don’t understand.’
I felt my exasperation rise. ‘If this is a ruse on the part of Mohta, why has there been no further effort to make it look real? There have been no more calls, letters, videos, nothing.’
‘Suppose for a minute that it is someone else, a real kidnapper, wouldn’t you have to ask the same question? Why hasn’t the money been paid yet? In fact, seen in that light, doesn’t it seem more likely that Mohta is behind it since there has been silence?’
‘I don’t know, Amit. We have nothing to go on. I need to speak to the family.’
‘What would they say anyway?’
‘The ransom deadline has come and gone: that would have been the ideal time to end this without arousing suspicion. Pretend to pay; bring Aloka home.’
‘And you think you can waltz in there and ask them why they didn’t conclude their fake kidnapping according to your neat script? All you will do is put yourself on the radar and possibly blow my cover.’
I let out a deep breath. I hated to admit it, but Amit was right.
‘Then how do you expect me to help?’
‘Is Uncle Kumar in touch with the officers in charge of the investigation?’
‘Yes. And they are still focused on you. If they come for you, I don’t think there is much Uncle Kumar can do.’
‘If they had found a way to pin this on me, I expect they would have done so by now. Since they haven’t made their accusations public, maybe they are having second thoughts about their theory. I can only hope that now they’ll see reason and start investigating alternatives.’
‘Your wife is gone. Are you seriously satisfied waiting around?’
‘What choice do I have?’
‘Let me do some actual detective work. Let me speak to the family; maybe her brother, or the friends that were there at the time of the abduction.’
‘Uncle Kumar will warn you if they are coming after me?’
‘He might. I really don’t know. This is a big case, and he may not be able to stall if it comes to that.’
‘Then let’s wait and watch a couple more days. Something’s got to happen, right?’
‘Amit, I don’t get this. Why did you come to me if you didn’t want to do anything?’
‘Reema, believe me, you’ve done enough.’
I shook my head.
‘Trust me. I know you are a woman of action, but I don’t think any action is required here. The way to get to these people is by not playing their game.’
‘Alright. For now, I guess I’ll do this your way.’
The next morning, when my calls and messages to Mallika still went unanswered, I finally called Chef Abhimanyu.
‘Reema, lovely to hear from you! When are you coming to try the dim sum?’
‘Any time you’re ready for me.
‘Why not today, around noon?’
‘Sure,’ I said. He didn’t need to know that I had already been there the previous day, and that food was the last thing on my mind.
At the restaurant Abhimanyu rolled out one exotic dish after another, and despite myself, I enjoyed them. Char siu bau, or barbecued pork buns, shrimp har gao, deep-fried pastries stuffed with turnip, steamed lotus leaf-wrapped sticky rice with chicken and red bean paste pancakes. And of course, more xiaolongbao. He talked me through each as I revelled in the flavours and textures, some new, some familiar. The secret to the soup dumplings, he finally revealed, was aspic, which melted into a delicious broth on steaming, encased by a dangerously thin wrapper. By the time we were through, I was so happily satiated that I almost forgot why I was really there.
‘Why did you leave China?’ I asked.
‘I had been living away from India for so long that I thought it was time. It was a chance to do something on my own. Had I started in China, I would have been committed to living there for at least as long as the restaurant was a success.’
‘Why did you choose a partnership?’
‘I am too risk-averse to go it alone. I don’t think I would have had the balls, quite frankly,’ he grinned. ‘And as romantic as it all seems, the restaurant business can be cruel and competitive and difficult. You need someone to watch your back. If Mallika or I weren’t here at all times, I doubt Middle Kingdom would have lasted as long as it has.’
‘Are you on round-the-clock duty now that Mallika is out of town?’
‘Out of town?’ He seemed confused. ‘I don’t know anything about that.’
‘Maybe I’m wrong,’ I said. ‘I have been trying to reach her and when I found her phone off, I assumed she must be travelling.’
‘Mallika ... she sometimes …’ he began, before trailing off with a shake of the head.
I waited for him to resume, hoping my silence would prompt him to continue. ‘She tends to zone out sometimes, particularly when she is under pressure.’
‘I hope everything is okay.’
‘Yes, I think it is. It’s just that ... it’s just this whole business with Agarwal has got her a little wound up, I think.’
Bingo. ‘How so?’
‘It started the day the news came. I remember hearing that you were the one who told her?’
I nodded.
‘Well, after that, she just seemed very distracted. Then three days ago, she said she needed some time off.’
‘Do you remember when she told you this?’
Abhimanyu looked confused. ‘When? It was sometime after the lunch service.’
That would be soon after I went to meet Dr Siddhartha Mitra at the hospital. ‘Do you know where this is coming from?’
‘What I tell you will be completely off the record?’
‘Of course.’
‘It is no secret that there was bad blood between Mallika and Agarwal. I can’t understand why his death should have got her so rattled.’
‘You’ve known her a long time, Abhimanyu. Do you know what the source of the animosity is?’
‘That’s just it. Mallika is so bloody self-contained that she has never mentioned it to me or, as far as I know, to anyone else. Even more surprising, Agarwal, not generally known for his discretion, doesn’t seem to have talked about it much—or at all.’
‘Have you spoken to her about this?’
‘No. You aren’t the only person who has been unable to get through to her.’
‘And her husband?’
‘What about him?’
‘Have you spoken to him about it?’
Abhimanyu looked away with a smirk. ‘Siddhartha? No, I think I’d rather not. Even if I did try, he’d probably tell me to make an appointment at the hospital to discuss it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He’s so busy he doesn’t have time for Mallika’s friends.’
‘Their relationship …’
‘Oh, the relationship is fine. Fairly solid, I’d say. It’s just everyone else the doctor has no time for.’
‘Does Mallika confide in anyone?’
‘I thin
k Vineeta and she are quite close, but I didn’t want to call her about this.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s just that—these are only rumours—but, I have heard that she and Agarwal, well, you know.’
‘They are involved?’
‘It is possible.’
That would fit right in with the hateful Manish’s implications during the dinner at Mallika’s place.
I thanked the chef and got up to leave. He walked me out of the restaurant, and on the way out, I stopped to look at the wall behind the hostess’s podium on which hung the various awards won by Middle Kingdom over the years. And there, at the centre, was a photograph of Mallika at one such ceremony. In clear view was her right ear, and from it dangled an earring startlingly similar to the one Dhyan had given me.
‘She looks lovely in this picture,’ I said.
Abhimanyu returned my smile.
‘I love those earrings.’
‘She wears them all the time, so I guess so does she.’
I hurried out of the restaurant as fast as I could.
There could be no doubt about it now - Mallika Mitra had been to see Agarwal the day before he had taken mortally ill. The question now was, why? And why did Mrs Agarwal, of all people, feel the need to hide the evidence of this visit?
But I had no time to be with my raucous thoughts, or to follow up on them just yet, for my mother had been calling throughout the lunch. I had ignored the silent ringer, but I had to call her back now.
‘Darling,’ she gushed.
I had tried hard to get her to drop the ‘darlings’, the air kisses, the kitty-party conversation in my presence, but I had failed. I had at last decided that it was wise to accept that which was beyond my control.
‘How is it going with Hema Masi? When do I see you?’ I asked.
‘Right now! We are coming over!’
‘I’m not home right now.’
‘That’s okay; I have my emergency key to your place. We’ll let ourselves in and wait.’
‘No!’ I said, my voice coming out too sharp.
‘What’s the matter?’
Amit was there: no way could my mother meet him. And even if I managed to get him to clear out in time, if there was one thing my mother could sniff out with unerring accuracy, it was a man.
‘I am at the other end of town and have a ton of work; can you meet me somewhere this side?’
‘Okay, but we’re hungry! And Hema says that the only reason she is here, apart from to meet me, of course, is to eat.’
I heard the laughter of the two ladies and thought quickly. Though Hema Masi would be too nice to say it, my mother’s cooking would be the last thing she—or any sane-minded person—would want to consume. ‘Can you meet me at Park Street in half an hour?’
I reached the Middleton Row-Park Street crossing. ‘Reema darling!’ said Ma, throwing her arms open, without making any move towards me. Same old Ma, she always made you do all the work of loving her.
On her heels was Hema Masi, who had last seen me on my graduation day—the sole voice of sanity telling my parents what a great decision it was for me to become a detective. She, having been my closest thing to family on foreign shores, was the only one in the know beforehand about my career choice and, unable to dissuade me, had become a reluctant co-conspirator.
‘I knew you would finally grow into that face of yours!’ said Hema Masi, enveloping me in her soft arms.
‘What is that supposed to mean!’ I laughed as I hugged her back.
‘Growing up, you were so skinny! All angles, I used to think. You now have the softness of a lady, my dear, with the cheekbones of a ramp model.’
You had to love Hema Masi. Bless the woman for not having watched a fashion show since the 1980s.
My mother pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head. This was enough of a compliment to my presence as any other she could have paid me.
‘Darling, you couldn’t find something a little brighter to wear?’ she said after she finished her appraisal.
‘It’s not like all the clothes available in the shops are black, Ma. It’s just that I happen to choose all the black ones I can find,’ I said, winking at Hema Masi.
‘It is just so depressing. And it makes me feel so hot!’
‘I have a few white tops. I can wear one of them the next time if it will make you feel better.’
My mother shook her head, pursing her lips enough to make her displeasure known without disturbing her scarlet lipstick. She herself was dressed in all white—a white top that dipped at the cleavage, set off by a solitaire hanging from the thinnest chain of platinum, with earrings to match, and white capris. Thankfully she had dispensed with white when it came to footwear, opting instead for peacock-blue sandals revealing scarlet toes. Perched on her head were Gucci sunglasses.
We walked into Flurys and took our seats by the window.
‘So,’ said Hema Masi, flashing me a smile bright enough to dispel my mother’s frown, ‘fill me in. What have you been up to?’
‘Work, mainly, Hema Masi. Writing for the magazine,’ I said.
‘I’ve been reading your links. I feel I can almost taste what you have eaten the way you write about it all so vividly.’
‘Maybe while you are here, you can teach my mother how to use the Internet, too.’
‘Why bother, dear,’ my mother said with a dismissive wave. ‘I read your magazine in print.’
‘You might keep in touch with me more,’ smiled Hema Masi.
‘Oh, writing is such a bore.’
‘You obviously didn’t get your talent from your mother here.’
‘You should know; you went to school with her.’
‘That’s true. I don’t recall she had much time for writing then, either.’
‘It was a bore then, it’s a bore now. I must have had that attention deficit disorder thing they are talking about nowadays.’
‘And yet you never seemed to lack attention when it came to chasing after the boys.’
My mother nodded, taking on a philosophical air. ‘I wish my daughter had inherited something from me. She wouldn’t have been single now.’
I did my best to ignore her. Today I would not allow anything to go wrong. No matter what my mother said, it would not affect me. And the best way to ensure we all remained buoyant was sugar—lots of it.
I ordered a round of coffee and pastries. I put the menu down and took a cursory look around the restaurant.
Just then, Shayak Gupta walked in with two companions!
I quickly picked up the menu again and did my best to hide behind it, hoping they would be seated far away from us. What were the odds? How was it possible that we kept landing up at the same place at the same time!
With my run of luck, it shouldn’t have surprised me that they were seated three tables down. Looking business-like and, somehow, better than ever in a pale blue shirt and grey trousers, Shayak was accompanied by a young man and woman.
Trust my mother to notice. ‘So, there are some good-looking men in this city after all!’
I studied the menu with unflagging concentration.
‘Did you see him?’
‘Yes, Ma. He’s probably from out of town.’
‘That’s true,’ my mother said sadly.
‘When did that ever stop you?’ said Hema Masi.
‘I don’t mean for me, silly goose. I mean for Reema!’
‘Hush,’ I said.
I put down the menu and the power of the ladies’ joint attention must have attracted Shayak’s attention; he turned, saw me and smiled. Despite myself, I smiled back. Then, to my dismay, he rose and approached our table.
‘Good afternoon, Reema,’ he said.
Two heads swivelled towards me. Even Hema Masi couldn’t resist the meaningful looks. I had no choice but to introduce them.
‘We keep bumping into each other, don’t we,’ said Shayak, still smiling.
Hema Masi pointed to the empty seat beside her. ‘Why d
on’t you sit down?’
I glared at him again but this time he chose to ignore my silent entreaty, happily making himself at home at our table.
‘Yes,’ I finally managed to stammer out, ‘quite ... quite a coincidence. Ma, Hema Masi, this is Shayak Gupta’
‘So, what do you do, Shayak?’ my mother asked, getting straight down to it.
‘I am a boring businessman,’ he said, looking at me. ‘I find Reema’s work fascinating, though.’
Hema Masi nodded enthusiastically. ‘She has always loved food, and poking around in other people’s business.’
I cringed.
‘But she never seems to put on any weight. That runs in the family, of course,’ giggled my mother.
I suppressed the urge to run. My mother advertising my genetic health to every man she fancied for me was all I needed. I tugged at my top, and my mother’s hand shot out to slap my wrist.
If I hoped the little performance would distract Shayak, I was wrong.
‘What do you mean when you say Reema loves poking around in other people’s business?’ he asked.
‘Just that I like interviewing people, finding out about their lives,’ I said quickly, shooting Hema Masi a razor-sharp look, and was relieved when she didn’t feel the need to launch into a detailed CV of my PI career.
And then, thankfully, the conversation slipped away from me. Seldom have I seen a couple of fifty-three-year-olds so flirtatious. Did they think that by turning on the charm they would succeed in chasing him into my arms in abject fear?
Shayak, predictably, handled it all too deftly. It was as if wherever he went, mothers did nothing but try to pimp their daughters out to him. By the end of it, I was the only one in the cosy foursome who seemed flustered.
‘Did you two really have to do that?’ I hissed as soon as I saw him safely seated at his own table.
‘Do what?’ they both asked, eyes round with deceitful innocence. This was why they were friends.
‘Pounce on him like he was the second course?’
‘Nonsense,’ said Hema Masi.
‘Did I bring you up to be such a prude?’ said my mother with what I hoped was mock outrage.
‘Far from it, Mother,’ I said.
‘Oh, don’t call me that. I feel like I am eighty with breasts down to my knees when you call me “Mother”.’
The Masala Murder: Reema Ray Mysteries Page 15
