‘Why?’
‘You may have noticed that movie stars – especially female ones, in our country – usually wait till their time has more or less come and gone to tie the knot.’
‘That is why your marriage ended?’
‘That is why our marriage ended quietly. In the industry, no one knew that we were married in the first place. Very few did outside it, either.’
‘Oh, come on. Something like that must have been hard to hide.’
‘It was a different time. It all happened before Kimaaya’s first hit, in an era well before the twenty-four-hour news cycle and paparazzi. When I was away from Mumbai forty-five weeks of the year.’
‘Doing what?’
‘I was in the armed forces. Don’t tell me my brightest young detective didn’t know that?’
If his praise was an attempt to distract me, I wasn’t about to let it succeed. ‘There still must have been some people who knew – after all, friends and family must have found out about it. These things have a way of getting out.’
‘Friends and family, yes. But only close ones. Some others probably did at least suspect a relationship of some sort. But information about our marriage was not in the public domain. And you forget – at the time it happened, we were not in the public domain.’
‘Why was it such a secret then?’
‘I was leaving on a mission; I suppose we were both afraid that I might not make it back. It was practically decided overnight. Then I was gone a long time, almost a year. By the time I returned for any significant period, and our families were planning to have a reception to make the marriage public, both of us realized we had made a mistake.’
‘Fair enough, but you don’t think someone like, say, Dhingre, Kimaaya’s first agent, might have had an inkling?’
Shayak’s face was stormy, but his silence gave me my answer.
‘What do you think Ajay will do when he gets to know?’
‘He doesn’t need to know.’
I started shaking my head even before the words were out of his mouth. How could I be the only one seeing this? ‘If he goes digging – which he might, despite your partnership with the police – and finds out, it will be far worse than if you told him.’
‘I am sure there are plenty better motives to kill Dhingre than the secret of a marriage a decade and a half old.’
‘You may be right. But motive is still motive, and it will need to be pursued.’
‘You mean Kimaaya did this to keep Dhingre quiet about her marrying her high-school sweetheart?’
I didn’t say anything, but Shayak guessed what was on my mind. I saw a hint of anger creep into his gaze. ‘No, that’s not it, is it? You think it gives me motive.’
‘It’s not about what I think. It is much more important what Ajay Shankaran thinks. That you and Kimaaya are still close, and work together intimately in various fields, may prompt a deeper look into your relationship. What is essentially harmless when revealed voluntarily looks very different when concealed.’
I thought Shayak was about to say something, but he held his tongue.
‘She is having financial problems?’ I asked.
Shayak nodded. ‘She has mismanaged her fortune epically.’
‘And you are helping her get out of the hole? Building the resort, selling her yacht?’
‘Happy to see nothing gets past you.’
‘I’d think it would be a quality you’d value.’
‘Kimaaya has always been short on friends.’
‘Doesn’t look that way.’
‘Those aren’t friends,’ said Shayak. ‘Not really. Except for Auntie Clementine.’
‘The housekeeper?’
‘More like surrogate mother.’
‘You never did say why you weren’t at Kimaaya’s party last night. She clearly was expecting you.’
‘I don’t recall being asked.’
‘I’m asking now.’
‘You know I have been out of town.’
‘You called me at an obscene hour to tell me to get my ass moving. I’m assuming you were in Mumbai at that time.’
‘I was. In my flat. There is security footage to prove it. I got back late last night.’
I half expected him to remind me he was my boss. When he didn’t – not that he would have stopped me, just slowed me down – I continued.
‘And have you had any association with Dhingre since the split?’
‘No, nor before it. I’ve never met the man.’
‘But you have been friends with her through it all.’
‘For the first few years, it was strained. I was very busy, frequently away, and her star was on the rise. It is only more recently that we have become close again.’
‘Okay,’ I said, ‘suppose for the moment that you are right – that no one in the film industry or media knew about the marriage. What about the paparazzi now? You think they won’t go digging into Kimaaya’s past after this?’
‘This is India – the gossip rags are thankfully still immature and there is only so far they are willing to go to dig up smut.’
‘Things have changed in the past few years. Don’t you think you are being optimistic?’ I asked. Naïve was the word that had come to mind, but I thought better of spelling it out.
‘Realistic. As opposed to paranoid.’ Shayak turned away from me, fixing his eyes on the placid waters ahead, signalling the end of the conversation. I thought better of pushing him any further for the moment so I went below deck, prepared to battle a new bout of seasickness rather than listen to his continuing refusal to admit what was, to me, blatantly clear.
It was past 4 pm when we were finally back on dry land and seated in the car, with Vinod at the wheel. He had come to pick us up from the coastguard jetty, where Shayak was allowed to anchor his vessel, for reasons I did not know but was beginning to guess at.
It had already been a long day, and there was no end in sight. I closed my eyes and felt my head reel. I hadn’t eaten anything since that blasted smoothie in the morning. When I prised them open, we were in standstill traffic. Beside us was a filthy grey wall, brightened by a line of film posters. Kimaaya Kapoor’s gamine face was all I could see, and I felt a twinge of something unexpected. Anger? Jealousy? I brushed it away.
Shayak finally spoke. ‘Of course you are right. I am too close – which is why I need you.’ He looked out of the window as he continued. ‘Give me time to think about what to do with the information I have. For things to crystallize. Can you do that?’
He was asking my permission? ‘Shayak, the call is yours to make.’
‘No, I need you to stay focused on the big picture. Even when it seems difficult.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There will be a lot of distraction in this case. The media. The number of witnesses. Kimaaya herself.’
‘Why Kimaaya?’
‘She’s a star, Reema. She can’t help but make everything about herself.’
There was no time for him to elaborate, for we had pulled out in front of a greying building.
‘Welcome to the state forensics headquarters. Even if you can’t depend on anyone in the system, these guys are impeccable,’ said Shayak.
‘So why is Titanium needed here?’
‘The men are good, but their machines are prehistoric. What makes ours an especially potent synergy is that they turn to us for help, ready and willing, thanks to our superior resources. You’ll see how it works.’
We walked into the lobby, where we were met by a putrid smell.
‘Is that …’
‘The smell of death,’ said Shayak. ‘The morgue facilities were last upgraded fifty-odd years ago. I am working on it now.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I am trying to convince the bureaucrats in charge to let Titanium install a new one for them.’
‘Why would they turn down such an offer?’
‘Do you really need me to answer that?’
No, I didn’t. The
answer was sure to be something about official malfeasance, with a liberal dose of unofficial corruption on the side.
We entered a lift that looked like it had been there for a century, and creaked up to the fifth floor, the smell of rot our constant companion. We got out and Shayak led me down the hall to an unmarked door.
‘Have you seen an autopsy being conducted before?’
‘Yes,’ I replied.
‘You were okay with it?’
I nodded, and we walked in. I saw a man in white lab coat and gloves reaching into the cavity of a body – no doubt, Ashutosh Dhingre’s. He looked up and smiled at Shayak.
‘What a pleasure!’ he said, pulling out what looked like a liver.
‘This is my colleague Reema Ray,’ said Shayak. ‘Reema, this is Dr Sudhir Mishra.’
‘Welcome, Reema,’ he said, teeth still very much on show.
I may not be as squeamish as most around death, but I didn’t think I’d be smiling if I were elbow-deep in a man’s entrails. I tried to return his warmth, but failed.
‘What do you know so far?’ Shayak asked. ‘Murder, for sure. Nothing accidental about this one. Have to establish whether it is the blunt head trauma or the sharp trauma to the neck that actually killed him.’
‘Any idea about time of death and weapon?’
‘Time of death appears to be between 2 am and 4 am,’ said Dr Sudhir. ‘Weapon, it is too early to say.’
‘Could it be a glass bottle?’
‘I had heard something about a bottle at the scene, and the lacerations do fit that scenario,’ he nodded. ‘But contrary to what they depict in the pictures, a bottle isn’t your usual murder weapon. Many people are hit over the head and walk away with only superficial damage.’
His words conjured images of unsuspecting people randomly being whacked about with glassware. In Dr Sudhir’s world, perhaps.
‘What if it was a thick, heavy bottle?’
Dr Sudhir gave this some thought. ‘Hit at just the right spot, where the skull is soft, it might cause serious damage, yes. I will have to examine the bone to give you a confirmation of that.’
‘Could a shard from the same bottle have been used to create that neck wound?’ asked Shayak.
Dr Sudhir nodded. ‘A glass fragment certainly could have been the culprit.’
‘What about the trace evidence and other samples?’
‘They have been harvested and are ready for you. You’ll find Paresh in his office waiting for your arrival.’
With that, we returned to the screaming lift, going down a couple of floors. ‘Paresh Parikh is Dr Sudhir’s assistant,’ explained Shayak. ‘He is the leading expert in the country on trace. He’s helped train the team at Titanium.’
Even before the grill gates could open, a man greeted Shayak like an old friend.
‘Mr Gupta! We have been expecting you!’
From actresses to lab techs, everyone seemed to welcome Shayak.
Back at the Titanium offices, we helped Paresh take the collection kits and boxes out of the car. When we all piled into the lift, I was stunned to see which button Shayak had pressed. The fourth floor. I was finally going to get a glimpse of the mysteries that lay within.
We walked into a small foyer, after which there was another door to clear with an additional swipe and a biometric scan. Shayak led us in.
When the doors opened, I had to try very hard to stop my jaw from dropping. It was as if I had walked into a scene from a spy film. On my right was a glass-enclosed lab. Four white-coated techs were already at work. On the left was a series of doors, each with a swipe machine and a biometric scanner.
But I wasn’t going to find out what was behind those doors just yet. We turned into the lab. I could see Paresh’s eyes light up. Boys and their toys, I thought to myself, till I caught my reflection on one of the room’s shinier surfaces and saw the glazed look that I too wore.
‘Sorry to bring you here like this. I had meant to give you the tour first,’ Shayak said to me.
I couldn’t care less that he was laughing at me. I was dazzled. Our college lab had been adequate and I had seen some equipment on visits we had made to professional establishments. But in the past few years, the only piece of machinery I had at my disposal had been a computer, phone and fairly decent camera.
And now I suddenly found myself in a toyshop worthy of a couple of Os and a seven.
Paresh knew his way around the lab. He got straight to business, unpacking his kit. Vials, envelopes and plastic bags emerged. Some I had seen the techs collecting at the scene, such as the soil samples and scraping from the victim’s shoes, while others had been brought in directly from the morgue. Blood, hair, microscopic evidence of where Ashutosh Dhingre had been and what he had been doing.
‘There was some sort of substance under the victim’s nails,’ said Paresh. I knew this could be crucial: if there had been a struggle, these scrapings may contain DNA of the assailant. ‘There are glass fragments from the wound,’ he added.
‘And the glass collected from the scene?’ asked Shayak.
‘All here,’ said Paresh, pointing to a plastic collection box.
‘Reema, do you want to get started on this?’
I stared at him. Handle evidence on my own in this lab?
‘Someone will help you with the equipment, of course.’
I nodded, and Shayak summoned one of the techs who had been at the scene.
‘Kaushik, this is Reema, from Investigations. Will you help her reassemble this mess of glass, please?’
Kaushik seemed rooted to his spot, befuddled by this unexpected conversation with the boss. He took a minute to recover, and then nodded. Darting a furtive glance in my direction, he led me to a corner of the room.
‘Hi,’ I said.
‘Hello,’ he replied. His whole body was stiff and it seemed an effort for him to speak to me at all. Was this Shayak’s residual effect, or was it the impact of seeing a woman in the lab?
I waited for him to begin but when he didn’t, I opened the box. ‘It seems to be a wine bottle,’ I said.
‘Right, and we should try to reconstruct it. It shouldn’t be difficult estimating its circumference.’
‘I am not sure about the age of the bottle. Judging from the thickness of the glass, it might be quite old, meaning it might be of unusual size.’
‘Okay.’ Kaushik put on gloves and began to sort out fragments. He was picking out the larger ones first.
‘If you could give me an idea of what you are looking for, I could help,’ I said.
‘I would like to create a 3-D model of the bottle. But unless we have some idea of the dimensions, it will be time consuming. I am sorting pieces that look like they are from the main body and others which appear to be part of the neck or base.’
‘What if we first try to assemble this label? If it is an old bottle of wine, it is likely to be well known, and we should be able to find some reference images online.’
I could see Kaushik approved of my suggestion. We started sorting out the pieces with bits of paper stuck to them. The label, once white or cream, was red with either wine or blood or both. But the letters were still legible and, as they came together, I flushed with excitement. It was a Chateau Lalou, 1899.
On the table right there, the shards of glass had transformed into motive. The bottle would easily be worth more than a crore. To a collector, it would be priceless.
We looked online for images; the Internet and especially eBay was full of pictures of Lalous, many of them probably fakes. I finally found a reliable source and pulled it up for Kaushik.
‘Okay, I should be able to proceed much quicker with this.’
Kaushik took large fragments from various parts of the bottle. The base had more or less broken off in one large chunk. Then he measured the arc of various large pieces from the body and neck, and entered the values into a computer programme. Soon we were holding a 3-D recreation of the Lalou’s internal dimensions. Then Kaushik painstak
ingly photographed each piece of glass, examining them for evidence that the state forensics lab may have missed. We then began assembling the pieces, jigsaw puzzle-like, around the model. It came together beautifully, except for a gaping hole from around the shoulder of the bottle.
‘Could the crew have missed some pieces at the crime scene?’ asked Kaushik.
‘Does the Titanium team usually miss things?’
‘Not often.’
It was more likely removed by the killer. The perpetrator had had the presence of mind to carry away the murder weapon – the piece of glass that had been used to slit Ashutosh Dhingre’s throat. It could now be anywhere. The logical choice for disposal, given the circumstances, being the bottom of the Arabian Sea.
Kaushik took out a brush and handed it to me. ‘Would you like to do the honours?’
It was time for fingerprinting. This was a process I was familiar with, so I took it from him without hesitation. There were numerous prints on the bottle. I took a small plastic sheet and carefully pressed it over one, and it came off cleanly; I then repeated the process with the others.
Kaushik took the prints from me. ‘I’ll start running these to see if we have any hits in the state database. Do you know if any suspects have been printed yet?’
‘As of this morning, no.’
As soon as he had scanned them, he turned to me. ‘I can tell you right now that these aren’t from the same hand. There are two sets of prints here, but one is not as clear as the other. You’ll show sir the bottle?’ Kaushik asked.
It took me a moment to figure out who ‘sir’ was, and I nodded. Kaushik turned back to the scanner.
When I couldn’t find Shayak in the lab, I went to his office and peered in. There was a small reception area where his assistant was seated.
She looked up at me and smiled.
‘Is Mr Gupta in? I’d like to see him, please,’ I said, introducing myself. She made a call and waved me through another door, behind which I found Shayak at a desk significantly smaller than what I had expected on the fourth floor.
‘What do you think?’ Shayak asked without preamble. ‘It’s like stepping into an episode of CSI.’
‘And?’
‘There can’t be many facilities like this in India.’
The Bollywood Affair: Reema Ray Mysteries Page 8
