No reply.
‘Cool bar you’ve got there,’ I said.
‘Yeah? Thanks.’
‘It’s a screen?’
‘Yeah. Our newest product. Pitching it to nightclubs as a way of integrating ads and stuff at point of purchase.’
It seemed like a good idea. I could see the booze companies jumping at a fresh way of advertising their wares, particularly with all the legal restrictions on their marketing activities.
‘Well, it looks great.’
He nodded absentmindedly.
‘Do you know why Afreen was here, or how she may have gotten in?’
‘Nope.’
‘Or who may have wanted to harm her, or you?’
He shook his head. No more mention of those who wanted money.
My kit arrived, and I quickly dusted for prints on a chair before asking Viraat to take a seat.
‘What’s happening?’ he said.
‘I need to take some evidence. The police are on the way and I am sure they will have questions for you.’
I went back to the body, starting out by taking photographs of poor Afreen.
Single gunshot to the chest. No signs of a struggle – her hands and arms were free of defensive wounds. Her clothes were not disturbed, and there were no obvious signs of sexual assault.
I moved to the living room with the camera, starting with the lock on the front door. I had just finished when I heard the lift stop at Viraat’s floor. Out came Ajay and two constables.
‘Reema, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave,’ Ajay said.
‘Shayak said you should speak to him.’
‘We have spoken already.’
I stared open-mouthed as the DCP and one of the constables entered the flat and the other officer took guard at the door.
It didn’t seem as though I had much of a choice in the matter, unless I wanted to take on the Mumbai Police. I packed up my kit, took the lift down and waited in the lobby.
Fifteen minutes later, Ajay and his men left, leading Viraat away in handcuffs. Ajay turned to me.
‘Shayak called again. Much as I would like to help, there is nothing for you here. I have told him as much.’
I watched his retreating back with frustration, unsure why this latest roadblock had presented itself. But there was no point in wasting more time. I flipped through my notebook and found Afreen’s address, which I had made a note of at the island, along with the contact information of everyone present.
I cursed Mumbai traffic for the ninety-four minutes it took me to reach Afreen’s apartment in a very unfashionable part of town. It was in a four-storey building, and I walked up a steep, narrow staircase to the top floor. Confronted by a standard issue padlock, I put on my gloves, took the right tool from my kit and eased it open.
I stood outside the door, knowing that I was about to cross a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. What was I doing here, in direct violation of orders from my boss and the police? Was I willing to lose my job over this? Perhaps even risk arrest?
And then an image flashed through my brain: of a girl, no older than me, lying cold at my feet.
Who was Afreen? Who would want her dead? Was it Viraat? Could she have known something about Dhingre’s murder? Why were we being called off the case summarily?
I hadn’t seen enough death to walk away from it. Maybe I would get to the point in my PI career that I could look at a lifeless body and be unmoved, but that would also be the day, I hoped, that I would have the courage to put the job behind me and move on.
I needed to know. I needed to know why, how, who. I needed to know that I had done my bit to ensure justice. I couldn’t walk away from this anymore than I had been able to walk away from the Prakash Agarwal murder in Calcutta, and I knew it was pointless trying. If there were consequences, so be it.
I had to get into the flat before the police did, before Shayak had the chance to tell me to back off. So I pocketed my reservations and walked into the one-room apartment. To call it a studio would be to give it airs it did not possess. There was a bed, a cupboard, a little fridge and a table with an induction hob on it. It was tiny, though not shabby, and filled with the clutter of tasteful, even expensive items. I opened a cupboard and found it overflowing with clothes, bags, shoes, make-up – each one capable of making a sizeable dent in my pay packet.
Afreen had said she was an actress – a claim Kimaaya had been sceptical of – but she had told me that she had landed a role recently. It would have been her big break. Trying to make it in Bollywood was not easy, nor was it inexpensive, from what her designer wardrobe told me. Where was she getting all this cash? Nothing about her just slightly awkward deportment spoke of family money, and the size and location of the apartment only confirmed that. She was saving on rent.
I found a little diary with a number of appointments written in it. Names, places, phone numbers. Men called Vicky and Rocky.
I rifled through drawers and shelves and found little else to tell me what might keep Afreen busy and ahead of her bills. Till I stumbled on her laptop.
I started it up and looked through the desktop files. There was a portfolio with a number of photos taken in all manner of dress – some demure village belle shots, others urbane party girl. Finally, there was a series of positively risqué pictures, of the drape-me-across-the-bed-and-feed-me-grapes variety.
I opened the web browser and looked through the history. I had hoped to get lucky with her e-mail, in case she was still logged in, but that would have proved too good to be true. I scrolled through the other sites she had been visiting, and clicked on one that seemed out of place.
It was an escort site. ‘Bollywood actresses, airline hostesses, models, society women and students – all can be yours at Mumbai’s premium escort service. Take them to parties, on overseas tours or just for a fantasy night on the town. All your dreams cum true.’
Front and centre was a picture of Afreen. The face was blurred, but I immediately recognized it as one of the shots from the portfolio I had just browsed. It seemed Afreen was one of the showcase stars of the service.
I wrote down the phone numbers and URL and shut down the computer, leaving it as I had found it.
I headed back to office. Once there, I went to Adlakha. ‘I need help tracking down a company from its website,’ I said.
‘What is this about?’
‘The Kimaaya murder.’
He looked at me as though he didn’t entirely believe me. ‘I hope it isn’t the Afreen case, because I have just been told we are strictly hands off in that matter.’
News seemed to travel fast in murderous Mumbai. Had Shayak already spoken to him or had it been Ajay? I maintained my poker face and Adlakha seemed to relent.
‘You can speak to the digital security team on the second floor. Rishi should be able to do something for you.’
I headed up. Rishi wasn’t there, but his colleague Jay was. ‘Do you know where Rishi is?’ I asked.
‘He has taken a half day,’ said Jay.
‘I’m working on a case and have some tech stuff I needed help with. Pranav Adlakha suggested I speak to Rishi, but I don’t think it can wait.’
‘Take a seat,’ he said, pointing to the empty chair beside him.
‘I need to find out who owns a domain in connection with an ongoing investigation,’ I said, handing him a piece of paper with the name.
Within a minute he had a name for me: Bobby Gill, as well as a US address and number.
‘I can’t guarantee that these are the correct details. Often sites like these are registered under false addresses, or to a shell company.’
‘How else can I track them down? And quickly.’
Jay gave me a rueful grin. ‘We could always call and avail of their services.’
‘I don’t need to meet the girls. I need to meet the management, as it were.’
‘That would be less interesting, but I could trace the phone number on the site to see if I can get you
some real contact data.’
‘Don’t we need police cooperation for that?’
‘Not at Titanium,’ he said with a smile. ‘Just give me an hour or so.’
‘There is one more thing.’
‘Tell me.’
‘What is our policy on hacking?’
Jay’s eyes lit up. ‘What kind?’
‘The e-mail ID of a murder victim.’
‘There have been exceptions made in the past, in the course of various investigations, where we have hacked e-mail.’
‘But it is not the norm.’
‘If it is illegal, it is not the norm at Titanium. But, as I said, exceptions have been made.’
‘Okay. Let me give this some thought.’
‘Sure,’ said Jay. ‘You should also know that for something of that nature, we’d need approval from higher up.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Mr Gupta himself.’
I left him my cell number and went back to my desk. I had to redirect my attention to the Maaya Island murder, and I rewound to where I was before I found Afreen’s body. I checked the file on Madhav Pande once again. There was an address and a landline number. I called, and a woman picked up.
‘I’m sorry,’ she replied when she heard why I was calling, ‘but he doesn’t live here anymore. Madhav was my tenant. Two months ago, I moved in.’
‘Do you have a number or address where I could reach him?’
‘Sorry, no,’ she said.
I hung up. There must be another way. Madhav was back in the public domain, making media appearances, talking about what had happened. He seemed to be rejoining the ranks of young men his own age. And what did such men do in their spare time? I logged on to Facebook.
There were a number of men by the name of Madhav Pande. But with the aid of an old photograph taken when the stalker was being carted off to court, I found him after a brief search.
Madhav was certainly not shying away from his past. His timeline revealed that not only was he talking about his experiences, he was writing a screenplay about them in his downtime. ‘Final act to go!’ he had just told his 4,394 friends. And then a month ago: ‘In talks with a director about the script!’ One of his friends replied: ‘Any chance of casting Kimaaya Kapoor in the lead role?’ Madhav Pande had hit ‘like’.
I took a chance and sent him a direct message.
‘My name is Reema Ray and I work with Kimaaya Kapoor. You have a chance to help Kimaaya in her time of need. Call me,’ I wrote, sending him my contact details.
And then I packed my laptop and headed home. I had just about reached and slipped the shoes off my sore feet when my phone rang. It was Jay.
‘The cell is registered to the same name from the Whois search, Bobby Gill. Office in Malad.’
I wrote down the address. ‘Thanks, Jay. One day, I would like to get the bottom of how Titanium manages to do all these cool things without getting busted.’
‘I wish I knew,’ Jay replied with a laugh.
A short while later, Rishi called. ‘Sorry I wasn’t there when you came by today,’ he said.
‘No problem. Jay was able to help me.’
‘He tells me you might need some hacking done?’
‘That was just a thought. Will have to discuss it with the bosses. But as I said to Jay, I’d love to know how these things are done within the company.’
‘Maybe I could, er, tell you over a drink tomorrow?’
I hesitated, but only for a moment. ‘Sure. My schedule is a little unpredictable right now, so I’ll give you a call when I know my scene?’
‘Great.’
I had just about hung up when I heard another ring. I automatically reached for my cell before I realized that it was the intercom. I rushed over to it. It was Shayak.
‘Oh, good. You’re home. I’m coming over with dinner,’ he announced, not giving me time to reply.
In five minutes, he arrived bearing a basket.
‘If you don’t mind,’ he said. ‘I’m famished.’
He quickly unpacked it as I set the table. Numerous dabbas emerged: keema, dal, sabzi, rice, raita.
‘Home cooked?’ I asked.
‘By me.’
‘Really?’
‘Would I lie to you?’
‘Let me try the food before I decide.’
We didn’t speak very much as we ate. I had too much on my mind, and Shayak seemed too hungry. By the end of the meal, the world seemed upright again. It was delicious and wholesome and exactly the kind of nourishment I had needed. ‘Thank you,’ I said, licking my fingers clean.
‘My pleasure.’
I cleared the table and turned around to find Shayak staring out the window.
‘This Afreen business,’ he began. ‘You need to stay away.’
So, this wasn’t just a social call. ‘Could I ask why?’
‘I wish I knew myself. The commissioner doesn’t want us on it. It’s that simple. And we have no other reason to step in: there is no client hiring us for the job.’
‘I don’t understand. How can we solve one case without looking into the other?’
‘Stay focused on what you know, rather than what you don’t.’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t think that’s part of my psyche.’
‘The impatience of youth,’ he said with a smile. ‘Sometimes I forget how young you really are. Too young, perhaps.’ He sat down on the sofa. ‘Not every crime committed on Mumbai soil is your sole responsibility.’
‘I am so used to being the outsider looking in, making the most of whatever I can grab at, that it is a little hard to compartmentalize.’
‘And maybe to take orders.’
‘Maybe.’
He nodded. ‘By and large, I try not to issue them.’
‘What if I told you that Afreen was a call girl?’
‘I would have to say that I’m not surprised. And that whatever the facts, I can’t change my position. Our alliance with law enforcement is bigger than one case. There are protocols to follow.’
‘I find all of this increasingly difficult to understand.’
‘I know,’ he said with a sigh. He put his head back and closed his eyes. ‘This is a lonely business. There are aspects of this I just can’t discuss with you, or anyone else.’
‘It doesn’t sound like you would like to, either.’
‘On the contrary. For the first time in many, many years, I feel the price I am paying: having to keep you so far away, despite wanting to do just the opposite.’
Once again, Shayak’s lack of artifice sent me spinning. But I tried to stay focused on the words, the moment. ‘If you told me what was going on, even without specifics, maybe I could help.’
‘Where would I begin?’
‘How about with what is really bothering you?’
‘Right now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Not being able to hold you.’ I took a long breath. He wasn’t going to make this easy. ‘And before you walked through my door?’
‘The deep hole I have been digging, to which I can see no bottom.’
‘Nothing to do with the Maaya Island murder?’
‘No.’
‘And you are sure there is nothing I, nor anyone else, can do to help?’
‘Not now but in time, maybe. In fact, yes.’
‘Why not now?’
‘Because you are not ready.’ Shayak the boss was back. I had to remind myself that there were boundaries that should not be breached, but that didn’t mean I had to take his word without question.
‘How am I not ready?’
‘It could be dangerous.’
‘Then train me. I already have self-defence skills and I can fire a gun reasonably well, and – ’
‘You can break into the homes of unsuspecting civilians and escape arrest? Not quite the kind of thing I am talking about here.’
‘What is it then? Gang wars and international espionage and political conspiracies deep enough to make Bond blush?’
/>
‘Possibly.’
‘Possibly which?’
He smiled.
‘All of the above?’
‘Titanium routinely handles cases that involve the components you just mentioned.’
‘And you play all of them close to the chest?’
‘Mostly. Got to earn my keep, after all.’
‘Ever heard of delegation? Potentially to the newbie in the investigation team?’
‘Ever heard the phrase “above your pay grade”?’
‘It comes down to that, does it? On the one hand you complain about being lonely. On the other you aren’t willing to share,’ I said with a smile.
‘There are other things I have to share as well, apart from work.’
‘Oh, please. That’s such a line. I expected better from you,’ I laughed. But I could see he was in earnest. He was bleeding and I was shutting him out.
And yet I had no choice. There was too much to lose, too soon after I had got it.
‘I don’t do this often. I honestly don’t have the time,’ said Shayak quietly. ‘After a long while, I think I see something worth the effort. I know that at your age, I may have taken these feelings for granted as well. But when you get to where I am, you recognize what is special.’
Special. I shook my head. If it were only so simple.
‘Shayak,’ I began, my voice shakier than I would have liked it to be, ‘I have to prove myself. Not just at Titanium. To myself. To my parents. To everyone who ever told me I couldn’t do this.’ And then I heard Adlakha’s accusations about Shayak using my feelings for him ring in my ears. I knew there was nothing there but malice, but it was a sampler of things to come if I didn’t keep my guard up.
‘I have worked too hard for this, and you’ve finally given me a chance of getting to where I’ve always wanted to be. To throw that away would be madness.’
The words came out with a confidence I simply did not feel, and I almost lost my resolve when I saw disappointment staring back at me.
‘Fine,’ he said, getting up. ‘This is the last time I will bring it up. If you ever change your mind, you know where I live. But remember – no door remains open forever.’
The Bollywood Affair: Reema Ray Mysteries Page 15
