‘How could you not have told me this?’ Kimaaya yelled.
‘Was there any point in alarming you for no reason?’
‘There is still no evidence that he is our guy,’ I pointed out. ‘But there are too many strands of this case that are no longer confined to this island. I need to get back to Mumbai.’
Shayak nodded grimly. ‘We’ll leave today.’
NINE
Madhav Pande was a final-year student of computer engineering when, without precedent, he failed his mid-term exams. His parents and friends urged him to continue, saying that the result was an aberration in an otherwise consistent academic career. However, he found himself unable to stay on course. One Friday soon after, he left his college in Pune, never to return.
Madhav then headed for Mumbai. Kimaaya Kapoor’s biggest blockbuster till date had released the very day he arrived. The film was about a girl who chucks everything – an engagement, a family, a stable life – to live on the fringes of Mumbai and become a singer.
Over the next week, Madhav watched the film repeatedly, sometimes twice a day. He didn’t want to be a star himself. But in the reels of that film, he found his dream – Kimaaya Kapoor.
Madhav got lost in his fantasy. On the laptop that once held all of his course work, he watched film after film, all starring Kimaaya Kapoor. He started keeping tabs on her public events, going to as many as he possibly could, even coming within arm’s length of her once in a mall when she was promoting a new lipstick shade for a top cosmetics brand. He didn’t ask for an autograph.
And then, Kimaaya Kapoor disappeared. When her next film released, she was nowhere to be seen. She did not appear for a single promotional event; the producer and director claimed she was away at a remote location for a shoot though everyone in the industry knew it wasn’t so. When for three months there was no sign of her in the media, the gossip mill started working overtime. She had recently fired Dhingre and, with no publicist or agent to fill the gaps, talk of secret affairs gone wrong, suicide attempts and drastic weight gain grew everywhere like weeds.
But Madhav had been convinced that none of this was true. He waited day after day outside her house till she returned. He knew she would need his help to get by, and he made a promise to himself that he’d always be close at hand.
That was how Madhav Pande transformed from college boy to Bollywood’s most famous stalker.
‘Tell me how Madhav Pande was caught,’ I said to Shayak, as once again we were on our way back to Mumbai. Afreen and Carol had hitched a ride with us and were below deck in the salon, the last of Kimaaya’s guests to leave.
‘When Kimaaya came back from rehab, she threw herself into public life with a vengeance. She was shooting two to three films at a time, doing appearances all over the country and ensuring the spotlight was firmly back on her. She hired Nimisha and did as much press as she could bear. Creepy fan mail wasn’t anything new to her or any other star, but there was one guy whose letters began to concern her, so she brought them to me.’
But naturally, I thought, Shayak would be involved in this chapter too.
‘She was right to be worried, for this fan clearly knew exactly what she was doing, in far more detail than he could have from merely tracking the news. When she left the house, what time friends were arriving to meet her, her workout schedule. In addition, he seemed to have guessed her secret: Kimaaya had been struggling with drugs for some time, and the disappearance that had everyone speculating was when she went to get cleaned up. He mentioned it in more than one letter.’
‘Lucky guess?’
‘I thought so at the time. Now, I have to reconsider that theory.’
‘Someone must have known of her habit.’
‘She was very careful about it. She would never use at parties or talk about it.’
Once again, I was surprised that a man of Shayak’s experience trusted that secrets – especially such secrets – could be kept. ‘She must have had a dealer.’
‘We had checked him out – he is the least star-struck man I’ve met in Mumbai. Possibly owing to the fact he keeps most of Bollywood’s famous faces high. Doesn’t fit the profile of a stalker, and hardly one to risk his livelihood by blabbing to one.’
‘If he was watching her so closely, he could have seen something.’
Shayak nodded.
‘So what was Madhav after?’
‘A chance to meet Kimaaya. Just one meeting, he kept saying over and over again, to prove that he was the one for her, the only one who understood the real woman behind the façade, etc. etc.’
‘I am blurry on the details – what triggered the arrest?’
‘There was an explosion in Kimaaya’s building. In the chaos that ensued, Madhav Pande got inside, up to Kimaaya’s floor and waited in the stairwell till she left the flat. He tried to grab her but luckily she wasn’t alone – her friends who were following her out the door caught him before things got out of hand. He was arrested. That was when she hired us to look after her security.’
‘And now he is out of jail.’
‘Yes. He has appeared since on news shows, talking about the depression he suffered at that time, and how he needed the help of a mental health professional. He said he is being treated and is keen to go back to college and resume normal life. His family is fairly well off and has stood by him.’
‘So what is our strategy now?’
‘This is your case, Reema. You tell me.’
‘Checking out Madhav Pande, for sure. His whereabouts at the time of the murder; his association, if any, with Dhingre. And digging a little deeper into this Viraat business. He is still looking like the best suspect.’
‘True, though I am beginning to have doubts about that. We don’t know that Viraat has done anything worse than take some drugs, drink his own wine, lose a watch and pass out where he shouldn’t have. It is possible to see sinister intentions where there are none. Coincidence does exist – even in crime.’
The benefits of working for a company like Titanium were soon driven home to me. No more depending on hearsay or statements from unreliable sources; I went into office to find a file full of information on Dhingre and Kimaaya’s houseguests gleaned from sources official and unofficial. The research and communications team as well as the tech guys had pulled up whatever they could over the past few days on Shayak’s orders.
And now I needed more. The first thing I did on my return to office was to request the file on Madhav, updated for his activities since Titanium dropped the tail on him. Then I started with the sheaf on Dhingre.
Born in 1958, Dhingre grew up in a fisherman’s village not far from the city and then, when he was fifteen, ran away to Mumbai. Living with an uncle who was an odd-jobs man around the studios, he started going to a slum school and, in his free time, would pitch in where he could – tea boy, assistant to light boy, shoeshine boy. After a couple of years and not much progress on the academic front, young Dhingre’s enthusiasm and good temperament caught the eye of producer Buddy Mehta, who hired him to be at the beck and call of his stars. For over a decade he worked his way up through the ranks of the production unit till Savitri Sharma, a character actor, took him on as her personal assistant.
By this time, if Dhingre didn’t know who you were, you weren’t worth knowing in the film industry. Which is why Kimaaya, whose first film featured Savitri Sharma, didn’t waste any time poaching him. He was in her service for about nine years, from her second film to her sixteenth, and he helped her navigate the dirty, difficult terrain to find her place in the spotlight.
And then, when Kimaaya decided he was no longer needed, he became redundant overnight. He had come too far to go back to working the floors, and none of the younger stars wanted to employ Kimaaya’s over-the-hill cast-off. There was a sense that something had gone bad between the two of them, though neither spoke of a fallout publicly. A few old-timers gave him work and that was about it.
But before I delved deeper into the past – whic
h might even involve taking a closer look at Kimaaya’s role in the affair, despite what Shayak thought about it – I needed to look at the most obvious suspect first, and for that I had to find out what Viraat was doing on the lawn, in the dead of night, passed out. That was when Adlakha called me into his room.
‘I just got a call from Shayak,’ he said, pushing his glasses to the top of his head.
He didn’t look pleased, but then he never seemed to, if he could help it.
‘The Pratap Puri case is now no longer your headache. You, apparently, have better things to do with your time.’
‘Shayak has asked me to work on the Maaya Island murder.’
‘And how, I wonder, did that happen.’
‘I don’t think I understand what you mean.’
‘It is quite simple. How does someone who has worked here for five minutes get the assignment of the year?’
‘I think you should ask Shayak that.’
‘But I’m asking you.’
‘I can’t speak for him.’
‘You can’t even hazard a guess?’
‘I try not to speculate.’
‘Then let me offer you my explanation – and you can treat it as a friendly warning if you wish. I don’t know what happened in Calcutta, but Shayak is hoping to capitalize on your relationship to ensure you toe his line with this investigation.’
‘And why would he do that?’
‘All I know is that Kimaaya is one of our clients Shayak keeps close to his chest. Maybe he has a little bit of a crush.’
I shrugged.
‘And maybe he thinks you have a crush on him, which would make you very easy to control.’
At first I didn’t think I heard him correctly. Then came anger. Following which, after a few calming breaths, my insecurities stepped in to take over. Could Adlakha be right? Was Shayak using my feelings for him – and my greenness – to keep this investigation as tightly under his control as possible? But it was his company – if he wanted to exclude us all and run the whole show himself, he was well within his rights to do so. Yet he seemed preoccupied and happy to pass the reigns of the investigation over to me.
None of it made sense. And either way, it had absolutely nothing to do with Adlakha.
‘I will e-mail you my report on the Pratap Puri case,’ I said, as businesslike as possible. ‘I had an opportunity to speak with him at the island as he was one of Kimaaya’s guests the night of the murder. Unfortunately, he still won’t budge on his no-surveillance position.’
Adlakha just stared.
‘If that is all, I would like to get back to work now.’
Adlakha dismissed me with a wave of his pen. He had said his bit and, unable to get a rise, was now done with me.
The quicker I sent my report on Pratap Puri to Adlakha, the sooner I would have it – and him – off my back, so I spent the next hour or so on that. Once done, I turned my attention back to the files on my desk, choosing the one on Viraat.
His father was a businessman of some clout in Mumbai, with roots in heavy machinery. Viraat himself, after an uninspiring academic performance, went to Australia to study, after which he seemed to have no desire to break from Bondi Beach and return home to join the family business. That is when daddy decided to start a venture more in line with Viraat’s interests – an import outfit with a focus on Australian and New Zealand wines. Viraat seemed to know what he was doing, or had hired people who did.
But then he had begun to dabble in more risky ventures, investing crores in a vineyard in Nashik that went bust, buying a case of Bordeaux that was reportedly rescued from a 100-year-old shipwreck that proved to be a fraud, throwing grand parties for his friends whenever the fancy struck. And, on at least one occasion that I knew of, consuming wine worth crores himself, meant for a client.
I called the hospital and was told that Viraat had been released earlier that afternoon. I referred to the file again and found his home details. No answer on the landline or cell phone. I thought I might as well go over and see what I could find – perhaps he would be in a more cooperative mood now that he was at home.
When I got there a little after 4.30 pm I found the door open just a little bit, the lock smashed.
‘Hello?’ I called out. ‘Anyone there?’
There was no answer.
I pushed the door and at once knew something was amiss. A chair was lying overturned, a vase had met a similar fate, flowers and water spilled onto the carpet. I moved gingerly through the living area, careful not to touch anything. In the dining room there was a large wooden table and a bar, behind which was a stool that had toppled over. As I got closer, I saw a sight that sent a chill through me – a pair of well-heeled feet, attached to a body, lying on the floor. I inched forward with dread, for I had seen those shoes before.
It was Afreen, eyes wide open, blood turning the blue silk carpet beneath her a glistening black.
I heard a noise and swung around, acutely aware of how exposed I was.
‘What the hell happened here?’ I heard a man’s voice say. It sounded like Viraat.
With nowhere to go and nothing in sight that I could arm myself with, I stood my ground. Viraat turned the same corner I had a few moments before and saw me.
‘What are you doing here?’ he said, bewildered, shifty-eyed. He had shaved since I last saw him, and smelled like a duty-free store.
‘I had come to meet you. The door was open. I let myself in and found … this.’
He followed my gaze, and peered over the bar.
‘Duuuude! What the hell is this?’ he said, more dazed than shocked.
I didn’t know quite how to respond to that.
‘Who is that lying back there?’
‘It’s Afreen.’
‘What’s she doing on the ground like that?’
‘She’s dead, Viraat.’
I saw his eyes widen. His pupils were dilated.
‘I knew this would happen!’ he screamed, running a jerky hand through his hair. ‘I knew they were out to get me!’ He sat down on a bar stool.
‘Who is out to get you?’
He didn’t answer.
‘Why would they hurt Afreen?’ I asked.
‘Because they came for me and I wasn’t home!’
‘Whom are you talking about?’
Viraat could only shrug.
‘Was Afreen staying here with you?’
‘No!’
‘What was she doing here, in that case, with you out of the house?’
‘Who knows, man! Maybe she is one of them. Maybe she was here for more money.’
‘More money for what?’
No answer. And then he raised an angry arm and brought it down on the bar. Two things happened – suddenly the surface came to life like a TV screen and next, when he lifted his arm again, he knocked over a glass that was on it, spilling water everywhere.
I gasped: we had contaminated the scene. I watched mutely as the water danced around the surface of the luminous bar. Luckily there was not enough to spill onto the floor. Viraat hardly looked concerned.
I pulled out my phone and dialled Shayak’s number.
‘Yes,’ he said, curt.
‘There’s been another murder. Afreen’s been killed at Viraat’s house.’
I gave him a quick account of what I had found. Shayak swore. ‘I’ll tell Ajay to send a team out there. Do you have an evidence kit with you?’
‘In the car.’
‘Get to work.’
‘Before the police arrive?’
‘Try to get as much as possible before they do.’
What was going on here?
‘Whatever they say when they do get there, tell them to speak to me.’
‘Is there something I should know?’
‘This is not the time for questions, Reema. Get moving. They may not want us working on this case for long.’
‘But it has to be connected to the murder on the island! Afreen might have seen something.’
‘Okay,’ I said, trying to focus on the task at hand. ‘What do I do about Viraat? He is here, contaminating the scene even as we speak.’
‘He’s wasted, isn’t he?’
‘Looks like it.’
‘Keep him out of the way,’ he said, hanging up.
I could not understand what was happening, but I had my instructions and they were clear.
‘Viraat,’ I said.
No response.
‘Viraat,’ I repeated.
‘Huh?’ he replied.
‘I need you to go to the living room.’
‘Sure thing,’ he said, still sitting.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and told the driver to bring the evidence kit – it was company protocol for the Investigations team to always have one at hand while on the job – up to the flat. I then led Viraat to the living room and stood guard. ‘Try not to touch anything. Keep standing for the time being.’
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.
Dead in a Mumbai Minute Page 14
