Fatal Mistakes

by Vedashree Khambete-Sharma

  ‘Aai?’ Avantika called. ‘You really believe that?’

  Alka Pandit smiled sadly from the doorway.

  ‘I have to,’ she replied. ‘How else to sleep at night?’

  Seventeen

  The Mumbai Daily’s office was never really a hive of activity. Even when people were in the office, they were generally hunched over their computers, quietly at work. With reporters often away on field work, the place was generally half-empty anyway. This early in the morning, there were five, maybe six, people about. Avantika powered up her computer, and took a look around. Uday was at his desk, predictably, the nerd. Binoy was at his desk too, presumably because gossip never sleeps. A couple of city-desk reporters were stepping out of the pantry, hot teas in hand. And there, in his glass-walled cabin, sat Nathan. Avantika sighed.

  Nathan had called late last night and asked her to stop working on the story. There were too many unknowns, he’d said. He was right. It didn’t matter that she had sat up till late last night, wading deep into the Mumbai Daily’s archives. It didn’t matter that she had found things that made her believe she was close to the truth. It didn’t matter. Because all said and done, the gaps in information weren’t fully filled yet. She slumped in her chair, trying not to give in to the disappointment washing over her.

  She had done all she could to not make Nalini the heroine of this particular story, but it had been difficult. The woman was a stone-cold killer, an avenging angel for those whom the justice system couldn’t help. If you didn’t count the dozen or so murders to her name, she was almost like Batman. As for the murders, surely the end justified the means? And if it didn’t, then Nalini still wasn’t the only bad guy around. Madam’s shadowy fingers had pulled Heena’s strings. Who was to say she didn’t have a hand in the other murders? But her identity, like so many pieces in the mosaic of the Dharini Farm story, was missing. All Avantika had was hunches and you couldn’t write a meaty exposé with those. Instead, the Mumbai Daily had carried a small piece about the raid on the farm in today’s paper, covering the basics.

  But she wasn’t ready to give up yet. She just needed a little more proof to string together the standalone facts she knew. She was so close. She could feel it. And so, she’d made that deal with Nathan that she would absolutely, positively regret later. She sighed again, glancing at Uday’s desk, where he was squinting at his computer. Well, he’d get to know sooner or later.

  ‘Hey,’ she said, walking over.

  ‘Oh, hey,’ he said, looking up from the screen.

  ‘I’m going to be doing desk work from now on,’ she announced.

  ‘Ha, ha.’

  ‘No, seriously. I had a chat with Nathan …’

  ‘He benched you?’

  ‘Actually, I benched me,’ she said, ‘in return for permission to keep digging into Dharini Farm.’ She frowned at his expression. ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t get it,’ he shook his head in disbelief, ‘Reporting in the field is what you’ve wanted all along. Now you’re suddenly willing to give it up. For a story that nearly killed you. I mean, aren’t you going a little Ahab here?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Ahab. From Moby Dick?’

  ‘Haven’t read.’

  ‘You haven’t read Moby Dick? But it’s a classic!’

  ‘Have you read The Color Purple?’

  ‘No …’

  ‘That’s a classic, too. Move on.’

  ‘Fine. I just don’t get why you want to do this story so badly.’

  She sighed. She had called the police station last afternoon to check if the cops had found Sapna somewhere on the farm. They hadn’t. One of the women they had picked up during the raid, however, had broken under questioning and revealed that Sapna had been killed two days ago, on Heena’s orders. The body had been dumped in the biogas plant.

  ‘Because an innocent girl died and I couldn’t stop it, Uday’, Avantika said, pinching the tips of her fingers, one by one, between thumb and forefinger. Pinched till the pink flesh turned white. ‘And a man is about to die and I want to at least try to stop it.’

  ‘And if you can’t?’

  ‘Then I can’t.’ She swallowed. ‘And I’ll have to live with it. But at least I’ll know I did everything I could …’

  Uday was staring at her doubtfully. Avantika could understand his disbelief. Hadn’t she been the one who had hounded Nathan night and day this past year for non-feature stories? Hadn’t she gone way over the line, trying to land a good story? Hadn’t she admitted she was only interested in covering crime? So what if the story she had been chasing had gone all up in flames? She would’ve still fought back, had he been the one to suggest she take herself off active reporting. Yet, here she was, offering to give it all up, to sit meekly at her desk, fact-checking and doing drudge work for other reporters. Had she known last week that her future version was going to be making some rubbish deal like this, she’d have got herself a time machine just to slap some sense into herself. Yes, it was easy to see why Uday would be surprised.

  ‘Maybe it’s for the best,’ Uday said. ‘You do your time, take your chances. You go the distance. Then, you get back on your feet.’

  ‘Are you … did you just quote “Eye of the Tiger” at me?’

  ‘That’s not important,’ Uday said, refusing to meet her eyes. ‘What’s more important is what you’ll do next. You keep looking for the right Yash Reddy and once you find him …’

  ‘…I warn him, write the whole story and then stay at my desk till Nathan says so.’

  ‘Yikes,’ Uday winced. ‘I can’t believe—’

  What he couldn’t believe remained a mystery, however, as Avantika’s phone chose that moment to ring.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Avantika Pandit?’

  Avantika felt her heart thump. The last time she had answered a call that started like this, things had gone rapidly downhill.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Hold, please.’

  Three seconds of tinny music later, a crisp voice spoke into her ear.

  ‘Avantika, hello, this is Menaka Gujaral, we spoke a few days ago.’

  ‘Yes, hi, of course.’ She looked at Uday, wide-eyed with surprise and mouthed ‘Menaka Gujaral’.

  ‘I was wondering if it was possible for you to meet me at my office today.’

  ‘I’ll have to check …’ Avantika bit her lip. Why was Menaka Gujaral calling her?

  ‘I know it’s short notice, but I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t urgent.’

  ‘Of course, but …’

  ‘Great, I’ll see you at my office in an hour.’

  ‘Ok, but—’ Avantika began, but the line had already gone dead.

  Uday was standing with his arms crossed when she hung up.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded.

  ‘She wanted me to go meet her.’

  ‘Why don’t you pop by her husband’s office, while you’re at it?’ he asked. ‘Ask him if he’s screwed over any random women who’d want him dead?’

  ‘Why?’ she scoffed, picking up her bag, ‘I didn’t even know she was married.’

  Uday gave her the kind of look one gives people who claim to have been subjected to anal probes by aliens.

  ‘You’re joking, right?’

  ‘Usually, but not this time. Why?’

  ‘Menaka Gujaral’s husband …’ he stopped, overcome by indignation. ‘You really don’t know this? You’re not just pulling my leg?’

  ‘God, so dramatic!’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Just say it, already!’

  ‘Avanti, you idiot, Menaka is married to Yash Reddy! The founder of WSpot!’

  ‘What?’ Avantika barely controlled the volume of her voice.

  ‘I can’t believe you didn’t know this.’ Uday seemed genuinely amazed.

  ‘Why would I know this? I mean I knew he’s the CEO of WSpot, but … How do you know they’re married?’

  ‘Because I work in news! We’re supposed to know this stuff!’

  �
�No. Wait. You’re telling me … you knew about this all this time?’

  ‘Of course not, Avanti. I’m telling you everyone knows about this! It’s like not knowing that Jeff Bezos is MacKenzie Bezos’s husband.’

  ‘Ex-husband,’ Avantika corrected him. ‘Also, those guys are way more famous than these two. And they have the same last name!’

  ‘And you call yourself a feminist,’ Uday said, shaking his head at her.

  She made a disgusted sound and covered her face with her hands. Stupid, stupid, stupid! All it would’ve taken was reading his Wikipedia entry. It would’ve been right there—Spouse: Menaka Gujaral. Why hadn’t she just Googled the fucking man? Well, we know the answer to that, don’t we? We thought it would be too much of a coincidence. We had just assumed that we’d be barking up the wrong Yash Reddy. We were being smart. How did that turn out for us, huh?

  ‘OK, fine,’ she said, shaking her head with self-loathing. ‘Then explain this. Even if we assume that there is a chance that Menaka’s husband is the guy on that hit-list, why would Nalini agree to kill him? There is such a thing as self-interest. You don’t plot to kill your benefactor’s husband for no reason.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he frowned, ‘there needs to be a motive for her to agree. Jealousy? A love triangle? Sheer lunacy?’

  ‘No,’ Avantika replied thoughtfully. ‘All the men who were killed on Nalini’s orders—someone had wanted them dead. So, let’s assume the same is true in Yash Reddy’s case.’

  ‘But would Nalini kill the husband of someone who’s been helping the farm, just because some random woman accused him of something?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Avantika bit her lip. She remembered what Heena had said that night at the farm. ‘I got the impression that Nalini thinks women are incapable of lying about this stuff. Being screwed over by a man, I mean.’

  ‘But still, it’s a pretty big step to take, without at least mentioning something to someone you have a social relationship with, right?’ Uday asked. ‘I mean, tomorrow if I heard that Dhruv had been up to something shady, I’d want to ask you about it before—’

  ‘Oh, Dhruv as in Dhruv Juneja?’ Binoy had been passing by, empty coffee mug in hand, presumably to fill it in the pantry. ‘Is he up to something shady? Give me deets, you guys.’

  Avantika turned up her nose.

  ‘There are no deets,’ she said disdainfully. ‘We’re discussing something else.’

  ‘Well, if you hear something, spill,’ Binoy shrugged. ‘Apparently, he was seen having dinner at Olive a few days ago with some chick. If I can find her name …’ His face shone with excitement.

  Avantika coughed, pretending to look for something on her phone.

  ‘Sure, sure,’ she said hurriedly, ‘but we’re working right now, so …’

  Binoy took the hint and left. Uday looked at her carefully.

  ‘That was you, wasn’t it,’ he asked in a low voice, ‘You are “some chick”. Are you guys keeping it a secret or something?’

  ‘Haven’t discussed it,’ she said in a business-like manner. ‘You were saying?’

  ‘I was saying if I found out something bad about an acquaintance’s … special someone,’ he grinned as she rolled her eyes, ‘I’d at least run it by her before I did something about it.’

  ‘Why? To warn her?’

  ‘Warn her, get a confirmation, check if it’s true, whatever. My point is, there is no way I would just go ahead with any course of action without at least talking to …’

  ‘But maybe that’s just you,’ Avantika shrugged.

  ‘Maybe,’ Uday replied, ‘but think about it. Menaka is a pretty big benefactor for the farm. You think Nalini would risk pissing her off by just bumping off her husband, no questions asked?’

  ‘Yeah, seems unlikely,’ Avantika gazed up at the ceiling, trying to gather her thoughts. ‘Unless …,’ she trailed off. An idea was beginning to form in her head. A deranged idea.

  She held up a finger thoughtfully. Then she got up and walked over to Binoy’s desk, leaving behind a thoroughly confused Uday. He watched her chat with the gossip columnist, but they were too far away for him to be able to hear what they were saying. A few minutes later, he saw her nod to Binoy as she came back to her desk, a thoughtful expression on her face.

  ‘Well?’ he asked.

  ‘Look, I’m getting late for the meeting with Menaka,’ she said, glancing at her watch. ‘I’ll fill you in when I get back, OK?’

  Uday threw his hands up in outrage, as Binoy passed by on his way out, no doubt on his way to dig up dirt on some celeb or the other.

  ‘Don’t forget our deal,’ he winked at Avantika, who was putting her computer on sleep mode.

  ‘You’re making deals with Binoy now?’ Uday asked, watching the man leave the office, whistling off-key. ‘Who are you, man?’

  She ignored the jibe and threw her purse over her shoulder with a flourish.

  ‘I’m vengeance, I’m the night,’ she grinned at the contempt on Uday’s face, ‘I’m fucking Batman!’

  As she strode out of the office, she heard him yell, ‘Ask for his consent first!’

  Eighteen

  The Bandra Kurla Complex is a gleaming sprawl of concrete and mirror-finish glass that had erupted on the unfashionable side of Bandra over the past few years. Then it had gone and attracted multinational enterprises, international schools, offices of the National Stock Exchange and the Reserve Bank of India, and scores of trendy restaurants and hotels, becoming decidedly more fashionable in the process.

  The WSpot office was in one of the newer towers in the BKC and it looked exactly as one would expect a successful start-up to look like. As Avantika stepped off the elevator and gave her name to the receptionist, she took in the glass-walled cabins, the baby-pink-and-white cubicles with ergonomic chairs, the conference rooms named after fashion designers. How many times a day, she wondered, did some straight-outta-Pinterest intern end up saying things like, ‘We need another chair inside Lagerfeld.’

  She smiled to herself as a youngish woman dressed in jeans approached her with an unreasonably friendly smile and led the way to Menaka’s cabin. Avantika had expected the cabin to be decorated in the same general theme as the rest of the office. But whoever had designed Menaka’s cabin had taken the colour scheme and said, ‘I’m going to level up, bitches.’ So, while the rest of the employees got practical grey carpeting under their pink-and-white work spaces, Menaka got pinewood flooring, with a furry white shag rug under her work desk. Above the desk hung a geometric gold ceiling lamp. There were gold accents elsewhere too. In the finish of her coffee mug, the legs of the baby-pink chairs for visitors, in the tasteful art on the walls. The overall effect was feminine, but not girlish. Luxurious but not excessive.

  ‘Avantika?’ Menaka extended a hand to her as she entered the room. She had a townie twang and pronounced it Uhvaaantikuh.

  Avantika had Googled Menaka Gujaral on her way to the WSpot office, and in person, the woman was just as intimidating as her list of achievements. Tall and curvy, Menaka owned her curves in skinny white jeans and a form-fitting white tank. Thin gold chains glittered at her neck and small diamonds flashed at her ears and on her fingers. A red boyfriend blazer and some sort of woody perfume made the look more boardroom than yacht party. Add up the tortoiseshell spectacles, the waist-length ash-brown hair and minimal make-up, and Menaka gave an impression of power. But not the raw, brute power of politicians or thugs. What Menaka projected was a terrifying competence, which assured you that this woman always had the last word, and that the last word was never, ever ‘please’.

  ‘Please, have a seat,’ Menaka indicated the seat in front of her, as she sat in her own chair. Avantika had barely sat down when she continued.

  ‘What will you have? Tea? Coffee?’ Menaka smiled politely. ‘Macarons? We have some in the pantry. One of the girls had a birthday. They’re mostly matcha,’ she added apologetically.

  ‘Um, I’m good, thanks,’ Avantika
replied, trying not to make a face.

  ‘Fine.’ Menaka steepled her fingers on the desk as she leaned forward conspiratorially. Her voice was deep and earnest. ‘I think you know why I called you here. Am I right?’

  ‘Not really,’ Avantika frowned. ‘Did you want to give a statement about what happened on Dharini Farm?’

  ‘Oh, no, no,’ Menaka shook her head dismissively. ‘I’ll be releasing a statement of course, but later. This isn’t about that.’

  Avantika waited, letting the silence insinuate itself into a question. Menaka regarded her for a few seconds.

  ‘This is awkward,’ she began, an apologetic frown on her face, ‘but necessary. See, I don’t think it’ll benefit anyone if another story comes out on Dharini Farm. And I know you’re writing one, so I thought I’ll ask you in person, if you would consider … well, dropping it.’

  She sat back with a friendly smile. Avantika looked at her thoughtfully. What had happened at the farm was going to be a PR disaster for WSpot, once the papers got to know the connection between the two. So, it made sense for Menaka to want to stop any more details of that night from getting into the press. Except, there was no reason for Menaka to believe that there were any more details.

  ‘What makes you think I’m writing a story?’ she asked, crossing her arms across her chest.

  Menaka clicked her tongue as if she had expected better.

  ‘I saw the article in today’s Mumbai Daily,’ she said. ‘It was a joke. There is no way that’s all your paper has to say on the subject. And if Nalini is right, there is no way you’d be happy with such a shoddy report of what happened.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Avantika asked, wondering what Nalini had told this woman about her.

  ‘Yes. And I want you to take back that police complaint as well.’

  ‘I see.’ Avantika was getting a little ticked off at the entitlement in the woman’s voice. Would you like me to quit my job and move to the hills too? Maybe take up yoga and organic farming?

  She saw Menaka’s expression change and realised with horror that she had said her thoughts out aloud. Menaka pursed her lips. She sat up straight in her chair and cocked her head to one side. Then, she smiled broadly.