The Bollywood Affair: Reema Ray Mysteries

by Madhumita Bhattacharyya

  Kimaaya looked from me to him and seemed to decide it was time for her 500-watt smile. ‘Shayak,’ she said, stepping up, snaking her arms around him and planting a full kiss on his mouth, ‘only from you would I tolerate such talk on a day like today. It’s been horrid – just horrid! There is a dead body on my lawn that happens to be of someone quite important to me! And had you been there last night like you promised, I’m sure none of this would have happened!’

  She buried her head in his chest. I could almost see Shayak counting to ten before he took a deep breath and looked at me.

  ‘Reema, meet Kimaaya Kapoor, my ex-wife.’

  two

  I had hit the ground running from Day 1 in Mumbai and had come up against a brick wall pretty damn fast.

  If Titanium had been a mystery to me before I had joined, one month into working there it was even hazier. What did it do? Who were the clients? Who were the directors? What was I doing there? Questions, questions, questions which no one was willing to answer. Least of all, Shayak.

  If I had been worried that it would be difficult to work alongside him after all manner of fireworks had gone off during the Calcutta investigations into Prakash Agarwal’s murder, it didn’t take long for me to come to the conclusion that I had been wasting my energy. Shayak was missing in action when I got to Mumbai, and I had barely even seen him.

  On my first day of work, with so many butterflies in my stomach that I imagined them flying out of my mouth if I tried to talk, I hunted down the offices of Titanium Securities. I say ‘hunted down’ because the building was completely inconspicuous. Just off a busy Worli intersection, it was a seven-floor, simple whitewashed structure. There was no sign heralding it, nothing to advertise the nature of the activities inside.

  It didn’t take me long to realize that there was a reason for its unremarkable looks: Titanium was hiding in plain sight. If you saw it from a distance, you might notice a large number of satellite dishes on top of the building. Close up, at street level, all of that was lost. But if you got too close, you’d be stopped by a guard who made sure you knew he was carrying a rifle and that you couldn’t get any further without good reason.

  On my first day, my name had been given at the gate to let me in. The second day onwards, I had a swipe card to open the standard-issue wooden door, within which was a room that made the security check at the most thorough Indian airport seem like a breeze. Climate-lock containment, body scan, bag scan, quick swipe for suspicious particles – all without physical contact, thank you very much. Though I had some warning in the form of the mile-long confidentiality clauses in the contract sent to me which I had gone through with some degree of alarm, it was still a bit of a shock to the system knowing I would have to go through this rigmarole every day.

  And it made me wonder even more what kind of world I had really stepped in to.

  Once you made it inside, it was less intimidating. There was a refreshing amount of natural light and plants, common spaces and conference rooms. It was a different universe from my tiny, unpainted, ancient office in north Calcutta, where I had spent the past few years passing the time and waiting for my big break.

  No, I definitely wasn’t in Calcutta anymore.

  Beyond the no-nonsense exterior, I knew what to look for. It did not take me long to deduce that hanging on the mundane skeleton of the building, much was fake – ceilings, windows, doors, even floors. There were rooms within rooms and walls within walls.

  There weren’t many people in the offices that you could see. Senior personnel were on the top floors. Plebs like me were on the first and second floors. Our access cards restricted us to those levels.

  On my first day, I was greeted by Archana, the HR manager who was in her late thirties, smartly outfitted in white shirt, grey trousers, black heels and a veil of efficiency. She walked me through the formalities, handing me my key card and laptop. Finally, she took me to my department and introduced me to the man in the glass cubicle, presumably my boss, Pranav Adlakha.

  ‘Shayak is out of town and expected to return in about a fortnight. Till then, you can speak to Pranav or me about anything you might need,’ said Archana with a smile before departing.

  I felt bereft. I had expected to see Shayak today, had looked forward to it. Instead, my welcome committee was a forty-something investigator, who was apparently all there was to the department I had been recruited into. The rest of the desks were empty.

  ‘Good morning,’ I said.

  ‘Hello,’ he replied, giving me only the most cursory of glances. And then, when he realized I wasn’t going away, he shot me a look from above his thick, black-rimmed rectangular frames.

  ‘Settle in. We’ll talk in an hour or so. Have a look around, then go up to the second floor to the tech department and get your user ID, etc. sorted out. Without all that, you are useless to me.’

  I headed to my workstation. It was an open office setting, but my desk was roomy, with partitions high enough to give me some semblance of privacy even if there were people occupying the other spots. It was a far cry from my grey-walled hole in Calcutta that I had been forced to abandon. But then, that had been my own.

  I resisted the urge to roam the halls on my way to find the tech team, which turned out to be a bunch of guys who looked like they were barely out of high school. I was directed to Rishi, who was typing so fast that his fingers were almost a blur. He was very pale, with black spiky hair, an earring, jeans and tee, and canvas shoes.

  He was engrossed in whatever it was on his screen, and I stood there for a minute before he finally looked up at me, his light brown eyes lingering on my face before he spoke.

  If at Titanium I had entered a man’s world, in these cubicles where technology ruled, I had infringed on its sanctum sanctorum.

  ‘I’m Reema,’ I began, surprising myself with my nerves. ‘I’ve just joined Investigations and Mr Adlakha asked me to speak to you.’

  ‘Take a seat,’ he said, pointing to the chair across the table. ‘I received a note from Archana a couple of days ago, and as far as I know, it’s all been set up.’

  Rishi made a call and scribbled on a piece of paper, thrusting it in my direction. ‘Your username and password for the Intranet and your office e-mail ID. Both are active. First thing you must do is log in and change the passwords. Have you ever used an Intranet before?’

  ‘In college,’ I said.

  ‘Chances are, it wouldn’t have been anything like this. When you have some time, come across and I’ll show you around. It’s a great system.’

  I thanked him and walked out. I could feel his eyes boring into my back, but the sound of his fingers dancing across the keyboard didn’t falter. Back at my desk, I turned on my laptop and logged into the Titanium system for the first time. There was an e-mail waiting for me. It was from Shayak.

  Dear Reema,

  Welcome to Titanium.

  I am sorry that I can’t be there to introduce you to the team and take you through the formalities, but I hope your first days on board are pleasant. You must have met Archana and Pranav Adlakha by now. Archana is your go-to person for all personnel and HR matters. I have had a word with Pranav and he will take you through some current cases, brief you about how the department functions and get you started.

  I hope to be back before long, after which there will be a more complete briefing on the company, and your role within it.

  Archana will also inform you as soon as your accommodation is ready. Once again, apologies for the delay on that front. As you know, the guesthouse is available for you at any time you may require it.

  Feel free to contact me over e-mail if you have any questions.

  Best, Shayak

  I was surprised at the formality of his tone. We had been in touch now and then since he left Calcutta; it had always been brief and work-related but still friendly. Was this my introduction to Shayak’s formal boss persona? Did my refusal to be involved with him mean that we wouldn’t even be friends?
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br />   I looked around the empty office, and the sudden stab of loneliness that I felt surprised me. I dismissed it with a reminder to myself that, for years, I had been treading time in the solitary confinement of my private practice, and had not been bothered by isolation then. In fact, I had revelled in it. There was no reason why now, surrounded by so many people, it should be a problem; no matter how small a fry I was in this very large pond.

  I would feel more settled once I had my own place, I told myself. There had been a temporary glitch when it came to the accommodation that was part of my package: the flat Titanium was providing me had only just been vacated by the previous occupant, and it was currently being spruced up. I had gone to see it once, and was happily surprised. By Mumbai standards, it was palatial: a large, stylish one-bedroom apartment on the twenty-second floor, with nothing separating it from the sea. Large windows made the small space seem roomier than it was. I had been asked if I had any preferences when it came to paint colour, and I told them to strip the walls of the strange lavender they currently were, in favour of pristine white. In the meanwhile, I was staying with one of my friends from school, Sohana, and her boyfriend, Dhruv.

  Finally, after over an hour of doing nothing, Pranav Adlakha called me in to his room.

  ‘Welcome to the team,’ he said. Not exactly the smiling welcome I may have wished for, but better than before.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  ‘I am not sure how much you know about Titanium’s Investigations department.’

  ‘Not a lot.’

  ‘It is small, as you can see. Shayak prefers to use freelancers when necessary, who have so far been sufficient.’

  I felt once more like I had strayed in where I did not belong, and I couldn’t help but conclude that it was precisely the effect Adlakha was going for.

  ‘Shayak tells me you impressed him with your work in the Prakash Agarwal matter.’ Did I see the hint of a smile? I didn’t care; I flashed him one of my brightest. I wanted to start on the right foot; a little grumpiness wouldn’t put me off. ‘Thank you,’ I repeated.

  ‘But that doesn’t help me much,’ he said. ‘What Shayak has in mind for you, I can’t really say. And unfortunately, he is not here. So, what do I do with you now?’

  The smile dropped off my face like a dead leaf from a branch in winter. ‘Shayak said that you had a couple of cases to brief me about,’ I said.

  ‘He did, did he?’ Adlakha watched me through his thick glasses, tapping his fingers on the table.

  The helicopters returned to do sorties of my stomach, but I wasn’t going to flinch.

  At last, he swung around in his chair and pulled some files out of a drawer. ‘Here are two matters that need looking into. Go through the paperwork and get back to me with your … thoughts.’

  I took the files and left without a word.

  I fought the growing feeling of dismay as I opened the first file. It was an infidelity case. The very sort I had been fleeing from, the very reason I had been willing to give up my practice in Calcutta, my freedom. Such as it had been.

  Admittedly, the stakes in this business were higher. The husband, the client, was a star of the corporate world – Pratap Puri, self-made tech maven: driven, handsome, and now, obscenely rich. Why would any woman cheat on him?

  Poonam, the wife, was a socialite, who ran a high-end boutique in Colaba but spent most of her time working with a number of charities.

  The second case was straightforward enough: background checks on five new hires of a company; the company’s name was not deemed relevant – or withheld for security reasons.

  I could go about both the matters in my own way, but I was sure in a place such as Titanium, things would be done differently. I knocked on Adlakha’s door.

  ‘I think I’ll start with the background checks. Are there any systems in place for such investigations?’ I asked.

  ‘You will find some forms and guidelines on the Intranet. If you need any logistic assistance, call Archana.’

  ‘And the infidelity matter?’

  ‘We seldom take on such cases. But I believe that is the kind of thing you excel at, so you are free to ferret out filth in the manner in which you are accustomed.’

  I took a deep breath. I would not let him get to me. Not this fast. ‘Could I ask why we’ve taken the case then?’

  ‘Pratap Puri gives Titanium a lot of business through the year. And he’s a friend of Shayak’s.’

  ‘May I know what resources are available for surveillance?’ When I was working on my own, stakeouts were decidedly low-tech: for the most part, it was my eyes and my camera and my ass seated somewhere, watching and waiting. As unglamorous as it gets. But here, I had visions of satellite imaging, hacks and honey traps.

  ‘Puri has made it clear that he doesn’t want anything invasive.’

  ‘Yes, I saw that in the file. No bugs, no phone taps. Nothing that can be traced back to us – or him. What about cameras?’

  His eyes finally betrayed a hint of amusement. ‘There you will not find Titanium wanting.’ He got up from his seat. ‘Follow me.’

  He stepped outside the glass cubicle and used his swipe card to open a wooden door. We walked into a large storeroom, shelves burgeoning with untold treasures. ‘On the right is all the standard forensic gear you may need. For more advanced items, you’ll have to get in touch with Titanium’s specialized forensics team, which is the best in the country by some distance. They are on the fourth floor and you will need clearance to go up there. Here,’ said Adlakha, pointing to a shelf in front of us, ‘you’ll find all sorts of electronic tools. Much of this is out of bounds on this case, but there are many other toys you could play with. On the left are the more old-school aids, such as wigs, costumes and props.’

  ‘I can use whatever I want?’ I said, a little more wide-eyed than I would have liked.

  ‘As long as you send the requisition form to Admin. Once you are done, you return what you have taken to them. They will check it, sanitize it and put it back in the cupboard.’

  Half an hour later, I had to tear myself from the buffet of goodies. There was nothing ‘standard’ about the forensic kits, as far as I could see. There was the best in fingerprinting material, plasters and moulds for shoe prints, pastes for gunshot holes, reagents to detect blood and gunshot residue, evidence collection bags, tweezers and the like. And then there was the fun stuff: all manner of hidden cameras – on pens, handbags, brooches and tiepins. Phone taps, wiretaps, jammers and recorders: it was Bug Central. Finally, tools of mass deception: wigs of every colour and style, prosthetic enhancements, glasses, sunglasses, coloured contact lenses, make-up, body suits, shoe insoles designed to alter gait. And it was all mine to play with, when the time was right.

  Despite the lure of the super-spy supplies, I got down to work on the very mundane employee background checks. They were far more exhaustive than any I had done before. Credit history, family background, spouse checks, verification of academic and employment claims. There were a couple of great resources on the system: a contact directory which seemed to have every number you were guaranteed not to find in the phone book, and protocols for due diligence in identity verification. It seemed that this was an important part of Titanium’s business. I spent the next couple of hours making phone calls and sending out e-mails, but before long, I was stumbling over the forms. Rishi over at Tech had been right: I had never used a system quite as elaborate as this, and I needed a primer. I headed back up to see if someone was free.

  Walking through the IT department for the second time that day, I was intensely aware of at least twenty pairs of eyes on me. I felt as though I had walked into a boys’ hostel.

  ‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Reema again from Investigations.’

  ‘I remember,’ said Rishi.

  ‘Do you have time for that lesson you promised me?’

  ‘Bring that chair around.’

  I wheeled a chair beside Rishi.

  ‘Enter your username a
nd password,’ he said.

  ‘I still haven’t changed it.’

  ‘No matter. But do it soon.’

  Rishi quickly demo-ed the basic features I had already figured out: e-mail, messenger, file share. Then he came to the tools.

  ‘This is where it really gets interesting. It is designed so that everything is handled electronically and seamlessly, and yet with a surprising amount of flexibility.’

  He showed me the human resource tools first: leave applications, pay slips, expense accounts, car requisition. Then he moved on to departmental needs.

  ‘Who you are and your level decide what parts of the system you get access to.’

  ‘I’m starting at the bottom of the heap?’

  ‘At Investigations, you are never really at the bottom. But yes, there are sections that can only be accessed by your boss or Mr Gupta himself.’

  He showed me what I needed first, which was the material for background checks, then the surveillance guidelines and tools, equipment requisition, case report templates, cyber security checklists. The forms were also to be filled online, and made available to only those eyes that were meant to see it.

  ‘The tools are exhaustive and growing all the time,’ he said.

  ‘Is all of this really necessary?’ I asked.

  ‘It helps ensure the same standards are followed across the board, no matter who is on the job, and reduce paper waste and potential security breaches. But it’s all pretty user friendly. You’ll get the hang of it soon.’

  I nodded. All these rules were sure to be helpful. It was just that for someone like me, used to answering only to myself, it was a fundamental change, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

  ‘It can be a little overwhelming,’ Rishi continued. ‘So once a month or so, the boss usually has us hold a class for the freelancers.’

  ‘What about staff?’

  ‘Well, so far “staff” in Investigations means only Adlakha.’