The Bollywood Affair: Reema Ray Mysteries

by Madhumita Bhattacharyya

  My mind had already raced far ahead. ‘It all connects with your Goa case, the drug hauls and Daanish Alam’s death. The answer is hidden in George Santos’ extended universe. And I guess that’s as good a place to start as any.’

  ‘Not so fast, Reema. You have a lot of healing to do. Your arm will take at least a month of complete rest.’

  ‘But this isn’t resolved – not really.’

  ‘You’ve solved two murders and cleared my name.’

  ‘Only to open a bigger can of worms.’

  ‘We’ll move on to that in due course. Don’t worry – none of it will magically go away.’ But I already had an idea. ‘George will be here soon. If he really isn’t an accessory to these crimes, we might be able to use him to our advantage.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  I ran my thoughts by him. His instant answer was a vehement ‘no’. I had as long as it took for George to arrive to change his mind.

  He walked into my room, clad in white kurta and pyjama, the same worn chappals on his feet, beard neatly trimmed. He gave Shayak a nod. ‘You’ve got to know I didn’t have a clue about this, boss.’

  ‘A little difficult to believe, George.’

  ‘You two know each other?’ I asked.

  ‘We’ve met once, at a party. I wasn’t sure George would remember me.’

  George gave a nervous laugh, as if to assure Shayak he was unforgettable. And then he turned his attention to me.

  ‘Wait a minute – you’re that girl from the film set!’

  ‘Right. That’s when I figured out there was some connection between you and Afreen,’ I said. ‘It was you who brought her in to the Adil Khan project. That is why you were demanding her loyalty in the form of information on the investigation into Dhingre’s death.’

  ‘She needed a favour to get her into the film industry. I don’t usually do this sort of thing, but it was at the request of a particular friend.’

  ‘Who was the friend?’

  ‘A hotelier in Goa. He introduced her to the ashram. He was a regular of hers, and many of my ashram guests stayed at his hotel. It was an innocent request, one that I was happy to help with.’

  ‘You were the producer?’

  ‘No! Oh no. I made a couple of calls for Adil to help him get financing.’

  ‘Why were you pumping her for information if you had nothing to do with any of it?’

  ‘A favour to another friend.’

  ‘Who?’

  He smiled. ‘You can’t expect me to give up all my secrets so soon.’

  Shayak was stony faced. ‘Rishi says it was you who told him about the job at Titanium. Who put you up to that?’

  ‘It was a while ago.’

  ‘Don’t give me that crap,’ said Shayak, finally losing his patience.

  ‘Look, I thought it was a random tourist who had come for a drink to the bar. Got talking with Rishi and me one night. The next day he swung by and told me about this opportunity at Titanium. Now I realize it was a set-up.’

  ‘You really expect us to believe that?’

  ‘I make my living not asking too many questions about people. But now that I think about it, the method makes sense. There are a certain set of people who rely on me to give them assistance from time to time. I don’t really meet them face to face – I only ever meet the messenger.’

  ‘What sort of assistance?’

  ‘I think of myself as a connector.’

  ‘So basically, you are a fixer?’

  ‘You might call it that. But I don’t have blood on my hands. I try not to know what my associates are up to.’

  ‘Ignorance doesn’t protect you from the law.’

  ‘I beg to differ. What exactly are you accusing me of? Getting Rishi a job interview? Helping Afreen out with a role in a film? Go searching, as I am sure you will, boss, and you will find me guilty of nothing more than some tax evasion, probably not more than your average businessman.’

  ‘Money laundering?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘If that is true, help us.’

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘Because if you don’t, we’ll make it our mission to find something on you and, trust me, you don’t want Titanium as your enemy. If it is only tax evasion, as you say, at the very least we can arrange a deportation. It won’t even take more than one phone call.’

  I wasn’t sure if Shayak was bluffing, but George’s sudden pallor told me he had bought it. ‘What do you need?’ he said.

  ‘We’ll let you know, in time,’ said Shayak. ‘It sounds like you aren’t leaving me with a choice.’

  ‘More or less. For now, we only want you to return to Goa and act as though everything is okay. Which it is, for now.’

  George nodded and left us.

  ‘So does that mean I will be going undercover?’ I asked hopefully.

  Shayak shook his head – but it was more out of exasperation than anything else. My spirits lifted.

  ‘Is that a yes, then?’

  He left the room. Yes.

  twenty-six

  I woke up to a dark room. I could hear voices. Loud voices.

  It took me a moment to remember where I was: Shayak’s apartment. Just for the day. After which Sohana was kidnapping me until I got better, for the sole purpose of vegging out in front of her TV and the promise of beer.

  I scrambled out of bed and turned on the light, looking at myself in the mirror. My right eye was still a little swollen, my arm in a sling adding to the rough-and-tumble look. I didn’t have any of my things so making myself presentable wasn’t an option. I ran a brush through my hair, straightened my crumpled T-shirt and headed for the living room.

  There was Shayak, staring me down. Pratap and Poonam Puri had both swung around to face me, arms akimbo. ‘Why are you out of bed?’ asked Shayak.

  ‘What, and miss all the action? What’s going on here?’

  ‘Shayak is trying to resolve our situation, as it were,’ said Pratap.

  ‘Can I help?’ I must have been giddy from the pain meds because otherwise Poonam’s death glare would have sent me scurrying. ‘I think you’ve done quite enough,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t believe you’ve formally met,’ said Shayak.

  ‘No introductions required,’ she snarled.

  ‘Don’t blame Reema, she’s just the messenger,’ said Pratap.

  For some reason, I was smiling.

  ‘Sit down,’ said Shayak, more gently. Perhaps he was afraid that it had all finally caught up with me.

  I took a seat. ‘What did I miss?’

  ‘You were right about everything,’ said Pratap. ‘Poonam was stealing company secrets through my head of tech and hawking them to the highest bidder, hoping to inflict deep damage before our IPO.’

  Poonam rolled her eyes. ‘You left out the part where you were cheating on me and planning to leave me.’

  ‘You know as well as I that our marriage has been over for a long time.’

  ‘Here we go again,’ said Shayak.

  ‘I was merely protecting my interests.’

  ‘You thought I’d leave you wanting? Don’t you know me better than that at least?’ I saw what appeared to be a genuine look of pain in Pratap’s eyes. It seemed Poonam had registered it too for her anger deflated and she sat down. When she spoke next it was with a mix of sadness and bitterness.

  ‘Jasmine tea,’ she said, raising the delicate blue-and-white china cup before her. ‘The good stuff, at least, is the result of tea leaves being mixed with jasmine buds till the tea itself takes on the fragrance of the flowers. Marriage is just like that. Bad marriages, too. For years I slept next to Pratap, inhaling the perfume of his deceit till it became a part of my fibre. I could have cheated right back, like so many scorned spouses, but I knew I could do better than a cheap lay. I wanted to really make him bleed. Tell me, given a chance, would you do any different?’

  ‘Poonam,’ said Shayak, ‘you know how I feel about this stuff. But it’s tim
e to let go. Pratap has agreed not to press charges and to honour your pre-nuptial agreement which, you have to admit, is hardly harsh. Neither of you have been at your best in this business, and this is a chance for both of you to make as clean a break as possible and move on.’

  Poonam shook her head, angrily wiping away a tear that had escaped. ‘You know he is just going to turn around and marry your ex-wife. You are okay with that?’

  ‘I’m happy for them, Poonam. The only thing about this situation that upsets me is the two of you tearing each other up in this way. And that I don’t like being lied to,’ he said, directing his attention to Pratap.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he said.

  ‘For starters, you should have looked elsewhere for your witch hunt against Poonam.’

  ‘I didn’t lie about anything! She had been behaving so oddly, I thought she could be having an affair.’

  Poonam, looking exhausted, stood up. ‘I’m going home.’

  ‘So you’ll look over the papers?’ asked Pratap.

  ‘You’ll drop the case against me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I’ll look at the papers.’ She walked out.

  Pratap shot Shayak a cheeky grin. ‘Thanks, man.’

  ‘Don’t thank me,’ said Shayak. ‘If I hadn’t known you for so long, I would have punched you in the face and advised her to hang you out to dry.’

  Pratap laughed. ‘That’s a load of bull and you know it. Shayak Gupta stand by a criminal? Never.’

  ‘When the victim is pathologically incapable of keeping it in his pants, my standards are prone to change.’

  The insult didn’t seem to affect Pratap one bit. He turned to me. ‘It wasn’t an accident that we met in the nightclub that night, was it?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Why were you following me instead of my wife?’

  ‘Just testing a theory.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘Your wife was clearly not cheating on you. So why were you so keen to prove that she was?’

  ‘Hey, it turned out she wasn’t cheating on me – she was just plain cheating me!’

  ‘Anyhow, I’ll admit I was wrong. I shouldn’t have wasted my time following you. You were the client, and your motives were none of my business.’

  ‘That’s a rather noble admission. Maybe you should have continued following me for a while longer. Who knows, right?’ he said with a wink.

  Shayak rolled his eyes. ‘Okay, Pratap. I think it is time you left now,’ he said. ‘Unless you want to sample Reema’s self-defence skills first-hand.’

  Shayak let Pratap out. When he returned, his face was strangely haunted.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s going to be dangerous, what we have to do in the coming months.’

  ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘No, you are not. Before you begin, we’ll have some fairly intense training.’

  ‘Bring it on.’

  ‘The stakes are high. Everything that Rishi and George have told us points to an outfit that operates much like a terrorist cell, using people who know little about the overall operation to get the job done. These are people who work smart, with deep resources and network. They’ll stop at nothing, and their intentions are currently far from clear. If you want to back down, I’ll understand.’

  ‘Not for a moment. So, I will be going undercover?’

  ‘We have a lot of work to do before that. We have to find out everything we can about George Santos before coming to any kind of arrangement with him.’

  ‘And we need to determine how the Daanish Alam murder and the warehouse shoot-out tie into this.’

  He nodded. ‘It’s a long game.’

  It was hard to contain my excitement. No matter what the danger, my moment had come. Till two months ago I had been playing at detective. Now I was the veteran of three murders and an attempt on my life. Finally, it felt right – the risk and the sacrifice. This job was no longer what I did, it was who I was.

  ‘I’m in – on one condition.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘No more boats.’

  The Complete Reema Ray Mysteries

  The Masala Murder

  Conspiracy At The Ashram

  Also by the author

  Dirty Women

  Murder At The Temple

  CONSPIRACY AT THE ASHRAM

  (Previously published as Goa Undercover)

  PROLOGUE

  It should have been nothing – a pair of sunglasses at the fringe of the water, tripping over each wave as it crashed on the beach, every breath of the vast ocean keeping them in limbo.

  The owner of the glasses lay face down in the sand, in the posture of a sunbather praying to the rays to bronze her back. Except her arm was somehow askew, jutting out at an impossible angle. A closer look would reveal that it was not bent at the elbow, but an inch or so above it, the jagged edge of broken bone piercing through creamy skin.

  To those present at the scene, the image would forever be accompanied by the smell of burning flesh; the taste of explosives on the tongue; the feel of soft, powdery sand kicked up by panicked feet desperate to be gone – an orchestra of terror teasing the brain till it woke screaming from its wide-eyed dream.

  That there were only three deaths would be wondered at, given the density of the crowd at Sundown Bar just two weeks before Christmas. The name of Victoria Price would hang over the beach like a whisper: the nineteen-year-old Briton had the power to stop even the wildest of raves – if only for a minute of mute prayer.

  Two other deaths were reported. Photographs were published – a woman and a man who looked very much like Reema Ray and Terrence D’Costa. But these names would never be mentioned.

  And that was as it should be.

  CHAPTER ONE

  A shot rang out. My heart was racing fast – too fast. If I didn’t stop, I was sure it would stall, or my legs would give way, whichever came first. I had never pushed myself to the physical brink so thoroughly in all my life, and it had left every breath bitter, as if the acrid smell of gunpowder had settled deep within my lungs.

  I saw shelter in front of me, in the form of the wide trunk of a tree. Ten seconds – that is all I would take. My mind screamed at me not to stop, but my body won the argument. No contest.

  Once I reached the shade of the gulmohar, I squatted, trying to make my tall form as tiny as possible, while I swallowed air in greedy mouthfuls. I had never been leaner or fitter, and I willed my pulse to slow. If it obeyed, I thought I might still have a chance.

  And then I felt it, even though I shouldn’t have. A red laser beam, foreteller of imminent death, on the side of my head.

  ‘Bang,’ said my pursuer.

  I threw my hands in the air. ‘I give up. This is fixed! There’s no way you could have reached me so fast.’

  Shayak put down his weapon. ‘I always hold something back in the field. I could have caught up with you with double the ground to cover. You must remember to always account for adrenaline.’

  ‘Right. How come it never seems to work in my favour?’

  ‘Oh, it does. Now imagine your plight without it. Stand up. Take ten. Then we’ll start again.’

  As I hobbled away, I knew ten minutes would not be enough for me to recover and save face for the next hour of torture Shayak had lined up for me. I considered the bloodbath: the two-hour training circuit had been the most gruelling of a two-month regimen I had started on, ahead of the first real undercover mission of my life. For the past month, we had been slogging it out at a Titanium camp outside Mumbai, set up for training security forces waiting to be deployed to the field in Titanium’s operations as defence contractor. But the facility was currently empty, save for the training staff and Shayak. And of course, my former ally Terrence, Titanium’s latest recruit and my future (fake) husband.

  Terrence and I were undergoing separate as well as joint training sessions conducted by a barrage of fitness and combat specialists among
whom was Shayak, who was taking us through recon and combat practice. He said he was cramming one year of training into a fraction of the time.

  It seemed crazy in retrospect, but it was I who had propelled us here, plunging us headlong into a dangerous and demanding course with all the enthusiasm of a novice who has no clue what pure physical exhaustion could be. What fear could make you feel. Just three months ago, I had solved two murders in my first month at Titanium. In doing so, I had discovered that the murderer had been trying to take down Titanium by putting Shayak, the nation’s foremost security expert and former black ops soldier, at the centre of a scandal. And while the killer was now behind bars, there had been a hand at work behind it all that was yet to be revealed. A very powerful hand. Buoyed by success and fired up by a sense of urgency, it was my idea to go undercover to track the conspirator down.

  How much of this was motivated by my desire to be Shayak’s hero I did not dare to ask myself. I ignored the what ifs and maybes, the fleeting kisses and the shadow of longing hanging over stolen gazes. I focused squarely on the present, when every day, our task was becoming more critical. In the three months since we had uncovered the plot to sabotage Titanium, the company had taken blow after blow. Though Shayak was exonerated and the real killer caught, many of the company’s staff engaged overseas in highly sensitive projects had to be pulled out after Titanium lost its official endorsement. Some of that was the rub-off of Titanium finding itself in the spotlight, which is not a virtue for a private security firm. And some of it seemed to be the impact of forces that continued to act against Shayak and the company he had built.

  Shayak had been away, first in Afghanistan and then Syria, overseeing the withdrawal of his men there. One by one, Titanium’s teams in domestic government facilities were benched as well. The troops working with US contractors were still in place, which meant that either the government of that country was less vulnerable to influence or the reach of the people we were dealing with did not extend so far.

  The whisper of scandal had also caused many corporate clients to fear the worst, and Shayak had had to devote much of his time in the past months trying to win back confidence. Luckily it had worked, and thus far most of Titanium’s private clients had been retained. But if we could not get to the bottom of the conspiracy, that might change, bringing the country’s leading security company to the ground and leaving thousands of employees out of work – including me.