‘Or a veiled threat to anyone gutsy enough to play dirty with Titanium.’
Rishi laughed. ‘The machinery that is Titanium takes some getting used to. Lucky for me, I have my own place.’
‘How long have you lived here?’
‘All my life. I’m an old Mumbai hand. I floated around for a while just after college, spent a little too much time lying about in Goa, but otherwise I rarely feel the need to even leave town.’
A plate of perfect, crisp fries and a bowl of fluffy, buttery popcorn arrived. ‘Sorry,’ said Rishi, ‘but this is about the only food this place has to offer.’
‘It’s perfect,’ I said. ‘Would you believe I have never been to Goa?’
‘What are you saying, woman!’ Rishi said. ‘Get your ass over there as soon as you can!’
‘It’s not overrated?’
‘There are many Goas. You can hang about with the tourists, and that experience I would agree is overrated, or you can create your own version of it.’
‘And what is yours?’
‘Hiking through the hills. Getting lost on winding roads. Drinking too much beer at Sunset Bar in a little spot of the undiscovered south, with a view of the sun going down over the Arabian Sea 365 days a year.’
‘Sounds like love. Why did you come back?’
‘I needed to.’
‘Work?’
‘Yup. And I love Mumbai too.’
Rishi started telling me about all his favourite bars in town. ‘The great thing about this city is that it has something for you even if you hate all those shiny new clubs.’
‘I don’t remember telling you that I am new to Mumbai.’
Rishi laughed again. ‘Oh, please. You’ve got noob written all over you.’
He was the second man to have told me that. But unlike Pratap Puri, I got the feeling that Rishi was just trying to extend a warm Mumbai welcome to me.
‘Mumbai is always full of fresh blood,’ he said. ‘It’s one of its many virtues for the vampires waiting for a nibble.’
The next morning, I showered and headed to a neighbourhood café for a big breakfast and coffee before striding towards office with a confidence I didn’t feel. But I had renewed my resolve to fake it till I could make it.
The good thing about cryptic messages from absent bosses is that they were open to interpretation. Shayak told me I had a free hand in the Dhingre business, and for me that meant investigating Afreen’s murder as well. How could I look into one without considering the very real possibility that the two events were connected? And if they were, how much less efficient would it be to examine only half the evidence when the real clues would most likely lie in the intersection between two victims, and the crimes that had claimed each?
To that end, first I spoke to Mrs Dhingre, who said she had no idea if her husband knew a woman by the name of Afreen. I looked through his address book and the file, and found no mention of her anywhere. Afreen herself had denied knowing Dhingre, but I was treating everything she had said with a healthy amount of scepticism.
How could I find out more about the mysterious, tragically short life of Afreen when I didn’t even know her last name!
I finally decided to make use of the number Gill had given me for the very unoriginally named Mona, who had allegedly left the escort business after introducing Afreen to it. I made the call.
‘Am I speaking to Mona?’ I said.
‘Uh, yes,’ the woman replied somewhat tentatively.
‘My name is Reema, and I am a friend of Afreen.’
‘Okay,’ she said, still wary. I could hear a soft hiss as if she took a drag of a cigarette.
‘I’d like to come and meet you today, if that is alright with you.’
‘May I know what this is about?’
‘It’s about Afreen. It’s important.’
‘Why don’t you come to the bar and we can have a chat? Look for Miss Sara. No one calls me Mona anymore.’
My appointment led me to a part of town into which I had not yet ventured. Travelling through the maze of serpentine bylanes, I knew I had entered territory in which anything could happen. I doubted if even the long arm of Titanium could offer me much protection here, in the bowels of Mumbai. Vinod dropped me off with a warning: ‘Be careful, ma’am. Call if you need help. I’ll be standing outside only.’ I told him it wasn’t necessary, but didn’t think it would make a difference.
I walked down a narrow alley, unaccustomed to but unsurprised by the stares. I kept my eyes down, which served the dual purpose of avoiding potential lewd gestures and of ensuring garbage, spit, excrement and other bodily fluids I’d rather not consider stayed off my shoes. A rat led the way to The Heaven Bar, before it scurried through the narrow passage beside the yellow wall that signalled the start of the establishment. I swung the door open, overwhelmed at once by the tobacco-scented cloud that wafted towards me, almost immediately clinging to my hair, reminding me of nights when brandishing a cigarette was still allowed and still reeked of the romance of new adulthood, or old childhood. Now the wall of smoke hanging in the black air, thick and misty, made me flinch. I heard the crooner’s voice wrap itself around a familiar song. My eyes found the person it belonged to, her young face aged by hair a shade too light and lipstick a shade too dark, dressed in tight turquoise jeans and yellow shirt. A chunky gold necklace separated pointy breasts desperate for a lingerie upgrade.
I waited for her to finish. Luckily the place was not yet full. I found a small table in one of the dark corners the bar specialized in and tried to look around without making eye contact with other guests.
‘Miss Sara’, a board behind the small wooden stage announced.
Mona’s new name. Her new job was singing at this bar, and I wondered whether it was much better than working as an escort.
She finished her song and came straight over to my table. There must not be many single women coming to a place like this, and she didn’t have to ask if I was Reema.
‘Can I get you something?’ I asked.
She shook her head, and lit a cigarette. ‘You said this was about Afreen? Is she in some kind of trouble?’
‘Afreen was murdered.’
Miss Sara gagged on the smoke that had filled her lungs, her bout of violent coughing drawing curious stares from the patrons.
‘When was the last time you spoke to her?’ I asked.
‘God, I don’t know. It’s been a while. Why? What the hell happened to her?’
‘That is what we’re trying to find out. We’ve learnt that she wanted to quit the escort business. Might that be dangerous?’
Miss Sara shrugged. ‘Gill didn’t try to stop me when I left. Said women like me come and go. But Afreen was more of a draw.’
‘Why did you leave?’
She flipped her hair, nonchalant and yet not. ‘I met a guy. We were supposed to get married. Turned out he was already married to at least two other women.’
‘You didn’t want to go back to Gill after you found out?’
‘I thought about it. But then I met another guy who said he’d get me playback jobs in Bollywood. I’m a singer – it’s what I always wanted to do. Turned out this was all he could get me. But with tips I make enough money here, and I get to sing and don’t have to spread my legs if I don’t want to. So it’s not so bad.’
I could imagine Miss Sara would have been in a different price range than Afreen in the escort industry. She wouldn’t be buying herself the designer labels I had found in Afreen’s flat even when she was at the top of her game.
‘I could have gone back to Gill. He’s not a bad sort, you know? But I’m twenty-eight; how long did I have in that line anyway? At least here I am doing something where there is some sort of future.’
‘Do you know why Afreen wanted to quit?’
‘She met this guy who was going to help her get a role in the movies.’ All of Miss Sara’s stories seemed to share a theme.
‘She did get some roles recently, didn’t she
?’
‘Yeah.’
‘He was one of her clients?’
‘Yes, but not through Gill, I don’t think.’
‘Do you have a name?’
‘Nope. But I remember her saying something about him being from out of town.’
‘Do you know where?’
She squinted. ‘No, sorry.’
‘How was he connected to films?’
She shrugged, taking a long drag before stubbing out her cigarette gingerly in the cheap plastic ashtray that was a freebie from a whisky company I had never heard of. ‘Really have no idea.’
‘How did the two of you get involved in the business in the first place?’
‘I came to Mumbai to be a singer. Afreen was here to be an actress. But dreams don’t always come true, if you hadn’t noticed,’ she said, lighting up another.
‘Not even in Mumbai?’
‘Especially not in Mumbai.’
‘How did it happen?’
‘Oh, it’s no effort at all,’ she said with a snort. ‘There are plenty of people willing to broker and buy sex. Why not take advantage of it?’
‘What about your family?’
She smiled. ‘Don’t go looking for a tale of abuse and neglect in my past. Was my childhood perfect? No, but whose is? I was sick of watching interesting lives lived by others. I wanted to be one of them. I had my chance, and I took it.’
Miss Sara must have seen something in my face that she interpreted as disapproval. ‘You can’t believe that someone would willingly sell themselves for sex? Not when they have options? Trust me when I say that I was not waiting to be saved. It was just my best bet at the time.’
‘But you got out. Even if that meant you had to trade down.’
‘My time had come. Maybe Afreen’s had too. Maybe it is just that simple.’
‘Do you know Afreen’s real name?’
‘Kavita Ghosh.’
‘Bengali?’
She nodded, blowing a puff of smoke out from between her teeth. ‘From Calcutta. When I met her, she had just run away from home. There was a police case about it too. She wanted to change her name, change everything. She was a huge Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan fan in those days, so she went with Afreen. Said it reminded her of her first boyfriend, the only man who ever really loved her.’
Miss Sara stood up as she stubbed out her half-smoked cigarette, signalling the end of our interview, and returned to her place in the flickering spotlight.
ELEVEN
I didn’t think the motley, bedraggled Calcutta Crime-fighter’s Club could help me in faraway Mumbai. The voluntary ranks of the assorted individuals who had come together to fight crime, which I had desperately clung to when infidelity cases threatened to overload my own practice, was an unlikely support system for one now claiming allegiance to the mighty Titanium. But with the ban on my investigating Afreen’s death, I couldn’t approach Adlakha or anyone else to find out more about the life and times of Kavita Ghosh, whom we knew as Afreen.
So I picked up the phone and called Terrence.
‘How have you been?’ I asked, hoping he’d ignore the fact that I had not returned his call for days.
‘Case is going well, and Mumbai is never boring.’
‘No, it’s not.’
‘What about you? Your murder seems to be getting even more airtime than before.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘Any progress?’
‘Some. It’s early yet.’
‘Want to get dinner?’
‘I actually needed some help.’
‘What about?’
‘There is a woman connected with the murder who is from Calcutta. I am trying to find out more about her antecedents and it turns out that she had run away from home to come to Mumbai and a police case had been registered at the time.’
There was a pause on the line. ‘Can you tell me why Titanium can’t get this information for you?’
‘To be honest, I can’t.’
‘Okay,’ he said slowly. ‘Do you know which police station?’
‘Unfortunately, no.’
‘No matter. It will just take a little more time.’
I gave him the name and whatever details I had, which didn’t amount to much.
‘You aren’t making this easy,’ sighed Terrence.
‘Is it ever?’
‘No,’ he said with a laugh. ‘But this really feels a little like old times, with you chasing impossible cases. The group sort of fell apart after you left, you know.’
I did know, as I had been in touch with Santosh da, my kindly mentor in the CCC. ‘Why is that?’
‘Maybe we needed your enthusiasm to hold us together.’
‘I doubt that.’
‘Yeah? Well, all I know is that we haven’t even met since you deserted us.’
‘I guess I should be flattered.’
‘Yup. I’ll call you when I know something.’
Maybe I had misjudged Terrence. He had come across as so full of himself, so desperate to get laid that I hadn’t looked past it to the sort-of-decent fellow he really was.
I hung up and considered my options. There was one person in the Afreen case whom I could interview without fear of blowback, for he was part of the Maaya Island case as well: Viraat Khanna.
I called Ajay. ‘I have a few questions for Viraat regarding the Dhingre murder. Is there any way he can be made accessible to me?’
‘I don’t see why not. Come by.’
When I got to the police station, I was shown at once into Ajay’s room. He sat behind a large wooden desk piled with papers, at the centre of which sat a high-end laptop. There were three cell phones, a wireless router and a modem blinking away.
‘I believe your boss is currently out of circulation,’ he said.
‘So I have been told.’
‘Adlakha told me you are the point person on the Maaya Island case.’
‘Yes.’
‘About the Afreen murder, you do understand that the call wasn’t mine to keep Titanium out. My interest is in closing cases, not pointless politics.’
Politics? Ajay tapped on the mouse and it didn’t seem like he was going to elucidate. He clearly thought I knew more than I did.
‘There is, however, one fact that I think has bearing on the Maaya Island murder and, since you want to see Khanna, I thought you might as well know so we don’t end up wasting more time.’
‘I appreciate it, sir.’
‘Drop the “sir”. Ajay.’ He looked at me, and I saw a flash of what looked like shyness. Coming from this textbook-filmi police officer, Aviators and all, it was unexpected.
‘Viraat did not kill Afreen. We know this because the security-camera footage from his building clearly shows him leaving an hour before she arrived, and returning only after you came in.’
‘Where was he?’
‘That’s the strange part – he won’t tell us.’
‘No alibi?’
‘No, he’s clammed up completely.’
‘Whatever he was doing was worse than murder?’
‘So he seems to think.’
‘Is there any way he could have come and gone from the building without being detected?’
‘There is a service entrance and lift, but that is also monitored. Unless he ran up twenty-six flights – there are no cameras in the stairwell.’
‘Anyone else look good for it?’
‘Not at present. My men are going through the footage again.’
I nodded.
‘Maybe you can talk some sense into him?’ Ajay said. ‘Get him to tell us where he was?’
I wasn’t sure why he thought I would succeed where he and his men had failed, but I was more than happy to give it a shot.
Ajay called one of his lackeys, who led me to a room bare except for a table and a chair. It was without windows and suspiciously clean. If this was one of the interrogation rooms, it was probably best that I didn’t know what most people passing through were su
bjected to.
Viraat was brought in – haggard, unshaven and trembling. On his heels was his lawyer. Even a rank outsider like me recognized him instantly – it was Satish Joseph, one of the most high-profile criminal attorneys in the country. That explained why Ajay and his men had not made progress on Viraat – with Joseph standing guard, they wouldn’t get him to slip up, nor could they lay a hand on him. They must be hoping that I’d fly under the radar and take them by surprise.
Viraat had lost all of the cockiness of our first couple of meetings. The confusion and catatonia were replaced by wear and worry – and withdrawal.
‘Thank you for seeing me,’ I said.
He looked at me, a little lost.
‘I believe you won’t tell the police where you were at the time of Afreen’s murder.’
‘In what capacity are you asking questions about that?’ asked the lawyer. ‘I was given to understand you are only looking into the murder of Ashutosh Dhingre.’
‘If you need any clarifications, you can take it up with DCP Shankaran.’
He began to say something, but Viraat stepped in. ‘It’s okay, Satish.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘So why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?’
Viraat ran a hand over his stubble. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘Viraat,’ warned Joseph.
‘Drugs?’ I asked.
His dead eyes didn’t react, but the trembling hand had already confirmed what I suspected.
‘You were out buying, weren’t you?’
‘Mr Khanna did not say that,’ said Joseph.
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Hypothetically, if that is what he was doing, is it worse than murder? I wouldn’t imagine drug charges would be hard to get out of.’
‘There is no evidence yet to implicate me – anything could still happen,’ said Viraat.
‘So you are playing a waiting game in this police station?’ It didn’t make sense. Viraat seemed like he wouldn’t last another day in lock-up while if history was anything to go by, he could be out on bail with a little cooperation in the right quarters. ‘You have to help me understand this.’
I watched a drop of sweat roll down Viraat’s face and land on the table. ‘Off the record?’ he said at last.
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