by Vish Dhamija
‘Was she single?’ Jay asked after Kumar seemed to conclude his loquacious yarn.
‘Yep.’
‘And you?’ Jay scribbled on his yellow legal pad without looking up. He was taking notes from his client, and simultaneously making a task list of investigations he’d require to be carried out before he decided if he was willing to represent Kumar in court.
‘No, but we were just friends to begin with.’
‘So you were already married when you met her?’
A nod.
‘And how did you come to know her intimately?’ Jay looked up to check Kumar’s countenance. A bit of love or passion or whatever echoed from his face.
‘Friendship turned into liking each other, I mean… I don’t have a great relationship with my wife, so it was a natural attraction towards…’
How many women fell for the same ridiculous excuse men gave them — “I don’t get along with my wife”?
‘… we occasionally met at random cafés before the companionship graduated to the next level.’
Tryst is the words you’re looking for, but Jay kept silent.
‘What did Gina do for a living?’
‘She was an event manager when I met her, but she quit shortly afterwards. She wasn’t working.’
‘So it is fair to assume you supported her financially. Correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you visited her regularly?’
‘Most evenings.’
Kumar gave a maudlin account of how much he loved Gina. So much so that at one point Jay wanted to offer him a shoulder to cry on or at least pass him a tissue. But he had experienced all this nonsense numerous times before: actual murderers who went mawkish in penitence or to convince others of their innocence. This was no yardstick by which to measure someone’s guilt.
‘Let’s start with last evening, shall we? What time did you two have dinner?’ Jay intervened the moment Kumar paused to breathe.
‘Around nine.’
‘What happened between 9pm and midnight?’
‘We talked, listened to music, made love…’
‘Did you use any protection?’
‘How does that affect the case, Mr Singh?’
‘Trust me, every detail counts. And please call me Jay. Mr Singh sounds like someone is talking to my dad.’ Jay wisecracked only to lighten the mood. Talking about death invariably brings solemnity into the conversation, talking about murder only raises the bar. Talking about murder to the accused usually took gravity to another level. Jay had, with experience, learnt to jest to keep his clients laidback; when people were stressed they were also restrained. He wanted Vinay Kumar to talk freely, to chirp.
‘No.’
‘No what? You won’t call me Jay?’
‘No, I meant I did not use any protection.’
‘So I wouldn’t be counted among the highly intelligent to preempt that your semen might still have been in her body when the police got to it.’
‘Unless—’
‘Unless?’ Jay’s eyebrows involuntarily rose quizzically. Unless?
‘Unless the killer raped her before he killed her.’
‘Now that’s an interesting thought. What makes you think the killer might have raped her?’
‘What other reason would he have to kill Gina? As far as I know, nothing has been reported missing or stolen.’
‘So you believe that the killer came with the intention of robbery or rape or both, and did neither, but shot Gina.’
Nod.
‘Why would anyone do that?’
‘Maybe because she woke up or something?’
‘Another interesting theory,’ Jay remarked.
‘Possible, isn’t it?’
‘Everything is possible in this world. Why do you think the police took you in for questioning?’
‘Well, the neighbours knew I frequently visited the place. Some might have even spotted my car outside Gina’s flat last night like every other night of the week. Obviously, in the absence of any other suspect, perhaps the police presumed I should be the first one brought in for questioning.’
Jay sat in silence for a few moments evaluating what he had heard so far. Kumar’s countenance was a poker-tell — a giveaway that he wasn’t telling the whole truth. But then again, most of Jay’s clients were liars and predators. No one paid top dollar if they weren’t a bit guilty on some account, though not necessarily for the crime they were charged with.
‘Did you two have any altercation yesterday?’
‘Not at all. In fact, as I told you earlier, she had cooked a meal for me and we wined and dined before we went to bed.’
‘Any disagreements or arguments that you two had in the past few weeks?’
Kumar energetically shook his head. No.
‘Any unreasonable demands made by Gina?’
‘What kind of demands?’
‘Mr Kumar, you’re a married man with kids. Gina was your lover who you provided for. In the world we live in, such lovers or partners are termed as mistresses. You don’t want me to believe that your mistress was happy being your mistress and was contented to be one for the rest of her life, without any assurances of money or some form of legal status?’
‘You mean if she ever asked me to divorce my wife and take her in?’
‘Yes. Or asked you to pay a large sum of money to convince her that in the event that you, for some reason, lost interest in her she had ample stash to live her life independently. I’m not saying it is right or wrong as I am no judge, but it isn’t uncommon for women to look for such support.’
Kumar stayed silent for a while. Jay tried reading his mind. Either Kumar felt guilty disclosing the details of conversations he’d had with his, now dead lover, or he felt uncomfortable telling it to the lawyer who he’d signed up to defend him. Either way, Jay expected a lie or some omission.
‘No, she never wanted that.’
‘Mr Kumar—’
‘Call me Vinay.’
‘Vinay, in the face of circumstantial evidence that is contrary to what I’m hearing from you, I am not yet totally convinced that you’re innocent, but there is a strong possibility that one of your political rivals found an opportunity to frame you. In which case you could well be on the periphery of a trap—’
‘Why do you think I am not innocent?’ Kumar almost sprung up from his chair.
‘Convince me.’
‘Uh?’
‘Can you convince me you didn’t kill Miss Gina Pinto, accidentally or otherwise?’
‘God knows I have a clear conscience. ‘
Jay had seen enough Tartuffery not to trust someone because God was their only witness. Every accused knew God wouldn’t come down in the witness box. He kept quiet, waiting for Kumar to come up with a better testimony or alibi or a witness or some kind of contrary evidence.
‘You think I killed her?’ Kumar’s tone was en garde now.
‘You tell me.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Can you convince me that you didn’t kill your mistress?’ Jay repeated.
‘Why would I kill my own girlfriend?’
‘How about money to start with?’
‘You think I killed her for money?’
‘Maybe, maybe not. You asked me to give you a reason why you would possibly kill your girlfriend and I gave you one…’
‘Wait a minute, do you think I did it?’
‘The police surely think so.’
‘And you?’ Kumar asked in a timorous voice, almost cracking.
‘Doesn’t matter what I think, but then again, I’m neither a police officer nor a judge, am I?
‘It matters to me.’
‘Then convince me. I don’t give a rat’s arse whether you killed Gina Pinto or not, but before I take you as a client I need to know the truth.’
‘How does that matter?’
‘It matters to me.’ Jay smiled as he repeated Kumar’s own words. ‘Look, you asked me to get you
out of the police station and I walked you out so you’re free now. You’re free to hire another advocate and I’ll forget about all this. You don’t owe me a penny. Just send me a “Thank-you” card from Archie’s and I’ll be fine. Or you can decide to tell me the truth and I will defend you. However, if you decide to stay with me and somehow, at any point, if I find out that you have lied to me I will walk out on you and if I walked out, I can guarantee that there would not be a single advocate in this city who would sign you on as a client. These are my terms.’
Incredulous? Yes.
Overconfident? Yes, but that was the truth. If Jay Singh abandoned a client, who would agree to defend a murder suspect?
‘I trust you, Mr Singh.’
That was quick.
‘Do you have any siblings?’ Jay continued. He didn’t correct Kumar on calling him Mr Singh in this instance.
‘No.’
‘Where is your mother?’
‘She passed away six years ago.’
‘So it’s just your dad and you?’
Nod.
‘On an altogether different note you specifically asked me not to speak to your father regarding this. Have you spoken to him now? Because it will be in the news, surely — someone as high profile as you makes news.’
‘I mentioned it to him, but I am planning to go directly to him after this meeting to give him the details. Thing is—’ Kumar stopped mid-sentence. There was some hesitation, an iota of indecision.
Jay stopped scribbling and looked up. He could visualise Kumar’s mind churning.
‘Could I say something off the record?’ he asked.
‘Depends on what you say. I can tell you if I can keep that off the record only after I hear it.’ Jay smiled charmingly.
‘My dad wanted me to stop seeing her.’
‘Why am I not surprised, Vinay? Given your political aspirations and the fact that you are presently being groomed for the next elections, a mistress would hardly score points for you. But how did you know what your father wanted?’
He expressed it often. We even had a row every now and then.’ Kumar looked grey. ‘He advised me to dump her several times, you see he was old school and hence he was against the fact that she wasn’t a Hindu.’
Would a Hindu mistress be legitimate?
‘What about your wife? Did she never complain or try to stop you from meeting Gina?’
‘What if I told you she didn’t care?’
‘She didn’t care that you were sleeping with another woman?’
‘It’s not how you put it. Our relationship has been platonic for quite some time.’
After the two children, I suppose.
Jay probed for another hour. He made Kumar go through the previous night — the night of Gina’s murder — once more, till the time he left Gina’s place, to see if Kumar could furnish any more details and Jay could pick up some point, anything out of the ordinary in the surroundings when he drove off? Any car parked with someone sitting in it? For someone to have got into Gina’s apartment immediately after Kumar left there was a high probability that someone saw Kumar leave. But, Kumar couldn’t remember seeing anything unusual.
Jay realised he had an appointment at 7pm. Convinced that he wouldn’t get any more information from Kumar at this point, he closed his pad. There wasn’t enough comradeship to talk about anything else so they exchanged a bit of malarkey around the weather and Delhi traffic and the rising cost of living till Kumar’s driver called back, after being paged, to confirm that he had brought the car around to pick him up.
‘I’m okay for now.’ Jay looked up. ‘You can leave, but I’ll need to speak to your wife, and maybe your father, at some point.’
‘Why would you need to speak to them? What about?’
‘I need to investigate the case to be able to defend you. It is all in your interest. The police will certainly speak to them before me, so feel free to let them know.’
‘Thanks Jay.’
Vinay Kumar stood up to shake Jay’s hand. Jay figured that Kumar was a good six inches taller than him.
Bastard. That was the only thing that disturbed Jay now. Son-of-a-bitch.
‘Just one more thing before you leave Vinay,’ Jay asked abruptly just when Kumar turned to leave. ‘Do you own a licenced firearm by any chance?’
‘Yes, I’ve got a Colt Defender, point four five calibre.’
‘I’d like to see the gun when we meet next time. Could you bring it along, please?’
‘Of course, but I swear upon my dead mom that I have never fired it… ever.’
Of course, no murderer would fire from a licensed firearm. Do I look that fucking stupid?
***
Jay was quiet after Kumar left as he assiduously reflected on what he had just been told by his new client. He didn’t dwell on it for too long. This was only the first meeting. If Kumar had lied, it was to be expected wasn’t it? Jay knew he would definitely push him a bit harder next time. In time he would open up or he’d lose Jay. If Kumar thought Jay wouldn’t confirm every minutiae of whatever he uttered, he couldn’t be any further from the truth. Snitches in the autopsy suite would inform Jay before the investigating police officer relayed the formal report in writing. It was Jay’s Standard Operating Procedure before he took the case to court. All advocates, he unashamedly acknowledged, were legal liars. The first thing any half-successful advocate worth his price tag learnt on the job was that truth and evidenced truth were two distinct entities. There was no room for questioning that axiom; bizarrely all advocates he knew agreed on this one, no mumpsimus contradicted it; with that simple truism understood, life was simpler. However, all evidence was malleable, witnesses could be influenced or coerced or bribed, experts could misjudge or misinterpret or be rewarded to misunderstand, technology could fail to provide any coherent or convincing evidence, and in the absence of any substantiation, confutation becomes simple. It wasn’t within a defending advocate’s province to suggest or prove who committed the crime; all he had to establish was that his client did not do it. Defence advocates used the damned cliché the other way around: Corrupt the witnesses or evidence first. If you don’t succeed confuse the prosecutor to convince the judge that there were far bigger motives and, if and wherever possible, opportunities for others.
But you had to know the truth before twisting it.
Bhīma arrived forthwith without being called. He knew his new assignment began straightaway after Jay took on a new client. Investigation. There were far better investigators Jay could hire, but none he could blindly trust. And Bhīma had time in the day and night. Most days he twiddled his thumbs in his assigned cabin or surfed the internet after he brought Jay to the office — he didn’t mix with other drivers in the office building, because he wasn’t just a chauffeur. He also had time in the evenings after he took Jay home and deposited him safely in the farmhouse. Moreover, Bhīma could buy local help without Jay getting involved in the mess. Most snitches opened to Bhīma like they would never open up to the sahib. Jay updated him on Kumar. Bhīma nodded, and took the yellow pad Jay had scribbled upon the whole time.
‘We’ll leave in thirty minutes or so, Bhīma’
‘Jee hukum.’
Bhīma retreated to his sizeable cabin that was two floors below Cooper & Singh’s offices and not listed as one of theirs, on grounds of security. It was secured with two impregnable Evva MCS locks; his Mac was loaded with additional software for tracking vehicles; even surveillance cameras provided feeds into it. The state of the art voice decoders and listening devices that he used for Jay to bug people could shame the CBI. Besides his investigation in cases like Kumar’s, the placing bugs also facilitated in providing intelligence for any threats to Jay Singh. Of course none of the info gathered through bugs would be admissible in any court of law, but at least, Jay knew what he was dealing with. All proscribed information, papers, notes and communiqués stayed secured here — all digitally backed up on a Tier IV data centre in Mumbai, and put on mic
rofilm, too, to be taken home and deposited in the safe — just in case… He locked up the notes. No one would see them till he extricated what he thought was only for his consumption, then pass over the rest for paralegals and other staff who in turn would add ample calories to the file with legitimate investigations, interviews, court dates etc.
THREE
The only appointment Jay Singh had on the day was with a psychological therapist at seven in the evening. Isn’t it entrapment when a law enforcement officer tricks you into doing something? Well, coming from a Judge this was the mother of all entrapments. Justice Chowdhary had knavishly set him up. A week before, Jay had seen a medical psychiatrist who determined that Jay’s dependence on alcohol was merely psychological and not physical at this stage but it still required addressing. Ergo, the dipsomaniac advocate was referred to a practising therapist. Jay was pleased that he wasn’t prescribed some mind-altering medication. He hated medicines, any drugs actually. Past images scared him — he had been drugged that night. He relied on endorphin to relieve him of most aches and pains, excluding hangovers, for which he only trusted mild analgesics. His body had long lost the battle with his brain to be hung-over and still function in that state, so even analgesics were only popped as a last resort. He assumed it would be a one-off session with the therapist. It was best to get it over and done with, he naïvely reckoned.
The therapist’s receptionist was pretty. Correction. She wasn’t just pretty, she was the kind of seriously striking beauty that could be classified as misdemeanour. As an advocate he took in whatever he could in the first glance. Twenty-five, maybe twenty-six? Dark shoulder-length straight hair, dark eyes, not much make-up, infectious smile, slim body, a little heavy on top. No rings on fingers, though she could be dating someone. In any event, he was over forty. She wasn’t eyeing him as a man; she was only being hospitable to him because he was a client. Or thinking of him as a patient; worse still: a mental patient. Standing on the side of the desk he saw that she wore a black skirt — not short, just above her knees. Nude legs. In shape. Très chic.