Chapter 11
All Gaikwad could think about during his morning walk, despite Chitre’s best efforts to engage him in conversation about a flat sold in their building, was what Barton’s driver had told him. Immediately after the identification of the body, Gaikwad had spoken to John Barton, Hazra, Khurana, and Kohli, and though, in the back of his mind, he tried to find motives for each man he interviewed, he’d hoped that the killing was a random one. But the driver’s revelations had been instructive to say the least: Barton had known of the threat to his wife’s life though he said nothing about it; the driver had overheard a loud argument between Liz Barton and Hazra a week before she died; he’d seen Khurana with her several times and, perhaps most incriminating, he’d seen Kohli visit Barton only a few hours before her death.
Kohli, of course, had an explanation for it. He’d said that she was offering him money. Before that interview, Gaikwad had held Kohli in high regard, but the conversation had burst another bubble. Kohli was as dirty as the rest of them. We live in an era of no heroes, Gaikwad thought.
It would have been too easy, he thought, had only one of their stories been inconsistent, but now three people he’d spoken to would have to be questioned again—and this time the conditions of the questioning wouldn’t be as sympathetic.
* * *
He decided to start his day with a visit to Hazra. He rode his bike to the Mohini office, weaving through the traffic that inched forward. He was tired by the time he got there. Not the best way to start the day, he thought.
He walked past the giant statue of two hands enveloping the Earth, which had become a city landmark, into the cavernous marble foyer. A pretty young woman wearing a headset sat behind a lone desk. Inside, the furniture and style had the efficiency of Scandinavian design, incongruous amid the chaos and inefficiency of the city. Workers streamed in, others walked out for smoke breaks or other appointments. They all looked at him, but pretended not to. The only uniformed person most of them interacted with was the security guard in their residential high rises. Gaikwad felt ill at ease here in his uniform. It drew both overt and covert attention. Perhaps, he thought, he should have come in mufti.
“Yes,” asked the pretty young woman behind the desk.
“I’m here to meet Hazra.”
“What is this regarding?”
“I’m with the police. Please tell him I’m here.”
She dialed a number on a phone he couldn’t see and whispered silently into the mic.
“Top floor,” she said. “He’ll be waiting.”
* * *
The first thing Gaikwad noticed—you couldn’t help but notice it—was the view from the giant window behind Hazra’s desk. It was as if you could reach out and touch the other skyscrapers, temples to Mammon that reached up as high as the eye could see. The view, Gaikwad thought, was one that could lull someone into a false—perhaps one-sided might be a better term—sense of the city’s affluence. Now it was easy to explain the confident demeanor of people who sat in offices like this: It was positively empowering.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Hazra said as he looked up from his computer toward Gaikwad.
The inspector was a little embarrassed that he was caught gawking.
“I don’t often get an opportunity to see Mumbai from this high up,” he replied.
“It makes you giddy,” Hazra said, smiling, and without missing a beat, “So what can I do for you, inspector?”
The tone was friendly.
“I have some more questions about the American’s death.”
“Oh?”
“What was your relationship with her like?”
“We’ve been through this inspector,” Hazra said, the smile not leaving his face, but his tone becoming distinctly icy. “We were colleagues. I was passed over for a promotion. But we worked well together. At the end of the day, inspector, all I care about is Mohini. I’m here for the company and to serve its interests and that’s what I do.”
“Let me go over this again then, sir, just to be sure: You had a good working relationship with her, but you also had the most to gain from her out of the way. I mean, you’re in her office now, aren’t you? The one with the nice views?”
“Inspector, that’s crossing the line. I kept to my office for a little while after her death, but I’m running the show now and its location is more central.”
“Plus, the views are nicer, I bet.”
“What are you getting at?” The smile had left Hazra’s face.
“Let me tell you my problem, sir: You tell me you had nothing to gain from her death and that you had a good working relationship with her, but during the course of our investigation, I’ve learned that you paid Gaja Kohli to protest against Mohini. If all you care about is what’s best for the company, why would you do that?”
The blood drained from Hazra’s face. He was no longer a man at ease. He took a few moments to compose himself, but it was enough time for Gaikwad to know that whatever would come out of the man’s mouth next would either be an evasion or an outright lie.
“How did you come by this information?” The composure had returned to his voice and face.
“We can’t reveal that.”
“Well, it’s an absurd suggestion. I don’t even know who Gaja Kohli is.”
“Sir,” Gaikwad said, “please don’t make this difficult. We have evidence that you not only met Kohli but spoke to him several times. We have phone records to prove it.”
Hazra paused for a moment. “How is your boss, DCP Khan, inspector? You know, he and I play golf together.”
“I’m happy to hear that, sir,” Gaikwad replied. “Perhaps you’d be happier answering questions from him than me.”
Hazra became quiet. For a moment, he seemed to weigh his options. “I just told him to protest against the company. Not kill her.”
“Can you repeat that loudly, sir?”
“I just told him to protest against the company. Make her uncomfortable. Not kill her.”
“So you did speak to him?”
“Yes.”
“And what was the nature of your conversation?”
“You already seem to know that.”
“Yes, but we want to know if your version tallies with ours.”
Hazra looked around the room. He seemed to focus on the mantel with the photographs of his family. “I had nothing to do with her death. Nothing. It’s true that I spoke to Kohli and asked him to target her for protests. But that was only to scare her. I wanted to be in charge of the company.” He paused. “That position should have been mine. I was all but assured it before they gave it to an unqualified foreigner. But I would never kill her. I would never kill anyone. I just wanted to scare her away back to America.”
“So who did the work? Kohli? Who made the threats? You or he?”
“What threats? I don’t know about any threats. I didn’t ask him to do that. I don’t know how far he went.”
“Did Kohli kill her?”
“I don’t know. My instructions were only to scare her away.”
“Sir, understand my problem,” Gaikwad said. “A woman is dead. You wanted her job. You asked an activist to follow her to scare her back to America. But you say you don’t know if he left her threats on your behalf. You say you don’t know if he killed her. Why should I believe you?”
“I’m telling the truth, inspector.” His voice was hushed.
“We’ve also come by another bit of information.”
“Oh?”
“Which is why it might be helpful if you told us what you know rather than us carrying out a conversation of this nature.”
Hazra thought for a moment. “I have nothing to add.”
“Yet, we know that a week before Liz Baar-Tone left for Singapore you were spotted having a loud a
rgument with her.”
“It’s that bloody driver isn’t it?”
“Answer the question, sir.”
Hazra looked defeated. “Yes. We had an argument.”
“About?”
“Company matters.”
“We’re in the midst of a murder investigation, sir. Let me be the judge of whether the matter is company-related or not. And if you choose not to cooperate, we can continue this conversation in the comforts of the police station.”
“We fought about Kabir Khurana.”
“Khurana?”
“Yes. She was spending an awful amount of time with him. Frankly, I thought they were sleeping together.”
“And that bothered you?”
“No. I don’t care. My concern was the company. I was afraid he was using her to elicit company information. After all, it’s well-known that Khurana Enterprises lost the energy contract to us, and Kabir Khurana is not someone who takes a loss lying down.”
“So you were angry?”
“Yes,” he said, whispering. “Yes, I was. That bloody woman was destroying this company.”
“And did you threaten her?”
“Threaten?” Hazra sounded incredulous. “I threatened to tell the board in London. I didn’t care what happened to her. She could have died for all I cared. I only cared about Mohini.”
Hazra paused at his own words. He looked embarrassed.
“I didn’t mean that, inspector,” he said apologetically. “I’ve never wished anyone ill in my life. I just cared about the company.”
“And your position in it, no doubt, sir.”
“Ambition is not a bad thing, inspector.”
“No sir. It’s not. But how far one goes with it can be. How far did you go, sir, to stop her?”
“I didn’t kill her, inspector. I’m telling the truth. I can only speak for my actions, not for Kohli’s or anyone else’s. But you know, there was one other person who wanted her out of the way?”
“Who?”
“Her husband.”
“How do you know that?”
Hazra sighed and looked down toward the floor. “I told her husband.”
“What?”
“I told her husband.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That his wife was spending an inordinate amount of time with Kabir Khurana.”
“How did he react?”
“He flew into a rage. Began calling her names.”
“But he was having an affair, too?”
“Inspector, don’t ask me to explain human nature. I was hoping he’d react in a way that would lead both of them to leave the country.”
“But that didn’t happen.”
“No. She was dead a few days later.”
“Sir, I don’t need to tell you this, but you might have directly contributed to her death by inciting her husband.”
“Look, I didn’t mean for her to die. If I could take it back, I’d do it differently. I just had Mohini’s best interests at heart.”
“And your own, too.”
“Yes,” he said, almost silently. “Yes.”
“And you’d go to any length to protect them?”
“Yes,” Hazra said, before he realized what that admission could entail. “But I wouldn’t kill anyone.”
“You’ve been very helpful, sir,” Gaikwad said. “I’ll return if I have any more questions, and if you remember anything else, call me.”
* * *
Gaikwad cursed the traffic as he rode back to Nepean Sea Road from Nariman Point. Gaikwad wore no helmet; a white handkerchief covered his mouth and nose to keep the pollution at bay. In the wind, it flapped up and down, rendering it useless.
He arrived at the building, once again passing the American consulate with its endless line outside. He dismounted and walked through the gate. The watchman recognized him and smiled. Gaikwad had called him from Hazra’s office to ensure the American was, in fact, home. He wanted to surprise John Barton. Gaikwad smiled back and waved, walked to the elevator. Magically, the liftman pressed 11.
* * *
John Barton opened the door. He looked disheveled. He hadn’t shaved and his growth was fast crossing over from being stubble to becoming hair. His eyes were red and swollen. Gaikwad could smell the odor of alcohol tinged with sweat. He stared at Gaikwad vacantly, as if trying to place him. Gaikwad saw a flicker of recognition.
“Yes, inspector?” he said, but with the monotone with which one might greet a stranger.
“I had some questions about the case.”
“This is not a good time, inspector.”
“I’m afraid it’s urgent.”
“Look. I’ve helped all I can. I just want to be left alone.”
“We’ve come across some new information . . .”
“I don’t care,” Barton said loudly. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”
“Mr. Baar-Tone, we can either have a conversation now or I can take you in handcuffs to the police station.”
John looked resigned. Gaikwad was glad he didn’t create a scene, or threaten to call the consulate or do other things that foreigners did when they became involved with the law in the city. Barton moved aside and let Gaikwad enter.
The room was starkly different from the last time he was here. For one thing, it was in disarray. Unwashed clothes lay on the floor. Half-eaten plates of food and half-full glasses of drinks lay on tables. The artwork on the wall was the lone sign that this room once possessed order.
“Well, what do you want?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the threats to your wife?”
The antagonism became subdued. Gaikwad could see him fold. Barton slumped to the couch, buried his head between his knees, and held his temples. Gaikwad gave him time to become composed.
“I should have told you.”
“Yes. You should have. Why didn’t you?” Gaikwad said, his voice growing louder.
“I wanted to leave this bloody place. I couldn’t bear it. She loved it here. I just wanted to go back home.”
Gaikwad decided to grope in the dark for the truth. It was an old tactic. Say something you suspect and hope the suspect corroborates it. He decided he’d go for it.
“So you threatened her? Made those threats?”
“Yes,” Barton mumbled. “Yes. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just wanted to scare her so we could go back home. I just wanted it to be the way it was. Before we came here. Before we became other people.”
“Did she know it was you?”
“How do you mean?”
“It was your handwriting on the mirror. I’d assume she knew your writing.”
“I’m left-handed, inspector. I wrote it with my right hand. It could have been anyone’s handiwork.”
Gaikwad saw that Barton had thought it through. What else had he thought through? What else did he know?
“Did you know about her relationship with Kabir Khurana?”
“Yes. Hazra told me. That’s why I wrote those messages. I wanted us to go back to being the people we were.”
“Did you confront her?”
“Yes. We fought about it. She thought the idea of her having an affair was ridiculous. She couldn’t believe I would accuse her of sleeping with him.”
“What did you say?”
“I told her I didn’t believe her. I told her she was lying. I told her I’d seen pictures of them together. She denied it. She said he was teaching her the ropes of doing business here. She found the idea of sleeping with him absurd. She was in tears when I didn’t believe her.”
“Do you now?”
He nodded. “I did then, too. Maybe it was guilt because of my relations with Uma, but I wanted to take it out
on Liz. This was the only way I could.”
“So what next?”
“That’s it. I’m getting ready to leave. I just want to go back to my old life.”
“We’d like you to stay, sir, until the investigation is complete.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I will arrest you now, and you can have access to a barrister.”
Barton nodded.
* * *
On his way home, Gaikwad could not help think about the dysfunctional nature of this man’s relationship with his wife. He was sleeping with someone else. He suspected her of doing the same. He secretly threatened her so she could be scared back to her own country. Lata and he had been married a long time, but the thought of threatening her was absurd. They each knew which buttons to press to annoy the other, but they’d never—at least he hoped they’d never—resort to this.
His cell phone rang.
“Vijay,” Lata said. “Can you pick up paneer from that place in Khar when you’re coming back?”
Chapter 12
What did Vikram Hazra, Liz Barton’s deputy at Mohini Resources, want with a shady private investigating agency? Jay Ganesh could not get the thought out of his mind. There were several possibilities, of course, but Jay could focus on only two: Either Hazra had something do with Barton’s death or there was something else sordid he was involved with. Either way, it was a good story. Of course, Hazra could have used Eagle Services for some domestic matter—perhaps he suspected his spouse of infidelity; perhaps to investigate a prospective son- or daughter-in-law. But from the nature of his conversation with the typist outside Eagle’s offices, Jay knew that those reasons were unlikely.
Jay was sitting in his office. It was Sunday morning. The city was resting. For most office workers, it was their only day off. And they used it well—typically rising late and spending it with friends and family. Jay had promised to visit his parents for lunch. His father’s eye patch had come off and Jay heard him sound cheerful on the phone. Jay liked visiting his parents for Sunday lunch. The big Sunday meal was a tradition in his house, and when his siblings were still in the country, it was boisterous: full of arguments about sports, politics, books, movies. These occasions were mostly quiet now, save for his mother not-so-subtly inquiring about his relationship status. But he still liked to go for them because they brought back old memories and he hadn’t found a cook better than his mother.
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