Bhendi Bazaar

by Vish Dhamija

  Inspector Jatin Singh had moved into her core team only a few weeks back. He was proving to be a valuable asset in the squad with his high levels of energy combined with a sharp brain. He was also her other Man Friday. An inch short of six feet, he was handsome and always impeccably attired. He had cherished the dream of being an actor in Bollywood, but his strict Brigadier father would take no such nonsense. The Brigadier wanted his son to be in uniform and Jatin chose the police over the armed forces.

  'Good morning, ma'am.' He walked in with coffee within minutes. Dressed in a smart natural linen shirt and blue jeans, the 27-year-old had a simpatico persona.

  'Good morning, Jatin. It hasn't been so good unfortunately. There's been a murder at Versova late last night.'

  'I heard about it.'

  'Good. Then I don't have to tell you that you're on the case from now. Please get an Operation Room ready...I have a feeling we are looking for a smart alec who leaves phony spoors to lead us astray. Forensics should tell us how well he’s covered his tracks.' Rita narrated what she had seen, and smelt, along with her surmise.

  ‘It might sound like echoing your thoughts, but I, too, think that it's got to be a male. Females don't stab or mutilate. The gunshot should have been enough even for a vindictive woman.'

  Rita smiled. Another one supported her supposition. ‘Could be both, together or in tandem.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll get the room allotted quickly.’

  'Vikram should take a while in getting back to HQ. I've asked him to check on Mr Adit Lele's — he's the one slain — movements from last evening onwards.’

  Vikram was at Dadar at 9 a.m. He picked up tea from a nearby stall and headed towards Lele's eponymous firm — Adit Lele & Associates. The neat office on the second floor of an old, dilapidated Victorian building had opened, for the day, only a few minutes earlier.

  Vikram showed his ID card to the receptionist and asked to speak to whoever was responsible in the absence of Mr Lele.

  'No one's in yet, except Mr Lele's — he's the proprietor — personal assistant. Is everything okay?' the receptionist, a young girl of twenty-something, fearfully asked. No one in Mumbai liked to see the police. Hell, no one anywhere in the world liked to see the police in their offices.

  'I'm afraid it's not good news. Adit Lele died at his apartment in Versova last night.'

  ‘How?’

  ‘He was shot.’

  'Who shot him?'

  'Well, we are investigating and I need your help. Could I see his personal assistant, please?'

  'Yes. Follow me.' She came out from behind the desk and headed towards a closed door. Vikram followed. Opening the door, she called: 'Annie.'

  Annie, wearing a grey skirt suit, rummaging through cabinet drawers turned around. 'Yes, Rose?'

  'Mr Lele is shot, the police are here to see you.'

  'Me?'

  'Let me explain, Miss...'

  'You can call me Annie.'

  'We found Mr Lele dead at his residence, in Versova, in the early hours this morning.

  Apparently, he was killed some time late last night. I am here to get, from you, any information you might have regarding his plans for yesterday evening. It might help us to reconstruct what happened.'

  'I don't know. Who killed him?' Annie was hyperventilating.

  'Relax,' said Vikram, and then turned to the receptionist. 'Could you get a glass of water for your colleague, please?’

  Rose, eager to leave the room, ran out.

  'Sit down please,' Annie told Vikram as she slumped into her chair. 'I honestly don't know what his plans were for the evening, inspector.'

  'What were his usual evenings like? He must have, sometime, mentioned what he did on previous evenings? Who he met? Where he went? We know he was divorced a while back...was he seeing anyone?'

  'Mr Lele wasn't seeing anyone particular, as far as I know. He didn't want to be involved in a relationship. It hindered his interests.'

  'What kind of interests?'

  Annie was about to utter something when Rose walked in with water. She left the two glasses on the desk between Annie and Vikram and, quickly, left the room closing the door behind her. Vikram knew she would park herself outside the door and eavesdrop, but it didn't matter.

  'You were talking about Mr Lele's interests...'

  'Nothing. I am not sure that would help.'

  'May I request you to tell me everything you know about Mr Lele, please? Let me decide if the information helps or not please.’

  'Adit wasn't a one-woman man.'

  Vikram noted Mr Lele had become Adit. 'You mean he was a Casanova?' he questioned.

  'More like Lothario. He was a philanderer. Oh…it’s not as bad as I make it sound.

  Look, Adit liked women, the woman didn’t matter — young, old, beautiful, ugly — as long as the skirt was ready to jump into bed with him. After a few steamy sessions, he typically lost interest in the girl and moved on.'

  Maybe some girl didn't appreciate his moving on, Vikram reflected. 'And none of the women he so dated, ever complained or created a fuss about it?'

  'Some did and Mrs Lele found out about it, hence the divorce. She almost bankrupted him. Since then he was careful and discreet.'

  'Any particular girl you'd seen with him in the last few weeks?'

  'He never brought them to the office.' Annie was quick to answer what she believed was a daft question.

  'Any close friend, male or female, who could give me more details of his personal life?'

  'Not many.' She took out a diary and flipped through pages. 'Oh yes, some girl called him last night around 7 p.m. I took the call. She was looking for Adit.' Annie mimicked “Adit” in a husky voice. 'I asked her, "Who may I say is calling?" and she told me that she was a personal friend, didn't give me her name, but I know he was eager to take the call because when I relayed the message, he disconnected the business call and took this one.' Annie picked up one of phones at her desk and pressed a few buttons.

  'This should be it. The call was a minute before seven. I remember because I was packing up for the day, this is the telephone number. Do you want it?'

  'Of course.'

  She scribbled it on her writing pad, tore the tiny sheet and passed it to him.

  009715...

  International number. Dubai.

  Annie also wrote down some names and telephone numbers — of Lele's friends and business associates — including his ex-wife's, on a sheet of paper, put it in a manila envelope and handed it over.

  'Thanks. You've really been a great help. If you remember anything else that you think might help us find Mr Lele’s killer, please contact me immediately.' Vikram gave her his card, shook her hand and briskly left the office.

  He could, as he waited for the elevator outside the glass door, see Rose run into Annie's room.

  Once in the elevator, he gave a once-over to the little slip of paper with the telephone number Annie had given him: a pointer or extraneous information?

  THREE

  2007

  Mumbai Police HQ was not in Crawford Market; it was in the building opposite it. But Crawford Market, a legacy of the British, was such an architectural marvel that the area around it had gladly taken the name like an orphan eager to adopt rich, good-looking parents. No one remembered how and when it also became a metonym for the Police HQ, but every cabbie, every convict, every politician, every police station in the city, and the media referred to it as Crawford Market. Perhaps, it sounded better too: Crawford Market, Scotland Yard.

  Besides the top brass of police, the Crime Branch was stationed here and, as such, there was a constant turf war between the crime squad and the 90 independent constabularies across the city.

  DCP Rita Ferreira had moved here on a promotion only a few months back. Early March. She had been in Pune, in the uniformed division, prior to this promotion, having joined the Indian Police Service a little more than eight years back. She had been excited about the move, as she wanted t
o be in the crime squad more than she cared about the promotion.

  Rita was a Goan of Portuguese descent. Catholic by birth, agnostic by experience: God to her was like Hobbes to Calvin; it was good to have an imaginary friend, but one couldn’t depend on him. A bright girl, she went to St Stephen's College in Delhi where the police service bug bit her like it bit many others at Stephen's. Her parents had tried to influence her to take some other administrative service: ‘Police is for men.’ But she convinced them that she would be fine, she’d fit in. Eight-and-a-half years later, here she was, reporting to the Joint Commissioner of Police — Crime Branch, Mr Vinay Joshi, who was one down from the head: the Commissioner of Mumbai Police, Mr Sanjay Saxena. ‘Sexy’ was what everyone referred to Sanjay Saxena as. Sexy.

  Unfortunately, both her parents had passed away in quick succession five years ago.

  Battling dehydration from Jim Beam the night before and all the fluid she had lost perspiring in the Mumbai heat, Rita, sipping chilled water from a refilled plastic bottle, walked into the newly appointed Operations Room for investigation of the murder of Adit Lele. Being the chief of the investigation — Joshi had three DCPs, other important matters to attend to, and couldn't solely focus on a case — Rita did not have to visit the Ops Room. Anything she required could be called for from her room, but this being her first homicide investigation in Mumbai, she wanted to immerse herself in the case, be close to it. She was, after all, doing a man's job. 'Everything under control?' she asked looking at Jatin, who sat there with sheets of papers.

  'So far so good, ma'am. I've spoken to the Forensic Unit, told them we need the reports ASAP. Requested them to complete their investigation on the mobile phone and send the instrument to us by the evening. Asked AirMobile to send us the call-logs from Lele's mobile, ditto from MTNL for his landline phones: sent them a requisition to give us a record of all telephone calls made to and from Lele's residence, and office, in the last thirty days. The clerk, there, has promised to get it ready by 4 p.m. today. Our constable will collect it in person.'

  She smiled. Jatin never failed to impress her. Was he this thorough in his life outside the job? Or did he let his guard down once he left this place?

  'So, the machinery is in motion...'

  'Yes, ma'am.'

  'Good. I don't think we need any more people for now. Vikram, you and I should be able to handle the case with the support staff. What do you think?'

  'Yes, of course.'

  'Anything else?'

  'The Inspector from Versova constabulary had called to say all refuse bins of the apartment complex had been turned out by his men but they found no gun or knife. The team has questioned every shop and restaurant owner around the area, and the entire Yari Road in Versova. Most of the shops close around ten, while the restaurants are open till midnight and as such there is too much of a crowd to notice anything abnormal. Plus, it's too far from the complex; Mangal Nagar is not even visible to them.'

  The manner in which Jatin had paused signified he had some more info.

  'However, the watchman at the building gate remembers seeing Lele's blue Ford Ikon drive into the apartment block a little after 9:30 p.m. last night. The windows of his car had a dark film so he didn't see if Lele was alone or with someone.'

  'Our initial estimate of the time of Lele's death is between 10 p.m. and midnight, so if he returned home only after nine-thirty, either his guest waited for him or arrived soon after. Let's wait for Vikram to come back and report what he finds from Lele's office. In the meantime, ask the local police around his residence and office to call their rats to check if Lele was in any financial mess, any unusual money transactions, any rumours. And don't forget to look into if he used drugs, and had any outstanding payments or rivalries because of them. In any event, if he did drugs, even occasionally, find out where he got his supplies.

  Track down the peddler and bring him in for questioning.'

  'Okay, ma'am.'

  'Lunch? What are you doing for lunch?'

  'The tiffin-wallah should be here in some time.' Jatin looked at his watch.

  Tiffin-wallahs, the uninterrupted lunch delivery service in Mumbai since 1880.

  Almost two hundred thousand lunch boxes were collected from people's residences, or caterers, and delivered to their offices at lunch hour. Which club did Jatin Singh belong to? Did his wife pack his lunch or his mother? Or did he depend on food from some caterer?

  'You're most welcome to join, there's always enough food for more than one person,' Jatin offered sincerely.

  'Thanks, but I'll order something in my room.'

  Vikram updated Rita on the conversation at Lele's office from his car and carried on to Mahim to see the deceased's ex-wife. He tried the Dubai number a few times, but the phone was not reachable. Possibly the person was on a flight back to Dubai? Now, manoeuvring his non-air-conditioned jeep in the Mumbai traffic where vehicles crawled bumper-to-bumper at 5 kmph, he arrived at Crawford Market after 3 p.m. The back of his shirt was so drenched it looked like he had a shower wearing it. He spent ten minutes standing with his back directly facing the air-conditioning unit. Relieved, the antennae moving again, the labouring ant marched to Ops Room. Rita and Jatin, having had their lunch, were already present. Vikram ran through his detailed notes to apprise the other two of the day’s findings. 'The call, which Lele's personal assistant so enthusiastically described, came from a Dubai mobile number which I've tried many times, but there is no response.'

  'It could well be a business associate travelling to India. If the caller wanted to be discreet, he or she would have certainly blocked the Caller ID. Anyway, Jatin has asked for detail call logs. Let's see if there are more calls from the same number or any other numbers lately. We'll ask someone to call all numbers listed in his contact list on the mobile phone at any rate. Have we got Lele's phone instrument yet?' Rita peeked at the clock on the wall. 4 p.m.

  'Not yet, but it should be here anytime now.'

  'What about his ex-wife?'

  'I saw her — Priti — on the way here. The divorce, it seems, happened under some really hostile circumstances. Initially, she wasn't even willing to speak about Lele, and I had to coerce her. She was indifferent to his death — no waterworks, thankfully. She doesn't believe he would have left anything to her in his will, and claims she doesn't want anything either. She got all that was rightfully hers at the time of divorce, though with his death the alimony would stop. But, she runs a small clothing boutique and looks financially comfortable. They never met since, not even once. Despite all that, she admitted Adit Lele wasn't a ruffian and he didn't deserve what he got in the end.' Vikram closed his notebook shut.

  'Any other relatives?’

  'No parents. Just one brother who moved to Australia in the early-Nineties. I urged Priti to visit the morgue at Lilavati Hospital to formally identify the corpse. Arranged for a car from the local police station to take her there.'

  'That’s brilliant work, Vikram. Any friends?'

  'Yes. Got a list of some close friends and business associates.'

  'Any registered will?'

  'Yes, the personal assistant thinks...knows he had one, but wasn't aware where it was.'

  'If we do not hear from anyone by tomorrow afternoon, we should get a search warrant for his office.' Rita looked at Jatin, who took note.

  'I've got some report too,' Jatin said, securing the top of his pen. 'Adit Lele had only one vice — womanising. No drugs, if you do not count alcohol as a drug, which, too, he took in moderation most of the time. No criminal record, did not own a gun, at least not legally.

  Did not owe anyone money, did not loan any money. No known enemies in personal life, no business rivals. Basically, a nondescript guy who minded his own business, so to speak.'

  'But still, he managed to offend someone enough to kill him.'

  'That's true.'

  'I have a nagging feeling it's got to be an ex-boyfriend of some girl he'd been nasty with,' Vikram had decided.


  'So we've got nothing thus far,’ Rita voiced. 'The only solace is that the media has been kind to us by relegating the news to a small column on local pages in the afternoon editions. I have my one-on-one meeting with Mr Joshi first thing tomorrow morning and I'll mention the case to him, lest he hasn't seen his e-mails. I've created a folder on the shared drive. Please key in all the notes of this enquiry today. I am expecting reports from the autopsy and forensic units tomorrow.'

  8:00 p.m. The MTNL provided the list of all incoming and outgoing calls made from Lele's home and office numbers. Barring the last call from the Dubai number at his office, which his secretary had already told Vikram about, there was a call from the same number, at Lele's residence, at 9:53 p.m. the same evening, which had lasted less than three minutes. There was a time when MTNL — and every telephone exchange in the country — charged subscribers a fixed sum for three minutes, and in blocks of single minutes thereafter; the technology of voice transmission might have moved into twenty-first century, but the exchanges still calculated call times in same chunks. A two-minute-fifty-five second call could well be an eleventh-hour business message; a twenty-second call could be for a final seduction. But both would be registered as three-minute-calls.

  Rita looked at Vikram, who tried the Dubai number yet again and put it on speaker: ‘The number you are trying to contact is currently out of reach. Please try after some time.’ The same message, apparently, was repeated in Arabic before the call got disconnected. No option given to leave a voice mail.