Doosra: The Other One

by Vish Dhamija

  'So either he had an accomplice in Belgium or everything was immaculately planned in advance and delivered on time.'

  'What's your gut feel, ma'am? Do you think he or they'll get away with this?'

  'Devil is one lucky bastard, Vikram. If you took all the cases of significant crimes around the world into account I'd bet the criminals have escaped more times than the number of people police have ever caught. The statistics are always in favour of the Devil. Having said that, I think we have some good grasp now if we have identified Sishir Singh, and then a detective following him, who might, just might lead us somewhere.'

  The car turned left into the Lokhandwala complex. Rita noted that the place had developed an identity of its own. Nothing stark or discernibly different from other suburbs, but subtle changes in buildings and shops were evident. Lokhandwala, in Andheri West looked like an adopted child of Bandra — the grandness was perceptible. Some shops were closed. Sunday. Shutters down. Dentist. Chemist. Dry cleaner. Hairdresser. Since when did hairdressers close on Sundays? The newsagent, the bakery, the grocery store and the Paan-wallah were open. A bland array of grey shutters, some of them with colourful graffiti; mostly obscene but it still broke the insipidity. Funny how bad could, on occasions, be good.

  Vikram explained to Rita that Nene had called in a favour from one of his buddies in Andheri Police who had notified Mr Joginder Raja that there might be some personal work from someone higher up the police tree that needed carrying out surreptitiously, and they would visit him. 'He has been asked to wait at home for us.'

  ***

  Always hungry for new business, and ever eager to oblige the police — life was always give and take, wasn't it? — Joginder Raja had cleared his office, bidden his wife to standby for coffees and samosas when the police-client arrived. He made an additional effort to dress up in an ironed shirt and trousers rather than his usual unkempt field attire. So a senior police officer had a not so honest spouse? He chuffed.

  ***

  Joginder Raja lived in Trishul Apartments — a lot of Bollywood lived in Lokhandwala — so he wasn't doing too badly as a private investigator or he certainly had some other business to fund his lifestyle. Vikram showed his badge to the watchman who let them in without any questions. Rita took in the area. Sunday morning: there weren't many people outdoors, but the sound of the Gypsy engine did make a few people turn to see what seemed to be a couple in it. Nothing anyone should give a second thought to.

  A chance thought hit Rita as she got out of the vehicle. Joginder Raja — a private investigator — shadowing Honey Singh meant someone knew something she and her team didn't. Not yet in any event. The predominant question was: who was that someone and what was that something?

  Rita was already been apprised of the signature moustache, but the handlebar moustache Mr Joginder Raja carried on his extra-large frame was something no one could have prepared her enough for when he opened his apartment door on the fourth floor. It seemed the guy spent a lot of time and gel on the damn thing. Irrefutably, if one were to describe private investigator Joginder Raja in a word, it would be Handlebar. Funny, when a solitary feature dominates everything else. Wouldn't all the other features on his face feel deprived, Rita thought.

  The guy beamed a wide smile, but it was scarcely visible from behind the hirsute curtain on his lips.

  First impression: he looked like someone who had thrown the dice and the fucking dice itself had gone missing. And he waited for the dice to return. Talk about losers. Should she, shouldn't she give her professional credentials to this man?

  'I'm private investigator Joginder Raja.' He stretched his fat arm forward to Rita.

  'DCP Rita Ferreira.' No point in hiding it.

  'Senior Inspector Vikram Patil.'

  Raja acknowledged the hierarchy with a deep swallow. His Adam's apple jerked up and skated down. Rita could picture his mental cogs moving.

  'I've heard about you ma'am.' His voice betrayed the size.

  Closet lush. Still single. Sleeps around. What had he heard?

  'I don't acknowledge anything.'

  Smile.

  Rita had given up getting troubled by what people thought or said about her; what with an honorary degree in screwed up relationships?

  'I followed the serial murder case in Mumbai. I never thought you'd need me.'

  Rita just smiled.

  'Oh, come in.' Raja realised his clients were still outside the house. 'I never had clients who were in the police, and to be honest, I'm a bit surprised...' he stopped mid-sentence as he gestured them in.

  Rita and Vikram sat in the living room. The room was large, with a television, stereo, leather sofas, and some vague prints on the walls. Nothing of note. In the background Rita could see a dimly lit hallway and more than a couple of doors on each side that, most probably, led to the kitchen and bedrooms. There was a door at the rear that opened onto a small balcony that carried the potpourri of plants in pots. There was one family picture that showed a younger Mrs and Mr Raja and two boys. The quiet in the house probably suggested that the boys had moved out.

  Good. Two smaller Handlebars were breathing and breeding somewhere else in the world.

  'Would you want to come to the office or is this comfortable enough?'

  So one of the doors in the hallway was the office.

  'Your house your rules. Whatever is fine with you Mr Raja.'

  'I think we should sit here, it's more spacious and, when I need to speak to one of you in solitude I'll take you to my office one by one.'

  Oh no, he must think we are cheating on our respective spouses? Or our spouses are cheating on us!

  'That won't be required, Mr Raja. We can sit here.' Rita didn't want to ask why they would be required to speak to him in solitude.

  'Tea or coffee?'

  'We are in no rush. Please sit down, let's talk and we'll ask for coffee when we need.'

  The three sat down. Raja pulled out a note pad and a pen. The poor guy still seemed to believe he was getting new business.

  'How may I help you two?'

  'Are you a private detective, Mr Raja?' Rita started the conversation.

  'Yes.'

  'What current cases are you working on?'

  'Is that required DCP Sahiba?'

  'I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't.'

  'Nothing big, just a small enquiry.'

  So Handlebar wasn't going to play easy.

  'What was the last big case you had?'

  'Mr Widhani's.'

  'The Mr Widhani's of Widhani Industries?'

  Widhani Industries were one of the big business houses that produced and sold tyres. A national brand.

  'Yes, DCP Ferreira.'

  'And what did he want done?'

  'His daughter's husband, now ex-husband... is that relevant?'

  'Maybe. I can't say yes or no unless I hear what it was, can I?'

  'It was the husband, I mean the ex-husband cheating on her and squandering Mr Widhani's money.'

  'And you helped take pictures of him in compromising situations and facilitated the divorce.'

  'So to speak.'

  There were always a thousand distractions to digress from the case in hand. Discipline in a detective was mandatory.

  'Are you sure you aren't working on any big case at the moment?'

  'What is this? You want me to work on your case or not?' Raja sounded slightly agitated. 'I'm a private investigator. People trust me. I cannot tell you about any of the cases I'm currently working on. That would be wrong on my part.'

  'Let's not get too sanctimonious, Mr Raja.'

  'How would you feel if I asked you about what cases you're currently working on?'

  'We're currently investigating a murder. See I told you.'

  'Whose murder?'

  'Mr Raja, I'm being polite. I could have called you to the Andheri Police station and asked the same questions.'

  The guy was somewhere between a mediocre and a moron.

  'I
know enough people here to be scared about being questioned by the police. And, the police aren't above the law. I know all about the police, their faults and I even know a lot about you. What does that tell you?'

  'One, that you have a lot of time, second you have access to the Internet and third, you know about Google. This is a homicide investigation, and non-cooperation in a police investigation is a crime. Mr Raja, I hope you comprehend that I could make your life so miserable that you can forget about your business, forget you'll ever get another call from any client. I'll wipe you and your business out from the city, and wherever you go next. If that's clear let's proceed.'

  'You can't do that. You're just threatening for the sake of it.'

  'You know, you disappoint me. I expected someone like you to have done his homework on me. I can do this. Did Google search not being up how crazy I am?'

  The hubris melted. Handlebar appeared a tad frightened, though he made a manly effort to not show it. A bit of hostility emerged but disappeared immediately. But it had lasted long enough to be perceptible. Masculinity swallowed. Being rapped by a female? He merely turned out to be a poodle dressed up as a pit bull despite his size and demeanour. The eyes were not miles away from welling up. Pure fear. He shut up rather than letting his voice give away his fear.

  'So, I request you to calm down and relax. Let's have a coffee and begin again.'

  Raja walked to the hallway and called out his wife, told her to get three coffees. His voice cracked a bit; a typical consequence when the trachea dries up due to anxiety or intimidation or some other unpleasant emotion. He returned to the living room and sat down once again.

  Mrs Raja was like Joginder's identical twin, minus the moustache, of course. She came in with the tray, said hello, left the coffees and quickly went back to wherever she had come from.

  'What is this regarding?'

  'Do you know someone called Sishir Singh?' Rita took a sip and began all over again.

  'No. Should I?'

  Rita and Vikram were both trained investigators. Trained investigators only believed something when the words matched the countenance of the person voicing them. Raja wasn't meandering, he was telling the truth.

  'Never heard that name before?'

  'No. Should I have? What am I missing? What are you not telling me?'

  'Mr Joginder Raja, I'm the one asking questions here. A simple yes or no will be sufficient. I promise I'll answer your questions if you answer mine honestly. Honestly is the operative word here, remember.'

  Raja nodded and took a noisy slurp from his cup.

  'Who is Honey Singh?'

  Raja looked deflated.

  'Do I —'

  'Yes, Mr Raja you do…' Rita cut in between before he could think of an annoying objection. 'Who is Honey Singh and why are you following him?'

  'A client wants to know some things about him.'

  'What kind of intelligence about Honey Singh have you been passing to your client?'

  'What the subject does, where he goes, who he meets?'

  'You've snooped into his office too?'

  'I couldn't give myself away by going there.'

  'Not even under the cover of the night?'

  'Wouldn't it be locked?'

  'Are you saying you never picked a lock?' Rita smiled.

  Handlebar looked away. He didn't want to answer. Didn't want to lie. Didn't want the truth out either. Rita recognised his dilemma.

  'No, I've never been into Honey Singh's office.'

  'Why not?'

  'Wasn't part of the brief. I don't think my client wants me to go that far. He seems happy with daily logs on Honey Singh.'

  'Who is your client?'

  'I don't know.'

  Rita and Vikram exchanged glances.

  'You don't know who your client is?' It was Vikram.

  'That's what I said. I don't know.'

  'So there is a client who's asked you to follow Honey Singh, provide him with details, but you have no inkling who he is?'

  'That's correct.'

  'You just said, “He seemed happy with daily logs...” so how do you know the client is a he and not a she if you don't know the client?'

  'The first call to me was from a man. Subsequently, all communication is from someone who uses Mister Singh in his sign off.'

  Another Mr Singh in the story.

  'But that could be a fake signature.'

  'It could well be, but I have no reason to doubt it.'

  'When was that?'

  'A little over three months ago.'

  Rita mentally calculated that the spying on Honey Singh started around the same time Jogani was murdered. The date should confirm the same. Another coincidence?

  'Fairly recent then. Do you remember the date?'

  'Not off the top of my head, but I can give you the date from my records.'

  'Could you check please?'

  Raja walked into the hallway and disappeared. Rita and Vikram looked at each other in amazement.

  Raja returned with the date. 'April 4th.'

  Two days after Ron Jogani was murdered in Belgium someone had put surveillance on Honey Singh. A moment passed. A full moment of mental calculations, reflecting what they were up against, but neither uttered a word. Neither, it appeared, knew what to say. How uncanny was this?

  'You've been spying on him for over three months now and Honey Singh doesn't know about it? He hasn't spotted you?'

  'I'm good, I blend in.'

  You blend in with that handlebar moustache? Talk about gloating. Sexy would have called him a cockalorum: a self-important little man.

  Rita stopped herself from commenting on his blending skills.

  'How does the client communicate with you and how do you get paid?'

  Raja explicated that he received all instructions via email. The contract was also digitally signed. All reports that Raja gathered, including pictures, were to be uploaded to an email ID created by the client Mr Singh. Raja wrote the emails, attached what he had and saved them in the DRAFTS folder. Mr Singh had the password, so he would read the draft or download the stuff and then delete it so Raja would know that the message had been read. No email had ever been transmitted. The client's instructions were very clear — he didn't want Raja to keep a copy of anything. No trail.

  All under the radar in case someone was watching.

  The initial lump sum payment was made in cash. No, Mr Singh didn't come to deliver it. The money was left in Raja's locked letterbox one night. No, Raja didn't know in advance which night he would receive the payment. Yes, he had tried keeping a watch but he had missed whoever had come to drop the payment.

  'Do you know how long Mr Singh wants Honey Singh to be followed?'

  'The initial contract is for six months, but extendable if I'm required for more time.'

  'Bizarre, isn't it?' Rita looked at Vikram, like she was only making a side comment.

  'But I'm paid well for it.'

  'Yes, I get that part. But don't you think it's a bit odd?'

  'What is odd?'

  'Is it too much to grasp that you don't know who your client is and why he's paying you?'

  'No.'

  'And that the said client might be a criminal and paying you blood money?' For some strange, unknown reason Rita believed Joginder Raja. There was no way Handlebar could have concocted this ludicrous yarn. It was someone else's brain. She shook her head in frustration. They were dealing with some real smart cookies here. 'Do you not believe me?'

  'It hardly matters whether I believe you or not, but I can assure you that no one else will. Too neat and convenient.'

  'I am not fibbing.'

  'I didn't say that exactly but everything sounds a bit fishy, suspicious doesn't it?'

  'What?'

  'This whole investigation for a mysterious client.'

  'Why?'

  Handlebar wasn't being difficult. He was plain thick.

  'Reverse the roles and think. Do you know how ridiculous it all s
ounds?'

  'Certainly sounds ridiculous, but—' Raja blurted out.

  'Like I said.'

  Rita gesticulated to Vikram who took over. He questioned Raja for about twenty minutes about Sishir Singh, cleverly asked circumventing questions about diamonds and burglary, but Handlebar didn't have a clue. Joginder Raja was stupid. Not crafty. No goings-on.

  Rita sat there, switched off from the conversation — she was confident Vikram would do a great job by himself — and reflected on the issue. All Raja was carrying on was an extramural investigation. Whoever his client was, he was definitely on to something. Something didn't make sense. But then everything didn't have to make sense to everyone and not every time. The client didn't want Raja to know who he was, and he was taking ample precautions not to reveal himself. Emails sent and received could be tracked. Emails left in DRAFTS folder were not transmitted, hence not traceable.

  'We want you to carry on as usual Mr Raja. Exactly as before. There should never be any mention of this visit to your client or anyone. However, anything you submit to your client from now on has to be approved by us.'

  'You can't do this.' Raja uttered pleadingly. The voice didn't sound like he believed in his own statement.

  'Yes I can — ' Rita raised her hand to stop him from interrupting — 'and I'm asking you, requesting you to help us. We need to get to your client. We think he is paramount in our homicide enquiry.'

  'But I am a very good investigator. I can find out who the client is if you want. I didn't do it because I didn't want to waste time and energy on it.'

  Had this guy fallen on his head when he was a kid? Was he so dumb to not follow that compared to a case with Interpol he was not even enamel on a shark's tooth?

  'Let me explain one last time, Mr Raja... this is a homicide investigation. Besides it being classified information it might also mean putting your life as risk. Please do as I say.'

  Nod.

  'How often do you submit your report?'

  'Every Saturday.'

  'So you submitted it last night?'

  'Yes, and he had read and deleted it by the morning.'

  'Did you notice anything unusual about Honey Singh's day yesterday?'