by Vish Dhamija
'Victor, I think the accomplice in the Brussels murder did exactly that.'
'Do we have any evidence?'
'Precisely the reason I called at this hour. There was a lady that could have hired a motorbike from Germany for the commute—'
'A woman?'
Sexist.
'Yes. I can send you all the details and photographs. I'd like you to use your resources to check if that was the case.'
'I'll get this checked tomorrow at first light, Rita. Send me the details.'
They traded exasperations and agreed to touch base in the morning.
Rita made a note to check if Kitty Varghese even had a valid driving licence for a motorcycle. With that thought she shut her computer once again, finished her shot of Jim and hoped it would induce some somnolence in her anxiety-filled interminable night.
Nene, Vikram and Jatin had all read the urgent email Rita had sent the night before to meet early in the Ops Room on Wednesday. She hadn't divulged either her surmise or compiled a list of tasks in the mail, but all four were in the office at 7:30. Nene, as always, had picked up much needed hot coffees in Styrofoam cups on the way.
Rita's eyes felt gritty, reminding her of the sleepless night she'd had. She took fifteen minutes to update the team on the inferences she had drawn the night before. Her luck in finding out about the Cayman Islands, her speculation that it might be the destination, given that it provided residency at a cost.
'The reason we missed it is because the Cayman Islands aren't listed as a single country, they're a cluster of three separate island countries.' Rita waited for the guys to digest the complexity. 'I got lucky, guys. And thank you Jatin for sending me the email about the reckless motorcyclist last night.'
'I'm sorry I couldn't do that simple thing earlier, but—'
'No, I think the delay was appropriate. Had the email come at some other time it might not have set me off in the direction, who knows?'
The guys sipped their coffee and listened intently.
'The only fracture in our theory till now was how was it possible for one person to accomplish the Brussels burglary and get away. And we kept looking for another guy besides Honey Singh. We never thought it could have been Kitty—'
'But she was in Germany at the time, wasn't she?'
'She was and she wasn't. I checked on Google Maps and then with Victor that any motorcyclist — and the person does not even need to be reckless — can do the return journey twice in seven hours plus. I bet it was Kitty.'
Mouths gaped and closed. Eyes widened, eyebrows raised and dropped.
'Jatin — check the alibi reports we have on Kitty Varghese. Check what time the fashion show ended in the evening, and what time the group dissembled and retreated to their respective rooms, specifically on April 2nd evening.'
Nod.
'Vikram, could you check with the licencing authorities if Kitty Varghese has a motorcycle licence. Also, please check if she has a motorcycle?'
Vikram didn't waste a minute. He picked up his coffee and left on the double.
'And Nene, Mr Handlebar Raja is not on the job any longer. I want you to organise twenty-four/seven surveillance on both Honey Singh and Kitty Varghese. Ideally, it should be oblivious to them, but I don't care if our guys are spotted. Any diversion either of them takes from their usual routines today, they should call you.'
The guys left for their respective assignments, and Rita decided it was time to fill in the case log and go meet Sexy personally: a plenary verbal update to the Commissioner before requesting him to call the CBI headquarters in New Delhi to dispatch a guy to the Cayman Islands' High Commission in Chankyapuri.
***
Sexy sat behind the vast desk in his office. Cool, casual and calm demeanour, not a hair out place, which wasn't abnormal when you only moved directly from a chauffeur driven air-conditioned car to an air-conditioned office. His hair pomaded with some matt paste. Sedate. Like he'd jaywalked out of a meditation. Panache personified. Rita wondered if his hair ever got ruffled, like when he was at the golf course.
'Good morning, Miss Ferreira,' he said jubilantly.
Cheerful mood.
'Good morning, sir.'
'My assistant expressed a few minutes ago that you wanted to consult me urgently. What can I do to facilitate?'
Rita narrated the whole case without the big man interrupting, thinking that Sexy might term the entire investigation as botched or as some phantasmagoria: the murderer was Honey Singh, then his double that was non-existent came into the picture and now it was Honey Singh again!
'Ingenious,' Sexy summarised her long spiel. 'Brilliant subterfuge, a picaresque feat, we have to admit. So, since he got captured on the camera he fabricated a fairy tale of a private detective following him on behest of an unknown client only to discover a non-existent double. We have to acknowledge his originality that he let us discover the duplicate through a third party to make you feel clever when he was. Essentially, bamboozling you...'
'Yes sir. And he succeeded in bambooz....' Rita stopped herself; it wasn't the smartest thing to repeat Sexy's lexicon; it never sounded natural from anyone else's mouth, '...fooling us for quite some time by subtly propagating the theory of an old friend Veer Singh who he and his girlfriend had fallen out with.'
'And what makes you contemplate they're fleeing the country?'
'It was a bit surprising for someone to be looking at holiday brochures of a foreign country when that someone does not have a valid passport.'
Rita was right. Most cases crack open because something does not fit. One wrong piece in a puzzle and it stood out like an Ogre's thumb.
'I have to give it to you, Miss Ferreira. I'm glad I took the right decision to hand this case to you.'
'I got lucky, sir.'
For the first time since Rita had known him, Sexy stood up and shook hands to commend her. 'I'll call Delhi right away,' he said.
***
Luck is like salt. It is not a condiment kept somewhere in the spice cupboard only to be pulled out when required. You need salt in every meal. You need luck in every investigation like you need it in almost everything you do. In the race between smart criminals and police it is luck that decides the final outcome. The final roll of dice got Rita and her team the six they so desperately needed.
All the searches came up positive.
Kitty Varghese had a motorcycle driving licence issued in Mumbai. She even owned a Kawasaki Ninja 650R, which she had disposed of only two months ago.
Victor called back to say that a woman by the name of Shivani had hired a motorcycle from a local motorbike rental on the evening of April 1st and returned it on the evening of April 3rd. The odometer records confirmed that the hirer had travelled a little over nine hundred kilometres. This meant she had possibly done the journey twice, on two consecutive nights, to arrange for everything at Brussels. What's more, CCTV images — B&W, through the helmet visor and extremely blurry even after professional clean up — showed that Shivani was Kitty Varghese. This wasn't conjecture; this was evidence.
The Cayman Island High Commission had issued no visa in any category to anyone called Honey Singh or Kitty Varghese. However, with the profiles that were sent across to them there was an exact match with a couple: Mrs Shivani Malhotra and Mr Ajay Malhotra. Bingo!
There was one unusual pattern reported though. Neither Honey Singh nor Kitty Varghese had ventured out of their respective homes today.
'It's three in the afternoon on a Wednesday,' Rita looked at the three men in the Ops Room. 'I can understand Kitty having a lie-in, but why wouldn't Honey Singh go to work today? Call one of your guys, Nene, and ask them to go to his office right away. If he isn't there, ask someone to go to his home in Andheri and check. This isn't good news.'
Rita asked Jatin to prepare the arrest papers.
'Vikram, ask someone to get in touch with four or five travel agents. I can't imagine there is a direct flight to any of the three Cayman Islands. We need to know
from various sources which possible connection these guys might take.'
Vikram made notes.
'And we have the names of the passengers, maybe we'll strike lucky and find the bookings from some travel agent. It must all be interconnected now, mustn't it?'
'Not sure ma'am, but if we knew possible routes, and the airline then I'm pretty sure we can find them.'
CHATRAPATI SHIVAJI INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT 1700 HOURS
'I'm tired now,' Kitty said looking around.
'Already?' We have another few hours before we check and go through security,' explained Honey Singh.
'I think you're paranoid, getting to the airport a full day before the flight. No one can even imagine we managed to pull this caper, much less believe it or prove it. Plus they have no evidence. Why would anyone come after us?'
'You never know. We hadn't imagined they'd ever get so close either, but the DCP and her team did. Eliminating Veer Singh backfired; there was no other possible fall guy so they could close in at any minute. And I didn't want them to seize us when we were getting to the airport. Best to come here in the cover of night — at least, now both of us are in the airport…'
'What did you tell your mom?'
'Nothing whatsoever. Telling her might have endangered her and the plan. If she doesn't know anything, she's safe. I'll only call after we land at the final destination. I might send for her after a year or two — when all this heat goes away. I've left enough money for her to cover expenses.'
'Have you checked the money?'
'All secured in private banks on Grand Cayman. I'm carrying all the relevant papers. Don't you worry, Mrs Malhotra.'
'First thing we do when we get there is to get married.'
'I can't wait.'
***
POLICE HEADQUARTERS, CRAWFORD MARKET, MUMBAI 1930 HOURS
It was now evident that Honey Singh and Kitty Varghese were missing from their respective residences since the night before. Absconding, Rita surmised. They had stressed the suspects enough for them to panic, to make a move, to pick their stash and run. So someone finally got their panties in a wad. Honey's mother had told the police that he hadn't come home from work the night before and hadn't called either, which was not unusual. He did that many times.
Must be with some friend or with that girl, she had claimed.
The local police guy that went into Honey Singh's office had slapped the little ruffian Titu a few times, but the statement had remained what he had originally given to the police. Sahib did not come to office today. He was made to call Honey Singh's mobile a few times but it went straight to voicemail. It wasn't common for the sahib to not inform him, but it wasn't something that had never happened before. Honey Singh didn't owe Titu any explanation if he didn't attend the office.
Rita was tense. A torrent of expletives flooded her mind. They had finally uncovered the whole mystery only to discover that the perpetrators had successfully got away. They had been late by mere hours. She glowered in her defeat. There was still a chance to halt the travel midway at London if they had left the Indian shores. She could call up Victor and ask Interpol to intervene, take over the case and bring down Sishir Singh aka Honey Singh aka Ajay Malhotra and his floozy. But it wouldn't be the same as making the arrest herself. And it would be difficult to extradite the killers of Veer Singh: the Belgian Police would certainly try them for Jogani's murder before anything else. It would still be a success but a victory is something else. It's when you hold the trophy.
Vikram rushed in with the possible travel itineraries to the Cayman Islands.
The flights to Cayman would have layovers in London or Paris, and Miami, unless the phoney Malhotras had deliberately selected an offbeat route.
Jet Airways, British Airways, Air France and United made the best and fastest connections.
If they hadn't flown out already, the earliest flight was only after midnight, barely five and half-hours away.
Security and check-in was two and half-hours away.
'OK… here's what we do. Call up the travel agent to check all these four airlines if we have Mrs Shivani Malhotra and/or Mr Ajay Malhotra. They might not be booked on the same flight, so be careful they do not miss.'
***
CHATRAPATI SHIVAJI INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT 2130 HOURS
Jet Airways opened the check-in for Flight 9W118 to London Heathrow a tad early. First in the queue were Mrs and Mr Malhotra. Kitty alias Shivani Malhotra stayed behind her husband looking around. She, being a known face that could be recognised, was best not standing in front of the airline check-in guy who could see a discrepancy in the name if he acknowledged her.
Checked-in.
Boarding passes issued.
Without wasting any time, the couple passed through security at 2010 hours.
***
POLICE HEADQUARTERS, CRAWFORD MARKET, MUMBAI 2345 HOURS
No Malhotras were booked on any sector on Air France or British Airways.
Rita and team still hadn't heard back from United and Jet Airways. It seemed there was some technical glitch and the cumulative bookings for the entire flight from various sources weren't coming through.
United returned empty at five minutes to midnight.
Jet Airways confirmed that Mrs Shivani Malhotra and Mr Ajay Malhotra were booked on Flight 9W118 to London Heathrow.
'What time does the flight leave?'
'In twenty-five minutes, ma'am.'
'Jatin, Vikram, Nene — call up every police station in the vicinity of the airport. Ask them to get to the airport authorities to offload these two passengers. You know the drill.'
***
CHATRAPATI SHIVAJI INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT 0045 HOURS
The gates had been closed a while back. The flight attendants had finished the safety briefing.
'Ten more minutes,' Shivani Malhotra put her hand in her husband's hand as they sat in the window and aisle seats in economy with no-one in between. A last minute ticket wasn't available in the upper classes. They were booked in First Class from London onwards.
'I always knew the risk, but this got close.'
The aeroplane was taxiing on the asphalt, making its way to the runway.
Minutes to departure.
***
BANDRA-WORLI SEA LINK 0046 HOURS
Rita was in the front seat, with Nene driving; the red beacon on the roof, siren blazing. Vikram and Jatin were behind them, followed by another police car full of uniformed cohort.
'Good evening, sir,' Rita finally got through to Sexy on his unlisted home phone. 'Apologies, but it is an emergency, sir. Our suspects are on a flight leaving Mumbai in the next ten minutes. We need to stop the flight.' Rita gave him the details.
'Let me call in my debts. Call me as soon as you get there.'
***
CHATRAPATI SHIVAJI INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
0050 HOURS
The engines had started. The pilot had asked the flight personnel to take their seats.
That was when the call came in from Air-Traffic Control.
The Commissioner of Mumbai Police has no legal jurisdiction over Air-Traffic Control. But here's the thing: you do not say “no” to him under normal circumstances. And if that Police Commissioner is Sanjay Saxena you do not say “no” to him under any kind of circumstances. Or the next call will be from the Home Minister of the State. Sexy could press pause on Mumbai like you pressed pause on a film on your Tata Sky or your DVD player.
The Air-Traffic Control officer-in-charge had made all excuses not to stop an aircraft on the runway, as that would mean many subsequent flights would be delayed. He had begged.
Sorry, that is not an option: was the response.
The pilot had protested vehemently, stifling the epithets he had in his throat. If they missed this take-off slot, he calculated, they might be put at the back of the queue. Why, what's the problem? He had asked, but he got no response. He was told to declare “technical glitch”, keep the doors locked and wait for further
orders. Not negotiable.
0052 HOURS
The police sirens were silenced before the approach. The local Assistant Superintendent of Police on the scene had asked his team to switch off the red beacons on the vehicles too. Three police vehicles were parked in front of the aircraft that only the pilots could see. Everyone waited till Rita and Nene followed by the other units arrived at the runway.
The time was 0117 hours. The police had enough evidence to make the arrests.
The Reason Behind The Reason
The police machinery took over. It took six officers and two advocates three days to break Honey Singh and Kitty Varghese.
DCP Rita Ferreira's theory was on the mark. They admitted to the earlier burglaries in Mumbai and Delhi, the multi-million Euro heist in Brussels, the culpable homicide of Ron Jogani and the ensuing hired killing of Veer Singh — another collateral damage. In fact it was while selling the diamonds stolen in Mumbai and Delhi that Honey Singh had discovered the intricacies of diamond buying from Brussels. He researched further to determine and shortlist five wholesale buyers. He set up a fake firm in Japan — website, PO Box, email IDs — and sent emails to these five key players inviting them to Japan for cheaper diamonds than they paid for the same quality in Brussels. One of the five was Ron Jogani. Jogani responded saying he was off to Brussels in the first week of April, but he would like to visit Japan in the later part of the year to have a look. That was it. That little correspondence was all it took Honey Singh to get into Ron Jogani's computer. From then on every email Jogani sent or received, every website he visited was tracked by Honey & Co.
The murder of Ron Jogani had sired the subsequent events, which propagated the despicability when Rita's team got involved and started knocking on their doors. The original idea was never to flee Mumbai or India. On the early bereavement of Honey's father Honey Singh and his mother had been fleeced of their inheritance by so-called family members. Honey Singh, deprived of the riches that were rightfully his, needed money so he could get back at them by anonymously buying back his father's business and reducing the others into a life of penury and penance: an equally nasty plan to wreck vengeance. And the means he wanted to use to achieve it further aggrandised what wasn't a noble end-goal at any rate. The whole yarn of Honey Singh clandestinely working on some software that could change the face of financial accounting and bring in millions was fabricated. He was good at what he did — computer maintenance and writing simple computer programmes — but he wasn't a genius as he claimed to be; he did not have any outstanding epochal ideas that no one else had thought of. The story was a façade to legitimise the money if he succeeded — and he had, to some extent, gotten away; well, almost — in pocketing the millions. To what else would he have attributed his sudden inheritance? It was all thought through. The idea of fleeing was recent, premature. The Is hadn't been dotted. When Rita & Co. increased the heat, he shortlisted the places he could get away to without having to return. Research told him that getting to the Cayman Islands appeared straight as a rifle shot and well within reach.