by Ruby Gupta
‘Could Amar’s jealousy have escalated to hatred and could he have murdered his father?’ Shantanu said.
‘Wh… What are you saying?’ Dinkar looked at his friend in surprise.
‘You must admit it could be possible. It must not have been easy to grow up in the shadow of someone like Rajvir. Imagine the pressure it must have put on a young boy growing up. The constant comparisons, the pressure to measure up, and the constant media glare. And finally, the failure …’ Shantanu said.
‘Yes. It must have been tough. Enough to unhinge anyone,’ Dinkar conceded.
‘So, it could be possible for Amar to be the killer?’ Shantanu asked.
‘Well, put this way, I suppose it could be,’ Dinkar nodded.
‘Sir, one of our informers is here with some crucial information regarding the Rajvir case,’ one of the sub-inspectors informed Inspector Bhogle.
Bhogle was sitting in his office, going over the post-mortem report of Rajvir and reviewing the notes in his case diary, wondering about his next step.
He had just returned from Xanadu, after showing the split-second security clip of the unidentified peculiar-shouldered fellow entering the deceased’s study to all the members of the Rajvir family. None of them could identify him.
This was really strange.
How could it be possible that no one could recall who the person was? In their defence, the clip was so brief that it was hardly possible to pinpoint the person – more so, since only his back was visible, and that too at an angle. Presumably, it was one of the lesser-known guests, or some acquaintance; someone not familiar to the family members. Why would such a person enter Rajvir Kapoor’s study so late in the night – early morning rather– in fact right at the time when the murder took place?
‘Sir, should I call the informer?’ the sub-inspector said.
‘Is he a reliable fellow?’ Inspector Bhogle asked.
‘Yes sir. His information is always correct.’
‘So, what information does he have?’
‘He says he will only tell it to the bada sahib,’ the sub-inspector was apologetic.
‘Okay, bring him in.’
A while later, a thin, straggly-looking, bearded fellow walked in.
He seemed hardly the type to have authentic information. But since he was here, he might as well talk to him, thought Bhogle. ‘Yes, tell me,’ he said.
Taken aback at the direct question, the fellow hesitated.
‘Go on, I don’t have all day,’ Bhogle was tempted to throw him out.
‘Er, yes, Sir. I overheard a conversation in a bar some nights ago that a supari was given for Rajvir Kapoor’s murder,’ the chap divulged in a rush.
‘What?’ Inspector Bhogle was taken aback. He could not believe what he had just heard.
‘Are you saying that you heard someone having got a contract to kill Rajvir Kapoor? The superstar Rajvir Kapoor?’ Bhogle repeated, just to be sure of the facts.
‘Yes, Sir. Exactly,’ the fellow’s voice held more confidence now.
‘Okay. Now tell me properly,’ Bhogle leaned forward with interest.
‘Like I just said, Sir. I was at this bar. Sitting next to me were two men. One of them who had a scar on his forehead, was telling the other about how he was offered a lot of money to kill Rajvir Kapoor.’
‘Then? Did he do it?’ Bhogle asked.
‘Well, actually, he said he was not sure whether he had done it. But since Rajvir was dead, he thought he must have done it. More so because he was paid some money in advance and the rest later. So, since he got the money, he only must have done it,’ the chap seemed proud at his logical deduction.
‘Do you know these two people? Where could we find them?’
‘The person who did it has already gone to hide in his village. But the other fellow is in town. Once I understood how important this information could be, I also found out where he works and lives,’ the fellow smiled greedily, knowing that he would get a definite reward for his trouble.
‘Take us to him,’ Bhogle got up decisively. This was the only lead he had had in days. It seemed to be exactly the breakthrough he had been praying for. He stroked his moustache happily.
Until now, all of Inspector Bhogle’s interrogations had led him nowhere. All the bigwigs with whom he had talked to at Xanadu, had given him no clue whatsoever.
All he had gathered was that, most – if not all – of Rajvir’s friends and acquaintances were jealous of him, and not really sorry at his death. Even though all of them did put on an act of being grief-stricken, the perspicacious inspector could easily see through them and gauge their real feelings.
But mere jealousy and physical presence at Xanadu could not be the basis of anything.
It certainly did not give him any clue about the person who could have murdered the star.
Even the family members could not be indicted based on the fact that they did not seem overly saddened by the death of the star. Lack of grief, which was mostly conjecture on his part, could not be conclusive proof against anyone for wanting the star dead. There had to be a clear motive.
Then, there was the fact of the murder weapon being so easily accessible. Forensic Ballistics had confirmed that the bullet found in the deceased’s skull was from the gun found at the scene of the crime; and that the same gun was used to commit the murder. Licence records obtained from Rajvir’s secretary had corroborated the fact that the star had purchased the gun several years ago.
Literally, anyone could have access to the gun and used it. Keeping a lethal loaded weapon in his study drawer! What was Rajvir Kapoor thinking? Admittedly, the drawer was kept locked. But the key to the locked drawer was carelessly kept in the next drawer.
Anyone familiar with Rajvir, or the family, or even the household help, would have known of this fact. Anyone could have easily taken out the gun and shot the film star at the opportune moment. The chance for committing the crime with ease was available to many. But which one of them had the motive to do so? This was the crux of the matter.
It was the strongest motive that would lead to solving the case, and not the strongest opportunity!
But now, he had a fresh lead. Hopefully, this informer would take him to real murderer and he would finally solve the case, Bhogle thought.
Chapter 8
It was 11 am.
The mood in the outer sitting room of Xanadu was sombre.
As pre-decided, all the family members had gathered there.
They were waiting for Mr. Kantilal, the trusted family solicitor. He was to reveal the details of the last will and testament of the late Rajvir Kapoor.
Everyone was lost in their own thoughts.
Pallavi sat pensively in her favourite chair, by the side of the large window that looked out on the street. The morning light that slanted across her sharp features added an enigmatic dimension to her countenance. Her expression was inscrutable. She was calm. She knew that she would be the major beneficiary of the will. That was the very least that she could expect, in return for giving her life and sacrificing her career for her husband and his son.
For a moment, her lips tightened, as her glance wandered to the purple kanjeevaram-clad Jyothika. Sitting protectively by her side was that – that damn Chandra Prakash. Why did he have to be a replica of Rajvir? She thought bitterly for the nth time.
Why did they have to be here? But then Kantilal had insisted that they be called. He had said that this was what Rajvir had wanted. So, she had no choice but to grit her teeth and tolerate their presence in her home. Thankfully, this would be the last time she would have to do so and then she would be rid of them, once for all.
Her gaze shifted to her only progeny. Amar was lost in his own world as usual, his expression blank and his eyes dull. Pallavi felt pensive. What could she do to rescue him from the empty world that he was slipping into? Why didn’t Remanika do something? After all, the wife could always do more than the mother. But no – not Remanika. Even now, she was busy f
licking imaginary dirt away from under her French-manicured nails.
Amar’s sister was no help either, Pallavi thought, as she glanced at Mridula. The latter looked back at her, expressionless as usual. She could never understand this girl. Why did Mridula never exhibit any animation? She was always vacuous, somewhat away from the real world. Neither joy, nor sorrow, seemed to touch her. At this time admittedly, her calm presence had been helpful. Of course, it was rather too much for her to expect Mridula to do something for Amar. He was only her step-brother. Besides, she herself had never supported the young Mridula either.
Although Pallavi had never been the proverbial evil step-mother, she had never been the loving, affectionate, mother-figure either. But how could she be faulted for that, Pallavi made a mental excuse for her own distant behaviour towards her step-daughter. She was barely nineteen when she had married Rajvir. As his wife, she found herself saddled with a five-year-old step-daughter. There was no way she could conjure up motherly feelings for the rather quiet, awkward-looking girl who glumly slunk about the corners of the house. Pallavi could hardly come to terms with being a wife, and to expect her to be a mother as well, was a bit too much. Gradually, Pallavi and Mridula had learnt to keep to themselves and live in their own worlds, even though they inhabited the same living space.
Girish Kapoor was getting increasingly bored with the waiting. It was not necessary for him to be here. Yet, he could not refuse Kantibhai. Perhaps it was just some formality, that demanded that he be present. Apart from that, he was quite sure that there was nothing in the will of his younger brother that concerned him. And that was the way he wanted it. Granted that Rajvir was fabulously rich. But, Girish too, was a billionaire many times over. His business was flourishing – had been for the past several decades. His empire spread across continents and showed no signs of a slowdown, despite the global recession. Anyway, this was his last day, so he should do his bit, as expected of him, before flying back to Singapore. He had done what was required of him as the older brother and only sibling of Rajvir. But he knew he was not really needed here. Rajvir’s family members were all supremely capable of taking care of themselves.
Mr. Kantilal walked in, interrupting everyone’s respective introspections. He carried a slim briefcase. Taking his place on a chair that faced everyone, he took out a large, A4 size envelope from his briefcase. As the silence around him deepened, he slit open the envelope and took out a sheaf of papers from within it. ‘A month back, my dear friend Rajvir called me to finalize his will,’ he said.
‘But I thought that he had made his will a couple of years ago?’ Pallavi looked puzzled.
‘Yes, he had. But he decided to scrap that and make a new one,’ Kantilal said.
‘Oh … and I was not told about it?’ Pallavi’s cheeks coloured.
Mr. Kantilal looked distressed.
There was an uncomfortable silence.
Mr. Kantilal cleared his throat and began reading.
Shorn of legalese, the new will left the majority of Rajvir’s movable and immovable assets to Pallavi and Amar.
This was in line with the old will.
Listening to the long list of assets that came to her and her son, Pallavi felt appeased. Rajvir had done the right thing by her after all, Pallavi thought.
Amar remained in his own world. He could not be bothered with what he got or did not get.
Rajvir had also bequeathed considerable property jointly to Amar and Remanika. Remanika knew that it was too much to hope that there would be something exclusively for her. She had had to be saddled with the Rajvir clan if she wanted to enjoy her share of assets.
Mr Kantilal continued with the new additions to the will. Rajvir had included his older brother in the new will and left a great deal to him, including certain items of emotional value.
Surprised and taken aback at this, Girish felt a surge of unexpectedly warm emotions within him for his younger brother. And to think that even though they had not been in touch, Rajvir had not only thought of him and left him some assets; but had taken the time, effort, and trouble to pick out sentimental stuff of their past and saved those too for him.
Did he need any more proof of how much his kid brother still cared for him?
This was just too sweet of Rajvir, Girish thought, as his nose reddened with the surfeit of love that suddenly overwhelmed him. He was the older brother, and by rights, he should have died first, and left behind something for his younger brother.
Instead, it was happening the other way around.
This was wrong, so very wrong.
His dear little brother should not have died like this … so soon … and before him. This was not the way things were supposed to happen. Girish felt choked.
Some assets were left for Mridula as well. But they seemed more of a token than anything else. Rajvir explained this by writing that he had given what he intended to give his daughter at the time of her wedding. He had already conferred upon her, the share she deserved in the form of her wedding gifts and dowry.
Rajvir also had extensive assets that no one knew about; and these he had bequeathed to Jyothika and Chandra Prakash. As Mr. Kantilal read them out in detail, Pallavi felt herself grow increasingly agitated. She struggled valiantly to keep her face expressionless, whilst she seethed inwardly. This was the ultimate betrayal on Rajvir’s part! A fierce anger rose within her and took her firmly within its grip. As the list came to an end, she realized that Jyothika had got assets which were almost equal to hers.
After Mr. Kantilal finished with the main beneficiaries of the will, he came to the minor recipients of Rajvir’s largesse. These included staff members, household staff, friends and sundry others. These were mostly routine, and there was nothing out of the ordinary in these listings. Once the reading was over, the gathering broke up and everyone left. Not much was said. Everyone preferred to keep their views to themselves.
A little later, Pallavi sat pensively on her favourite plush chair in her balcony retreat melancholically sipping her chamomile tea. She was more disturbed than she cared to admit. How could Rajvir have gone behind her back and changed his will like this? This was the final perfidy. He really did deserve to die, her lips tightened. But, even so, in death, as in life, he had dealt her a fatal blow.
‘May I sit with you?’ Remanika entered the balcony.
Pallavi looked up in surprise. It was rare for her daughter-in-law to seek her out. ‘Okay,’ she briefly inclined her head.
Abruptly, Remanika lowered herself next to her. ‘I want my share,’ she said without any preliminary.
‘Your share? What do you mean?’ Pallavi asked.
‘You know very well how you people conned me into marrying your – your son. I had thought that with Rajvir dead, at last I would be free. But he played a last clever trick on me even in death, isn’t it? Leaving things jointly to me and Amar?’ Remanika almost spat out the words.
Pallavi’s eyes narrowed at her daughter-in-law’s bitterness. ‘What do you mean? Had you expected Rajvir to die?’
‘No,’ Instantly, Remanika became careful. ‘What I meant was, that as daughter-in-law, I should have been given something independently.’
‘Well, that is too much to expect, isn’t it? You are Amar’s wife and it is only in that capacity you are entitled to anything,’ Pallavi paused. ‘This is the way it always has been for us women,’ her voice softened.
‘I think I will file for divorce. I have had it!’ Remanika became angry again. ‘And I will fight and get my share.’
‘You do what you want to. But I would advise you against taking such a step. Firstly, this is not the time to do such a thing. Secondly, knowing how long these things drag on, it will be years before you actually get what you want,’ Pallavi said.
Remanika realized that her mother-in-law spoke the truth. She felt a burning anger gnawing at her insides. She just wanted to be free. Free of this family. Free to do her own thing. Free to live her life the way she wanted. Would she
ever be able to achieve it?
She had really thought that Rajvir’s death would be the turning point in her life – the very thing that she had been waiting for, for so long. But it seemed that Rajvir had died in vain. Her life would still remain the same. She would always remain under Rajvir’s thumb; tied to his useless son; living but being half-dead actually.
Pallavi watched the flitting emotions on Remanika’s face. For a moment, she felt sorry for the girl. Women really did get a raw deal most of the time. And, they had no choice but to compromise; make the most of what they had, and get on with life as best possible.
Abruptly, Remanika got up. She left as suddenly as she had come.
Left alone, Pallavi’s anger at Rajvir resurfaced. The contents of the will had been completely unexpected. Did she deserve no respect, as Rajvir’s rightful and legal wife? How could he have accorded equal status to Jyothika in life and now in death too? Not only that, he had given equal rights to that bastard son of his, Chandra Prakash, as he had to Amar. This was too unjust; too cruel to bear. A physical pain rose in the vicinity of her heart. Would she ever be able to be happy? Ever? Would Rajvir haunt her even after his death?
Inspector Bhogle strode into his office. He was in a foul mood. Nothing substantial had emerged from his visit to the chawl where the informer had taken him. He did meet the fellow whose friend had supposedly been given the supari – the contract for killing Rajvir Kapoor.
But it all sounded like a wild story. A story created by the scar-faced history-sheeter during one of his drug-induced hallucinations. The fellow anxious to be on the right side of the police had readily related all the details – the meeting his contract-killer friend had with the client at Hotel Grand. The advance amount given before the killing, and the remaining amount given after the crime. It was the fact of money being given which was the strongest factor, which indicated that there must be a kernel of authenticity somewhere in the story.