Dead in a Mumbai Minute (17 page)

‘I know how it must look. Kimaaya hasn’t always been on top of things in her life; she’s made her share of mistakes, but I know she does her best to be a good person. She would have nothing to do with murder, even if Mr Dhingre tried to harm her!’

‘Harm her? What do you mean?’

She looked into the horizon, at the endless blue of the ocean so close we could hear the waves lapping at the shore. ‘I didn’t tell the police this because I knew it would cause trouble, but you work with Shayak sir and I know he would never put Kookie at risk.’

Mrs Pereira paused, and I gave her time to compose her thoughts.

‘Mr Dhingre had been calling the house phone ever since Kookie came back from her cancelled shoot. First he called the flat in Mumbai, and then here. I had instructions to tell him that both Nimisha and Kookie were busy. And that is really all I know.’

I left and apprised Shayak of what I had learned. ‘Isn’t it beginning to sound like blackmail to you?’ I wondered.

‘Let’s wait till tomorrow morning, when we’ll have more data. Then we can consider theories and have a chat with Kimaaya.’

‘Fine, then,’ I said. Why not speak to Kimaaya right away?

Irritation mounting, I didn’t think I could sit through an evening of pointless pleasantries. As it was, I was sleep deprived enough to merit an early night. ‘If there is nothing else then, I think it’s time I turned in,’ I said.

Shayak turned to me with a flash of concern. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you to your room.’ He led me upstairs; on turning a corner, we bumped into Kimaaya.

‘Reema’s beat, so I’m getting her settled in for the night,’ said Shayak.

‘You won’t join us for dinner?’ Kimaaya asked.

I shook my head.

‘I’m sure food won’t be served before midnight,’ said Shayak. ‘I’ll have a tray sent up for her. In fact, I think I’ll be calling it a night as well.’

Kimaaya looked from Shayak to me as though she were seeing me for the first time, and not liking altogether what she found there. ‘What a killjoy you have become, Shayak. I’ll get the food organized right away.’

‘Fine. I’ll be at the boat.’

‘Why?’

‘Even your sprawling home doesn’t have quite enough bedrooms for us all. Besides, I love sleeping on my boat. Don’t get to do it nearly often enough.’

Kimaaya pouted. ‘You can sleep in my room.’

‘Really? So where will you be tonight?’

The pout turned into a scowl.

‘Good night, Kimaaya,’ Shayak said, and I could hear him smile.

We entered the room, the sound of the sea welcoming me before Shayak flipped the switch. There was a gorgeous four-poster bed with a thick, inviting mattress and carved hardwood headboard. In the corner was a Victorian vanity table, an armoire and a chair with a lamp by its side. I saw my bag had already been brought up.

‘You know I would be happy to sleep on the boat,’ I said.

‘All these enticing propositions in one night?’ said Shayak.

‘I mean that you should sleep here.’

‘Don’t be silly. Wouldn’t want you staring into a toilet bowl all night. You’ll have another long day tomorrow. Get some rest. Come and find me tomorrow when you surface. We can have a look around before the inevitable exodus.’

‘Okay.’

‘You did well today, Reema,’ said Shayak, his dark eyes on mine filled with the exhaustion of the day. He looked as though he had something else to say, but then stopped himself. ‘Your food will be up soon,’ he said at last.

I nodded, and Shayak let himself out.

I kicked off my shoes and sank into the mattress, but that look had unsettled me and, instead of slipping into the slumber I so needed, for the longest time I listened to the waves, feeling more alone than I could remember.

At 7.30 am, I woke to a quiet house. I showered in the beautiful bathroom, complete with mini bottles of toiletries fit for a luxury hotel, the kind I never stayed at.

I headed to the boat, and the cool salt breeze blew away some of the confusion I had been feeling. There must be a cause for Shayak’s caution, else he wouldn’t be the foremost security consultant in the country, and it was time I discovered what it was. I got to the boat and, sure enough, he was standing on deck – hair still damp and curling from the shower, in a pair of blue jeans and a white shirt. I could smell coffee.

‘You look like you need this more than me,’ he said, holding out a cup. ‘Come on board.’

He poured himself another and pushed the fruit basket towards me, which I rejected. He passed me a jar of biscotti instead.

‘Who stocks this thing for you?’ I asked.

‘Can’t believe I might be competent enough to keep myself fed?’

‘No, I can’t, and also where would you find the time?’

‘Okay, I confess, my staff should get the credit. But as I have told you in the past, I am a very proficient cook.’

‘Uh huh.’

‘Drink up. You might be less crabby.’

‘Not crabby. Just sceptical of unsubstantiated claims.’

‘Let this nonsense get over and I’ll cook you a meal to do away with your doubts. But for the moment, chew on this,’ he said, thrusting a sheaf of papers in my direction. ‘Forensics are in. They are still going through fibre samples and other trace, but this should be enough to point us in the right direction.’

Some of it we knew, more or less. Cause of death was confirmed to be the neck wound, inflicted by a missing shard of the wine bottle found at the scene. Footprints belonging to a male, size 10, found at the old dock were a match to Dhingre’s.

Other information was news. For instance, the blood at the crime scene belonged only to the deceased. The trace under Dhingre’s fingers came back to an unknown male. Fish scales of at least two different kinds were found on Dhingre’s trousers.

‘So we are definitely looking for a man,’ I said.

‘Not altogether a surprise. Not likely a woman could have launched the sort of physical assault that killed Dhingre. But we can’t rule out a female accomplice.’

‘The fish scales would indicate that Dhingre arrived by some sort of vessel used for fishing.’

Shayak nodded.

Then there was the buffet of drugs in Viraat’s system: flunitrazepam was found in the largest amount, despite its quick decay, but in the background there were cocaine and Ecstasy.

‘Where is Viraat now?’ I asked.

‘He’s still at the hospital. The prints on the bottle were his, of course. Another set belonged to Sandhya, which matches what she told us. Not enough to establish anything, really, but the police are treating him as the prime suspect at this time.’

‘Any explanation for how the drugs got into his system?’

‘Not for the moment.’

‘Wouldn’t the flunitrazepam make him look more like victim than perpetrator?’

‘Hard to say for sure. Flunitrazepam is used by some as a sleeping aid, or even recreationally. The cocaine and E suggest he is at least an occasional drug user.’

‘Were any drugs found on his person?’

Shayak shook his head.

‘Could he have got them here, on the island?’

‘Nothing is impossible, but Kimaaya does have a very strict no-drugs policy.’

Shayak then handed me the victim’s phone records. ‘You’ll see that there are a number of calls made to Kimaaya’s cell, Nimisha’s cell, Kimaaya’s Mumbai landline and the island here. Just like Mrs Pereira said. Now is the time for your theories.’

‘Blackmail of some sort is one possibility. We know Dhingre was broke and desperate. But there could be a more benign explanation. Mrs Dhingre had said her husband had tried to contact Kimaaya for assistance, for work. Perhaps it was that?’

‘Rather too persistent, don’t you think?’ said Shayak.

I looked at the call records more closely. It started as a call every couple of days, for a few weeks. Then it escalated to multiple calls every day for the three days before the murder. ‘Yes, you’re right.’

‘Now take a look at the last sheet there.’

I flipped forward to it. It was a scanned image of a piece of paper with three, hand-written dates on it: 26 February 1997; 13 July 1999 and 25 May 2012.

‘During the autopsy, they discovered a small piece of paper in Dhingre’s back pocket. It looked like it was torn out of a notebook,’ Shayak explained.

‘Any clue what these might mean?’

‘I know what the first two are. The first is the date on Kimaaya’s marriage license; the second on her divorce papers,’ said Shayak, his face giving away nothing.

‘How is that possible? You are still certain that it is not common knowledge?’

He sighed. ‘We’ve been over this before, Reema.’

‘Okay, however these dates were obtained, this lends weight to the blackmail theory.’

‘Yes, it does.’

‘What about this third date?’

‘I don’t know. I think it’s time we had another chat with Kimaaya.’

Finally.

We headed back to the house and found Mrs Pereira there. ‘Where is Kimaaya?’ Shayak asked.

‘Still asleep, I think, sir.’

‘Can you call her for us?’

‘Sir?’ She clearly wasn’t in the habit of taking requests like this.

‘Tell her I said it is an emergency.’

‘I gather Kimaaya doesn’t like to be roused,’ I said once Mrs Pereira was out of earshot.

‘There is a reason they tell you to let sleeping dogs lie.’

Five minutes later Kimaaya wandered in, wearing a robe and bedhead. And she still looked beautiful. ‘What is it that can’t wait till a more respectable hour?’ she said, stifling a yawn.

‘We need some answers from you, Kimaaya, if you expect us to get anywhere with this investigation,’ said Shayak.

‘What are you going on about?’ she mumbled, running a languorous hand through her hair.

‘There seems to be a fair amount you are withholding from us.’

‘I don’t know what you are talking about,’ she said, taking a sip from the warm lemon water that Mrs Pereira had brought in her wake.

‘25 May 2012. What does it mean to you?’

This finally seemed to snap Kimaaya out of her selfabsorption. Her eyes widened, but she had immediately composed herself. ‘I have no idea,’ she said.

‘Answer the question.’

‘It means nothing to me.’

‘The truth, Kimaaya.’

‘You have no right to talk to me like that,’ she said, taking another sip. I watched her draw into herself, gathering the distress and tucking it away where no one could see it.

‘You have no right to lie to me when all I am trying to do is help.’

Chin up, Kimaaya held her tongue. It was actress Kimaaya here, not the woman I had seen so far, unafraid of her cracks as long as Shayak was by her side. She had armoured up.

‘Three dates were scribbled on a piece of paper found on Dhingre’s body,’ Shayak said. ‘The first was the date of our wedding. The second, our divorce. The third, this.’

‘There was no way Ashu could have known any of it. He joined me only after our divorce, and left before May 2012.’

‘He worked for you for so long. He’d know where to find your personal papers.’

‘Those documents stay in my safe at all times. Are you saying Ashu broke in? Need I remind you that Titanium set up that safe for me?’ she said with a cold smile.

‘Why didn’t you tell us he had been calling you the past couple of months?’