Seduced by Murder (20 page)

“Laptop?”

“Yes. He asked me to bring one. He will not hand the

CD to me; only let me see the files.”

Anjali seemed to have lost her appetite. She signalled to the waiter to clear the table.

“So you really think I am bait?” She looked dejected.

“Yeah. I should have seen it earlier. If Leo is the source, he would not speak about his sex life with Anil.”

“Whoa! Leo and Anil’s sex life?”

“Yeah. I thought you knew.”

“I knew that Anil was gay! I didn’t know that Leo was one too. Well, that explains a lot of things.” She smiled smugly.

“What does it explain?”

“He hardly flirted with me. I started suffering from low self-esteem.”

“Wait a minute. Any man who doesn’t flirt with you is gay? What about me? I don’t flirt with you.”

“Yes, you do. You think you don’t, but a woman can tell.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes. So, will you get your boss’s car? Because if you confirm it, then I can wear this new, hot dress I have been dying to wear.”

“New hot dress, eh? Does it allow you to flaunt your lovely limbs?”

She blushed. “That’s not what I meant. I can’t wear it if I am on a two-wheeler.”

“Okay. I am just flirting with you. Don’t want you to think I am gay.”

She smiled.

She opened her handbag and took out a black envelope with the imprint of a rose. She pulled out a small card from the envelope and gave it to me. “This is the invite. It says Kandhari Hills at nine in the night. You know the place?”

I shook my head.

“But I will find out before I pick you up.”

The only text the card had was in golden italics,
Entry for two only
.

“And what about – “I was interrupted by the ringing of my mobile. It was Pranay. “What’s up?” I asked him.

“Abhijit has just left the apartment. He was driving.”

“How was he dressed?”

“What?”

“Was he in sports wear or formals?”

“Formals.”

“Okay. This may be our chance. I am on my way.”

I returned the invite to Anjali, paid the bill, and told her I would touch base with her later that day.

I
t was a small four-storey apartment block. Two ladies dressed in track suits came out of the building for a jog. There was no sign of a watchman. I waited for a few minutes to ensure that there was no activity in the vicinity, and walked into the building, followed by Pranay. We entered the lift and punched the button for the fourth floor. Within seconds the doors of the lift opened into a vacant passage.

There were four flats on this floor, and all of them looked occupied. We walked to number 402. I looked down at the cylinder lock. Then I looked around the passage, straining my ears for the sound of footsteps, or doors being opened. It was quiet. I took out my toolkit from my jacket. All the stuff about detectives and thieves picking locks as easily as they pick their noses is crap. Picking a lock is a time-consuming and tedious process. The method is simple, but the skill is difficult to master.

I took a wrench and a thin, flat screwdriver from the toolkit. Pranay’s obese build was a screen between me and the elevator. I inserted the wrench into the keyhole and pushed slowly, until the pin shafts started moving. The wrench was still inside, when the elevator hummed to life and stopped at our floor. Pranay muttered something incomprehensible
under his breath. An eight- or nine year-old boy walked into the corridor. He was carrying newspapers in his hands. He stopped when he saw us, staring at us with a confused expression.

I leaned my body on the wrench, trying to hide it from his view, rang the bell, and said exasperatedly to Pranay, “What the hell is the bugger doing?”

Pranay stood transfixed, his face a guilty red. I rang the bell again and said encouragingly, “You told him we were coming, right?”

This time he replied, “Yes, I did. Bugger must be drunk.”

The boy relaxed, and started dropping the newspapers in front of each door. He extended one to Pranay, who took it. I debated for a minute about proceeding or retreating. The lock had surrendered, and it would be a royal shame to back off now. I pushed the door open, stepped in, and locked the door from inside.

It opened into a hall that was sparsely furnished, with three bean bags, a single sofa, and a flat screen TV. The hall was adjacent to a dining room that led to the kitchen. I walked into the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator. It was filled with cartons of low-calorie fruit juice, protein shakes, tofu, and cans of tuna fish. There was a big bottle labelled “Whey Powder” on top of the fridge. A health freak. There was no liquor in the kitchen or the hall. I walked to the dustbin, and glanced through the garbage. Empty cartons of protein shakes were strewn over. Still no sign of liquor. A health freak and a teetotaller. The worst kind.

“What are we looking for?” asked Pranay.

“A black leather bag. The kind that he gave Reena in the parking lot yesterday. And his CD collection.”

I walked into the bedroom. A huge bed covered most of the room. The room had a serene touch to it – white walls, white bed cover, and a two-inch thick white carpeting on the floor. A five-foot high table was on one side of the bed. A small round stage light was placed upon it, turned towards the bed. The room already had a tube light and two bulbs. I wondered why he needed additional lighting. I walked to the table and switched on the light. It was battery-operated. The bed was illuminated with fluorescent light.

“Whoa, the guy likes brightness!” exclaimed Pranay.

I walked to the middle of the room, so that I was standing at the foot of the bed. There were three slight indentations on the carpet. I bent forward and observed the marks. They formed a triangle. I didn’t see any tables or folding chairs in the room. I walked to the corner of the bed and peeked under it. There was a folded tripod with aluminium legs. I picked it up. It was surprisingly light. I placed it on the three indentations on the carpet. It fitted beautifully. I looked at Pranay.

“The tripod was placed over here. It looks like a digital camera tripod to me. Try to find a camera.”

We searched the room for the next five minutes, but found neither the camera nor any CDs.

I sat on the bed and looked at Pranay searching the cupboard again. It was a wooden cupboard. There was a box partition at its foot. Probably a shoe rack. Someone had taken the trouble of putting in a chain and locking it up. I took out the wrench and broke the lock. Abhijit would know that someone had been here. And that that someone knew exactly what he wanted to find.

I opened the small cabinet. It was dark inside, so I used my hands to grope around all the corners. My fingers touched
something plastic. I pulled it out. It was a green plastic bag. I looked inside. There were at least ten CDs, and a small digital camera.

“Bingo.”

We went to the hall and switched on the TV. I inserted a CD titled
S
in the disc player. Characters in a familiar room appeared on the screen. Abhijit was standing in his bedroom, laughing, clucking his tongue, and mocking the camera. A woman could be heard laughing in the background. The sound quality was bad and the light was dim. Abhijit adjusted the camera on the tripod, moved back, and flopped on to the bed, in the classic dead man posture.

The woman entered the frame. She was wearing a blouse and a petticoat. A diamond necklace with a shiny green stone dangled from her neck. Her saree and Abhijit’s shirt lay in a heap at a corner of the bed. It looked like they had returned from a party. The woman took a sip from a glass of wine, and shifted to the centre of the bed. She spread her legs apart and beckoned to Abhijit. He removed his trousers and crawled playfully towards her. Abhijit took the glass of wine from her hand, and went out of the frame.

Suddenly, a fluorescent light illuminated the bed. I could see the face of the woman clearly now. She had a wheatish complexion and pleasant features. I guessed she was in her late twenties. Abhijit returned to the frame; he had deposited the glass somewhere. He stood on the bed, so that only his lower body was captured by the camera. He said something to the woman and she smiled. She expertly sat on her knees, rolled down his underpants, and took him in her mouth. Abhijit moaned. His hands held her hair and pushed her head forward.

This continued for five minutes. At one point, Abhijit made the woman stop, and asked her to smile at the camera. I forwarded the tape until he had come. She looked at the camera and smiled again. The video ended there.

“What the hell is this, man!” exclaimed Pranay. “Yesterday it was Reena, and now it’s this? Some kind of fuck fest?”

I emptied the contents of the plastic bag on the floor. I took a CD marked
R
, and inserted it into the DVD player.

Reena was sitting on the bed with Abhijit. Both were naked, and laughing at the camera. Reena lifted her breasts, and laughed at the camera. The camera zoomed in on her nipples, and panned down to get a close shot of her privates.

“Did you see that?” I asked Pranay

Pranay whispered hoarsely, “Yes! They are perfect! I wouldn’t have imagined them to be so big.”

“Not that! The camera is moving, unlike the last film. It’s not kept on the tripod. Someone is filming them.”

“Yeah! You are right!”

The camera zoomed out, and the entire bed and its occupants slid into the frame. Abhijit lowered his mouth on Reena’s nipples, and slid his fingers between her legs. Reena moaned, and stared right at the camera. She threw her legs over his shoulders, as if locking him in place. This continued for a few minutes.

I forwarded the tape and then stopped. Both of them were looking at the camera and grinning. Reena went down on all fours, her hips moving gently. Abhijit entered her from behind. The sex continued for a few minutes, until Abhijit shuddered and came. The camera managed to capture a close-up of the wetness between Reena’s legs, and then panned up to her breasts. The movie then came to an end. The mysterious person behind the camera had made no appearance.

I took the CD out, and stuffed it inside my jacket. I glanced through the other CDs. There were four more
S
s, two
A
s, one
B
, one
P
, but no other
R
.

“Are you taking the CD with you?”

“Go through the rooms, and look for a bag, a trunk, or a suitcase that can hide a substantial amount of cash.”

We spent the next fifteen minutes turning over everything in the apartment, but there was no sign of any cash.

“Let’s go,” I said to Pranay, and we walked towards the door.

He hesitated, looking at the mess we had created. “Shouldn’t we tidy it up a bit?”

“Don’t bother about it.”

“Can’t that get us into trouble?”

“What will he report? A missing CD? The police would want to know what was there on the CD. Let’s go.”

We walked out of the building and got into the car. My head was whirling; I felt exhausted, and my back hurt. I thought of the exotic spas and the relaxing massages I had seen in glossy magazines. Then I thought of the twenty-five lakhs that could help me afford those massages. The thought of money energised me, and I started the engine. I took a big sip from the flask, and pushed the accelerator hard.

Pranay looked at me disapprovingly. “Drinking and driving?”

“Thinking and driving,” I replied as we drove.

He pouted. “So, what are we working on now? Anil’s murder, or the missing money?”

“The missing money.”

“And the murderer? Shalini did it with Rajesh?”

“Yeah. They have practically confessed.”

“And if we find the money, the old man gives us twenty-five lakhs?”

“Yeah.”

“That is a lot of money.” He rubbed his hands in glee. “Tell me what I can do to help.”

I made a brief stop at home, shaved, showered, changed, had two cups of black coffee, dumped Pranay, and was at the Kapoor residence in an hour.

Ram opened the door and folded his hands in greeting. “Good morning, sir.”

“Hi. Is Mr Kapoor up?”

“Oh yes! He is up at six every morning.”

I followed Ram to the dining hall. Paras was sitting at the dining table, and scowling at the newspaper. He flung the paper away when he saw me. It landed in the porridge. Ram hurriedly lifted the paper, and took the dish away.

“Have you read what crap they have printed? I will kill this girl, Anjali Singh.”

I found myself defending her. “She is doing what any journalist would do.”

Paras muttered something under his breath, and signalled for me to sit down. The table was covered with plates of toast, omelettes, sandwiches, fruits, and orange juice. Not to forget the porridge that had been taken away. And Paras was the only one having breakfast.

“Thanks for your tip about the article. I appreciate it. Can’t do much about the filth that they will print, but at least we know what to expect. It ended saying that the next article would contain something sensational. I guess they will be talking about Anil’s homosexuality.”

“No, it’s not about that.”

“How can you be sure?”