A Murder Is Fixed

Inspector Vichare saw the name of the incoming caller flashing on his mobile screen. After a restful night, he had spent the first hours that Friday morning with Lobo, catching up on the discoveries from Shreya’s emails and the revelations from her and Vasu’s call records. It was moments after he had ordered his third cup of chai that Vichare’s phone started buzzing.

‘Jai Hind, sir,’ he said as he answered the call. ‘We’ve been trying to contact you, but it looks like sir has been very busy.’

‘Yes, Vichare, could only return your calls now,’ came Aziz’s reply. ‘I had to make an urgent trip out of town and just got back.’

‘I see,’ said Vichare, putting the call on speaker so that Lobo, sitting next to him, could listen in. ‘Actually, we wanted to follow up from our previous meeting. You know … whether you can remember anything about what happened between the time you left the Pavilion Club and when you reached Shanti Chambers that night?’

‘I heard you, Vichare,’ said Aziz. ‘Well, it had been a very busy and stressful few weeks leading up to that Sunday. I was drained with all the work on the enquiry investigations and trying to wrap up our report before the deadline. I think after the heavy dinner at the club, it all finally got to me and I couldn’t stay awake.’

Vichare leaned closer to the phone, as if to help him better comprehend what was being said. ‘It got to you? I don’t fully understand,’ he said.

‘I was very tired,’ replied Aziz. ‘I must have dozed off in the car for a while. As soon as I woke up, I rushed to Shanti Chambers.’

Vichare glanced up from his phone and saw Lobo gaping. The inspector pressed the mute button. ‘I thought at least a policewala would come up with a less flimsy excuse,’ he said.

‘Is he saying that he left the club in a hurry, based on an urgent message from Shreya, and then … went to sleep in his car?’ asked Lobo in disbelief.

Vichare unmuted the phone. ‘Yes, Khan sir. I am just trying to ensure that I have properly understood what you are saying,’ he said. ‘You had previously told us that you had received a message from Shreya and you left immediately. Now you are saying you had a little nap in between?’

‘I told you—it had been a tough few weeks, and the exhaustion just hit me then,’ said Aziz. ‘I know how this may sound to you, but that’s what happened.’

‘Hmm, you’re right about how it sounds, sir,’ said Vichare. ‘You know, someone could always say that your story is … err … actually just that—a story. Another story could be that you went to Shanti Chambers, not as soon as Shreya called but after making some preparations for what you were about to do to her once you reached the office. Some people may spin this kind of story.’

‘Well, that would be nonsense, Vichare,’ said Aziz, his volume rising a notch. ‘When I reached there, she was dead, and I called it in immediately.’

‘You did call in, sir,’ said Vichare. ‘But it was a few minutes after you were seen entering the office. Enough to pick up that trophy and—’

‘Vichare, have you lost your mind?’ roared Aziz. ‘As soon as I saw her, it was clear she was dead and I called the police. Accusing me in this way, without any evidence whatsoever, shows how poor your investigation has been so far.’

Vichare licked the tip of his moustache. Aziz Khan was angry, but there was no pulling back now, he thought. Not this time.

‘I’m not accusing you, sir. I’m merely trying to check the facts of your statement,’ he said. ‘Do you have anyone who can back up your sleeping-in-the-car story?’

‘How could there be?’ said Aziz. ‘Unless you now expect someone to be in my car at all times to verify what happens in there! Perhaps you can invent that as well, while you are in your world of fiction.’

‘Fiction,’ repeated Vichare. ‘Now that you mention that, I must tell you that we found your account of your break-up with Shreya not fully accurate. You told us you had mutually decided to call off the affair—all nice and agreeable. But when we looked at her text messages, it painted a different picture. The messages made it sound a lot more like she called it off—against your wishes.’

‘You seemed very angry in some of those messages,’ continued Vichare. ‘Threatening, even.’

‘Vichare, let me tell you, you are heading in the wrong direction,’ said Aziz, his voice regaining the composure it had briefly lost.

‘I see,’ said Vichare. ‘Then tell me … What is the right direction in your view, sir?’

Vichare’s ears instantly acquired a deep shade of red. ‘Whom are you talking about?’ he asked, knowing exactly what the answer was.

‘Vasu Langda,’ said Aziz calmly. ‘Word spreads between us policemen. An experienced officer like you should know that well.’

‘Yes. He has been a henchman for Choksi and Mahadevia for years. We never thought he had any link with their match-fixing ring. That was until the Pasricha Builders case.’

‘You mean the land dispute with Mahadevia and the attack on Pasricha?’ asked Vichare.

‘Land was only one part of that dispute, Vichare—the smaller part. The real dispute was related to money. You see, Pasricha is not just a builder but also a big-time bookie, with an operation here and in Mauritius. He owed Choksi and Mahadevia huge amounts of money for the bets they had made on MCL games. We believe these were for the games they had fixed. When Pasricha didn’t pay up—we don’t know if it was because he refused or simply couldn’t—they had him shot at. Not to kill, but to threaten.’

‘Correct. After that, we started looking into him more closely,’ said Aziz. ‘When they needed to strong-arm or bully someone in the fixing apparatus, say a bookie or a bettor, he was one of their men who’d get the work done. But I had no idea they would go as far as they went. Killing Shreya … my God.’

‘Sir, he has smartly shifted the focus from himself to Langda,’ he said. ‘Also, he’s not saying anything that we don’t already know.’

‘A good alternative story, sir,’ he said. ‘But same problem. This story is also weak on evidence. We may know that Choksi and Mahadevia have used Langda for other criminal activities. But in this case specifically, we have no evidence that they got him to kill Shreya. I’m sure you know that when it involves people with such powerful connections, I need to convince my bosses to allow me to bring them in for questioning. And that will need more than guesses and stories.’

‘It’s a recording from the day before Shreya was killed,’ said Aziz. ‘I wish I had heard it earlier—maybe something could have been done. I’ll send you a secure link to download it. This should put your energy in the right direction.’

‘Do you believe him, sir?’ asked Lobo. ‘I mean, he is in the shadow of suspicion himself and can’t properly explain his own whereabouts on the night of the crime. Now, suddenly, he is helping us with evidence against Choksi and Langda. All a bit convenient, no?’

Vichare drew a long breath. ‘I don’t know … I don’t know, Lobo.’ He fiddled with his cigarette lighter. ‘There’s more to his story than he’s telling us—that’s for sure. Suddenly falling asleep while Shreya was being murdered, and then waking up to find her dead body. Does he think I’m stupid enough to believe that?’

‘At the same time, it wouldn’t hurt to listen to this recording of Choksi and Langda that he has,’ continued Vichare. ‘These fellows in the Commission have been busy tapping everyone’s phones—I have no idea how they got the permissions needed for it. I can tell you one thing, Lobo: We would never be allowed to tap the phones of Choksi and company. Let’s see what he has.’

Vichare stood up and fished out a cigarette. He needed some fresh air and a smoke, he decided. It had been a long morning and he would have to leave soon for Bandra-Kurla Complex. There, Russi and he were going to meet another slippery character who had been economical with the truth.

The message Vichare had received earlier that morning from Russi had both excited and annoyed him.

‘I had warned Bawaji not to meddle around on his own, but he didn’t listen,’ he muttered to himself, as he sped off in his police jeep towards Bandra-Kurla Complex. ‘But I have to admit what he has found is interesting. I was quite sure that this Kajal Banerjee was up to something suspicious, and now we know what it is.’

Thirty minutes later, Vichare was in the lobby of the Express Today building, one of the many steel-and-glass office towers in the glitzy commercial township and the national headquarters of the magazine. He saw Russi seated at the far end of the vast lobby, occupying a table for three in an isolated section of the visitors’ waiting area. They had decided to meet Kajal downstairs to spare her the awkwardness of having to register visitors from the police at her office reception—and save themselves the effort of getting all the way to the twenty-seventh floor.

Shortly after Vichare had seated himself next to Russi, they were joined by Kajal.

She was wearing a lanyard around her neck, at the end of which dangled her office ID. It was imprinted with the logo of Express Today and a photo of her with a wide, beaming smile.

Right now, though, her face was solemn. She sat at the edge of her chair and placed a small water bottle on the table. She glanced at the pear-shaped old man whom she had not seen before, before turning anxiously to Vichare.

‘Yes, Miss Banerjee,’ said Vichare, shifting uncomfortably as he adjusted his belly between the chair and the table. ‘After our last meeting at the station, where you did a great job not owning up to your own work on the match-fixing reports, I was left with the feeling that something wasn’t right. You know that gut feel, na? You journalists must also get that feeling sometimes?’

‘Sorry, Inspector, what do you mean?’ said Kajal, tugging at her ID nervously.

‘When I discussed it with my good friend and learned umpire, Mr Batliwala, he also felt the same. Some daal mein kaala, something black in the yellow daal. Or the English non-veg version: Something is fishy. And then he hit upon it. You know what the fishy thing was?’ Vichare didn’t wait for a response. ‘Your refusal to own up to the article you wrote, and all your work on match-fixing—that is the fishy thing. You had done all the hard work to track down the rogues involved, gone ahead and named many powerful bade log based on well-placed sources like your college friend Shreya. Now, she is dead, her murder undoubtedly linked to the same match-fixing scandal. What would we have expected you to do? Be angry that you lost your friend, be desperate to see these rascals caught, share with us what you know about Choksi and Mahadevia so you can help us nab her killers. But no, instead, what do you do?’

Vichare paused as if he were expecting a reply, but it was clear he had more to say.

‘You tell us that you don’t know anything,’ he continued. ‘You say you don’t even know if they are involved in fixing. You tell us Shreya may not have been right about them. You hide under the cover of journalistic norms, sources, falana, dhimkana. You just want to end the meeting quickly, not help us find the killer of your so-called friend.’

‘I … I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Kajal. She lowered her voice as a group of office-goers walked past. ‘Of course I want the killer to be found. I told you everything I know.’

‘Now, we all know that is not the truth,’ jumped in Russi. ‘When Inspector Vichare and I discussed this, we concluded that there could be only two reasons for your reluctance to be more forthcoming. Either you were fearful—it was not safe for you to talk about Choksi and Mahadevia—or worse, you were on their side.’

Kajal’s face had turned white as a sheet. ‘On their side? What do you mean, Mr … Daruwala? I haven’t committed any crime,’ she said.

‘It’s Batliwala, madam, but no problem, both names originate from the same age-old profession,’ said Russi. ‘Now, whether you committed any crime or not, we shall discuss in due course. But to start with, let’s talk about whom you are working for.’

‘Working for? I work for Express Today,’ said Kajal. ‘Also, yes, all right, I wrote that article on MCL match-fixing. But so what?’

‘See, there, some truth is already coming out,’ said Vichare, clapping his hands loudly enough for the security guard in the foyer to turn his stare towards them. ‘But it’s not your day job we are referring to,’ continued the inspector. ‘It’s your after-hours freelancing.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Kajal, even as she felt a horrible tingle creeping up her spine all the way to the back of her neck.

Russi stood up all of a sudden, catching even Vichare by surprise. From the front pocket of his shirt, he pulled out three photographs and threw them onto the table. It was the first time Vichare had seen them. In the first one, she was seen in the corridor of a posh hotel, standing outside one of its plush restaurants, brown envelope in hand. In the second one, she was inside the restaurant, seated at a dimly lit table, passing the envelope to a man. The final photo was of the man she had met—a bald head with an oily face that was glistening despite the soft lighting.

‘This may jog your memory, Miss Banerjee,’ said Russi. ‘Here you are, just a few nights ago, at the Noor Palace Hotel. Does this ring a bell?’

‘More relevant is whom you were meeting with,’ said Russi. ‘Do you want me to answer that question?’ He sat down with a thud.

Kajal continued to stare silently at the photos, but her mind was racing in a hundred different directions. The tingling on her neck had moved to the back of her head and was now beginning to circle her temples, like thorny fingers executing an unwanted massage.

Russi placed his elbows on the table and leaned towards Kajal. ‘We had your bank statements checked, Miss Banerjee. Your account balance suggests that your financial situation is, for lack of a better word, dire. Dire enough for you to accept a lucrative offer when it comes your way. Even if that means working for Brajesh Choksi.’

Before he had finished his last sentence, tears had begun rolling down Kajal’s cheeks. ‘Yes, yes, yes … fine, you’re right. I did some work for Choksi. So what?’ she said.

‘So what?’ asked Vichare. ‘Miss Banerjee, you were Shreya’s trusted friend. One of the only ones with whom she shared confidential information about match-fixing. You betrayed her by working for the man you were both supposedly fighting against! You say you did some work for him. And now, Shreya is dead. What role did you play in that, Miss Banerjee? That is the question!’

Kajal cupped her face in her palms. When she looked up, her eyes were red. ‘I have toiled away for ten years as a journalist, doing my job—earnestly and idealistically,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want to be one of those media people who shouts from the rooftops but doesn’t really count for much. I wanted to be a real journalist, you know? Someone who does proper research and investigation. And everyone knows that I did that. But how much money does that make you? Not enough when you are the only hope for a family with needs back in Durgapur. To pay for an ailing father’s medical treatment and the college education of two younger sisters. When each injection and each hospital visit is a month’s salary, your bank balance does become … What was the word you used? Dire.’

Kajal wiped a tear off the tip of her nose. ‘But I worked hard and waited,’ she continued. ‘The exposé on the MCL corruption took months to put together, and it was supposed to get me fame and recognition. It was going to make my career. Whatever that even means! In the end, I didn’t even get a byline because my bosses said it was an undercover piece and should go uncredited—“to keep me protected”, they said. So in the guise of saving me, all they did was keep me hidden and unknown to the world. Guess what? You don’t make your name and career if no one knows you!’

Russi presented her with a packet of tissues, which she accepted with a shaking hand.

‘Then, surprise, surprise, Brajesh Choksi found out it was me, and approached me to work for him,’ she continued. ‘At first, I was angry and insulted—the cheek of the guy, trying to recruit the person who had found and published evidence against him! Then I thought it through again. What had I got by being this strait-laced journo? Nothing but an empty bank balance and an uncertain future. No one expected much to happen as a result of the article either, so it wasn’t like Choksi was going to go to jail. And here he was, for just a little bit of work on the side, offering the kind of money that would take care of my financial issues for good.’

Kajal paused to have a sip of water from her bottle. The tears had paused but her eyes still glistened.

‘And that’s how you began working for the very man you had accused of being the chief of cricket corruption in India,’ said Russi.

‘He knew I could get access to places that other people who worked for him wouldn’t be able to,’ said Kajal. ‘Plus, he didn’t need me to do anything illegal.’

‘He wanted dirt on some cricketers. Secrets that they would not want revealed,’ said Kajal. ‘To blackmail them into fixing games for him, I suppose.’

‘Tujhya nanachi taang! So you would dig out scandalous information on cricketers Choksi wanted to recruit and he would pay you for it?’ said Vichare.

‘The envelope you passed him two nights ago contained such information?’ asked Russi.

‘Yes,’ said Kajal looking at the evidence that was still on the table. ‘There were some photos in that envelope.’

The security guard was doing a round of the foyer and had begun looking in the direction of their table.

‘Which cricketers have you been following? Whose photos were in that envelope?’ asked Russi.

Kajal looked briefly over her shoulder and saw the security guard moving closer.

‘These are very powerful individuals,’ said Kajal nervously. ‘They have their people spread everywhere. It’s far too risky for me to say anything. In fact, I shouldn’t stay much longer.’

‘There is nothing to fear, Miss Banerjee,’ said Vichare. ‘My guarantee that Mumbai Police will—’

‘Excuse me, Inspector, but I’m not naive,’ said Kajal. ‘I thought I knew Choksi before, when I was reporting on him. But now, over the last few weeks, I’ve seen him at close quarters. People like him stop at nothing to get their way.’

Kajal bit her upper lip, trying to hold back another wave of tears. ‘I had warned her to be careful, I really had,’ she said. ‘I told her that these people were capable of anything. Choksi is paranoid about the Commission’s report coming out. With Shankar’s credibility and Shreya’s investigative work, he is scared it’ll damage his reputation beyond repair. Maybe even put him behind bars.’

‘Arre, you’re still hiding things from us?’ said Vichare, visibly irritated. ‘Please, Miss Banerjee, tell us what happened on the call.’

‘She didn’t call me to the office,’ said Kajal slowly. ‘She called to ask me for information.’

‘She had some questions related to the investigation and some specific cricketers. I told her I couldn’t help her—how could I have, while working in parallel for Choksi?’ said Kajal. ‘She was not happy and reminded me of the information she had shared with me for my piece on the MCL. Said that I owed her. I told her whatever I could. Gave her some information and told her to be careful. I had no idea it would turn out like this …’

‘And then a few hours later you visited her at the office,’ said Vichare. ‘The last person to have seen her alive. What happened there?’

‘I went there because I was overcome with guilt after our call. I couldn’t hide what I was doing any more,’ said Kajal.

‘Thamba, thamba, Miss Banerjee. Slow down, please. Let me confirm that I am hearing this correctly,’ said Vichare. ‘You went to Shanti Chambers to confess to Shreya that you’re working for Choksi?’

‘How do you think? Not well,’ said Kajal. ‘She was in a rage and threw me out. That’s why I wasn’t there for too long.’

‘This is not safe,’ whispered Kajal, fidgeting uneasily with her water bottle. ‘This is a public area of a well-known building, and we can’t be talking here like this. If it were someone’s home, that would be different … but not here.’

‘Anyway, I have to return to the office now,’ said Kajal. ‘I’ve told you what I can.’

With that, Kajal Banerjee rose abruptly and walked towards the building lifts, her face pointed down and eyes affixed to the floor. There was a loud pinging sound as the doors to one of the lifts opened and she disappeared through them.

The security guard stood up a few moments later, stretched his arms and returned to his original station.

Vichare and Russi spent a quiet moment processing the events of the preceding minutes.

‘Russiji,’ said Vichare, breaking the silence, ‘I don’t know whether I should be upset with you for doing your own sideshow even after I had warned you not to … or appreciate this new angle you have shed light on.’

‘Inspector saheb, I thought of sending Gopal to tail Kajal only to help the case, not to upset you and our agreement,’ said Russi. ‘And while some light has definitely been shed through this, there’s still much that is in the dark. Like which cricketers Choksi has been targeting.’

The pair got up from the table and walked towards the building’s exit. Russi had already messaged Gopal to make his way from the underground carpark to the pick-up point by the main doors. Vichare had no such worries. His jeep was parked just a few metres away, square in the middle of the driveway—privileges only bestowed upon a police vehicle.

‘It’s definitely good that we got this information from Kajal Banerjee,’ continued the inspector when they were outside the building. ‘Although there’s one thing I did not understand, Russiji. I got the part about Gopal following Kajal around the Noor Palace. But what was truly amazing was how you managed to get her bank account information. A masterstroke! It put her on the backfoot and made her spill the entire story. How did you do that?’

‘Inspector saheb, I am barely able to get my hands on my own bank statement, forget Kajal Banerjee’s,’ said Russi. ‘But what I did have was a little understanding of human beings. And my simple trail of logic.’

‘I asked myself a question,’ said Russi. ‘Why would a journalist who was busy exposing match-fixers till just a few months ago now switch sides and start working with them? The answer—like it nearly always is—is money! The great motivator that makes people do things you would never expect them to. It’s also the one thing Choksi has enough and more to offer.’

Vichare chewed the tips of his moustache, trying to figure where this so-called trail was going.

‘But then the next question in the trail arose,’ continued Russi. ‘Why would a person with a good job and half-decent salary—leading a lifestyle that you wouldn’t exactly call extravagant—suddenly want more money? If she had big expenses that her income was unable to support. Expenses that were draining her financially. Now I had no clue what those were, but I could picture that her bank account would not be in the pink of health. That, Inspector saheb, was the simple trail of logic that led me to guess that Kajal Banerjee did not have a bank balance to be proud of. Turns out, in this case, that guess was good enough.’

Russi broke into a proud grin as he completed his explanation, but before Vichare could say anything in response, Gopal pulled up in the Wagon-R. He was beaming, as usual, and the car was gleaming, as usual. Russi hopped in and waved to Vichare as they drove away.

‘Simple trail of logic,’ Vichare thought as he strolled towards his jeep. ‘This Bawaji may be a senior citizen, but he sure can think on his feet.’ His phone buzzed the instant he started the engine. ‘Yes, Lobo?’ he said.

Vichare turned the engine back off and pressed play on his phone. The audio file began—with the coarse phlegmy voice of Vasu Langda he was only too familiar with.

Choksi-saheb, Navika madam told me what needs to be done to Shreya.

Hmm, okay. Do it then, Vasu. We need to finish them and their reputation.

Don’t worry, saheb. I have found a way. This will close her mouth forever. Is the money ready?

Yes. You know where to collect it. Don’t call me after this.

‘Now what do you think, Constable Neil Lobo?’ said Vichare, rubbing his hands together in glee. ‘Clear link established between Langda, Mahadevia … and Choksi. Talking about shutting Shreya up one day before she was murdered. The question is whether this will be enough for our spineless bosses to allow us to, once again, arrest Vasu Langda.’