Amid the excitement the audio recording had generated, Lobo turned his attention to another item on his agenda: Contacting Authics Labs, the Bangalore-based digital forensics company that had featured in Shreya Ved’s phone and email records.
He hadn’t expected it to be as hard as it was turning out to be. He had sent them an email the day before, stating that he was from Mumbai Police and needed to speak to them urgently in connection with a high-profile murder case. They had not bothered to respond.
That afternoon, Lobo decided to call the office number on their website, the same number from which Shreya had received a call on Sunday evening. He was sure that whatever she had asked them to work on would further cement the body of proof accumulating against Choksi and Mahadevia.
If only they would answer.
An automated voice system greeted him with a promise of speedy assistance, but it was anything but quick. After punching several keys in response to the sequence of options provided, he was placed on hold with soporific canned tunes played by a violin. Fifteen minutes later, he finally managed to speak to a human being and tell them his reason for calling, only to be placed on hold again with the assurance that he would be ‘connected to the right person shortly’.
It was another seven minutes before another voice, soft but clear, spoke.
‘This is Asha Menon, Director for External Relations.’
‘I’m Constable Lobo from Mumbai Police,’ said Lobo.
‘My colleague just briefed me on your request,’ said Menon. ‘I’m afraid it’ll be very hard for me to help you, sir. Client confidentiality is our utmost priority, and we cannot disclose anything they have asked us to work on.’
‘I’m sure that your clients value confidentiality,’ said Lobo. ‘But in this case, madam, your client is dead. Shreya Ved was murdered, and the information you have may be crucial to finding her killer. All we need to know is what she asked you to forensically evaluate. A few hours after she received it, she was killed.’
‘Killed?’ said Menon. ‘This is so shocking. It was the first time we worked with her.’
‘Exactly why we need your help,’ urged Lobo.
Menon sighed. ‘I understand, sir. But on this matter, my hands are tied due to company policy. Our clients choose to work with us because we deal with all their sensitive digital forensic needs with utmost confidentiality. And we’ve had past instances of people contacting us like this, impersonating the police and snooping for confidential material. In fact, you’re the second policeman from Mumbai who is asking for information related to Ms Ved.’
Lobo blinked. ‘Second policeman?’
‘Yes, just a couple of days ago someone claiming to be from the CBI came here and started asking questions about the phone recordings.’
From the CBI?
Lobo paused to process what he had just heard.
‘Are you there, sir?’ asked Menon.
‘I assure you, madam, that this case has only one investigating team and that is from Mumbai Police,’ said Lobo. ‘We’re losing precious time here with a killer on the loose.’
For the first time in the conversation, Menon spoke hesitantly. ‘If you get a warrant from Bengaluru Police, then perhaps we’d be able to help.’
Bengaluru Police. Not what Lobo wanted to hear. Working across different police teams was difficult at the best of times, but when it was working with a different city, in a different state, on what would be considered a relatively routine request, the bureaucratic hassle would be a nightmare.
‘CBI,’ muttered Lobo to himself after the call disconnected. ‘That means Aziz Khan was snooping around, trying to get hold of evidence!’ he thought. ‘That’s where he was—on his so-called sudden trip out of town. What does he know that he hasn’t told us? I haven’t trusted that fellow from the beginning …’
And now what?
So much time spent chasing Authics for nothing, thought Lobo. He would need to find a contact in Bengaluru Police. The last time Vichare and he had worked with them was a year ago, when a dreaded drug lord had fled from Bengaluru to Mumbai. The intel they received indicated that the criminal was holed up in a building behind the Mumbai municipal headquarters—which fell under the remit of Dhobi Talao police. By the time Vichare got there, the man had escaped, never to be found again. An intense blame game had followed, with Vichare claiming the information was delayed and incomplete, and his counterpart in Bangalore accusing him of acting tardily.
Not exactly the best relationship to call in a favour, thought Lobo.
His shoulders slumped. He closed his eyes and replayed the conversation with Menon in his mind. Her polite but firm voice, resolute in its refusal to divulge any information, echoed in his ears.
Someone claiming to be from the CBI, she had said, was asking about the phone recordings.
Phone recordings?
Lobo sat bolt upright in his chair. All that he had discovered from Shreya’s emails was that she had sent Authics something to look into urgently. But he didn’t know what it was. Now, though, despite her best efforts at stonewalling, Menon had told them what that ‘something’ was. Phone recordings.
‘What recordings did Shreya ask Authics to look into?’ wondered Lobo.
Aziz had told them that the Commission had been tapping the phone lines of people of interest in their investigation. Had Shreya sent some of these recordings to Authics? Or was this the same recording Aziz had sent them just hours before—the one with Vasu and Choksi plotting against Shreya? Whatever the recording, why did Shreya send them to Authics, a company they were working with for the first time? And what was so pressing about it that she needed a response with such urgency? Clearly it was important enough for Aziz Khan since he had tried to get his hands on them as well.
Lobo’s mind was racing. He needed to find a way to get those recordings, and whatever Authics had found in them.
If only he could find a helpful contact in Bengaluru Police.
After tucking into an evening snack of homemade chicken farcha—Sherbanoo’s signature dish—Russi set off in the fading sun to the Pavilion Club.
‘My third visit there in a week,’ he said to Gopal. ‘More than I have made in two years. I hope to return to my previous average after this.’
‘Boss, that road is going to be quite busy today. The MCL launch event for this season is happening,’ said Gopal. ‘You’re going there for some other meeting?’
‘As it happens, my dear Gopal, I’m going for the MCL event only,’ said Russi.
Seeing Gopal’s surprise, Russi promptly clarified, ‘Not because I suddenly love T20 and all this tamasha. I’m going there to meet someone important.’
Before Gopal could ask for more details, Russi’s phone rang.
‘Justice Shankar, to what do I owe this honour?’ said Russi into his handset.
‘Russi, I called to tell you that the day has come,’ said Shankar. ‘The Commission has completed its report. We’ll be submitting it to the court tomorrow.’
‘Good to hear that, SS. When will it be in the public domain?’
‘That’s the good news,’ said Shankar. ‘In the interest of transparency and given the linkages to Shreya’s case, I’ve asked the court to allow the findings to be placed in the public domain in parallel. They’ve agreed to do this within two days of submission.’
‘We—I mean, the police have evidence of Choksi ordering Shreya’s killing,’ said Russi. ‘So if the report has got evidence of his role in match-fixing, the case to get him becomes watertight.’
‘Well, that’s partly the idea. I thought speeding things up may help the police,’ said Shankar. ‘They’ll be able to get Choksi, Navika and Vasu.’
‘We also looked through Shreya’s documents,’ said Russi. ‘We found a set on a “Mr X”. Did you come across this name in your conversations?’
Shankar hesitated.
‘Come on, SS. There’s little point in keeping secrets at this stage,’ said Russi.
‘Mr X is Rishi Girhotra,’ said Shankar softly. ‘Shreya was insistent on not naming him in the report till our evidence on him was complete. Now it is and we have what we need. So yes, Mr X, Rishi Girhotra, will be named as well. Absolutely critical to have a big cricketer like him in the dock. I assume, though, he’s not a suspect in her killing?’
‘He was at Shanti Chambers that night, which is definitely suspicious,’ said Russi.
‘You can’t be serious!’ said Shankar.
‘Unfortunately, I am. But he’s not the only person raising suspicions at this point.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Shankar.
‘Jayesh Acharya. He was at the office earlier that evening, when Shreya was at work. And we’re discovering he has some murky links as well,’ said Russi, recalling the information Lobo had received the night before on Vasu’s phone records. ‘What do you know about him, SS?’
‘Not very much. Shreya rarely spoke of him. In fact, if one enquired after him, she seemed eager to change the topic,’ said Shankar. ‘I believe he’s an actor by profession. Currently doing small parts in plays and TV series while hoping to get a break in Bollywood. The couple of times I met him, he seemed to be an intense but otherwise unexceptional guy. Surprised you say he has murky links.’
Russi was sure that Shankar would agree with his description if he knew that Jayesh Acharya and Vasu Langda had spoken just before Shreya’s murder. But before he could say anything, Gopal had swerved into the driveway of the Pavilion Club, and the phone call needed to end.
‘More when we speak next, SS,’ said Russi. ‘Congratulations again on the report. I need to proceed for the MCL launch event now.’
‘Really, Russi? Wouldn’t have thought you’d be joining all the T20 festivities,’ said Shankar.
Russi laughed. ‘Well, left to myself, I would stay miles away from them. But today, after years, I have a press conference to attend. Only this time, I’ll be the one asking some tough questions.’
‘Lobo, we have good news,’ said Vichare with a wide smile.
It was 6 p.m., an unusual time to find Vichare in a good mood.
‘Too late for snacks and tea and too early for dinner, plus the pressure of Mrs Vichare’s phone call asking about my return time,’ he had once said to Lobo in an attempt to explain his usually sour disposition at that hour.
But today was different—he was bounding with energy when he came to Lobo’s desk. It was the constable who was in low spirits, but Vichare hadn’t noticed that when he started speaking.
‘I told Boss about the fresh evidence we now have on Langda and Choksi. He needed some convincing, but he’s on our side. He’s agreed to talk to Sabse Bada Boss. So tomorrow we could have the green signal to arrest Langda again. What is that thing they say? Haan … fingers crossed.’
Lobo gave a feeble smile.
‘Kaay, Constable saheb?’ asked Vichare, sensing something weighing on his deputy. ‘You have your big smile, but with a long face. What is bothering you?
Lobo recounted his time-consuming and unsuccessful attempt at extracting any information from Authics.
‘Arre, all this does not matter now,’ said Vichare emphatically. ‘Now that we can get Langda and Choksi, this Authics thing is not a big issue. You’re taking too much tension, Lobo. Go home and rest. I’ll also go home early and surprise Mrs Vichare. Maybe order some dinner also, so she doesn’t have to cook.’
Lobo broke into a smile again—this time, one of genuine relief. Vichare’s ‘good news’ had lifted some of Lobo’s worry, even if he wasn’t as convinced as his boss was that the Authics thread was now irrelevant to the case. Before Lobo could ask Vichare about the plan for the next day, the inspector had left the station, briefcase in hand and bounce in step. He had plugged in his earphones into his mobile and switched on his favourite Kishore Kumar playlist.
‘Zindagi ek safar hai suhaana …’
Vichare hummed to himself on his way to CST station. Five minutes later, the music was abruptly interrupted by a phone call. An unknown number—a landline—flashed on the screen.
‘Deva re,’ thought Vichare, annoyed at the disruption. ‘This phone is like a handcuff. It never leaves you, whether you are singing, eating, sleeping or pissing. But not now …’
He rejected the call and returned to his song.
Seconds later the phone rang again, the same number on the screen. Vichare stopped mid-stride and closed his eyes. He was just outside the train station; five more minutes and he would be in the train and on his way home. He was in no mood for a diversion at this point.
‘Maybe it’s someone from Police Headquarters,’ a little voice muttered inside his head. ‘What if they want the Choksi matter to be put into action tonight instead of tomorrow?’
He took a deep breath and pressed the flashing green icon on the screen to connect the call.
‘Inspector saheb,’ drawled the voice from the other side.
That voice.
‘No, that can’t be. My ears are being deceived,’ thought Vichare as he adjusted his earphone jack.
The coarse, bristly voice continued. ‘Yes, it’s me. Vasu.’
‘You son of a—’ yelled Vichare.
‘Calm down, saheb. I have called for something useful for you only,’ said Vasu.
‘Quickly. I have no time for any nonsense right now,’ said Vichare.
‘I know who Shreya Ved’s killer is.’
‘Achha? You mean you want to confess now?’
‘Listen to me, saheb, I’m telling you …’ Vasu’s voice slurred as he spoke.
‘You drunken lout. So sozzled at this hour of the evening that you can’t even say one sentence properly,’ said Vichare.
‘I’m telling you. This Shreya girl, she may have deserved what she got, but I didn’t give it to her.’
‘Chyaaila, what the hell do you mean that she deserved what she got? When I break open your dirty khopdi like a coconut, that will be well deserved!’
‘Saheb, I told you earlier also, I didn’t do it.’
‘Exactly. Tell me something new then, you donkey-faced rascal, because you lied shamelessly the last time,’ said Vichare. ‘If it wasn’t for your masters, you would be growing fungus on your stinking butt in the dingiest cell at Arthur Road Jail right now.’
‘That’s why I called. I do have something new. I know who the killer is. At least listen to what I have to say, saheb.’
Vichare paused, partly because his stream of invective had temporarily run dry.
‘Okay, then tell me. Who is it?’ he finally asked.
‘Not now, not like this, saheb,’ said Vasu. ‘Can you meet me tomorrow morning at my chawl? You know the place, of course …’
‘Is this some kind of joke, Langda?’ said Vichare angrily. ‘You do some rubbish bak-bak with nothing to back it up—and now you want me to meet you at your house? Shall I bring some chai-biscuit also for us to enjoy?’
‘Saheb, you tell me, why would I call you like this if there wasn’t something?’ asked Vasu.
Vichare wondered if word that he was on the cusp of arresting Langda again had got out. Had it also spread that Choksi was in their net? That would have made it clear to Vasu that, on this occasion, there would be no one to save him. But how could the information have leaked? It shot to Vichare’s mind that Aziz Khan had known about Vasu’s previous arrest and release, when he should have had no business having such information. Could he have somehow found out this time as well? Was Aziz, like Kajal, also on Choksi’s payroll?
‘Let’s do it this way, Vasu,’ said Vichare. ‘You keep your story with you and stay in your chawl, okay? I will come to you tomorrow, but at a time of my choosing.’
With that, the inspector disconnected the call, switched back to his music and proceeded to board the train home.
‘Zindagi ek safar hai suhaana …’
Vichare was correct in thinking that he was going to see Vasu Langda the next day at his chawl. What he didn’t know at that moment, though, was that it would not be at a time of his choosing.
‘Yahaan kal kya ho kisne jaana …’