Need to talk. Come to the office. Now.
Aziz stared at the WhatsApp message he had just received from Shreya.
‘Now?’ he murmured. He had been heading to get himself another drink, and perhaps some food. He looked at the time on his phone. It was 9 p.m. On a Sunday.
Thoughts began racing through his head: Why was she even working on a Sunday? What was so urgent? Something new in the investigation? Did she want to rake up old issues again? Or maybe—just maybe—she had changed her mind after their last chat.
‘We’ve worked together long enough for me to recognize that uneasy expression,’ said Shankar gently, interrupting Aziz’s internal monologue. ‘What’s got you worried?’
‘I just got this message from Shreya and don’t know what to make of it,’ said Aziz, angling his phone’s screen towards Shankar. ‘I think I should leave soon.’
Shankar scowled, mirroring Aziz’s expression. ‘Is she not saying what the matter is?’ he asked.
‘I haven’t replied to her message yet, but she’ll be expecting me there anyway,’ replied Aziz.
‘Yes, and you should go. Eat something before you leave, though—knowing Shreya, it may be a long evening ahead,’ said Shankar, his tone almost paternal. ‘Let me grab you something from the buffet while you ask her what’s going on. Anyway, Russi is in the queue already and I’m supposed to join him.’
Aziz turned his attention back to his phone and typed.
What’s the matter?
The message was read only a few seconds later and the response followed immediately.
Will tell you when you come.
Aziz sighed.
‘Some new development on your report, DSP Khan?’
Russi had returned to the table, unaware of what had just transpired but sensing that his dinner companion from the CBI had something on his mind.
Aziz was in no mood for more small talk, that too with this nosey ex-umpire whom he had met for the first time that evening. Luckily for him, Shankar returned at last, bearing two plates, presenting Aziz the perfect opportunity to escape further conversation.
‘Unfortunately, I must eat and run, Mr Batliwala,’ said Aziz. ‘Some urgent work has up come up that needs my attention.’
With that, he wolfed down his dinner, took his leave from Shankar and Russi, and exited briskly from the lawns.
‘This better be something important,’ he thought to himself as he strode purposefully towards his car in the parking lot of the Pavilion Club.
But Aziz Khan had no idea what was about to unfold that night.
With Aziz’s hasty departure and Shankar now absorbed in his thoughts, Russi decided it was time to call it a night.
The meal had been too spicy and heavy for his liking, and the acid that had begun to rumble in his stomach reminded him of why he had never taken to the restaurants at the Pavilion Club. If he got home quickly enough, he could perhaps squeeze in a short stroll, he thought. That would bring some much-needed relief to his overloaded digestive system.
The food notwithstanding, Russi was pleased with his decision to attend the dinner and get Hormazd to seat him with Shankar and Aziz. The brief window he had got into their world gave him hope that cricket’s filthy underbelly would one day be purged—even if just a few metres from their table the sport’s leading wheelers and dealers had been operating unperturbed. As he thought about Choksi and Mahadevia, Russi realized that he could no longer spot them at the dinner. Perhaps they had decided to machinate somewhere less public, he thought.
‘SS, thank you for your company this evening,’ said Russi. ‘Wonderful to know about all the work you are doing. Power to you and your team.’
‘Russi, the pleasure was mine,’ said Shankar. ‘We must meet outside of these annual dinner types of functions!’
Only once Russi had walked past the reception into the car park did he remember that there was no Gopal waiting dutifully for him that night. He pulled out his phone to begin the search for a taxi. A few moments later he received a notification from the app.
Thank you for your patience. Your driver will be reaching your pick-up location in 20 minutes.
He sighed. ‘So much for getting home quickly,’ he thought. The dinner would have to digest itself without the walk.
It was 11.45 p.m. when Justice Sundaram Shankar’s phone beeped. He was home and had nearly retired for the night. As he put on his glasses, he discovered that the message was from Aziz. He froze when he read its contents.
Sir, you must come now. Shreya is dead.