Vikhroli, located in Mumbai’s north-east, appears at first glance to be no different from the city’s other eastern suburbs. Large concrete industrial complexes, each as unimaginatively designed as the other, new residential accommodation under furious construction alongside a previous generation of sparsely occupied blocks, perennial roadworks plastered with banners assuring Mumbaikars that today’s disruption is for tomorrow’s betterment and, of course, row after row of slums—Vikhroli boasts of all that the twenty-first-century suburban template demands. But contrarily, it is also home to a massive 40 square kilometres of dense mangrove forests, the veritable lungs of north-eastern Mumbai, nature’s defiant protection from the man-made havoc around it.
As Gopal wove through the morning rush on the Eastern Express Highway to Vikhroli, Russi observed that the road neatly bisected the area’s two conflicting sub-universes—to its east, the thriving green forest silently infusing oxygen into its surrounds; to its west, the jungle of concrete, metal and tar noisily generating carbon dioxide in return. Russi’s destination for the morning was on this western side, about fifteen minutes off the highway, in a cluster of uninspiring grey medium-rise buildings appropriately named Standard Towers. On the ninth floor of the first block near the gate was the flat belonging to Shreya Ved and Jayesh Acharya.
Russi got to the apartment a few minutes before 9 a.m. and found its door ajar. Several pairs of shoes and slippers were littered at the entrance, and Russi picked up a faint murmur of voices. He could see men in white shirts and women in white kurtas, perhaps a dozen people in all, seated in the living room. The younger among them were on the floor and the older on hastily drawn up chairs. They all bore uniformly sombre expressions. Jayesh Acharya was part of this group, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his eyes fixed on the off-white tiles in front of him and his head resting in his palms. A low wooden table by the wall supported a large picture frame. The bright smiling face in the frame’s garlanded photograph belonged to Shreya Ved.
‘Right on time, eh, Umpire saheb?’ said Vichare as he and Lobo crept up behind Russi at the apartment door. ‘Hope we have not been timed-out for being two minutes late to the crease!’
Vichare’s delight at the cricketing reference he had thought up was completely unconcealed, a wide smile pasted below his drooping moustache. Russi wondered whether the Inspector’s cheery disposition that morning—totally at odds with the melancholic ambience of the home he was about to enter—was a coping mechanism, honed over time by a man accustomed to witnessing misery and mourning in the aftermath of ghastly crime. Or, he reckoned, it may simply be the temporary after-effects of two extra spoonfuls of sugar in each of his chais that morning.
Before Russi could respond, the front door was pulled open and the wiry figure of Jayesh Acharya appeared in the entrance. His eyes were sunken and his face looked even more elongated than it had the night Russi had first seen him. A day-old stubble had formed around his dry, ash-coloured lips.
‘Inspector, please come in. We can talk inside,’ said Jayesh, eyes firmly on Vichare, ignorant of the other two men at the door.
‘Thank you, Mr Acharya, for speaking to us during this difficult time,’ said Vichare as the trio walked in.
‘We have a ceremony scheduled for 9.30 a.m., so I hope thirty minutes will do for your questions,’ said Jayesh, leading them past the living room and into an adjoining enclosed balcony.
‘This won’t take up a lot of time,’ said Vichare, adjusting himself comfortably on a rattan chair in the balcony, even while the others remained standing. ‘Could you start by telling us what happened on Sunday, the day of the crime?’
‘When you called me that evening, asking me to come to Shanti Chambers, I had a bad feeling,’ said Jayesh. ‘But I can’t believe what happened. I still haven’t come to terms with the fact that she’s gone.’
‘Totally unimaginable,’ said Vichare. ‘But can I ask you to back-pedal a bit? Did anything else happen before you came to the office?’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Jayesh, still standing, his hairy arms crossed in front of his chest.
‘I mean you were at Shanti Chambers on the evening of the crime, just a few hours before it happened, to meet Shreya,’ said Vichare. ‘But you didn’t say a word about it.’
‘Didn’t think it was relevant,’ said Jayesh, scratching his chin nervously.
‘Mr Acharya, please take a seat,’ said Russi. ‘We know time is short and we would like to get as much useful information from you as possible to help us find your wife’s killer.’
‘And you are …?’ asked Jayesh.
‘Oh dear, very rude of me not to introduce myself. Russi Batliwala, assisting the capable Inspector Vichare and Constable Lobo. Allow me to first express my condolences for your loss,’ said Russi.
Jayesh sat down heavily on a small wooden bench. ‘All right, what do you want to know? My wife was murdered two days ago and you can see that everyone is in shock. I guess there was a security camera that recorded me going to Shreya’s office. I am sure it also showed you that I left some time later. It wasn’t the first thing I thought of talking about after seeing her dead body.’
Jayesh buried his face in his palms and took a deep breath.
‘We just want to know what happened that evening when you visited Shreya,’ said Lobo.
‘I visited my wife,’ said Jayesh.
‘Your visit was just hours before her death,’ said Russi. ‘It’s important that you tell our friends from Mumbai Police anything from that meeting that could help them piece together what happened.’
‘You want to know what happened,’ said Jayesh slowly. ‘Everything that happened?’
Russi and Lobo, who had seated themselves on the plastic chairs directly in front of Jayesh, nodded in response.
Jayesh sighed. ‘Shreya cheated on me—that’s what happened. Had an affair. After all these bloody years of following her dutifully wherever her work took her, this is what I got in return. And now, before we could even get over this, she’s … dead.’
‘Arre, thamba, thamba. Slow down!’ said Vichare, forced to sit upright by the unexpected revelation. ‘Shreya was having an affair? When did you find out?’
‘Sunday morning, the morning of her death,’ said Jayesh. ‘Her phone was unlocked and I saw her messages.’
‘It must have been very disturbing to discover, that too in this manner,’ said Russi.
‘To be honest, I should have put two and two together long before,’ said Jayesh. ‘But I’m not the smart one, remember? She is. Was. I’m just a struggling actor who can’t get a break, and she was the lawyer making the world a better place.’
Jayesh paused to check if he still had the attention of his three interviewers. He did.
‘When I saw her messages, all those disgusting exchanges, it was so bloody obvious. All those late nights, supposedly working—I should have figured it out sooner.’
‘So you confronted her that morning?’ asked Russi.
‘I told her I knew and that I was willing to work things out if she wanted to,’ said Jayesh. ‘And you know what she said? “No.” She said we were past our expiry date. Can you believe that? She always had a sharp tongue, but this felt like a stab in the heart. Expiry date! Like I’m a loaf of bread that has gone stale.’
‘What happened then?’ nudged Russi.
‘Then she did what she always did. She said she had to go to work, picked up her bag and left.’
‘Is the man—the person she was having an affair with—someone known to you?’ asked Vichare.
‘I guess I wasn’t clear enough,’ said Jayesh. ‘I told you about the late nights at the office. That’s where it was flourishing. I’m sure you can connect the dots.’
‘You mean it was … Justice Shankar?’ asked Lobo, his mouth widening.
‘For heaven’s sake, no,’ groaned Jayesh. ‘Shankar was a father figure to her. It was that CBI person in their team. Aziz Khan. All that working together and those so-called field trips—that’s what it was all about. An affair. Aziz Khan wrecked my marriage.’
Complete silence followed on the balcony. Russi could have sworn that the murmurs in the living room next door also stopped abruptly, as if Jayesh’s stunning claims had instantly activated a mute button.
Jayesh closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. Vichare and Lobo stared at each other. Lobo’s mouth had opened so wide that Russi could see the cavities in his back teeth.
‘Any idea how long this affair had been going on?’ asked Russi.
‘I saw some exchanges between them dating back four or five months, so it was at least that long. She’d deleted most of her older messages,’ said Jayesh. ‘I couldn’t read it beyond that, anyway. They make me sick.’
‘And angry?’ jumped in Vichare.
‘Wouldn’t you be, Inspector, if you found out your wife was sleeping with someone while you were here doing your work?’ retorted Jayesh.
‘So you were angry. You both exchanged words, not just at home but then at the office also,’ said Vichare.
‘Like I told you, I wanted to talk, but she left for the office,’ said Jayesh. ‘I began wondering if she was meeting with her lover there. My head was bursting, so I decided to go there myself. I thought I would at least get to talk to her about everything.’
‘I assume she wasn’t keen to talk at the office either,’ said Vichare. ‘Judging by the CCTV recording, she took her time to even let you in.’
‘That’s how she was, you know,’ said Jayesh despondently. ‘Even when she was wrong, she was somehow able to behave like she was right.’
How long had this angst been building up inside Jayesh, wondered Russi, like scraps added one by one to a bonfire. Was the discovery of Shreya’s unfaithfulness merely the lighting of the match that burst everything into flames?
‘When she finally let me in, she refused to talk straight,’ continued Jayesh. ‘Said she had no time to talk about all this and needed to work. Work! Here our lives were being torn apart and she was focused on some shitty report. I lost it. I mean, I got so angry—’
Jayesh checked his sentence midway and turned his face to look outside.
‘So angry that it made you do … what?’ asked Russi.
‘Nothing. I didn’t do anything,’ said Jayesh, turning back to look Russi straight in the eye. ‘She said that she was “questioning everything” and needed time to figure things out. Whatever that meant!’
‘And how did you respond to that?’ asked Russi.
‘I told her to break it off—whatever was going on with Aziz. Otherwise, it would not end well,’ said Jayesh.
‘“Not end well”—what do you mean?’ asked Vichare.
‘I mean, how could it? They had their fling, it would break us up and eventually they would also break up. Everyone would be broken,’ said Jayesh.
‘What did Shreya say to that?’ asked Vichare.
‘She said, “Okay, done. I’ve broken up with Aziz, okay? Now please leave,”’ said Jayesh. ‘Another lie, I’m sure.’
‘After which you left,’ said Vichare.
‘My head felt like it was going to burst. I came back home. Then, a few hours later, you called me with the news …’ Jayesh’s voice trailed off.
‘Don’t mind, but you left Shanti Chambers just before 7.30 p.m. and I called you just before midnight,’ said Vichare. ‘Where were you in between?’
‘I told you … I came home,’ said Jayesh.
‘I assume you came back to Shreya’s office on your motorcycle as soon as you were called,’ said Vichare.
‘I did,’ Jayesh responded quickly.
Vichare chewed the end of his moustache. ‘Must be quite a fast bike you have, Mr Acharya. Because even at that late hour it would take at least thirty minutes to get from here in Vikhroli to Shanti Chambers in Fort. But you got there in less than fifteen.’
‘Yeah, okay, so I stopped for a drink, man,’ said Jayesh, shrugging his shoulders. ‘After leaving her office I needed to clear my head. So I went to a bar in Byculla.’
‘You went for a drink, huh,’ said Vichare. ‘What was the name of the bar?’
‘I don’t remember,’ said Jayesh. ‘It was one of those small places in Byculla. Geeta Bar, I think it was called. Or maybe Reeta Bar. I don’t remember. It was late and I was preoccupied. What does it matter, anyway?’
‘Can anyone corroborate your story? Perhaps someone who was with you in the bar?’ said Vichare.
‘I was alone. What’s going on, Inspector?’ Jayesh was clearly agitated. ‘Am I really being interrogated just after I’ve lost my wife?’
‘Look, Mr Acharya, it was only after we jogged your memory that your location shifted twenty kilometres, from your home to this unnamed Byculla bar. So maybe we need to help you remember more things about that evening,’ said Vichare. ‘Anyhow, from around 7 p.m. to midnight you were at this bar, which nobody else can vouch for. Then you came to Shanti Chambers when you got the call. Is that your final statement, Mr Acharya?’
‘Yes, it is. And I hope that’s your final question too, Inspector. Our thirty minutes are nearly done,’ said Jayesh, shooting to his feet.
‘We have no more questions, Mr Acharya.’ Vichare heaved himself off the rattan chair. ‘We will undoubtedly meet again, and I’m sure your memory will be in better shape by then. Meanwhile, if you remember anything else—for instance, the name of the Byculla bar you went to—here’s my card. Call me any time. And once again, we’re sorry for your loss.’
The journey from Vikhroli back to Dhobi Talao Police Station took Vichare and Lobo well over an hour, despite the emergency beacon on their police jeep and Lobo’s liberal use of the horn. Gopal tailed them throughout to ensure his boss got there right after the cops.
‘That shaana Jayesh Acharya wanted us to believe that he covered this distance in fifteen minutes!’ said Vichare, stretching his arms as they walked into the station. ‘He thinks we’re fools or what?’
‘Also, he was so suspicious that we were accusing him of something,’ chipped in Lobo. ‘When the suspicious thing is his lies and behaviour.’
‘Some jhol is definitely there, Lobo,’ said Vichare, as they entered his cabin. ‘Let’s see if he actually comes up with the name of this bar he went to. I’m sure he’s searching right now on Google Maps for bars in Byculla! Anyway, we caught him lying on the spot. Umpire saheb, what do you think? Is Jayesh Acharya out, stumped, or not?’
Vichare had the same satisfied grin on his face as he had when he had crept up on Russi earlier that morning at Acharya’s home. Russi was beginning to accept that these umpiring references were going to become the norm with the inspector.
‘No doubt this chap is quite a fekology master,’ said Russi. ‘Why lie about going to a bar unless there’s something to hide? But Inspector saheb, what did you think of his accusation of Shreya’s affair with Aziz? Also a bit shady, no?’
‘Arre, he may have lied about that also,’ said Vichare. ‘He was so insecure about Shreya. I won’t believe this—or anything else the guy said—till we get some other confirmation.’
‘Maybe we could ask Aziz Khan sir himself,’ volunteered Lobo hesitatingly. ‘In fact, I was just informed that he has arrived already. Shall I ask him in?’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ said Vichare, sitting up in his chair and running his fingers through his hair. ‘Have to accept one thing about these CBI types. They are more punctual than other policewalas. Had this been some regular DCP he would have reached at least one hour late, partly to show his rank and partly because he would have got held up eating some snacks on the way. And, of course, there wouldn’t be a word of apology for wasting everyone’s time. Speaking of snacks … Lobo, call for some good nashta for everyone. Can’t keep my brain sharp if my stomach is growling. Right or not, Russiji?’
‘Very true, Inspector,’ said Russi. ‘As we in the cricket world would say: Unless you feed the soil, the pitch will have no bounce!’
If the inspector enjoyed cricket-speak, then Russi would jump in head-first. But before Vichare could fully appreciate Russi’s quip, his attention was grabbed by the arrival of Aziz Khan, his athletic figure clad in a crisp navy blue shirt and khaki chinos.
‘DSP Khan, welcome, welcome, bassa, sir,’ said Vichare, springing to his feet and arranging an additional chair around his desk.
Aziz took off his aviators and extended a firm handshake, first to Vichare, then Lobo and Russi. Russi didn’t miss the look of surprise on Aziz’s face at seeing him at the station.
‘Thank you for coming here, sir. That too right on time,’ said Vichare. ‘We’ll be quick, as you already gave your statement on the night of the crime.’
Just then, the nashta arranged by Lobo—a few plates of fiery red misal, buttered pav on the side, steaming hot kanda-pohe and four cups of sweet milky chai—arrived at the desk. Vichare’s expression suggested that he would prefer nothing more than cancelling the impending interview to devote his focus to the delicious snacks before him.
‘I have had my breakfast, gentlemen, so I will excuse myself from this fare,’ said Aziz plainly. ‘I’m happy to get straight to your questions, Inspector.’
Vichare took the cue and managed to pull his gaze away from the misal.
‘Of course, sir,’ he said. ‘As you know, we have begun our investigations into the case with utmost speed. We got some leads from the CCTV footage and are doing some questioning based on that. It would be very helpful for us if you could go over what you saw at Shanti Chambers that night.’
‘Like I said, I went to the office after I got the message from Shreya,’ said Aziz. ‘It was all very quick when I got there. I entered the office with my key, walked through the anteroom into the main office. The lights were off and that’s when I realized something was not right. As soon as I turned on the switch, I saw Shreya lying in the middle of the room in a pool of blood.’
Aziz winced as he recounted the image of Shreya’s battered head and lifeless body.
‘I checked her pulse and breath, but there was nothing,’ he continued. ‘That’s when I called …’
Russi cleared his throat. ‘Indeed. An awful discovery to make, DSP Khan. To think that there we were, dining at the Pavilion Club just a short while before, unaware of what was about to happen.’ Russi paused for a moment, before continuing, ‘I left the banquet garden just after you did. Am I right in thinking that would have been between 9.15 and 9.30 p.m.?’ he asked.
‘Yes, around then,’ said Aziz, unsure why the umpire was now getting into the fray.
Vichare decided to reclaim the mantle before any questions were raised regarding Russi’s presence in the interview.
‘One thing, if I may ask, sir, is where you went from the club … before you reached the office,’ the inspector said, adopting his most genial tone.
‘What do you mean? Nowhere. I went to the office from the club,’ said Aziz.
‘You see, sir, the CCTV footage shows that you arrived at 11.30 p.m., about two hours after you left,’ said Vichare. ‘As the distance between the club and Shanti Chambers is hardly three kilometres, we were thinking you might have had some other work on the way. You know … maybe a short stop for a cigarette or a drink, or to fill some petrol … or to go to an ATM?’
‘I … I don’t remember,’ said Aziz haltingly. ‘Did you say I reached the office at 11.30?’
The assured, suave CBI cop suddenly appeared anything but. Vichare and Lobo exchanged puzzled glances.
‘Umm, yes, Khan sir,’ said Vichare. ‘That’s why we thought that you must have gone somewhere in between—’
‘No, I didn’t,’ said Aziz quickly. ‘I came to Shanti Chambers as soon as I could.’
Vichare shuffled in his seat uneasily.
Lobo decided to have a shot. ‘Maybe Khan sir didn’t leave the club at 9.30 then?’ he asked no one in particular, hopefully.
Russi was bemused by how easily the policemen had questioned the only fact from the evening that he had attested to—Aziz Khan’s departure time from the club—to help their senior officer sort through his story.
Aziz was silent for a minute, and then spoke. ‘I didn’t check the precise time when I left the club, so I guess that’s possible.’
Vichare sighed. The quick closure to this thread that he had been hoping for wasn’t on the cards. ‘Maybe DSP Khan needs some time to remember what happened,’ he said to the group.
‘Yes, perhaps,’ said Aziz pensively. ‘I don’t have much more to say on this right now.’
‘There is one more matter, sir. A totally unconfirmed accusation …’ said Vichare, wondering if this was the right time to make an awkward situation downright uncomfortable.
‘Go on,’ said Aziz impatiently.
‘We met Shreya’s husband, Mr Jayesh Acharya, this morning,’ said Vichare. ‘He claimed that he saw some text messages on her phone that indicate that … umm … Shreya and you were … you know … were more than just colleagues and friends, if you know what I mean. He was, as expected, in a very poor mental state, so these may be nothing more than unfounded statements from a man in shock. We haven’t seen any proof to back his claims yet. We will, of course, look at Shreya’s phone ourselves … In fact we are already doing that, aren’t we, Lobo?’
Vichare was so lost in his long-winded attempt at being tactful that he missed the sharp change in colour in Aziz Khan’s face. When he looked at his senior officer again, Vichare saw that he was white as a sheet.
A tense silence filled the air. Aziz stared at the floor. Vichare started chewing the tip of his moustache. Lobo shifted nervously in his seat, wondering if he was witnessing the beginning of the end of his and his boss’s careers.
Russi leaned forward and spoke. ‘So, is it true, DSP Khan? Were you and Shreya having an affair as her husband claims?’
Aziz’s head continued to hang low. When he spoke a few moments later, he was barely audible. ‘We were in love. We broke it off recently, though. We decided it wasn’t working.’ He looked up at Vichare. ‘It has nothing to do with the case and I hope it doesn’t turn attention away from finding her killer. That, I am sure, is the first priority, Inspector?’
‘Yes, it is, sir, most definitely,’ said Vichare. ‘We have no further questions right now, so we won’t keep you any longer.’
It was Vichare who needed to be released from the conversation more than anyone else, thought Russi.
‘If anything strikes you about the evening you discovered the crime, then please call me,’ added Vichare as they all stood up. ‘Here’s my card.’
It wasn’t lost on Russi and Lobo that the inspector had made the same offer just a few hours before to another person in a distinctly different tone.
Aziz Khan nodded half-heartedly on his way out.
Vichare slumped heavily into his chair and let out a tired groan as he spotted the neglected nashta on his table. He looked at the other two men and said, ‘My friends, the only thing worse than all this mouthwatering food going cold is that we have another suspect.’