The Blue Bar (Blue Mumbai #1)(47)
Had he led Tara to think he wouldn’t care? He was an angry fool in those days, less than ten years after his sister’s suicide, and quite soon after his parents’ death. He fished out his wallet and stared at Asha’s snapshot. She was fresh out of school when that photo was taken. The resemblance to the girl on Tara’s phone was uncanny. He wished he could call Tara and ask.
His phone buzzed and he snatched it up, hoping to see a text from her. It was Rehaan’s agent—fixing an appointment for the next training session, and this time Karan Virani would join them. He’d turned into a schoolboy—why would Tara call him in the middle of the day?
He looked up from his phone to find Naik staring at him. Her puzzled expression warned him he’d been dreaming again.
“Sir, what do you think?” Naik said. The others had left the meeting room.
“An important message. Sorry, Naik. What were we talking about?”
They rose and walked toward his office.
“The Aksa beach case, sir. Where we found the three buried bodies. Dr. Meshram says we have all we need. We can release the construction site back to TEH.”
Taneja would be happy. Arnav’s only hope of solving the cases at Aksa was to investigate the dead body dumped at Versova.
Shinde would be released from the hospital tomorrow. He would start asking questions.
“Did we check the call records for the Versova case?”
Naik nodded. “I checked the phone numbers present in the area at the time against a list of owners of the black van model. No hits so far, but two of the phones don’t belong to Maharashtra, sir. Both are switched off. One address is based in Lucknow, the other in Bihar.”
“Fake phone numbers?”
Government regulations demanded identification before a sim card was issued, but criminals devised ways around this.
“Possible, sir. We’re trying our best.”
“The CCTV footage?”
“Video forensics has detected two likely matches for that van model from the area you had information on—the Andheri-Kurla Road. We can’t see the number plates clearly.”
The garage Ali had described was located in that area. Now that Shinde had made so much noise, Arnav must get a photo of the van for verification before raiding the garage. His friend wanted to be the one to nab Rasool.
“Anything further on the sequins?”
“I had them checked by some experts in the market. They say that nylon thread is often used in sequin embroidery. These sequins are expensive. They could have been torn from a designer purse or dress. Lower-end clothes don’t use imported sequins.”
“I see.”
“We’re also still working our way through the jewelry shop list.”
A custom-made nipple clamp, with real sapphires. Depilation of her entire body. Sequins that could have belonged to a luxury garment or bag. This woman might not have been picked off the street. Why had no one reported her missing? Dr. Meshram had sent the viscera for examination. Arnav dialed the forensic officer.
“Did they send the reports back from Kalina?”
“I was about to call you.” The doctor’s voice sounded pleased and genial, in contrast to the subject of the conversation: liver, kidneys, stomach from a dead body. Arnav waited.
“She was drugged. They found traces of vecuronium bromide.”
“What does it do?”
“It is a neuromuscular blocking agent used in operating theaters to keep a patient immobile during surgery by relaxing all their muscles, alongside support for respiration and anesthesia. Needs to be administered by an experienced clinician.”
“You mean the killer is a doctor?”
“Not necessarily. They may have administered the dose to paralyze the victim before making the cuts we’ve seen. Without clinical assistance, the victim would have been paralyzed, aware of any pain inflicted, and eventually choked to death.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
TARA
Tara valued smartness above all, and she did not feel smart at the moment. Even as she dressed for the meeting with Shetty, she missed Arnav’s touch all over her—her face, her back, her legs. She’d ruled herself beyond the need for men. She knew better now.
Shetty had left by the time she was ready to meet him the day before—and Tara was glad. He’d sent a message again today, though. Perhaps he wanted to ask her where she’d been last night. She couldn’t tell him about Arnav.
Nor could she go to Arnav for help. She could not talk to him about Shetty, the assignment at the train station, or that sinister client, who was possibly a policeman. She didn’t care to go on another assignment, ever, but what if her refusal made an enemy of Shetty? Could she count on Arnav?
A recklessness seized her. What harm would it do to pretend for a while that a strong man, a Mumbai police inspector, no less, might come if she called? She longed to call him, like those sniffly girls in the movies falling in love. She was not in love with Arnav. Only rich, respectable folk could afford such emotions, not a bar girl, not even one masquerading as a choreographer.
No point in fancy dreams. Choreography didn’t earn her the money—it was the wolf whistles when she appeared under the lights. When she glanced at a guest at the Blue Bar, she convinced him it was business with everyone else, but not with him. She was, after all, a barwali.