The Blue Bar (Blue Mumbai #1)(62)

“You?”

“What? You were expecting your girlfriend? Word has it you have one, even if you think me unworthy of sharing the secret. She kick your butt and land you in bandages, huh?”

Tukaram gave Arnav an exaggerated lecherous grin, but Arnav sensed the concern in his friend’s eyes.

“Is that what you’ve come all the way to ask me?” Arnav gestured Tukaram to a chair. “On a working day?”

“Shinde told me about your accident, said you were in the hospital. Should have known you’d be here already. I’m finishing off the leave owed me. Preparing to retire, don’t you know?”

“A lot of years in you yet, young man.” Arnav fell into the easy banter between them.

“What does your boss say about all this lafda?”

“He’s gone on a break. Till after Diwali.”

“Strange he is, to do that when one of his inspectors was recently hospitalized. Not been right in the head ever since his wife ran away with his driver.”

“Really?” This was news to Arnav.

“Long time ago. Not many people talk about it, see. He never married again.”

“His family?”

“Father, dead. He lives alone. Takes women to his place in Bandra sometimes, I hear. Mhatre’s brother is in politics, in another state, you know. His father wished him to be a professional. Sent him to the best boarding schools in India. But no luck, see? Mhatre failed his final year as a medical student, and appeared for MPSC to join Mumbai Police.”

“Where did you find all this info?”

“My wife’s brother works in security at his father’s bungalow. An officer of some sort. Such an illustrious political family—the very highest in society, from Malabar Hills. Old money.”

Arnav loved listening to the frail Tukaram recount details, his eyes wide, his gestures expansive. Most Mumbaikars harbored a huge fascination for a larger-than-life existence. Arnav didn’t see the charm—more you owned, more you stood to lose.

Arnav’s bruises hurt and Tukaram’s perfume gave him a headache, but he had time till Shinde came in, and he saw no harm in indulging the chatty sub-inspector. Tukaram spoke on, excitement higher than ever at having found a ready, attentive listener.

“You should see their bungalow here in Madh Island—abandoned now, but they held such rave parties at one time.”

Arnav sat up. “He owns one here on Madh Island?”

Aksa beach was on Madh Island.

“Ask one of your constables to take you there one day. They shot movies there, decades ago. Nobody goes there anymore. They say it is haunted.”

Arnav made a note under Mhatre’s name in his notebook. Rows of “shooting bungalows” around Dana Pani beach served as filming locations for Bollywood and Hindi TV serials. This was part of what kept the rest of Mumbai, especially Bollywood, connected to Madh. Fascinating that Mhatre’s family owned a bungalow there.

As Tukaram rambled on, now waxing eloquent over the women he’d met on movie sets, Arnav read the notes on his boss. He had been a senior police officer for a while. Mhatre had a lineage and history he kept hidden from others. His wife had left him. Arnav had witnessed his discomfort around female colleagues. He had once been a medical student—and might possess enough experience with dissections and human anatomy to carry out the carnage Arnav had seen on the victims’ bodies. The cramp in Arnav’s shoulder ramped up, but a part of him seemed detached, quite separate from the agony and Tukaram’s relentless spiel.

He added more notes under his boss’s name.

Naik rushed in after a knock, startling him.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but Shetty is being a nuisance. We’ll have to either arrest him or let him go. Would you like to speak to him now? Here’s the analysis of his public records that you’d asked for.”

Arnav debated the wisdom of confronting Shetty. What if it backfired on Tara?

But Tara would never go back to that life. He couldn’t predict the future, but he’d make sure Tara didn’t have to worry. He scanned the paper Naik had given him, and spotted the name Taneja Estate Holdings. He would speak with Shetty. This interview would be his last action at the station in case he never got to return.

“I’ll be right with you,” Arnav said.

“Sure, sir.” Naik walked out.

“Shinde will be here soon,” Arnav said to Tukaram. “Let’s have tea before you leave. Arnav turned and strode toward the interrogation room. He wished he could have spoken to Shinde before meeting the bar owner, but better to fly blind than risk losing him.

He remembered Tara’s tear-soaked face by his hospital bed. Shetty must answer a few tough questions.





CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO


TARA

Nandini’s rooftop apartment on the thirty-seventh floor was the tallest place Tara had ever stayed in—toy cars crawled on the roads down below and toy houses sat in neat rows. The distant hum of the city beneath, the glass reflections from skyscrapers, and the imagined stench rising from the surrounding slums kept her from stepping onto the balcony. She paced the cane mat in Nandini’s living room for a while, meandered into the neat kitchen, retreated to the bed, but sprang up soon after and headed out to the living room again.

She’d spent the entire morning describing her time as a bar girl to Arnav’s journalist girlfriend. Nandini had stepped out a while ago, which was a relief and a bother at the same time. Tara didn’t need to answer questions for a spell, but that conversation had been a good distraction from her worries about Arnav and Pia. She’d spoken to Pia early this morning using Nandini’s phone while her own remained switched off, and she’d given Zoya Nandini’s landline number. She’d tried calling Arnav, but he didn’t pick up.