Murder in Bollywood Read online

  ‘Zagde, do you have the crime scene photos with you?’ Hoshiyar asked his deputy.

  ‘Yes, sir, they’re right here,’ Zagde replied, removing the photos from a folder and handing them over to Hoshiyar, who began studying them intently, until a couple of pictures of Nikhil Kapoor caught his eye.

  ‘Take a look at this photo,’ Hoshiyar turned to Zagde and said, bringing his attention to one of the two pictures. ‘See how his body lies crumpled on the floor, with his right hand burnt to a cinder. Now look at his right shoulder. It’s completely dislocated, which according to the forensic pathologist happened when hundreds of volts of electricity passed through his body the moment he flipped the switch, causing his heart to fail and dropping him to the floor, even as his hand remained stuck to the switch. The force with which his body fell, coupled with the fact that his hand was literally glued to the switch because of the electricity, could have easily pulled out his shoulder from its socket and torn all of its supporting tendons and ligaments. But what if he didn’t fall and was dropped to the floor instead? I have no doubt that the result would have been the same,’ Hoshiyar stated.

  ‘Dropped to the floor? I don’t understand,’ Zagde exclaimed, prompting Hoshiyar to explain.

  ‘What if the killer somehow managed to knock Nikhil out, then dragged him over to the switchboard, where he got him up on a high chair or stool, which he would have needed to do since the switchboard is five feet from the ground? After this, he rested Nikhil’s frame against the wall in front and placed his right hand on the light switch that he had already tampered with, then flipped it himself using a piece of wood and pulled the chair out from under Nikhil with the help of a belt or a rope, sending him crashing to the floor, which would have dislocated his shoulder completely, thus mimicking the effect of a fall.’

  ‘Sir, do you think that’s plausible, because according to the police report, the watchman on duty that night heard Nikhil scream just a couple of minutes before he found his body, which would have been unlikely if he was unconscious when electrocuted. Besides, why would the killer feel the need to knock Nikhil down unconscious and create such an elaborate plan to make his murder look like an accident when all he had to do was get here early and tamper with the light switch, knowing fully well that during the course of the evening, Nikhil would tinker with it out of habit and thus get electrocuted,’ Zagde reasoned.

  ‘That’s exactly what I would’ve said if I hadn’t come across this photograph,’ Hoshiyar answered, putting before Zagde the second photo which he had kept aside. ‘In this picture, the back of Nikhil’s head is clearly visible, and if you look closely, you will see a bruise pattern just a little below the base of his skull, which is, undoubtedly, a stun gun burn, identical to what we had found on Tiwari, which clearly proves that Nikhil was first rendered unconscious, then electrocuted.’ With these words, Hoshiyar paused to ponder for a moment, then turned his attention to Israr, standing close by and asked him a simple question, ‘Tell me, Mr Khatri, in your prop room, is there any chair or stool high enough to enable a seated figure to reach the height of the switch?’

  ‘Why, yes there is,’ Israr replied almost instantly.

  ‘Gulistan saheb had ordered a dozen bar stools to be made for a nightclub sequence in his last production, which coincidentally, was also his biggest flop. They are all lying stacked up in a corner, gathering dust,’ he revealed excitedly.

  ‘Are they light or heavy?’ Hoshiyar inquired.

  ‘Light. Very light. Four, maybe five kilos maximum,’ Israr replied.

  ‘Do you remember what they look like? Could you describe them to me?’ Hoshiyar asked.

  ‘Sure, I remember. They are around three and a half to four feet in height, with slim, cylindrical legs, a circular seat with a backrest, and made entirely of wood,’ Israr revealed.

  ‘Is it possible for you to check if they’re all there and none are missing?’ Hoshiyar inquired.

  ‘Absolutely, I shall do it right away,’ Israr declared, then turned around and left Stage 7, stealthily making his way towards the prop room, as if he was on a secret mission.

  ‘Sir, what’s going on? I don’t seem to be following any of it!’ Zagde exclaimed, as Israr disappeared from sight.

  ‘Oh, it’s quite simple, really. I just want Mr Khatri to confirm something that I am pretty sure of, which is the disappearance of one of the twelve bar stools from the prop room so that we can search for it and retrieve it from the only place where it could be, which will prove to a certainty that Nikhil Kapoor was indeed murdered,’ Hoshiyar replied, and then seeing the perplexed look on Zagde’s face began to explain, ‘According to me, the killer had arrived here earlier in the evening without being seen and tampered with the light switch, in anticipation of Nikhil’s arrival. I am sure his plan was to rig the light switch in such a way that the moment Nikhil flipped it as per his habit, he would be electrocuted on the spot. After this task was completed, he didn’t leave, but stayed back in the shadows of Stage 7 waiting for Nikhil to arrive so that he could make sure that his plan went off smoothly. I bet when Nikhil got here later than usual at around ten-thirty and sat behind his makeshift writing desk, the killer was hiding right behind him in a dark corner, just waiting for him to get up from his seat, walk about the stage and tinker with the light switch. But when Nikhil continued to sit at his desk for the next fifteen to twenty minutes, the killer got impatient and decided to take matters into his own hands. Here, I must say that the killer showed great improvisation and daring, for he first knocked Nikhil out by sneaking up from behind and zapping him with his stun gun, after which he ran across the lot to the prop room a hundred yards away, from where he picked up one of the bar stools and dashed back here, then did exactly as I had described earlier, making a murder look like an accident. Therefore, the person that the watchman heard scream that night was not Nikhil, but the killer, who was trying to create the impression that Nikhil was playing around with the light switch and got electrocuted.’

  Just then, Israr charged in excitedly and, to Zagde’s amazement, announced that one of the bar stools was indeed missing.

  ‘Follow me, gentlemen,’ Hoshiyar said in response and led the two men across the lot towards stage numbers five and six, even as he continued to speak. ‘It stands to reason that the bar stool used in Nikhil’s murder wouldn’t have been concealed anywhere near the crime scene for the police to find, and neither would the killer have returned it to the prop room, as the mere sight of it would have aroused suspicion, since it would have been charred at the seat, on account of all that electricity. So, that left the killer with just one option. He had to quickly hide it in a place where no one would look, knowing fully well that when the studio is pulled down, that piece of evidence would be destroyed with it. But he didn’t foresee that on account of Nikhil’s death, the studio deal would be terminated and the whole place put under lock and key, making it impossible for him to retrieve the one thing which proves murder beyond doubt. And that clinching piece of evidence, my friends, is locked away behind one of these two doors,’ Hoshiyar said, as he stopped right in front of stage numbers five and six, then asked Israr to unlock the one that had more clutter and debris. As Israr unlocked Stage 6 and turned on its lights, Hoshiyar found himself confronted by a veritable dumping ground for wood, paint and Thermocol, as if to indicate that a set had been dismantled there a long time ago, but never removed.

  ‘What a total mess this is! Sir, are you absolutely sure that what we’re looking for is here?’ Zagde coughed and said, clearly perturbed by the dirt and grime of the place.

  ‘Under normal circumstances, the killer would have destroyed the evidence by breaking the bar stool into small pieces, which he would have scattered here and in other parts of the studio. But since he didn’t have the time to do that, he would have left it as it is, and among all this scattered rubble is the perfect hiding place. Turn everything inside out if you have to, but find me that piece of furniture, for without it, we do
not have that one damning proof of murder.’ With these words spoken with urgency, Hoshiyar sent Zagde to look for the bar stool in one direction, while he searched in another, with Israr also doing his bit by joining in. Then, about ten minutes later, it was Hoshiyar who emerged triumphantly from a corner carrying the much-coveted bar stool, which he had found hidden beneath a stack of bamboos and some old wooden planks. As Zagde examined the prize, he discovered that Hoshiyar was right, for its seat was indeed badly charred and to one of it legs was tied a leather belt, presumably the one Nikhil had worn that night, which the killer used to pull the bar stool from under him and drop him to the ground during his electrocution.

  ‘I don’t know about you, sir, but after looking at this evidence, I am pretty certain that the killer is a man, because it would have been impossible for a woman to physically lift an unconscious Nikhil Kapoor and put him in this high chair to pull off the electrocution,’ Zagde stated confidently.

  ‘Always remember, my friend, never arrive at any conclusion until the whole matter presents itself, and never under any circumstances underestimate the ability and ingenuity of a woman. She might be the fairer sex, but that does not make her the weaker sex,’ Hoshiyar advised, then paused for a moment and spoke once more, with a hint of concern in his tone. ‘But all things aside, there is one thing about this matter which confounds me. Why did Nikhil continue to sit behind his desk instead of roaming about the stage and tinkering with the light switch, as per his habit? I could understand him doing this if he was writing his script, but all the sheets of writing paper found by the police at the crime scene were blank, which obviously means he hadn’t written a word that night. And yet, he sat there motionless for maybe fifteen or twenty minutes, because of which the killer lost his patience and improvised. This sudden deviation from his set routine is what I find most interesting and perplexing.’

  ‘Well, maybe he just didn’t feel like getting up, or perhaps he was too tired to move around. And probably he didn’t write anything, because he was stuck somewhere in his story and the thoughts weren’t flowing for him that night. Couldn’t this have happened?’ Zagde reasoned unconvincingly.

  ‘No, I doubt it. Nikhil Kapoor was a creature of habit and it would have taken a lot more than fatigue or a momentary writer’s block to get him to stray from that habit,’ Hoshiyar replied.

  ‘Well, to be honest, sir, what he did or didn’t do in the last few minutes of his life doesn’t seem all that significant to me. I mean, I just can’t see how any of it is relevant to our case,’ Zagde said candidly.

  ‘Neither can I, my friend. But something tells me that those last few minutes are absolutely vital. In fact, I have a feeling that they hold a secret, which could lead us to the killer’s identity,’ Hoshiyar replied.

  7

  To

  The Special Case Squad (Crime Branch)

  C/o Passport Verification Department Building

  Carter Road

  Bandra 400050

  To whomsoever it may concern,

  Ha, ha, ha, you fools. You dimwits. You call yourselves Mumbai Police’s finest, but you’re nothing. I am living proof. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the person who murdered superstars Nikhil and Mallika Kapoor, their secretary Ram Prasad Tiwari and the careless detective Chandrakant Mule. The reason I am writing to you is because the Mumbai Police has offended me. I have been belittled by you and this has made me angry, so I thought it’s only fair that I let you know.

  The reason for my ire is the fact that you people haven’t given me the credit or the praise that I deserve for killing Nikhil and Mallika, two of the country’s biggest superstars, and to make matters worse, even the Ram Prasad Tiwari killing, you morons have passed off as an accident, and by not acknowledging the art, you have failed to acknowledge the artist, and this is most insulting. So here’s what I want you to do. You will hold a press conference, where Police Commissioner T.L. Ghankar will personally apologize in front of the media for not giving me the credit for the Nikhil and Mallika Kapoor murders, since it was he who handled that investigation, after which I want ACP Meeta Kashyap to do the same, because the SCS under her charge denied me the credit for the murder of the secretary Tiwari. Once these two have apologized on behalf of their respective teams, they will acknowledge before the media that I am the murderer and praise me for my brilliance. But first, I am sure you’d want some proof that I speak the truth, so I will be gracious enough to give it to you. How about I tell you how I killed the four of them, give you details that you don’t even know? I am sure that will do. So here goes.

  Let’s begin with Bollywood’s biggest director, Nikhil Kapoor. I waited for him inside Stage 7 of Gulistan Studio, then knocked him out with my trusty stun gun when his back was turned, after which I sat him down on a really tall chair that I had stolen from the studio’s prop room, put his hand on the light switch that I had already rigged and simply turned it on, and watched him fry. You will find the chair that I used hidden away inside Stage 6, which is a short distance away from the crime scene, just in case you’d like to bag it as physical evidence. As far as Bollywood diva Mallika Kapoor is concerned, I dropped by at the shooting of her film disguised as a journalist earlier that day and entered her vanity van while she was hamming it up on the set. There, in her handbag, I found her cocaine, stashed away inside a mother-of-pearl-encrusted cigarette case. Then all I had to do was add to it a little bit of Dreamer’s Dust, which although looks and feels exactly like cocaine, happens to be just a harmless hallucinogenic. But the moment it is added to substances like heroin or cocaine, the combination is lethal and the end result looks very much like a drug overdose. Now, although you fools have cremated Mallika’s body, and therefore cannot test it for Dreamer’s Dust, you can, however, test the cocaine she was snorting the night she died, for I am sure you boys still have it locked away in your evidence room; so run along, send it to the lab and prove me right. As far as Tiwari goes, he was an irritant, so he had to die. I watched him enter his home that night at around 1.30, then sneaked inside without the watchman seeing me. I knew the layout of the house, as I had been there a few days earlier in my favourite disguise, that of a journalist, so I had no trouble finding his bedroom, where I did him in with my stun gun, then killed him in the bathroom and made it look like he fell while taking a shower. In fact, I had my eye on the house the following morning to see how the police went about their business this time around and was very excited when I saw the SCS descend on the place after Ghankar had done another hack job. But you cannot imagine my disappointment when even you guys called Tiwari’s death an accident on every news channel a couple of hours later, which prompted me to write this heartfelt letter and tell you exactly how I feel. But before I killed Tiwari, I shot dead the careless detective Mule, along a deserted byroad called Kaala Raasta, off the main Shimla highway. Now, I have nothing personally against the late detective which makes me call him careless. But what else am I to call a man who leaves his loaded revolver in the glove compartment of his car, while he stops over at a liquor bar? I broke in and emptied out all his bullets and he didn’t even come to know. Serves him right for trying to dig into my past, for it’s common knowledge that when you stare into the darkness for too long, sometime or the other the darkness will stare back at you. Perhaps his mother should have taught him this. Maybe then he would have seen me coming, which he never did. And now, as I am about to end my letter, I have a small confession to make. My frustration at not being acknowledged and appreciated for my handiwork filled me with the urge to behave like a very bad boy a little while ago, which I did by attempting to take the life of a young man, who I had earmarked as my fifth victim quite some time ago. I think you know the lad I speak of. His name is Rohan Kapoor, the late Nikhil’s and Mallika’s adopted son. I’d been planning his murder for quite a while and last night I felt the time had come for me to put my plan into action. So I lured him away from the security of his home and his bodyguards, and got him to an isolated
place, where I attacked him with violent fury, but he survived and managed to escape. It wasn’t hard bringing him out into the open. Just ask young Megan Morris, who’s on Rohan’s Facebook. I am sure she’ll tell you all you need to know. And just in case you imbeciles are wondering where master Rohan is, go to the ICU of the newly opened D.B. Charak Hospital and Medical Centre near Gorai Beach and inquire if anyone was brought in there last night with a near-fatal knife injury. I could have had a second run at the boy last night itself if I wanted to, but I decided to inform you people instead so that you could protect him and make the hunt somewhat challenging for me. So, on this note, dear gentlemen, I will take your leave, with a promise that the cycle of violence that I’ve started will not end until I have eliminated each and every name on my death list. And I suggest that if you people intend coming after me, then you better bring your A-game to the party. This message is specifically for the benefit of one Senior Inspector Hoshiyar Khan, who is widely regarded as the Mumbai Police’s absolute best. Dear Inspector saheb, I have been your fan for a very long time and have keenly followed each and every one of your exploits. You cannot imagine how happy I was when I saw you at Ram Prasad Tiwari’s home in the morning, so much so that I’ve been following you around ever since. In fact, I was right behind you in my car when you and your sidekick paid a visit to Billimoria House, to perhaps ask Rohan a few routine questions which makes me want to believe that at least you were on to me and my handiwork the moment you saw Tiwari’s body, unlike the rest of the police, who continue to stumble along blindly. If so, then goody gumdrops, for I’ve finally found a worthy adversary! But if not, then I suggest you better step away from this case, because the carnage has only just begun, and if you don’t believe in the devil, then how on earth will you take him on?