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Penguin Books Ltd - Vibha Singh

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135 pages

English

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Ace crime journalist Joy Dutta is killed, and his arch rival, Jagruti Verma, is accused of using her alleged connection with the dreaded don Chikna Ramu to commit the murder. Their mentor and ex-boss, Ammar Aney, whose expos s had earned him the respect of his fraternity, and whose enemies had conspired to destroy his personal and professional life, is forced out of retirement to get justice for both Joy and Jagruti. As he delves deeper, Aney realizes that the culprits and their motives are more dangerous than he could have ever imagined.

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Publié par	Penguin Books Ltd
Date de parution	15 décembre 2013
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9789351185819
Langue	English

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Vibha Singh

A CONVENIENT CULPRIT
Contents
About the Author
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Follow Penguin
Copyright Page
PENGUIN BOOKS AND BLUE SALT
A CONVENIENT CULPRIT
Vibha Singh is a freelance writer. An MBA from the American University in Cairo, (AUC), Egypt, and an ex-advertising professional, she now writes for Hindi films and television. She has written story, screenplay, dialogue and lyrics for over fifteen films and ten TV serials. Her film Dharm won the Nargis Dutt National Award for the best feature film on national integration (2007), and the Swarovski Trophy for the best film at the Asian Festival of First Films. She has also won nominations for Filmfare and Screen awards.
She resides in Mumbai with her husband and son.
to jaspinder and tejasvi for the warmth and wisdom
Blue Salt is an imprint dedicated to noir and crime, established by the bestselling writer S. Hussain Zaidi and co-published by Penguin.
Prologue
She stood exposed. Finally!
Though her face was covered with cloth, it would only hide the thoughts in her head. Her face would be plastered across TV channels, print and Internet media sooner than she would take her next breath. He was sure of that.
Just as he had been sure that she would land up in trouble, eventually.
He had cautioned her, advised her, and even threatened her. If she didn t mend her ways, she would end up in jail.
She hadn t paid heed, and was paying the price.
She had been arrested for murder. And not just under any section, but the draconian MCOCA-Maharashtra Control of Organized Crime Act. After all, she had taken the help of her underworld connections to orchestrate a murder.
Jagruti Verma s fate was sealed!
Guilty unless proven innocent, that is the practised law, Ammar Aney fatalistically uttered as he smiled and turned away from the TV. He focused his attention back on frying onions for the chicken curry that he was making. They had to be perfectly brown, without getting burnt.
Am I looking tip-top? asked Chhotu from behind Ammar.
Ammar turned slowly, hampered by the ninety-nine kilograms constricted in his five-foot-six-inch frame, and faced Chhotu. Is some girl s family coming to see you for matrimony? he asked dryly.
Hutt! It s those people with cameras TV aunties and uncles are here I want to look good! Chhotu blushed.
And I want the chicken to look good, so get to it instead! commanded Ammar, as he wiped his hands, and peeped out of the kitchen window, to see a trail of TV OB vans making their way towards his farmhouse.
I am only fourteen. Child labour is against the law! Chhotu made a valiant attempt to extricate himself from the task.
Whack! Ammar s giant-sized palm landed on Chhotu s head. I know how to deal with the law and slaves like you! So get on with it! he said and walked away after messing up Chhotu s perfectly combed hair.
Chhotu sulked.
Outside, in the farm, there were other kids, about Chhotu s age, who were tending to the cows, hens and horses in the farm. Some were in the vegetable garden, picking tomatoes, chillies, gourds and spinach.
As he stood watching them, Ammar realized they were all distracted by the fast-approaching OB vans.
Shekhar, Rehman, Raja, Cheeni, he called out, you bastards, get your asses here!
They all looked up, saw Ammar s grim face and came to him immediately. Without wasting his breath, Ammar addressed them, The circus is coming to town and I don t want you guys watching it!
Will there be lions and clowns in it? asked Pico, the youngest. Shekhar nudged him to keep quiet.
Ammar nodded solemnly. Yes. There will be lions and clowns, and other kinds of animals that you haven t seen or heard of. That is why I want you guys to go in, and stay there! I don t want you uttering a word till I say so. Is that clear?
The boys looked at him, then nodded slowly.
Ammar signalled and they walked past him in one line, like trained army troops. He turned towards the gate once again, and waited.
They arrived like a swarm of bees-more sound than substance as they honked to secure parking space for their OB vans, checked their mics and instructed the cameramen. It was a mess. But if one were to point it out to them, they would shrug nonchalantly and say it was temporary.
Quite like the news, thought Ammar.
How are you, sir? chirped Piya Goswami of the News Today network. Young, stylish and eager-she had the air of someone who has arrived. An attitude derived simply by virtue of her being in the electronic media. Without any adulteration of achievement.
An existentialist s inspiration, thought Ammar as he looked at her and smiled sardonically, scanning the media persons before him, My health bulletin is of national importance now?
Piya shook her head sheepishly, No, sir, it s
Jagruti Verma has been jailed! shouted Rajesh Desai of Breaking News. He was grinning as if he had got a scoop.
Ammar raised his brows, Don t tell me you are going door to door breaking this news!
The others tittered as Rajesh s smile faltered.
We just want to know how you feel, a mic was thrust before him by the stunning Meera Qureishi. She looked into his eyes, deeply, intently, as though she intended to descend into his soul.
I don t, said Ammar looking right back into her eyes, his own padlocked.
Surely you must feel something ? said Meera huskily, in a conspiratorial tone. After all, Jagruti was a friend
What do you feel? Ammar countered.
Meera was taken aback by this direct question. She could feel the eyes of her colleagues on her everyone waiting for an answer. She could see the smile on Piya s face, although her back was turned to the other woman. Everyone knew that Jagruti had shared her stories with Meera, which had resulted in Meera s unprecedented ascent at her channel. Meera had been Jagruti s fan, sycophant, friend, all rolled into one, till the whispering campaign against Jagruti began. Meera had been instrumental in adding momentum to it.
I can t feel. I am a journalist. I have to be unbiased, sir, she said, smiling helplessly.
I am no longer a journalist. And I have never believed that everyone should feel something just because a journalist expects one to! Ammar laughed, though his eyes didn t.
Piya shot Meera an amused look, as she said, But, sir, you knew Jagruti well. Do you believe she could have got Joy Dutta, a fellow journalist, murdered?
Murders have motives, Ammar replied thoughtfully. Anything is possible, if there is a strong motive.
Rajesh hastily filled in with what the police had told them, Professional rivalry that is what her motive was.
Ammar looked uncomprehending, and Meera took the opportunity to butt in, trying to regain lost ground. It seems Jagruti wanted to be the best crime journalist in the country, so she eliminated her only rival.
Ammar looked at her and she nodded emphatically.
Ammar frowned, as he looked at all the eager faces waiting for his answer, then spoke slowly, as though wondering. Strange! If that were her motive, shouldn t she have come after me?
It was this question that finally got him thinking about all that had happened.
1
I
Gender discrimination! That is what you are practising, Jagruti had accused Ammar as she sat across from him in his cubicle at the Daily Brief office where he was a senior crime reporter. Male chauvinistic pigs are everywhere! she had said, looking away, her implications clear.
Would you like to button up your shirt first? Ammar posed the question, managing to be precise and poker-faced, as he had schooled himself to be. He knew if he had to continue being an ace crime reporter, precariously balanced between the law and the unlawful, there was no other way to be.
She looked down at her shirt as though just then realizing that her cleavage was showing. Is there a dress code for journalists? She smiled tantalizingly, Or are you easily distracted?
Crime reporting is not easy Ammar said matter-of-factly.
Nor am I, she replied, pointedly, then smiled. So long as we are both clear about our respective territories, I think we can work together.
Though he had remained impassive, Ammar had smiled inwardly at her impudence. He tested it further.
I don t think I can give you a job. I am not sure how quickly you will move from gender discrimination to sexual harassment.
Never! she had retorted as soon as he uttered the words. I can handle myself. She said it with immense force and steel in her voice.
That was her first meeting with him. That day, Ammar had felt confident that she would surely be able to hold her own, and given her a trainee s job.
Today, Ammar was wondering if I can handle myself , would prove to be the typical, famous last words for Jagruti, as he sat in the courtroom, waiting for her to be brought in as an accused.
II
You are my hero! she had told him, gushing, one afternoon when she came with a particularly scandalous scoop about a famous businessman. You excited me to become a journalist, she said.
Inspired or incited could be the words you are looking for perhaps? Ammar had asked helpfully. It was an automatic response of a professional English-language journalist, who had to deal with reporters whose English was invariably a direct and literal translation from their mother tongues.
NO! Excited! she insisted. I don t do things unless I am excited, and your stories excited me!
Ah! So I am to be blamed for inflicting you on the readers of India! he had said. And couldn t resist adding, For once I am glad that the population of newspaper readers is dwindling as the world moves towards instant TV!
While he may have argued on semantics, he was not averse to accepting her gushing praise.
Though the conservatives may have termed him immodest, Ammar was a realist, who knew that he was the original godfather of M