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“You are right,” said Nisha, realizing where he was going with it. “All three murder sites have had the same security consultant.”
“Find out everything that you can about Xilon,” he said, “founders, owners, directors. Look into the backgrounds of all their site engineers and find out if anyone has a suspicious past.” He stared blankly at the television screen, looking straight through the glitter and glamor of the Filmfare Awards.
One person stood out that night, though. Her name was Lara Omprakash and she seemed to be picking up a substantial number of awards. Lara was an elegant woman in her forties. She had been a leading lady in several blockbuster films but had bowed out gracefully a few years previously. Bollywood was always in search of the sexiest body and prettiest face that it could find, and maturity carried no premium for women. From a career in front of the camera, Lara had switched over to a career behind it. She had turned director—and how. Challenging all the norms of a formula-driven industry, she had directed the previous year’s biggest hit, a cutting-edge suspense thriller about a woman leading a double life.
On the television screen, Lara stepped up on stage and gracefully accepted the award for best director. She was retaking her seat when she was requested to return on stage to receive the award for best picture also. Having delivered a short, witty, and dignified acceptance speech, Lara went back to her seat and sat down next to a familiar face.
Santosh was shaken out of his reverie as the TV cameras panned over the audience in the VIP section. Sitting next to Lara and looking rather dapper in his tuxedo was the man who had accompanied her to the awards ceremony that night.
It was Santosh’s boss from LA—Jack Morgan.
Chapter 27
SANTOSH SAT WATCHING the giant screen with his mouth agape, attempting to make sense of Jack Morgan’s presence at the Filmfare Awards. Nisha, Mubeen, and Hari were equally stumped but before they could recover from the surprise, they heard a familiar voice ask: “Anyone home?”
Jack Morgan—ex-marine and head of the world’s largest and most renowned investigation agency—strode purposefully into the Private India conference room, still dressed in his tuxedo but with the bow tie having been undone. His day-old stubble and rugged good looks were the ideal combination for a charm offensive, but underneath that was a smart and extremely driven individual who surrounded himself with intelligent and committed people. Jack Morgan only hired the cream of the crop and paid them the very best salaries in the industry.
Walking up to Santosh, he shook his hand and indulged in a bit of good-natured back-thumping. “Nice to see that the retina scan at the entrance still remembers me,” he said, turning to give Nisha an almost imperceptible peck on her cheek. He then quickly went around the conference table to shake hands with Mubeen and Hari.
“What brings you here, boss?” asked Santosh. “Why didn’t you keep me informed? I would have come to pick you up from the airport.”
“No need for formality, Santosh,” said Jack. “I’m here because of Lara Omprakash.”
“Had I known that you know her, I would have requested you to arrange for me to meet her,” said Hari, sputtering like an excited schoolboy.
“That could still be arranged,” said Jack, winking at Hari, who was still a little distracted by the Filmfare glitz on the screen. “Stop staring at her! Trust me when I say that she’s far prettier off camera.”
“I thought that the Filmfare Awards were broadcast live. How are you in two places simultaneously?” asked Mubeen rather naively, looking at Jack’s face on the screen.
“They buffer the broadcast by two hours so that they can do on-location edits,” replied Jack, “particularly for the song-and-dance sequences that all Indians seem to love.” He settled down into one of the chairs at the conference table.
“So, here I am in Mumbai,” he continued. “I wasn’t too sure if I would come but the pressure from Lara was simply too much. She almost forced me to board the flight.”
“How do you know her?” asked Santosh, the investigator in him taking over.
“Ah, the interrogation has started,” remarked Jack in jest. “Okay, here’s the condensed version. Lara Omprakash was doing brilliantly as a heroine in Bollywood. Unfortunately most leading ladies there have rather short careers. The film industry is notoriously sexist and retires them the moment that a younger, hotter, sexier alternative emerges. Lara was intelligent. She withdrew in good time.”
“That still doesn’t explain how you know her,” persisted Santosh, almost forgetting that Jack was his boss, not a suspect.
Jack ignored the impatience and helped himself to a kebab from one of the tandoori cartons. “She decided to switch careers from acting to direction and took two years off from Bollywood. She settled down in LA temporarily and enrolled at the world-renowned American Film Institute in order to make the transition.”
“How did you meet her?” asked Hari eagerly.
“While she was in LA, she became friends with another student—a young actor from Brazil,” answered Jack. “A stringer from an Indian gossip magazine took some compromising photographs of her with this Brazilian friend. She needed someone to help her retrieve those photos before they were published back home. My name was recommended to her by the associate dean of the institute.”
“Were you able to help her?” asked Nisha.
“What do you think?” said Jack, licking the tandoori spice off his fingers.
“I think it’s possible that Mr.
Jack Morgan became better friends with Lara than the Brazilian,” joked Nisha.
“Lara has never had time for anything besides her work and hobbies,” said Jack, sidestepping the question deftly.
“That’s one of the ironies of life,” remarked Nisha cryptically.
“What is?” asked Jack.
