S.t.a.l.k.e.d.

By Girvani Dhyani

Tara Bakshi is a young lawyer with a difficult boss. No matter how hard she works, how many all-nighters she pulls, he is never satisfied. When she starts work on the top-secret assignment, Project Emerald, Tara discovers that someone had been tampering with the files and her boss asks her to find the culprit. As time ticks and Tara uncovers one evidence after another, someone starts stalking her every move. He shadows her on the street, in the parking lot, in her own bedroom; nowhere is she safe from his prying gaze. The only clue she has to his identity is a Zippo lighter with a serpent carved on it. As events turn darker with back-to-back murders, Tara teeters on the verge of a collapse. What does the killer want from her? Is he hiding behind a familiar face? Even as her life turns into a whirling nightmare that pulls her into its web, Tara must discover the truth before he strikes again ...A riveting thriller that will keep you guessing till the end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harper
• Release date: Jul 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9789351362869

Girvani Dhyani

GIRVANI DHYANI is an attorney based in New York City. She has a masters' degree in Corporate Law from the London School of Economics and Political Science, London, and another masters in Intellectual Property Law from Cardozo School of Law, New York City. She has lived, worked and travelled to different parts of the world. S.T.A.L.K.E.D. is her first book.

Book preview

Part I

YOU ARE NOT ALONE

1

I KNOCKED ON his door hesitantly.

‘Yes, come in,’ he said impatiently.

I entered his office. He was buried under a mountain of files. I didn’t know whether to say something or wait for him to look up. I decided to wait. What was it about bosses really?

And then, finally, he looked up.

‘Oh Tara, it’s you. How can I help?’ Before I could reply, he added, ‘Whatever it is make it quick, I have a meeting in twenty minutes.’

‘Sure. I will try making this quick.’ I desperately tried to sound cheerful even though I was pretty annoyed at being snubbed like this. Just as I was about to speak, I was again interrupted by the phone ringing. His voice changed suddenly from curt to saccharine sweet—one of our biggest clients, Deol & Sons, was calling.

‘Hello Mr Deol, how are you? No, no, I am not at all busy. Please go ahead. How can I miss your fortieth wedding anniversary party? Of course I will come to Bali! Is there anything you would like me to get for you? Please don’t hesitate to tell me . . .’

As he went on speaking, I was surprised to find him being so generous with someone. I just assumed he was bereft of all niceties. That’s when I wondered if Mr Aditya Kapoor, or AK as we often referred to him as, was really as distasteful and repulsive as I thought he was. Why did I stick around? Really, there wasn’t any dearth of jobs. The simple answer was that he was brilliant and if you bide your time in his law firm, better opportunities lay ahead. Who was I kidding? With the economic downturn where would I find better opportunities? Well, I guess I’d got my answer. I was royally stuck with my fancy foreign education and the hefty loans I had taken, and this was the only job that would help me get past my financial woes. Until then, I better suck it up and stick around like a good ol’ trooper.

I subtly looked at my watch while waiting. It was 11 p.m. and here I was, standing and listening to this conversation. Mr Kapoor didn’t even ask me to sit. All I wanted to do was hand over the file and take off for the rest of the night. But one had to adhere to protocol. Leaving it on the table would be impertinent, so I stood around and waited my turn.

Just then, my thoughts were rudely interrupted by the non-stop clicking of his Mont Blanc, which compelled me to pay more attention to the room. It was an extension of Mr Kapoor’s pompous personality—black leather furniture, Persian rugs, volumes of books stacked on the wall. His black gown hung on a coat stand, and had never been worn; it was especially ordered from Blackstone in London for this very purpose. There were numerous trophies exhibited on a cabinet, his fancy law degrees and affiliations were displayed on the wall and, of course, a wide range of Cuban cigars on his desk. The one picture on his wall that always cracked me up was a portrait of Mr Kapoor that looked more like a caricature. He proudly claimed that he had got it sketched on one of his trips to Paris; he had to sit in the artists’ square in Montmartre for an entire afternoon posing for it. I would have done anything to be there. I could almost imagine him barking out instructions to the artist on how to paint it, short of painting it himself. The painting was like a free plastic surgery minus the surgical knife.

‘Excuse me,’ he called out irritably. I didn’t realize he had hung up the phone.

‘Um, um . . .’ Before I could utter anything further, he interrupted me.

‘Oh yes, before I forget, make sure you send all outstanding invoices to Deol. Old man thinks I’m interested in his anniversary celebrations. I hope you have sent Franklin Pharmacy the JV agreement with the changes they sent me by email.’

‘Yes, Mr Kapoor,’ I said, barely audible.

‘Also, have you looked at Project Emerald? I want an update first thing in the morning.’ Then he looked at his BlackBerry. ‘Oh can you give it to me in an hour? Tomorrow I have an early morning breakfast meeting so I won’t have time to review it in the morning. I will review it tonight itself.’

I could see that things were going out of hand. It was one of those moments when you really want to say something and can’t and are sort of frozen to the spot because you don’t know what else to do. We were having a big family dinner at my home for my granny’s ninetieth birthday and I couldn’t muster up the courage to say to him that I needed to leave. Without realizing, I kept standing there, not moving. Not knowing how I was going to explain this to my family, and most importantly, to my GlamMa, my granny, who was more like a buddy to me. At ninety she rocked. GlamMa loved a good party. Till this day she continues to wear her chiffon saris with the triple string of pearls which are her trademark. GlamMa has been through so much in life but the one thing that hasn’t changed is her glass of Bloody Mary. She knows exactly how she likes it and god help you if you get even a single ingredient wrong. She would be disappointed not seeing me at the party but I didn’t dare to cross Mr Kapoor.

‘Tara, is there anything else?’ he asked, jolting me out of my reverie.

‘No, nothing. I will go and get started on the work.’ I left with the file I had brought in as more work had to be done on it.

I walked out dejected. I had really wanted to attend GlamMa’s birthday. But I guess I had asked for this because I was passionate about what I did, and at some level, people assumed my time was theirs. Why complain about it now? When I looked around the office and saw people’s empty workstations, I realized everybody here must have some compelling reason or the other that kept them going.

Just then, while deep in my thoughts, I almost crashed into Sailesh Gupta. He thought he was god’s gift to mankind. He was skinny and dark with small, black, piercing eyes and jet black hair which was always gelled. He could almost model for Brylcreem; on second thoughts, his looks would get in the way.

Gupta was probably the most annoying person in the entire office. Just because he had brought in some profitable clients he could do no wrong in Mr Kapoor’s eyes. He was, to put it simply, Mr Kapoor’s’s golden boy. Usually I tolerated him but today I was not in the mood.

‘Sweety, need help with the files?’

‘No, it’s ok. I can handle it,’ I replied rather curtly. I cringed at being called ‘sweety’. He thought he was being über cool but it was nothing short of aggravating. Besides, he had no intention of helping me—he hadn’t moved an inch in my direction.

‘Aren’t you leaving for the night? Didn’t you have a family dinner or something?’

As usual, he had probably overheard me mentioning the dinner to someone. And, as usual, he had to add salt to injury. I tried to ignore him.

‘I just need to wind up a few things for AK,’ I said casually. Though secretly I seethed inside for I knew it was far from the truth. I was probably going to be stuck in the office for a long, long time.

‘Need any help?’ he persisted.

‘I think I can manage by myself. But thanks,’ I added as an afterthought.

‘Well, if you do need any help, you know I am just a phone call away.’

I could see he was leaving for the day and had no intention of helping me out. But then, any offer merited a ‘thank you’.

‘Thanks Sailesshh,’ I emphasized the shhh at the end of his name. I knew he hated being called by his name—it didn’t quite fit in with the cool image he tried to portray, but too bad for him. It served him right even though I knew my reaction was borderline immature.

I finally made it back to my workstation and there was Riya, my colleague who sat in the cubicle next to mine. A little short and chubby, with dimples and shoulder-length hair with streaks of red, but the most unbelievable fashion sense. Riya used to sit in another part of our large law office but about a year back there had been changes in our law firm—a lot people had left and a lot of new people had joined—and Riya was now working with a partner, Mr Bannerjee, whom we all liked to refer to as Banner. He happened to sit on my floor and the partners preferred their associates to sit close to them. So Riya had only recently started sitting on my floor next to me. Boy was I glad that we got along like a house on fire! Riya’s cheerfulness and feistiness was what shook the monotony of our daily routine. We had become great friends and I would have probably lost it by now if it wasn’t for Riya. Even though we hadn’t known each other that long, we had established a special bond.

‘Hey Tara, I was just leaving. You look like you have had a rough day—is everything all right?’

‘Yeah, all is ok. I just have to turn in a few things in a couple of hours so I guess it’s going to be an all-nighter for me.’ I instinctively yawned.

‘Oh you poor thing! What about your GlamMa’s birthday?’

‘Sadly, I’m not going to make it.’

‘Oh that’s a pity.’ Riya sensed I was upset so she immediately changed the subject. ‘Have you eaten something?’

‘Yes, I have. Thanks, Riya. Shouldn’t you be leaving? Isn’t Jay coming to pick you up?’

Jay was Riya’s boyfriend. They had been dating for a while. If I was to go by the office grapevine, they met at work and instantly hit it off. Initially, they downplayed their relationship as our office had this rule that couples could not work together. Once the cat was out of the bag, one of them had to leave. So Jay decided he would quit and Riya would continue working in the firm. I had met Jay only a handful of times at office gatherings.

I noticed that after mentioning Jay’s name, there was a sea change in Riya’s personality; her mood suddenly dipped.

‘Actually, he won’t be coming to get me. He’s working late.’

I could tell there was more to this than met the eye but tonight was not the night to probe. I did make a mental note to discuss it with Riya later.

‘Bye, Tara. Don’t work too late.’

‘Thanks. You take care, Riya.’

The phone started ringing. I picked it up in a distracted way. I was still thinking about Riya.

‘Hello, Tara.’ It was AK. Instinctively I stood up, at attention. What was it with authority and me? It wasn’t like he was standing in front of me.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘I am leaving for the evening. Can you please email me your work?’

‘Sure.’

Before I could say anything more, he had hung up. I stood alone in an office with empty workstations in a long hallway. As I looked around each workstation, each one defined its occupants. Mine, for one, was chaotic—that probably reflected my chaotic and confused state of mind.

He noticed that her car was the only one left in the parking lot. He had been waiting for her, as usual. What he really needed in his life right now was closure. Once he was through with her, he would go away forever and start his life all over again. He couldn’t wait.

He didn’t realize how far he had walked until he reached the local paan shop where he bought cigarettes.

‘Hello, sir. How come so late?’ said Gattu, the paan shop owner. He was closing shop for the night.

Why couldn’t a man take an evening stroll in