Bigg Boss 19: daily Discussion Thread- 1st Sept 2025.
Yeh Rishta Kya Kehlata Hai - 01 Sep 2025 EDT
Yeh Rishta Kya Kehlata Hai - 31 Aug 2025 EDT
Mannat Har Khushi Paane Ki: Episode Discussion Thread - 26
CASE IN COURT 31.8
UMAR KHAYID 1.9
Why she gets bollywood movies
Bacha chor is such an incompetent lawyer🤦♀️
In this gen Cliff wali legacy maut will not happen
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Two years.
In the elevator on his way out, he stared numbly at the doors, wondering if Zoya Farooqui had any clue what he'd gone through to get all that evidence that she had just rendered meaningless. Yes, his cover had been blown, but only because--in a move that was two parts plain stupid and one part a piss-fight over jurisdiction--the DEA had sent in their own undercover agent to make contact with Ma. Asad had figured out who the guy was in all of about five seconds. It took Huda ten.
He'd ordered Asad to kill him.
Now Asad had done a lot of not-so-nice things in order to maintain his cover while working for Huda, but up to that point he'd always managed to avoid actually killing anyone. But this time Huda wanted the agent's body brought back to him--he planned to send a message to the DEA--and no amount of craftiness could get Asad out of having to produce an actual corpse. So he stalled. He was on his way to meet the DEA agent, warn him, and get them both the hell out of Dodge, when Huda's men grabbed them.
They killed the DEA agent immediately. Huda stuck to his plan and had his men dump the body on the Mumbai DEA office's doorstep that night.
With Asad, he was less forgiving.
Enough said.
On the second day of Asad's captivity, however, Huda's men made a fatal mistake.
Actually, it was one man in particular who made the mistake: Raj, one of Huda's interrogators, wanted to take his questioning up a notch and decided to untie Asad's hands. Sure, he immediately re-disabled one of those hands by ramming a nine-inch carving knife all the way through Asad's forearm, pinning it to the chair. But he momentarily left his other hand free.
For such stupidity, Huda surely would've killed Raj himself. That is, if Asad hadn't choked the guy with his free hand, slid the knife back out of his forearm, and beaten him to it.
Luckily for Asad, Raj had been carrying a gun along with his knife.
Also lucky for Asad was the fact that he had been trained in Special Forces to skillfully handle a gun with either hand.
These things, however, were not as fortuitous for Hudas men. True, one of them was lucky enough to shoot Asad in the middle of the gunfight that ensued, but he certainly didn't live long enough to brag about it.
But unlike his men, Huda himself seemed to have all the luck in the world. Not only was he not among the eight dead bodies CBI backup collected when they finally showed up at the warehouse, but apparently, Lady Luck was smiling down on him a second time when she steered his case into the inexperienced hands of Assistant INDIA Attorney Zoya Farooqui.
Two years of his life down the drain.
Asad didn't want to believe it. But she said that the decision not to prosecute was hers. And if that was true, then . . . the hell with her.
The elevator hit the ground floor and the doors sprang open. Asad stepped out and was immediately accosted by a throng of reporters.
Unfortunately, this was not an unusual occurrence; he unwittingly had become the focus of media attention after the shoot-out at the warehouse--eight dead gangsters tended to pique people's interests--and ever since, reporters had come calling whenever Huda's name popped up in the news.
"Agent Khan! Agent Khan!" The reporters shouted over each other, trying to get to him.
Asad ignored them and headed toward the front door. The female reporter from the local NBC affiliate, whose interest in him lately seemed to go beyond a mere professional level, fell into stride alongside him with her cameraman in tow.
"Agent khan--we just got word about the Huda case. As the CBI agent in charge of the investigation, what do you think about the fact that Akbar Huda will continue to walk the streets of Mumbai as a free man?"
She shoved her microphone in Asad's face.
Maybe it was due to extreme sleep-deprivation. Or maybe it was because of the fact that (according to the psychologist he had been ordered to see every week) he had some lingering "rage" issues related to his undercover work and capture. Or maybe, possibly, it had something to do with the fact that he'd been tortured for two days by the guy. But before he realized what he was doing, Asad fired back a reply to the reporter's question.
"I think the assistant INDIA attorney has her head up her ass, that's what I think. They should've assigned the case to somebody with some f**king balls."
Every television station in Mumbai led off their six o'clock evening news with his tirade.
And then they re-aired it again, on the ten o'clock news. Of course by that point, word had spread to the national correspondents that a Mumbai CBI special agent had verbally bitch-slapped an assistant INDIA attorney on live camera, and then his comments were everywhere: CNN, MSNBC, the Today show, Nightline, Larry King Live, and everything in between. Not to mention that the footage earned the dubious distinction of being the most downloaded video on YouTube for the entire week.
Needless to say, Asad's boss was not pleased.
"Are you out of your f**king mind?" Davis demanded to know when he hauled Asad into his office the following morning. "You're the one with your head up your goddamn ass, Khan, making a comment like that on national television!"
Things pretty much went downhill from there. Some feminist group began making noise in the media, claiming that Asad's comment about assigning the case to somebody with "balls" was--taken literally--a sexist statement that only a male prosecutor could've handled such a tough case.
Which is when the Department of Justice stepped in.
Despite his initial outburst over the situation, Davis worked for two days to appease the DOJ. He emphasized that Asad was Mumbai's most talented and dedicated agent and suggested, in terms of a disciplinary action, that Asad issue a formal apology to Ms. Farooqui and the INDIA attorney's office and be put on six months' probation. The lawyers at the DOJ said they would take Davis's recommendation under advisement.
That Monday morning, Asad got into the office early to start working on his apology. He knew he'd been out of line, both with the comments he'd made to the reporter and the things he'd said to Zoya before that.
Admittedly, he'd handled the situation poorly. Very poorly. On top of the shock and frustration he'd felt when hearing her news, the fact that he'd come to trust her had only increased his anger. But at this point, he hoped that they could somehow figure out a way to get past the situation and move on.
He had left the door to his office open while he worked, and after a few minutes of staring at a blank computer screen--apologies didn't exactly come easy to him--he was surprised to hear voices coming from Davis's office.
He'd thought he was the only person in that early.
Davis sounded angry. From across the hall, Asad couldn't pick up much of the conversation, other than to hear his boss say the words "bullshit" and
"overreacting." Since Asad didn't hear anyone else speak, he wondered if Davis was on the phone. But regardless of whomever Davis was talking to, Asad had a pretty good idea who he was talking about. He got up from his desk and headed to his door when--
Davis's office door flew open and Zoya Farooqui stepped out.
Catching sight of Asad, she stopped in her tracks. A look crossed her face, one that Asad knew well. Over the years, he'd seen that expression many times when someone saw him approaching.
Caught.
Zoya covered the look quickly, and coolly met his gaze across the hallway. She turned and left, saying nothing.
When Davis stepped out of his office next, he also saw Asad. He shook his head somberly.
That afternoon, the Department of Justice issued an order that Special Agent Asad Ahmed Khan be transferred out of Mumbai immediately.
Asad had a feeling he knew just who he could thank for that.
"WHATEVER YOU'RE THINKING about, you'd probably be better off leaving it in the past."
Asad glanced over and saw Haider staring at him. "I wasn't thinking about anything."
"Really? 'Cause the car stopped three minutes ago and we've just been sitting here in front of this house."
Asad looked around to get his bearings--shit, they were just sitting there. Nice to see his exceptionally fine-tuned special agent powers of observation were intact. He blamed their witness in the backseat for this.
She distracted him. It was time to put an end to that.
He called over his shoulder. "You're free to go, Ms. Farooqui."
No response.
He turned around.
"She's out like a light," Haider told him.
"So do something about it."
Haider peered into the rearview mirror. "Yoo-hoo, Zoya--"
"Yoo-hoo? That's really CBI-ish."
"Hey, I'm the good cop. I make it work." Haider turned back to the task at hand. "Zoya--we're here." He glanced over at Asad, whispering. "Do you think she'd mind if I call her Zoya?"
"Right now I think you could call her anything and get away with it." He even had a few suggestions on that front.
"Okay, time for plan B," Haider decided. "Someone needs to go back there and wake her up."
"Sounds good. Hope that works out for you."
"I meant you." When Haider saw Asad's expression, he gestured innocently. "Sorry. I have to stay here and man the wheel."
Grumbling under his breath, Asad opened the car door and stepped out, catching his first good glimpse at Zoya Farooqui's home. Or at least, the place that was supposedly her home.
He stuck his head back into the car. "Are you sure this is the right place?"
"She said 3309 North Henderson. This is 3309 North Henderson,"
Haider said.
"Yeah, but this is . . ." Asad turned around and tried to decide how best to describe the sight before him.
"One hell of a nice house," Haider said approvingly.
That pretty much covered it. As Asad stood there on the street, the elegant house rose grandly before him, three stories above the ground.
There was an arched portico framed by columns that flanked the entranceway. Sprawling ivy adorned much of the house, and a garden wrapped around the right side and stretched all the way back to the garage.
He guessed the place had to be sitting on at least a city lot and a half.
The first question that popped into his head was how a government-salaried prosecutor could ever afford a house like that.
Haider appeared to be of a similar mindset. He leaned over the seat and peered through the passenger-side window. "What do you think? Rich husband?"
Asad considered this. There was a rich somebody, because she certainly couldn't afford that kind of house on her own. Either that, or he hadn't been that far out of line when he'd made the crack three years ago about her being on Huda's payroll.
Haider read his mind. "Don't even go there. That's exactly the kind of crap that got you in trouble last time."
Asad pointed to Zoya, still conked out in the backseat. "The only place I'm 'going' is back to the office, as soon as we fix this situation here."
He grabbed the handle and opened her door. "Let's go, Ms. Farooqui," he said in a commanding tone.
No response.
"She's still alive, right?" Haider asked, turning around to look.
Asad leaned into the backseat. He lowered his face toward Zoya's and listened for sounds of breathing. "She's alive." He nudged her shoulder.
"Come on. Wake up."
Still no response.
"Maybe you should kiss her." Seeing Asad's glare, Haider grinned slyly. "Hey--it worked for that one dude."
Asad turned back to Zoya and considered his options. He could poke her a few times. Tempting. Douse her with ice-cold water. Extremely tempting. But then knowing her, she'd slap him with a battery charge and he'd be back in Nebraska by sundown. Which left him with only one option.
He reached past Zoya and tossed her purse over the seat. "See if you can find her keys," he told Haider .
"Are you kidding? What if she wakes up and sees me rummaging around in there? You don't touch the purse. The purse is sacrosanct."
"Either find the keys or get back here and carry her yourself."
Haider eyed the purse for a moment, then reached in. "It's worth it. I gotta see you try this. Ten bucks says she wakes up and clocks you before you hit the front steps."
Asad gave that about seventy/thirty odds as well. He told Haider to pop the trunk, then grabbed her suitcase and ran it up to the front door. When he got back to the car, he took the purse and set it on Zoya's lap. He got the keys from Haider and put them in his own pocket. Without further ado, he scooped her up into his arms and eased her out of the car.
She settled against him, still sleeping, and her head fell against his shoulder. He carried her to the house, thinking that out of all the possible scenarios he had envisioned if he ever again ran into Zoya Farooqui, this definitely had not been among them. He wondered what her neighbors must be thinking at the sight of him carrying her up the front steps in broad daylight--if any of them had the friggin' telescope they'd need to see across her little urban estate, that is.
Asad glanced down. She looked so peaceful right then, and for a split second, he found himself sympathizing over the long night she must have had. She'd held up amazingly well, all things considered.
With one hand, he opened the wrought iron gate and carried her up the stairs to the front door. Because of the size of the house, he thought it was a pretty safe bet that she lived with someone, and he wondered if that someone was about to come rushing out, all concerned, and scoop her away from him.
It didn't happen.
Asad reached into his pocket, pulled out her keys and opened the front door. Still no half-crazed-with-worry boyfriend/husband/lover. He looked down at Zoya, snuggled up against his chest. Not that he cared, but whoever the guy was, he was kind of an asshole for not noticing that she'd been out of contact for the last ten hours.
"Zoya, wake up." His voice sounded oddly soft. He cleared his throat. "You're home."
She stirred this time, and Asad set her down on the stoop, quick to put space between them. She stood there for a moment, groggy and uncertain, and peered up as if seeing him for the first time.
"You."
"Me."
She blinked, then threw an arm into the air, slurring her words tiredly.
"Go. Pish off."
Now Asad was more than happy to pish off, but first he needed to make sure she was safe. She was his key witness, after all. He tossed her the purse, which she barely caught, and set her suitcase inside the front door.
"Your keys are in the lock--don't forget them. Are you alone here?" He asked this last question solely out of professional responsibility. "You've had a strange night--you might not want to be by yourself."
He watched as she pulled her keys out of the lock and put them back in, then pushed on the door and stared in confusion when she found it already open.
"Yeah . . . now I'm thinking you really shouldn't be here by yourself,"
Asad said.
Despite being out of it, she had no problem managing to throw a dirty look his way. "I'll call Bobby," she mumbled. Then she stepped inside her house and slammed the door in his face.
So.
There was a Bobby.
Asad did a quick check to make sure the house looked secure. Then he headed back to the car and climbed in.
Haider held out his hands. "Well?"
"We're good to go," Asad said.
"You sure we should just leave her here alone?"
"She's going to call Bobby."
"Oh, that's a relief. Who's Bobby?"
Asad shrugged. "No clue. All I know is that she's his problem now, not mine."
"Ouch. That's a little harsh."
"Actually, I was going for a lot harsh, but I might be off my game," Asad said. "Been a long night. Don't forget the coffee on the way back into the office."
Haider grinned as he threw the car into drive. "You know, I think I'm gonna learn a lot from you, Asad."
Asad wasn't exactly sure where that was coming from. But of course it was very true. "Thank you."
"You're a man who speaks his mind--I respect that. And I bet you respect that in others, too."
Ah. . . . now he saw where this was going. "Just spit it out if there's something you want to say, Haider ."
Haider stopped the car at a four-way intersection. "Your problems with her are your business. I just need to hear you say that those problems aren't going to affect the way we handle this case."
"They won't."
"Good. And for my own personal edification--do you plan to be grumpy and taciturn every time her name comes up?"
Asad studied his partner silently.
Haider smiled. "I pushed it with that one, didn't I?"
"Common rookie mistake. The one question too many."
"I'll work on that."
"See that you do." Asad turned back and looked out the window, enjoying the familiar view of all the sights he hadn't seen since leaving Mumbai three years ago. After a few moments, he broke the silence. "And another thing: you're not supposed to actually tell witnesses about the glowering thing. It ruins the effect."
"So you do that intentionally?"
"Oh, I've been working on my glowering skills for years."
Haider looked away from the road in surprise. "Was that actually a joke there?"
"No. And keep your eyes on the road, rookie. Because I'll be really pissed if you crash this car before I get my coffee
Chapter 5
"I STILL CAN'T believe you didn't call either of us from the hotel."
Zoya could tell from the tone in Bobby's voice that he was vacillating between being concerned about her in light of the events of the night before, and pissed that this was the first he'd heard about them.
In her defense, after Asad and Haider had dropped her off at home, her first plan had been to call both Bobby and Humeira. The three of them had been friends since college, and normally she told them everything. But then she'd remembered that it was Saturday, which meant that Bobby would be working and Humeira would be knee-deep in wedding-related tasks, especially since her big day was only two weeks away. So instead, Zoya had shot each of them a text message asking if they wanted to meet for dinner at Host that night. Then she'd crawled into bed and passed out for the next six hours.
At the restaurant, as soon as the hostess had seated them, Zoya began to tell Bobby and Humeira about the occurrences of the night before--omitting any mention of C.M. Singhania involvement, since the CBI was keeping that under wraps. From across the table, she'd watched as Bobby grew more and more agitated as her story progressed. And a few minutes ago, he'd run his hand through his dark brown hair and folded his arms across his chest--his usual gesture when working through something that bothered him.
To Zoya's left was Humeira, who looked as sophisticated as always in her tailored brown shirt-dress and shoulder-length black hair. She was more diplomatic in her response than Bobby. "It sounds like you had a pretty intense night, Zoya. You shouldn't have had to go through all that alone."
"I would have called"--Zoya said pointedly to Bobby--"if the CBI hadn't restricted my calls." She turned to her left. "And yes, it was an extremely intense night. Thank you for your concern, Humzie." She started to go for her wineglass, but Bobby reached across the table and grabbed her hand.
"Stop--you know I'm concerned, too."
Zoya glared at him but didn't pull her hand away. "Then stop complaining about the fact that I didn't call you."
He gave her one of his trademark but-I'm-so-innocent smiles. She'd seen that smile many times over the last twelve years, and yet it still worked on her. Usually.
"I apologize," Bobby said. "I freaked out hearing your story and inappropriately expressed my emotions through anger. It's a guy thing." He squeezed her hand. "I don't like that you were one room away from a murder, Zoe. Strange noises, watching a mysterious, hooded man through a peephole--this whole thing is far too Hitchcockian for me."
"And I haven't even told you the twist," Zoya said. "Asad Ahmed Khan is one of the agents handling the case for the CBI."
It took Humeira a moment to place the name. "Wait--Agent Hottie?"
"Agent Asshole," Zoya corrected her. "Agent Hottie" had been her former nickname for Asad, one long since dropped. Ever since he accused her of taking bribes from Akbar Huda.
"That is a twist. How is Agent Asshole these days?" Bobby asked dryly.
As Zoya's best friend, he was de facto required to exhibit animosity toward Asad Khan as well.
"More important, how was it seeing him after all this time?" Humeira asked.
"We traded sarcastic barbs and insults the whole time. It was nice, catching up like that."
"But is he still just as hot?" Humeira exchanged a look with Bobby. "Well, one of us had to ask."
"That's kind of irrelevant, don't you think?" Zoya managed a coolly disdainful look as she took a sip of her wine. Then she swallowed too fast, nearly choked, and coughed while gasping for air.
Humeira smiled. "I'll take that as a yes."
Zoya dabbed her watering eyes with a napkin and turned to Bobby for help.
"Don't look at me--I'm staying out of this one," he said.
"I would like to remind both of you that the jerk embarrassed me on national television."
"No, the jerk embarrassed himself on national television," Humeira said.
Zoya sniffed, partially mollified by this. "And I'd also like to point out that because of him, virtually every CBI agent in the Mumbai area has carried a grudge against me for the past three years. Which has made things tons of fun, considering I work with the CBI on a near-daily basis."
"You don't have to see him again, do you?" Bobby asked.
"If there is a god, no." Zoya thought about this more seriously. "I don't know, maybe if there are some follow-up questions they need to ask.
But I'll tell you this: if I do see Asad Khan again, it will be on my terms. He may have caught me off guard last night, but next time I'll be prepared. And at least I'll be dressed appropriately for the occasion."
"What was wrong with the way you were dressed?" Humeira asked.
"I was wearing yoga pants and gym shoes." Zoya scoffed. "I might as well have been naked."
"Certainly would've made for a more interesting interrogation."
Bobby sat back in his chair, all haughty manlike. "You and your high heels. You're lucky you weren't still in your underwear. Between that and being interrogated in your gym shoes, which would you prefer?"
Zoya thought about this. "Do I still get to wear high heels in the underwear scenario?"
"That was supposed to be a rhetorical question. You have a problem,"
Bobby said.
Zoya smiled. "So I like to vertically enhance . . . I'm a five-foot-three-inch trial lawyer. Cut me some slack."
HUMEIRA LEFT APOLOGETICALLY as soon as dinner was over, saying that she needed to get up early the following morning to meet with her florist.
Zoya and Bobby stayed at the restaurant for another round of drinks, then walked the five blocks to her house.
It was a crisp October evening. Zoya pulled her jacket closed, belting it at her waist. "I'm not sure Humeira's going to make it to the wedding without having a nervous breakdown. I keep telling her to let me help out more."
"You know how she is--she's been planning this since she was five,"
Bobby said. "Speaking of planning, how's the bachelorette party coming along?"
"Her cousins think we need a stripper," Zoya said, referring to the other two bridesmaids. "But Humeira practically made me swear an oath in blood: no strippers, no tacky wedding veil, and absolutely no penis paraphernalia. So I'm doing a wine tasting and desserts at my house, and then we'll go to a bar afterward. I hope she likes it. If she fires me as maid of honor, you have to take on the job, you know."
Bobby threw his arm around her shoulders. "Not in a million years, Zoe."
Zoya smiled and leaned against him, taking comfort in the firm solidness of his chest. In turn, Bobby pulled her tighter, turning serious. "You know we were just kidding around at the restaurant, don't you?"
"I know."
"Because we're very both worried about you."
"I know that, too."
They came to a stop in front of her house. Bobby faced her, and she could see the worry in his hazel eyes. "Seriously, Zoe--you were an eyewitness, earwitness, whatever you want to call it, to a murder. And you saw the killer leave. I hate to go down this road but . . . is there any chance he knew you were watching?"
Zoya had asked herself this very question several times over the course of the last twelve hours. "I was behind the door the whole time. And even if he heard me or somehow otherwise suspected I was watching, there's no way he'd know my identity. The CBI and CPD have kept my name confidential."
"Not exactly a good night for you, was it?"
"That's putting it mildly."
Bobby cocked his head in the direction of her house. "So, then . . .
would you like some company tonight?"
Zoya thought about it. After the bizarre occurrences of the night before, the idea of spending the night alone in that big house was not particularly appealing. But she knew that if Bobby stayed, there would be problems. "Thanks for offering. But Tarun already thinks you spend too much time with me. I'll be okay by myself."
There was a flicker of emotion in Bobby's eyes. "Actually, Tarun and I decided to take a break."
Zoya was shocked. She knew they'd been having problems--personally she blamed Tarun; he'd always been a little arrogant and strangely unappreciative of Bobby, whom half the male population in Mumbai practically worshipped--but the two of them had been together for three years and she just assumed they'd work things out.
"When did this happen?" she asked.
"Last night. He said he changed his mind about going to Humeira's wedding. He used the old 'But-I'll-be-uncomfortable' excuse, but really he just didn't want to sacrifice a whole weekend in Colaba." Bobby emphasized this last part in mock horror. "I told him that the wedding is at a nice hotel, but you know him--if it's not a Four Seasons, he thinks he's roughing it. Anyway, we argued about that, and then we argued about a lot of things, and now . . . well, here we are."
"Do you think there's any chance it'll all blow over in a few days?"
Zoya asked gently.
Bobby shook his head. "If he can't do this for me, then no. He knows what this wedding means to me, and I think that's the problem. It's all part of his stupid competition with you and Humeira. So he's moving his stuff out of the condo tonight. Probably right at this very moment."
"I'm sorry, sweetie." Zoya hugged him. "So I guess the real question is: do you want some company tonight?"
"Yes." Bobby held open the gate for her. "But you have to promise to get me very drunk."
Zoya walked up the steps. "As long as you promise to still make breakfast in the morning."
"Babe, I always make breakfast. You can't even warm an Eggo."
"That was one time." Their senior year, and Bobby had never let her live it down. "The stupid box said one to two cycles--I did two cycles. How the toaster caught on fire is just as big a mystery to me."
SITTING IN THEIR unmarked car across the street, Officers Peter and Kamin watched as the couple headed up the front steps of the house.
"And that will be the last anybody sees of them tonight," Officer Kamin said, satisfied. He folded up his Sun-Times as Peter started the car. "For a minute there, I wasn't sure our boy was gonna get the go-ahead signal.
Looks like he's home free now."
Peter squinted, trying to get a better look at the pair as they stepped inside the house. "Are you sure Singh said to check out the girl?"
"Yep."
" ' Cuz the guy looks really familiar to me. Can't place him, though."
Kamin shrugged. "Can't help you there. Singh said to drive by the girl's house, make sure everything looks secure. That's all I know."
"Maybe we should sit here for a moment, just to be certain we're all clear."
Not exactly in a hurry to seek out more dangerous assignments, Kamin liked the reasoning behind that. "Works for me."
They passed the next twenty minutes in silence, the only noise being the occasional crinkling of newspaper from Kamin. He was reading the sports section when he stopped.
"Well, look at that." He held the paper out so Peter could see. "That's the guy we just saw, isn't it?"
Peter leaned over, then sat back in the driver's seat, satisfied.
"I told you he looked familiar."
ACROSS TOWN, ASAD was in his office, once again listening to the muffled sounds of Davis's yelling. At least this time, he was pretty sure the ruckus had nothing to do with him. Not directly, anyway.
He and Haider were the only other two agents in the office, given that it was nearly eleven o'clock on a Saturday night. Sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk, Haider gestured in the direction of their boss's office. "Is he always like this?"
"You get used to it," Asad said. Actually, he didn't mind Davis's occasional flare-ups; back in the army he'd served under several commanders who'd had their fair share of those. Like his former commanders, Davis was pretty much a straight shooter--and loyal as hell to the agents in his office. He'd fought hard to get Asad transferred back to the Mumbai office as soon as the position opened up.
A few minutes later the commotion died down and Davis's door flew open. He stuck his head out and looked over. "Khan, Shaik--you're up."
They took their seats in Davis's office, which Asad had always found odd in not being much bigger than those the rest of the Mumbai agents had been assigned. He figured the Bureau could at least get the guy a view of something more interesting than the building's parking lot for all the crap he had to deal with as special agent in charge. Then again, knowing Davis, he'd probably specifically requested that office in order to keep track of everyone else's comings and goings. There certainly wasn't much that slipped past him.
"I just got off the phone with one of C.M. Singhania attorneys," Davis began. "He 'requested' that they be kept apprised of any and all updates related to our investigation."
"What you'd tell him?" Haider asked.
"That I'm an old man. I tend to forget things. And that if anyone from C.M. Singhania camp called me again tonight, I might just so happen to forget the promise I'd made to keep this investigation confidential. There was a good deal of swearing after that, but so far . . ." Davis gestured to the silent phone on his desk. "Now--let's figure out how we're gonna handle this mess."
He looked to Jack. "What's happening with CPD's investigation?"
"Our contact is Detective Randhir Singh, twenty years on the job, the last ten in homicide. According to him, the only prints they found in the hotel room belong to the victim and C.M. Singhania. They found traces of semen in the bed and on top of the desk and bathroom vanity, and there were several used condoms in the bathroom garbage. All of it from the same man."
"At least we know C.M. Singhania practices safe sex when cheating on his wife," Davis said. "Anything else?"
"There were bruises on both of the victim's wrists, presumably inflicted by the killer as he pinned her hands down while suffocating her."
"Any blood at the scene? Hair? Clothing fibers?"
"No traces of blood. We're waiting to hear back from the lab on everything else," Asad told him. "And we didn't get much luckier with hotel security. They don't have cameras in the floor hallways or the stairwells--and although they do have them in the lobby, the garage, and other public areas of the hotel, there's no sign of our guy in any of the footage. Which means that so far, Ms. Farooqui's statement is our only evidence that this mysterious second man exists."
Asad saw Davis raise an eyebrow at the mention of Zoya's name, but his boss refrained from commenting. At least for the time being.
"All right, here's where we stand," Davis said. "Officially, the Bureau only has jurisdiction over the suspected blackmail aspects of this investigation. Unofficially, however, we've got an Indian C.M. having sex on tape with a call girl who, just moments later, gets smothered to death in that very hotel room--there's no way we're sitting on the sidelines. Do you think this Detective Singh is going to be a problem?"
"Not likely. He seemed relieved to have our assistance in light of the C.M.'s involvement," Asad said.
Davis nodded. "Good. Theories?"
Asad paused, letting Haider take the lead.
Haider sat up in his chair. "We're currently working on two theories, both based on the assumption that the victim, Mandy Robards, was involved in a plan to blackmail the C.M."
"Do we have a basis for that assumption?" Davis asked.
"The videotape was found in her purse. On the tape, she's the one who shut off the camera after the C.M. left. So unless she was making the tape for him as an early Christmas present, I think it's safe to say she had nefarious motives."
Davis looked over at Asad with a bemused grin. "Nefarious. This is what we get when we hire a Yale boy."
"You missed sacrosanct earlier. And taciturn and glowering," Asad said.
"What's glowering?"
"Me, apparently."
Haider pointed. "Now that has to be a joke." He turned to Davis. "You heard that, right?"
Davis didn't answer him, having spun his chair around to type something at his computer. "Let's see what Google says . . . Ah--here it is.
'Glowering: dark; showing a brooding ill humor.' "
Davis spun back around, with a nod at Haider. "You know, I think Merriam-Webster here is right, Jack--you do have a glowering way about you." Then he turned to Haider. "And yes, that was a joke. It normally takes about a year to accurately detect Agent Khan's small forays into humor, but you'll get there."
About this time, Asad was trying to remember why the hell he'd been so eager to get back to Mumbai. At least in Nebraska a man could brood in peace. "Perhaps we should get back to our theories," he grumbled.
"Right. So our first theory is that the girl set up the blackmail scheme--maybe working with someone else, maybe not--and someone connected to the C.M. found out and killed her to keep the affair from becoming public," Haider said.
"But they left the videotape behind," Davis noted.
"Maybe they didn't know the tape was actually in the room. Or maybe they panicked after killing the girl, or maybe something scared them off, like hearing Ms. Farooqui calling security in the next room."
David toyed with his pen, considering this. "And the second theory?"
"Our second theory is that the whole thing was a set up and someone killed the girl to frame the senator for murder. What they didn't count on was Ms. Farooqui seeing the real killer leaving the hotel room."
"Going with those two theories for the moment, who does that put on our list of suspects?" Davis asked.
"Pretty much anyone who either likes or hates Singhania,"
Haider said.
"Glad to hear we're narrowing it down." Davis leaned back in his chair, musing aloud. "What do we make of the fact that Singhania was recently named chairman of the Banking Committee?"
"It's an angle we're looking into," Asad said. "What bothers me are the contradictions: the crime scene is clean--no physical evidence was left behind. That would suggest a professional, somebody who knew what they were doing or at least thought about it in advance. But the murder itself feels amateurish. Angry. Suffocation is a lot more personal than a bullet to the head. Something doesn't add up. I think our first step is to talk to Singhania's people and find out who knew he was having an affair."
"I'm not sure C.M. Singhania is going to like that idea. Or his attorneys," Davis said.
"Perhaps when we make it clear that the senator's continued cooperation is the only thing keeping him from being arrested for murdering a call girl, he'll warm up to it," Asad said.
"All right--let me know if you need me to run interference with Singhania's lawyers. Last thing--what's happening with our witness? Sounds like the senator caught a break having Ms. Farooqui in the room next to him."
"For starters, very few people outside this room know there is a witness," Haider said. "We're keeping that quiet for now. As a courtesy, Detective Singh sent a squad to drive by her house tonight, although the officers haven't been given any specifics about the case. They called in just a few minutes ago and reported that Ms. Farooqui returned to the house with a male companion and that everything looked secure."
"Do we have a reason to believe Ms. Farooqui is in danger?" Davis asked.
"Not as long as her identity is kept confidential," Haider said.
Davis saw Asad hesitate. "You have a different opinion, Jack?"
"I don't like the idea of our key witness's security being dependent on our belief that everyone will keep her identity confidential. Seems like an unnecessary risk."
Davis nodded. "I agree. And given Ms. Lynde's position, I'd like to err on the side of caution here. Politically, it would be a nightmare if something happened to an assistant U.S. attorney as part of an CBI investigation."
"We'll set up a protective surveillance," Asad said. "We can coordinate with CPD on that."
"Good." Davis pointed. "I also want twice-daily reports from you two.
And I have a call scheduled for Monday morning to update the director on the investigation--I expect you both to be present for that. Now, Haider, if you don't mind, I'd like to speak to Agent Khan alone."
Asad was not surprised by this. He'd had a funny feeling there was a lecture looming on the horizon ever since Zoya's name had come up.
Davis waited until Haider shut the door behind him. "Should I be worried, Jack?"
"No."
Davis watched Asad with sharp gray eyes. "My understanding is that Ms. Farooqui has been very cooperative in this investigation."
"She has."
"I expect us to reciprocate."
"Of course."
There was a moment of silence, and Asad knew Davis was taking in the taut set of his jaw and the tension that rolled off his body in waves.
"I'm not trying to be a hard-ass here," Davis said, not unkindly. "If it's going to be a problem for you to work with her--"
"There won't be any problem." Asad stared his boss straight in the eyes. Zoya Farooqui may have been a problem for him once, but that was not a mistake he'd repeat. "This is just another case, and I'll handle it like any other."
"Ms. Farooqui should be made aware of the protective surveillance. I'd like her to feel comfortable with this. It's going to be somewhat of an intrusion."
"Not a problem. I'll talk to her about it first thing tomorrow."
After studying Asad for a moment, Davis appeared satisfied. "Good. Done." He pointed in the direction of Haider's office.
"Now--tell me how the kid is doing."
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