Cover design by Chirag Grover

Mumbai, April 2012. The gruesome murder of a senior

citizen in a wealthy Mumbai neighbourhood leads the city’s

Crime Branch to unearth several half-naked, mutilated and

dismembered bodies rotting in the ravines of the Western

Ghats on the outskirts of the city.

A trail of missing suspects, a lethal honey-trap, and

unexpected links with Mumbai’s �lm industry and the

underworld, brings the investigators – and the press, ever

hungry for breaking news – to Vijay Palande, a cold-blooded

killer equipped with the sophistication of Charles Sobhraj,

the manipulative genius of Ted Bundy and the cruelty of Jack

the Ripper.

In The Front Page Murders, Puja Changoiwala, who covered

the incidents as they unfolded, recounts in gripping detail

the story behind the sensational case of multiple murders

that held the country in thrall. By turns startling and

intensely sobering, her compelling narrative explores not

just the murky depths of a serial killer’s mind but also,

tellingly, the media’s frenzy for a front-page story and the

insatiable human appetite for horror in real life.

i n s i d e t h e s e r i a l k i l l i n g s t h a t s h o c k e d i n d i a

p u j a c h a n g o i w a l a

i n s i d e t h e s e r i a l k i l l i n g s t h a t s h o c k e d i n d i a

p u j a c h a n g o i w a l a

Selected excerpts

Puja Changoiwala has worked as a senior crime correspondent with the Hindustan Times and has spent most of her career covering Mumbai’s sins and their casualties. Before she spotted her calling in Mumbai’s appetite for felony, Puja worked as a political journalist and sub-editor with Asian Affairs, a London-based human rights magazine, and her writings have featured on BBC.com, Firstpost.com and in The Hindu, among other publications. Puja also holds an MA in Journalism from the University of Westminster, London.

About the Author

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3the press conference

this was the text message I received from a colleague on the afternoon of 10 April 2012.

‘Chak: 2day jt cp crime pc cp office 1600 hrs’

No, it wasn’t intoxicated banter. It was a journalist in a rush to break a story, too rushed to regard grammar or spelling. But the message, although barely coherent, carried a vital notification:

‘Check: Today, Joint Commissioner of Police, Crime [will have a] press conference [at] Commissioner of Police office [at] 4 p.m.’

The joint commissioner of police, who is second only to the commissioner of police in Mumbai, wouldn’t personally address a press conference unless a significant piece of information had to be communicated to the media. Had the Arunkumar Tikku murder case been solved?

~ Date: Tuesday, 10 April 2012Time: 3.45 p.m.Location: Police commissioner’s office, Crawford Market, south Mumbai

The Mumbai Police headquarters’ building constitutes one of the last remnants of the older ‘Bombay’. The Victorian-Gothic edifice built in yellow malad stone instantly transports you to Mumbai’s past, trumpeting out a reminder that this alpha world city was once ruled by the British East India Company.

The police headquarters, initially stationed in central Mumbai, was moved to the bustling Crawford Market towards the end of the 19th century. Since there was no suburban Mumbai then, the new site was far more convenient for keeping in touch with the city’s pulse. Also, rushing enforcements was easier from here since Bombay, at the time, was riddled with nationalistic uprisings against the British.

At the time this fort-like building was under construction, police havaldars received a salary of `8 a month. There was the glamorous equestrian arm of the police, with the commissioner going to work in a buggy drawn by four horses. There were unruly gatherings of people on public grounds bent upon uprooting the colonial power. But as centuries changed, none of these managed to survive the city’s time travel, except for this greying heritage site, the one which held the essence of Bombay, and continued to endure Mumbai’s gore. The 119-year-old stone building has played a silent witness to everything that has shaped the police force in the past century. Its walls hold secrets, deafening secrets, about the crimes that have plagued this city over decades – secrets about the bloodied streets of Bombay when the underworld ruled us, stories about hushed encounters and vigilante killings, stories about the 1992–93 communal riots and the serial blasts that killed over a thousand, stories about the 26/11 terror attack when the country’s financial capital was held to ransom – and stories like the Arunkumar Tikku murder case that periodically show

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how, despite 37,000 capable men guarding us, we are still unsafe in the cocoon of our own homes.

After obtaining my access card from the reception, I walked towards the press room inside the commissioner’s compound. I had always loved the room’s ancient, enigmatic design. Shaped like a hut with brown mud tiles covering its triangular roof, the press room is crowned by the canopy of a full-grown mango tree. The room’s walls are painted white on the outside, and its wooden door carries a tiny, royal blue board with yellow font reading ‘Only for journalists. By Order’. Another board warns policemen and other staff against using the press room without legitimate work since there are always complaints about non-press members idling in the only accessible air-conditioned space.

As I neared the press room, I noticed a huge number of outside broadcasting (OB) vans parked outside. And inside it, scores of media persons were anxiously waiting. A large wooden table covered with a white sheet stood at one end of the 200-square-feet room, holding at least thirty microphones of various television news channels. Five chairs stood behind the table, and around fifty in front for the audience. The spectators faced a small, framed photo of a smiling Mahatma Gandhi, while behind them a horizontal display of video cameras stood next to alert camerapersons. Photographers lined the walls, eagerly awaiting a picture opportunity as whining ceiling fans provided the background score, bringing some relief to the tense air.

Soon, the joint commissioner, Himanshu Roy, who headed the Mumbai Police’s elite Crime Branch,

Each day, a journalist wakes up with the sincere ambition of filing a story

that will make readers spill their morning coffee.

walked in. Although the local police were investigating Arunkumar Tikku’s murder, the Crime Branch, which was conducting a parallel probe into the homicide, had managed to crack the case first and won detection credit. And Roy was here to announce the coveted captures.

Dressed in a blue and white chequered shirt, Roy was a commanding presence with his six-foot frame, biceps that creased his shirt, striking moustache and grave eyes. A group of policemen followed him. He occupied the centremost chair behind the table while four other senior officers sat on either side. The lower rank officials making up the detection team stood beaming behind the important officers. I noticed that one of these low-rung men was a policeman I’d known for over a year – a good source. Mentally I made a note to call him later.

Roy scanned the crowd and cleared his throat. Immediately, the journalists, who had been spinning theories about the murder, sat at attention. The murmurs gave way to silence, one bristling with the media’s unanswered questions so far. It had been over 60 hours since the senior citizen was murdered. It was imperative that Roy brought answers, that he brought solutions. And he had.

Roy, who had been dealing with the press ever since he joined the force as an Indian Police Services officer 25 years ago, understood this silence, and began to speak. As unwritten protocol, he first revealed the five Ws (What, Who, When, Where, Why) and the one H (How) of journalism. He was aware that it was these six elements that made up the first paragraph of a standard news report and that nobody cared about the second paragraph.

What? The Arunkumar Tikku murder case is solved. Three men have been arrested. Prima facie, the senior citizen’s son, actor Anuj Tikku, has no role in the crime.

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Who? The mastermind of the plot is Vijay Palande, alias Karan Sood. While Palande hatched the murder conspiracy, his two accomplices – Dhananjay Shinde and Manoj Gajakosh – executed the crime. The three men are habitual offenders, have a history of associations with notorious gangsters in the Mumbai underworld, and have been incarcerated in the past.

When? Arrests were made today.Where? Anuj was traced to a farmhouse in Chiplun.

One of the accused was picked up from the city, the other two from elsewhere in Maharashtra.

Why? The killers wanted possession of Anuj’s 15,000-square-feet apartment at Lokhandwala’s Samartha Angan Housing Society. The apartment comprises three flats combined into one, worth `3 crore. They were also eyeing other properties of the Tikkus.

How? Anuj, initially a banker, came to the city seven years ago to become an actor. He featured in a couple of films, had recently started an advertising firm, and was living in the Samartha Angan apartment that his father had bought for him. While in Mumbai, he met Vijay Palande through a common friend one-and-a-half years ago. A year after their meeting, when the two were drinking once, an inebriated Anuj casually told Palande he was the only legal heir to his father’s several properties in Mumbai and Delhi. They were worth crores of rupees, he said. And that’s how Anuj unwittingly paved the way for catastrophe. Palande would now plot to take possession of the Lokhandwala flat, usurp all his wealth, and it wouldn’t happen without blood.

Phase one of Palande’s plan was installing his two reliable aides – Shinde and Gajakosh – as paying guests in the flat so that they could kill Anuj whenever an opportune moment arrived. In March 2012, a month before the murder, Shinde moved in. It had been easy.

Anuj trusted Palande. He was a good friend, Anuj believed. But the actor’s housing society, which does not allow paying guests, raised objections. Palande now had to find another way to get his men into the apartment, so he came up with a new plan.

He figured that although paying guests are not allowed, the society wouldn’t mind if the entire apartment was leased out. So he asked Anuj to lease the apartment to his friend, a German woman. Anuj agreed again. His good friend was now helping him make an extra buck, he thought. Palande and his men gladly took care of the paperwork, and 23 days before the old man’s murder, a two-year agreement was signed between Anuj, Vijay Palande and the German national. Soon after, the foreigner left for Europe and Palande got his aide Dhananjay Shinde to live in the apartment. Manoj Gajakosh would frequent the flat on the pretext of running errands and making renovations. The plan could now be executed, the actor could easily be bumped off, but then his father showed up.

Arunkumar arrived from Delhi on 5 April, two days before he was killed. He found Shinde in the apartment and had a heated argument with Anuj. The old man knew that his son was immature and gullible. Shinde was thrown out. The senior citizen was now an unexpected obstacle in Palande’s plan, and Palande decided to get rid of him too. It would be even better, the trio figured. With Anuj and his father both gone, and the mother already dead, there would be no one to stop Palande from taking over their wealth. They decided to kill the father first. It had to be done soon – the old man was to return to Delhi in two days.

The three accused put together the paraphernalia for the crime – a knife, gloves, phenyl bottles, two suitcases and a hammer. The day after he was evicted, Shinde visited

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the flat saying he had come to pick up his belongings, and planted most of these items in the flat. They stored the bigger items like the suitcases in their getaway vehicle, which they also managed to park in the housing society. Shinde would return later with his associate to kill the old man. And to ensure that Anuj was not a hurdle, Palande planned to lure the actor into an impromptu trip to Goa a few hours before the crime. Again, Anuj agreed. Palande’s cronies would now have enough time to kill Arunkumar while the mastermind dealt with Anuj.

Roy took a sip of water. His eyes stayed glued to the media persons. He understood the magnitude of the details he’d just thrown at us. He was aware that Palande’s elaborate conspiracy, the big money at stake and the involvement of a foreign national would keep the story on the front page and on prime-time television news reports.

Roy waited for the details to sink in, and as they did, an uneasiness stole over us – it could be sensed in the unusual silence in the press room. Murders were ordinary, but such elaborate conspiracies weren’t. Journalists continued to look at Roy as though he was still speaking, but not a word was exchanged for a few moments. Then, our minds churning with the details, we started thinking aloud, all at once.

‘One question at a time, please,’ Roy said, now leaning back in his chair, amused with the sudden excitement of the bunch of scribes. His colleagues settled themselves in their seats, realizing the interaction would take long. But the buzz did not abate. Roy raised his right palm and used his heavy voice to assert himself: ‘Please.’ It was enough. The clamour died down. The press conference dissolved into a classroom; reporters were now obedient students with dutiful decorum and raised fingers. We couldn’t afford to annoy the joint commissioner.

Q. Is Anuj alive?A. Yes.Q. Completely safe?A. Yes.Q. Who is this Vijay Palande?A. He is a hardened criminal and has a past record of serious offences. He has also worked closely with underworld kingpin Santosh Shetty. Shetty, as you know, is infamous for his series of abductions, murders and extortion threats.Q. That explains the devious plan.A. Yes, first-hand experience with a gangster teaches a lot.Q. How did he meet Shetty?A. They first met in a state prison [the Nashik jail] in 2001–02. Palande was serving time in connection with a past offence while Shetty had been imprisoned in a narcotics smuggling case.Q. Do you think Shetty has a role in Arunkumar Tikku’s murder?A. We shall know in the coming days.Q. Where did you find Anuj?A. In Chiplun, halfway to Goa.Q. How did he end up in Chiplun?A. Palande had lured him into a trip to Goa. We are questioning Anuj. He is too taken aback by his father’s death right now. We’ll know further details soon.Q. So they were going to murder Anuj as well?A. It appears so, yes.Q. Did Anuj appear injured when he was found?A. No.Q. How could he trust Palande so much?A. Palande was his good friend.Q. So Anuj was not part of the plan to kill his father?A. Prima facie, he wasn’t involved. But we are probing.

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Q. Have you given Anuj a clean chit?A. No, he will be questioned.Q. Have you been able to get custody of the three accused?A. No. They will be produced before court tomorrow.Q. How did the accused plan to get away with this? Arunkumar’s body, whenever it was found, would have given their game away.A. They are not novice criminals. Hasn’t the conspiracy shown that already? They know better than leaving the body behind for evidence. It seems that they intended to cut the senior citizen’s corpse into pieces, and then dispose of the pieces. But they couldn’t execute the plan. A resident of the society spotted Arunkumar flailing for help and called the police.Q. And these men were Anuj’s friends?A. Yes. In fact, Palande was Anuj’s good friend. Anuj called him KK.Q. KK?A. Something related to Karan Sood, I think.Q. Who planned the murder? Vijay Palande or Karan Sood?A. Vijay Palande. Karan Sood is his alias.Q. It’s difficult to believe that somebody would go to this extent only for an apartment.A. It’s not just one apartment. The family is worth over `50 crore. But yes, we are probing all possible motives.Q. But even if they did get away with the murder, how would Palande get the properties?A. Forgery.Q. Explain, please.A. Palande, according to the two-year agreement signed between him and Anuj, was a legal tenant at the actor’s

Confusion is the mother of all journalism.

apartment. The entire apartment had been rented out to him. No one could question him if he started living there after the death of the two men. And when the two years of agreement were over, he could easily make a forged will or a sale agreement of the property, power of attorney papers, anything, and then replicate the pattern for other properties of the Tikkus.Q. What about the other tenant? The German woman. Does she have a role in the murder?A. She was not in the country when the murder took place. But we are probing her role. We have learnt that she had paid Anuj ̀ 5 lakh as deposit and agreed on a rent of `30,000 per month.Q. But how is the German national related to these men at all?A. She is married to Palande. Her passport, which was issued at Barcelona, lists her husband’s name as Vijay Palande.Q. Married? How could a criminal find a foreigner to marry?A. He did.Q. Where did the two meet?A. Palande claims he runs an import–export business of clothes. He is a successful businessman, he says, and often travels to Europe for work. He met the German woman, Nives Ligensa, during one such trip. The two fell in love and got married. Most recently, he was working with her to open a hotel in Barcelona.Q. Is he really a successful businessman?A. We’re probing.Q. What does Anuj say about the German?A. Anuj says that Palande introduced her saying she was a friend who was attached to the German consulate here. She appeared reliable. He doesn’t know much about her. We will make the necessary inquiries.

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Q. But how will you question her? She’s not in the country.A. If we have to, we will issue her a red corner notice. It’s the closest to an international arrest warrant.Q. But how did Anuj fall for all this? How could he rent the apartment out like that?A. Palande is a smooth talker.Q. Is Anuj slow?A. We haven’t had the chance to speak to him in detail.Q. How did Anuj and Palande meet?A. They met through a model. She was a common friend.Q. What’s her name?A. We don’t know the details yet. The accused have been picked up only a couple of hours ago.Q. Is she famous?A. (No reply.)Q. Is she famous, sir?A. (No reply.)Q. Sir?A. (No reply.)Q. Is she involved?A. We don’t know yet.Q. What about Palande’s two accomplices?A. They have criminal pasts as well.Q. What kind of offences?A. We’re probing.Q. Are these two also associated with gangster Santosh Shetty?A. Palande had sent Gajakosh and Shinde to Bangkok where they worked for Shetty for a year or so.Q. What kind of work?A. We’re probing.Q. Where is Shetty now?A. Shetty was in jail in a narcotics smuggling case when he first met Palande a decade ago. After Shetty was

released on bail in 2003, he escaped to Nepal, and from there, he moved to Bangkok where he set up his empire. He was recently deported from Bangkok, arrested and lodged back in jail here.Q. Has he been named as an accused in the Arunkumar Tikku murder case?A. No.Q. Any action against him?A. As of now, we have sent a report to the concerned police commissioner for immediate cancellation of the firearm licence issued to him.Q. You must have added more charges against the accused now.A. Yes, criminal conspiracy charges will also be added since the murder was pre-planned.Q. Won’t they be charged for abducting Anuj?A. We shall seek legal opinion.

After the last question, a couple of journalists shut their diaries, gesturing that they had all they needed. Although there were several policemen accompanying Roy, he was the only cop who had spoken. On a few occasions, he had turned to the senior officers seated next to him, whispering into their ears, offering his own ear for the reply, but he had done all the talking from the police side at the conference. Since he spoke mainly in English and Hindi, he was now requested to provide a summary of the revelations in Marathi for the benefit of the Marathi news channels. The cop struggled, but got through.

‘Sir, aaropi ka picture?’ requested a photographer from amongst the group of around ten photojournalists.

Roy used his eyes to order a subordinate to do the needful.

‘He’s outside, sir,’ replied the subordinate. And before photographers could ask, he explained that while pictures

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of Vijay Palande and Manoj Gajakosh were not available as they were in transit, being brought to Mumbai from elsewhere in Maharashtra, the third accused, Dhananjay Shinde, could be clicked.

‘Chalega na,’ the photojournalist said. ‘One accused is enough. One accused equals one picture equals 1000 words equals three news reports.’ He winked as the other photographers grinned approvingly, proud of the equation.

~Outside the press room, four plain-clothes policemen escorted the accused, Dhananjay Shinde, towards us. They were Crime Branch sleuths who usually operated under cover, preferring regular clothing to the telltale khaki. Shinde was dressed in a pair of brown corduroy pants and a crisp white shirt. He was placed at the centre of the four men. A pair of handcuffs attached his right wrist to that of a policeman, leaving only a few inches of space between the two men. His face was covered with a dark blue scarf knotted at the back of his head. He looked like a regular at the gym. Arunkumar Tikku must have had a difficult time battling this man, I thought.

As the men neared us, Shinde’s strong build and spotless clothes prompted a journalist to ask, ‘Dummy hai kya?’ The cops blushed in response and the journalists laughed. We had all heard of cases where policemen, when unable to find the real culprit, asked random people, sometimes one of their own men, to stand veiled before the press, posing as the accused for pictures. Since veiling the accused was a norm, as per a law meant to protect the suspect’s identity, no one could ever tell the real accused from fakes.

As photographers got busy clicking pictures, a reporter spotted the slain senior citizen’s son a few feet away from

the press room. ‘Oi, look, Anuj,’ the reporter shouted, stealing attention away from Shinde. I saw that it was Anuj Tikku, standing next to a fleet of parked police vehicles. He was under some trees, the ground under his feet covered with the white stains of dried pigeon droppings. As journalists and photographers rushed towards him, the actor turned and began to walk away slowly. Our frantic feet and shrill voices awoke some cats dozing in the triangular garden outside the press room. Startled, they looked about, but quickly grasping it was not worth their time, they drifted back to sleep.

A fair, tallish man with a healthy build, Anuj was dressed in a pair of black jeans and a black cotton T-shirt with a Nirvana print. His shoulders drooped tiredly, his eyes looking just as exhausted behind his black-rimmed spectacles. His brown, wavy hair was dishevelled and his grim face reflected the fatigue and trauma of the past few hours.

‘I learnt about my father’s murder only after I returned to Mumbai from Chiplun,’ he said as he continued to walk, photographers clicking him all the while. When we followed him with questions, he joined his palms, requested to be left alone and repeated his previous sentence, probably seeking to assert his innocence. We let him go.

As other journalists returned to the press room for the tea and refreshments arranged for us, I held back. I wanted to speak to the officer who was part of the detection team, the source I’d known for a considerable time. I knew he could give me additional information. When I phoned him, he promised to meet me in a couple of minutes near the non-functional fountain, on the other side of the triangular garden.

The area around the fountain had a strong smell of decaying filth. I looked around to ascertain the source,

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and there it was, in the shape of huge, overflowing dumpsters. Combat jeeps of the Mumbai Police and other white SUVs stood around. Meanwhile, the fountain, its long shaft opening into petals, stood dry. A metal replica of the pentagonal Mumbai Police logo was mounted on the petals. Sadrakshanay Khalnigranay – to protect the good and punish the evil – the Mumbai Police motto shone brightly in the sun.

A few minutes later, I spotted the officer walking towards me. This inspector was earlier with the local police. Because of his skills as a detective he was subsequently moved to the Mumbai Crime Branch. A young man, he was one of those who got a kick out of detecting – and chewing betel leaf.

‘We got them within three days, madam.’ He smiled his widest smile. As betel juice threatened to sneak out of his parted lips, he quickly pulled out his handkerchief and pressed it to his mouth.

‘Sure. That Palande looks like a big catch.’‘Of course. Santosh Shetty. Didn’t you hear?’ he said,

pulling away his handkerchief, a little displeased with me for stating the obvious.

‘I did. Of course I did. But you think Shetty is involved?’ I managed to slip in a question. The underworld is always a media favourite.

‘Well, as you know, most of Shetty’s financial sources have been blocked after his arrest. Had Palande and his men succeeded in their plan, a lot of money would have been made, enough to foot Shetty’s legal bills as well,’ he said, dodging a firm stand on the gangster’s involvement.

‘Hmm. So Shetty is involved,’ I concluded, hoping for an affirmation.

‘Why do you want me to say it, madam? It is the media’s job

When journalists can’t get words out of your mouth,

we’ll do the next best thing – put words into

your mouth.

to state the obvious, no?’ He parted his lips to laugh, a little carefully this time.

‘And Anuj? How come he didn’t know his father had been murdered? The story was all over the press. Didn’t his relatives try to contact him?’

‘Actually, it’s quite possible that Anuj was unaware of the murder. Anuj and Palande were on their way to Goa when the actor’s father was being killed. During the drive, Palande’s associates called him to say that someone had seen them inside the apartment. Palande then took away Anuj’s phone so that the police or the actor’s family could not get in touch with him. Anuj, who is in the habit of losing cell phones, simply assumed he had lost his handset again.’

‘But why didn’t Palande kill Anuj?’ I asked.‘He couldn’t, right? He already knew his accomplices

had been seen killing the old man. Since there was an eyewitness to the assault, Palande was aware that his aides would definitely be arrested, even sentenced. So he decided to abort the plan to kill Anuj. He knew if he murdered the actor, he would undoubtedly feature on the police radar. As of now, it looks like his aides murdered the senior citizen, that Palande was away on a holiday with Anuj and may have had nothing to do with the crime. But if he had killed Anuj, there would have been no doubt of his involvement.’

‘Pretty far-sighted, this man,’ I observed.‘Yes,’ said the officer. ‘An intelligent planner. He

was thinking about the court trial, how he could dodge evidence, escape conviction, even as he was planning his crimes.’

‘Who is this model who introduced Anuj to Palande, sir?’

‘Anuj says he met her two years ago through an acquaintance in the music industry. The two got friendly

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and Anuj would often visit her at her Lokhandwala residence. During one such visit, she introduced Palande to him as Karan Sood, saying he was her brother,’ the officer replied, and spat out the juice that had accumulated in his mouth. The recipient dumpster looked habituated to such assaults.

During his questioning later in the day, Anuj told the cops that Palande had inquired about his family and their financial status on a few occasions. Anuj had answered, not realizing that the killer was gauging his wealth. Upon investigation, the Mumbai Police found pictures of various properties owned by the Tikkus in Palande’s cell phone. The cops were surprised that Palande hadn’t deleted those pictures. But when they got to know him better, they realized that he was brazenly confident about never getting apprehended.

From the pictures, the cops learnt that Palande had surveyed the Tikkus’ properties well in advance, another indication of his role in the murder and proof that the conspiracy had been long in the making. The phone also contained pictures of a document where Anuj’s father had listed details of their bank accounts in the country and overseas, their fixed deposits, insurance plans, jewellery and bonds, and where they were stored. ‘Be safe, contended, and happy,’ Arunkumar Tikku had written to his son under a ‘My Advice’ section in the document. ‘You don’t need to make a quick buck. Do not be guided by others as their requirements are different from yours.’ But Anuj had chosen to live dangerously.

During a telephonic interview several days after the crime, the actor told me the document was in a clothes drawer in his apartment. ‘I wasn’t too careful with that paper, out of habit probably. Palande would often stay over at my place. He must have found it, and probably clicked the pictures when I was sleeping.’

I continued with my questioning of the officer. ‘What’s the model’s name, sir?’

‘Simrin Sood.’I noted it in my diary. ‘Was she involved with Anuj?’‘Could be. Too early to know.’‘And was she part of the crime?’‘She will be questioned for sure. But we don’t know

how involved she is.’‘I haven’t heard of her.’‘She’s a Bollywood struggler, madam. Nobody knows

her. There are thousands like her in the city.’The officer was right. Simrin Sood was not a famous

model, not then. When I Googled her, all I could find was her YouTube channel called ‘Sim Secrets’. A moderately popular channel, it had video tutorials diverse in their titles and content where the model, who appeared to have a special affinity for bikinis, demonstrated various techniques: Hot and sexy car wash; Uncensored bikini secrets; Get the flirty Lolita look; Basic yoga stretching techniques; Aqua water workout; Nail art tutorial; Vampire makeup tutorial; How to make vanilla ice cream.

The videos showed a pretty woman with a slender frame, a toned body, engaging eyes and a mischievous smile. She appeared instinctively seductive – sensual even when demonstrating a paneer recipe in one of her tutorials. But this could also be because of the cameraperson’s focus, I thought – the camera had constantly lingered on her curves, her pierced belly button and her generous breasts.

‘What about Anuj? He’s not a suspect any more, is he?’ I asked the officer.

‘No, no. He has a long way to go,’ he said, thrusting another paan between his red lips from a silver case he kept in his pocket.

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‘There are rumours that he has a few psychiatric issues.’

‘Yes,’ he said, raising his jaw skywards in an attempt to hold in the fresh juice the leaf would have started oozing into his mouth. ‘Anuj’s mental reflexes seem to be less than normal. He has been on medication. But one should keep in mind that he’s an actor. It is not wise to take him on face value. Too qualified to be naive, madam.’

The officer received a call on his cell phone soon after, and asked to be excused. I thanked him as he began to walk away. A few steps later, he turned around. ‘All that information is off the record, madam.’ He winked, his chin still defying gravity. He would remain off the record.

~

Date: Tuesday, 10 April 2012Time: 7.30 p.m.Location: Hindustan Times office, Mahim (West)

As soon as I reached office, my boss walked to my desk, smiling. A tall man with broad shoulders and a hard face, the enthusiasm looked comical on him, almost endearing.

‘Good display we’re getting,’ he said. ‘Page one and half of page two.’

Tired after the long press conference, I responded only with a half-hearted smile, knowing I’d be the one filling in the words for the ‘good display’.

‘So make four stories. One story will be for page one – a synopsis of all the important developments. The remaining three for page two – a story about how the murder was planned for months, another on Anuj’s

To journalists, their sources are mightier than

both pen and sword.

gullibility in the case, and the third posing a question mark about gangster Santosh Shetty’s involvement,’ he said. I nodded.

‘But wait. Four stories make too many words. We need some visuals. The graphic designers will fuss otherwise.’ After pondering for a couple of seconds, he asked, ‘Do we have any pictures?’

‘Yes. We have photographs of one of the accused, of Anuj, his apartment and another of his building.’

‘Perfect. Give me a brief outline of the case then – from the murder to the arrests. The designers will make a storyboard out of it. That’ll look appealing. Also, give me 50-word profiles of Anuj Tikku and the main accused, Vijay Palande.’

‘Right.’‘Yes. That should satisfy the graphic designers,’ he

assured himself.It was 11 p.m. by the time I was done with all the

stories and the graphic elements. Worn out, I picked up my bag to leave. At the door, I bumped into a sub-editor. My bedraggled state and the clock told her the story of my busy day.

‘This too shall pass,’ she remarked.‘It has already. The cops have their men now.’‘Good. Sleep well,’ she said and went to her desk. She

had to edit the copies reporters had filed, format pages and send them to print. The busiest hours of her workday were only beginning. And although I didn’t know it then, so were mine.

At 11.15 p.m., while I was on my way home, my phone announced the arrival of a text message.

‘Chak: Palnde escapd frm police custdy’

Promotional purposes only

Cover design by Chirag Grover

Mumbai, April 2012. The gruesome murder of a senior

citizen in a wealthy Mumbai neighbourhood leads the city’s

Crime Branch to unearth several half-naked, mutilated and

dismembered bodies rotting in the ravines of the Western

Ghats on the outskirts of the city.

A trail of missing suspects, a lethal honey-trap, and

unexpected links with Mumbai’s �lm industry and the

underworld, brings the investigators – and the press, ever

hungry for breaking news – to Vijay Palande, a cold-blooded

killer equipped with the sophistication of Charles Sobhraj,

the manipulative genius of Ted Bundy and the cruelty of Jack

the Ripper.

In The Front Page Murders, Puja Changoiwala, who covered

the incidents as they unfolded, recounts in gripping detail

the story behind the sensational case of multiple murders

that held the country in thrall. By turns startling and

intensely sobering, her compelling narrative explores not

just the murky depths of a serial killer’s mind but also,

tellingly, the media’s frenzy for a front-page story and the

insatiable human appetite for horror in real life.