The Perplexing Theft of the Jewel in the Crown (14 page)

Chopra parked the van directly in front of the Arthur Road Jail, ignoring the battered NO PARKING sign that loomed by the side of the road. For a moment he sat there, glaring out at the bustling street. A cycle-courier strained by, knots of muscle prominent in his burnished calves, a cart loaded with freshly laundered linen swaying behind him. In the middle of the road an auto-rickshaw had broken down, earning the wrath of passing motorists. A pair of teenagers on a motorbike hurled abuse at the luckless driver as they roared past in a cloud of sulphurous exhaust fumes. The driver shook a fist at the departing bike, then shrank back into his vehicle as he noticed a traffic constable moving towards him, twirling his lathi stick menacingly.

Chopra knew that he needed to control the anger flooding through his system. Now was a time for him to think clearly and to act rationally; a time to—

A furious hammering erupted on the window.

Chopra turned to see a leper, dressed in a tattered blue bathrobe, brandishing a leprous hand at him. The hand was wrapped in a filthy bandage, the fingers reduced to mere stumps.

The leper, catching sight of the expression on his face, hastily backed away.

Chopra got out of the van and stalked across the road.

He thrust his identity card at the constables stationed at the main gate and ordered them briskly to place a call to the guard in the centre of the Anda Cell.

Five minutes later the man appeared and led him hurriedly back to his desk.

As soon as they entered the inner sanctum of the Anda Cell, the man pirouetted on the soles of his worn leather shoes and blurted, ‘OK, let me see the money now.' His eyes flickered with unabashed greed.

Chopra grabbed the fellow by his uniform and slammed him against the wall. ‘Listen to me very carefully. There is no money. I am here to talk to Garewal. You will open the door to his cell and then you will sit down quietly until I have finished. If you do not do exactly as I say I will place a call to the Commissioner. I am sure he will be very interested to know why you took a bribe from public enemy number one. Why you allowed Garewal to make a call to the outside. To me. Do we understand each other?'

The stunned guard stared at him in mute terror and then nodded dumbly.

As the cell door swung open Chopra felt another rush of fury. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply through his nostrils, then stalked into the cell.

Garewal was standing in the gloom, waiting for him.

‘The guard told me Rao is claiming he found the crown at my home,' he said anxiously. ‘Is it true?'

‘You lied to me,' Chopra hissed. ‘You used me.'

‘What are you saying?' Garewal looked aghast. ‘I didn't do this.'

‘They found the crown! What was it doing in your house?'

‘It was planted there! Surely you can see that?'

‘Planted by who?'

‘By the real thieves.'

‘Why would the thieves steal the crown only to plant it on you?'

‘Perhaps they panicked. The whole country is looking for them.'

‘No one goes to that much trouble and then just gives up a prize like that.'

‘Then maybe it was Rao.'

‘Rao? Why would Rao do it?' Chopra shook his head. ‘For Rao to plant the crown, he would have had to find it somewhere else first. Where? How? The idea is preposterous.'

Garewal's eyes were filled with anguish. ‘You have to believe me, Chopra. I did not steal the crown.'

Chopra turned away in disgust. ‘You made a fool of me.' The set of his shoulders betrayed his anger and disappointment.

Behind him, he heard Garewal approach. ‘Chopra, you are my last hope. I have children. What will happen to them if I am sent away for this crime, a crime I did not commit?'

Chopra did not turn around.

‘I am asking you to trust me. I promise you on the lives of my children that I had nothing to do with this. You are the only one who can save me now.'

Finally Chopra turned. He looked at his former colleague. Garewal's bruised and battered face was twisted with a look of such pleading that he almost turned away again. How many times during his career had he stared into the eyes of criminals and made a judgement on the truth? But now he was looking into the eyes of a policeman, a man he had known and worked with… Something moved deep inside Garewal's eyes. It was as if a hunted animal was in there, seeking an escape.

Chopra did not think a man could fake a look like that.

‘All right, Garewal. I will give you the benefit of the doubt. For now. That is the best I can do.'

Tears glistened in Garewal's eyes. ‘Thank you, old friend. Thank you.'

‘Let us start by looking at the facts, namely that the crown
has
been recovered, and from your home. Why would anyone steal the crown only to return it? All to frame you? A middle-ranking officer in the Brihanmumbai Police? It makes no sense.'

‘I don't know why, Chopra. I only know that I did not do it.'

Chopra paused. ‘Then there is something here that we are missing. Something we haven't understood. You do not mount the sort of operation it took to steal the crown just to hand it right back.'

‘I agree. But what could it be?'

‘I don't know. But I am going to find out.'

Poornima Devi, slumped in Chopra's rattan armchair in the courtyard of Poppy's Bar & Restaurant, peered at Ganesha with her one working eye. ‘What is the matter with him?'

‘He is upset,' explained Irfan, standing beside the old woman and fanning her with a bamboo fan.

The object of their scrutiny was hunkered under his mango tree, eyelids screwed shut, trunk curled under his face, the very picture of misery. A tickbird sat on his skull as if it were the captain of a seagoing vessel that had run aground.

‘What has he got to be upset about?' groused Poornima. ‘Sitting there getting fed all day like Emperor Akbar while I, an old woman, work my fingers to the bone.'

The rear door to the restaurant creaked opened and Rosie came panting over the veranda to hand Poornima a glass of freshly churned buttermilk. She waited anxiously while the old harridan sniffed the glass, swallowed a generous mouthful, then sighed luxuriously and sank further into the chair. Then, realising that Rosie was waiting for her approval, she reasserted her perennial scowl. ‘Don't you have anything better to do than stare at my face?'

Rosie fled.

Poornima turned her attention to the steel thaali balanced on the stool in front of her. The thaali, with its many compartments, contained her lunch, a medley of Chef Lucknowwallah's best dishes direct from the kitchen. She picked up a glutinous ball of saffron rice with her fingers and stuffed it into the corner of her mouth. ‘It is lucky I have a strong constitution,' she belched. ‘Anyone else forced to eat that second-rate man's third-rate cooking would have long ago expired.'

Irfan suppressed a smile.

‘When I lived in Jarul I ate like a queen,' Poornima continued. ‘They insisted on waiting on me, hand and foot. Wouldn't let me lift a finger. Did I tell you about my son, Vikram? He is one in a million.' Irfan knew, from listening to Chopra and Poppy talk, that Vikram was a wastrel of the first order. It was why Poornima Devi had been forced to move in with her daughter. ‘Of course, what would a street urchin like you know about the village?' she went on. ‘Golden fields of wheat, bajra and jowar as far as the eye can see. The Sarangi river sparkling in the distance. The walls of my beautiful white house ablaze in the midday sun.' Poornima's gaze became adrift on the misty oceans of the past. ‘When I was young, men came from miles around to ask for my hand. The most beautiful maiden in seven villages, they used to say! I was married to the village sarpanch, did you know that? He was a good man, but he had many foolish notions. He believed the heart should rule the head. He was always trying to
help
people. Since when has helping people ever helped anyone? Good-natured, they called him. Hah! Can you spend a good nature? Look at me now, at the mercy of that goonda of a son-in-law of mine.' She scooped up another ball of rice, then waved it at Ganesha. ‘As for the fool who sent that useless creature here – a bigger loafer was never born in this country.'

From the corner of his eye Irfan noticed Ganesha perk up. The elephant had lifted his head and was staring at Poornima Devi.

‘Bansi. What kind of name is that for a grown man? Wandering around in half a dhoti, pretending to be some sort of sadhu. Reading horoscopes when he could barely read his own name on a chit. Hah! If you ask me that man was as brainless as the silly creature he sent—
AAAIIIEEEEEEEE!
'

Irfan looked on in astonishment as Poornima leaped wildly from the chair, scattering the thaali's contents over her white widow's sari.

‘Madam! What is the matter?'

And then he saw it… A giant Indian hornet, having applied its sting to the cantankerous old woman, buzzed dazedly away.

Poornima, vigorously rubbing her arm, cursed loudly, then fell back, limbs akimbo. ‘Get help!' she panted. ‘Call an ambulance! Fetch a doctor! I can feel its poison working its way to my heart!'

‘Yes, madam!' said Irfan. ‘Ganesha, keep an eye on her!'

He turned and raced towards the restaurant.

Ganesha stumbled to his feet and moved cautiously towards the old woman, who had closed her eyes and was now massaging her chest. He prodded her delicately with his trunk, but she only wheezed dramatically.

Chef Lucknowwallah came bounding into the courtyard, trailed by Irfan. ‘Let me see,' panted the chef.

‘I told you to get a doctor and you bring me this butcher!' yelped Poornima, instantly jerking back to life.

‘Be quiet, woman,' growled Lucknowwallah. He unscrewed the pot of ghee he was carrying and scooped out a good dollop with his finger.

‘You're not smearing that gunk on me!' screeched Poornima.

‘It is the best thing for a sting,' said Lucknowwallah. ‘Trust me.' He lathered the ghee, laced with turmeric and garlic, onto the angry welt while the old woman pulled expressions of excruciating agony.

Finally, he stepped back. ‘Well?'

‘Well, what?' said Poornima eventually.

‘Is it not better?'

‘I hope you are not expecting me to thank you?'

The triumph dropped out of Lucknowwallah's grin. ‘No,' he scowled. ‘Why in the world would I be expecting that?' He turned and trudged off back into the restaurant.

‘Who the hell do you think you are, Chopra, telling me my job?'

ACP Suresh Rao rose up onto the balls of his feet and thrust his round, red face at Chopra. Angry spittle flew in all directions.

It had taken Chopra forty minutes to race from Arthur Road Jail to the CBI's Mumbai HQ at Colaba. Now he faced down a furious ACP Rao in an air-conditioned office on the sixth floor of the run-down old building.

‘I am a private investigator,' said Chopra, the skin tightening around his eyes. ‘Garewal is my client. He has been framed. The real culprit is still out there.'