Five minutes later, Nisha and Neel had been briefed. Half an hour after that they had scattered to the winds, flushed with the thrill of a new case, and Santosh’s phone was ringing—Jack was on his way over.
Chapter 10
“HOW DID IT go with Jaswal after I left?” asked Santosh.
Jack sat opposite, lounging in an office chair, one knee pulled up and resting on the edge of Santosh’s desk. Admin staff from the floor below found excuses to pass the office window, hardly bothering to disguise their curiosity as they craned to see inside. Everybody wanted a look at the great Jack Morgan. It was like having Salman Khan or Tom Cruise in the office.
“It went well,” said Jack. “Terms were agreed. Don’t tell me you’re interested to know the finer points?”
“Not really,” said Santosh.
“What, then? You look even more pensive than usual, which, I have to be honest, is normally pretty pensive.”
“What were your impressions of him?” asked Santosh.
“I thought he was a well-dressed little weasel. But he could potentially be an important weasel. If we’re to establish the agency in the city then we’re going to need friends in high places, and he would be a friend in a very high place.”
“But his friendship comes with a price. If the friend of my friend is my enemy then the friend of my enemy is also my enemy.”
Bemused, Jack shook his head. “In English please, Santosh.”
“I’m thinking from Ram Chopra’s perspective. He and Jaswal are enemies. If Chopra discovers we’re working for Jaswal then he won’t see Private as a friend, but rather an enemy, and as he’s Lieutenant Governor that effectively cancels out the advantage of being in with Jaswal.”
Jack beamed. “Then be discreet, Santosh.” He leaned forward, hoisted a cup of coffee from the desk, and took a long gulp. “That’s why I employed you, after all.”
Santosh gave a tight smile. “Well, yes and no. As we’ve often discussed, you employed me for my investigative skills.” He inclined his head modestly. “Such as they are. What you didn’t employ me for was my political diplomacy. I can tell you now, I do not possess such skills. What concerns me about this case, Jack, is that I’m not being asked to solve a crime so much as collect political leverage for Jaswal—a man I trust as much as I would a hungry tiger.”
Jack shrugged, failing to see a problem. Santosh tried again. “Am I investigating murders or gathering information to help political rivals?” he asked simply.
“In this case, it’s one and the same,” answered Jack.
Santosh stared at him. “I thought you might say something like that.”
Chapter 11
NISHA STOOD IN the street in Greater Kailash, gazing through the chain-link fence at the crime scene.
A call to the police had proved fruitless. Just as expected, the shutters had come down. As Santosh had warned her, no one in Sharma’s police department would help them now. Sharma reported to Chopra. With Chopra and Jaswal at loggerheads, working for Jaswal meant they would have no help from the police.
So she’d decided to pay Greater Kailash a visit.
The house and its grounds were just as they had looked online: neglected, unkempt, but otherwise an unremarkable home in a street full of unremarkable homes. There was one important distinction—the police presence. Uniformed officers guarded the door, while others stood near the polythene tape that marked out where the ground had given way into the grim scene below.
Careful not to attract the attention of those on the other side of the fence, Nisha began to take pictures, methodically working her way across the front of the house. At the same time she watched where she put her feet, knowing only too well that—
Ah.
Something the cops inside had missed. Nisha had quit the Mumbai Police’s Criminal Investigation Department to work alongside Santosh, and what she knew from her time on the force was that cops had a tendency to see only what was in front of them. It was one of the reasons she’d been so keen to work with an investigator like Santosh. A detective with the ability to think outside the box.
Or, in this case, look on the other side of the wire fence.
She bent to pick up a cigarette butt that seemed out of place among the usual detritus on the ground. The filter wasn’t the usual brown, but silver, plus it bore a beautiful crest in black.
“Can I help you?” came a voice from above. She looked up to see an older woman standing over her.
Nisha stood, held out her hand to shake, and switched on her most dazzling smile. “I suppose you could say I’m a bit of a ghoul,” she said. “My name’s Nisha. I run a Delhi crime blog. I wonder: would you be willing to speak to me? For my blog, I mean. Do you live around here?”
Something in Nisha’s manner seemed to have a positive effect on the woman. Her scowl subsiding, she said, “I do. Opposite. In fact, it was me who called the police.”