‘I want nothing more than to be sure that this city rightly remains eternally in your debt,’ said Patel, ‘so that when you leave office it will be in a blaze of glory, rather than with question marks hanging over your head, which, as we both know, would linger on long after your retirement.’
The Deputy Commissioner nodded his agreement as Patel rose from his place.
‘You know, Naresh,’ Patel said, turning to face the Commissioner, ‘I would never have agreed to see the damn man, if you had not spoken so highly of him in your speech to the Rotary Club last month. He even produced the article in the Mumbai Times. I therefore assumed that the fellow had come with your blessing.’ Mr Patel turned to face Khan. ‘May I wish you luck when you take over as Commissioner,’ he added, shaking hands with the deputy. I don’t envy you having to follow such a fine man.’ Kumar smiled for the first time that morning.
‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ the Commissioner said to his deputy as he left his office to accompany Patel to the front door.
The Deputy Commissioner stared out of the window as he waited for the Chief to return. He munched on a biscuit as he mulled over several possible alternatives. By the time the Commissioner walked back into the room, Khan knew exactly what had to be done. But would he be able to convince his boss this time?
‘I’ll have Malik arrested and behind bars within the hour,’ said the Commissioner as he picked up the phone on his desk.
‘I wonder, sir,’ said Deputy Khan quietly, ‘if that’s the best course of action — given the circumstances?’
‘I don’t have much choice,’ said the Commissioner as he began dialling.
‘You may be right,’ said Khan, ‘but before you make such an irrevocable decision, perhaps we should consider how this is all going to play—’ he paused — ‘with the press.’
‘They’ll have a field day,’ said Kumar as he replaced the phone and began pacing around the room. ‘They won’t be able to make up their minds if I should be hanged as a crook who’s willing to accept bribes, or dismissed as the most naive fool ever to hold the office of Commissioner. Neither scenario bears thinking about.’
‘But we have to think about it,’ insisted Deputy Khan, ‘because your enemies — and even good men have enemies — will happily settle for someone who’s willing to take kickbacks, while your friends will not be able to deny the lesser charge of naivety.’
‘But surely after forty years of service, people will believe...’
‘People will believe whatever they want to believe,’ said Khan, confirming the Commissioner’s worst fears, ‘and certainly you won’t be able to send Malik back to prison until he’s been given the chance to appear in a witness box and tell the world his side of the story.’
‘But who would believe that old—’
‘No smoke without fire, they’ll be whispering in the corridors of the law courts, and that will be tame compared with the headlines in the morning papers once Malik has spent a couple of days in the witness box being questioned by a friendly barrister who sees you as nothing more than a stepping stone in his career.’
Kumar continued to pace around the room, but didn’t respond.
‘Let me try and second-guess the headlines that would follow such a cross-examination.’ Khan paused before saying, ‘“Commissioner accepts bribes to destroy friends’ files” might be the headline in the Times, while the tabloids will surely be a little more colourful — “Bung money left in Commissioner’s office by delivery boy”, or perhaps “Commissioner Kumar employs ex-con to carry out his dirty work”?’
‘I think I’ve got the picture,’ said the Commissioner, as he sank back into the chair next to Khan. ‘So what the hell am I supposed to do about it?’
‘What you’ve always done in the past,’ Khan replied. ‘Play it by the book.’
The Commissioner looked across at his deputy quizzically. ‘What do you have in mind?’
‘Malik,’ shouted the supervisor at the top of his voice, even before he’d put the phone down. ‘Commissioner Kumar wants to see you, immediately.’
‘Did he say why?’ asked Malik nervously.
‘No, he’s not in the habit of confiding in me,’ replied the supervisor, ‘but don’t hang about because he’s not a man who likes to be kept waiting.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Malik replied. He closed the file he’d been working on and placed it back on the supervisor’s desk. He walked across to his locker, removed his bicycle clips and left the building without another word. It wasn’t until he was outside on the pavement that he began to shake. Had they caught on to his latest scam? Not that it had proved that successful. He unlocked the chain that was attached to the railings and began to consider his options. Should he make a run for it, or simply try to brazen it out? He hadn’t been left with a lot of choice. After all, where would he run to? And even if he did decide to run, it would only be a matter of days, perhaps hours, before they caught up with him.
Malik slipped on his bicycle clips, mounted his third-hand Raleigh Lenton and began to pedal slowly towards the city centre. The dusty brown roads were teeming with other bicycles, cars and countless numbers of people, all heading in different directions. The incessant honking of horns, the multitude of different smells, the beating down of the sun and the bustle of everyday life ensured that Mumbai was like no other city on earth. Street traders thrust out their arms as Malik passed, trying to sell him their wares, while beggars with no arms ran by his side, not assisting his progress. Should he come clean and admit what he’d been up to?
He cycled for a few more yards. No, never admit to anything, a golden rule that he’d learnt after long years in prison. He swerved to avoid a cow and nearly fell off.
Assume they know nothing until you’re cornered. Even then, deny everything. As he rounded the next corner, police headquarters loomed up in front of him. If he was going to make a dash for it, it would have to be now or never. He pedalled on, until he was only a few yards away from the steps leading up to the front entrance. He tugged firmly on the tired brake handles until his bike came to a slow, unsteady halt. He climbed off, and padlocked his one asset to the nearest railing. He walked slowly up the steps to police headquarters, pushed his way through the swing doors and headed nervously towards the reception desk. He told the duty officer his name. Perhaps there had been a mistake.
‘I have an appointment with—’
‘Ah, yes,’ the duty officer replied ominously, without needing to consult his roster. ‘The Commissioner is waiting to see you. You’ll find his office is on the fourteenth floor.’
Malik turned and began walking towards the lifts, aware that the duty officer’s eyes never left him. Malik glanced at the front door. This would be his last chance to escape, he thought, as the doors of one of the lifts slid open. He stepped into a crowded elevator, which made several stops on its slow interrupted journey to the fourteenth floor. By the time Malik reached the top floor, he was sweating profusely, and it wasn’t just the crowded space and lack of air conditioning that caused his unease.
When the doors finally parted, he was on his own. Malik stepped out onto the only thickly carpeted corridor in the building. He looked around and then recalled his last visit. He began to walk slowly towards an office at the far end of the corridor. The word Commissioner was printed in bold stencilled letters on the door.
Malik knocked quietly — perhaps something more important had arisen, causing the Commissioner to leave the office without warning. He heard a female voice invite him to enter. He opened the door to find the Commissioner’s secretary seated behind her desk, tapping away furiously She stopped typing the moment she saw Malik.