The office was well hidden for good reason. The Mumbai team had helped Indian law enforcement agencies solve key cases related to attacks by Pakistani terror groups on Indian soil. Both the Mumbai and Delhi offices were on the radar of Pakistan-based jihadi outfits. It was vital to keep the office impregnable. As was the protocol in Mumbai, established clients of Private India communicated with the firm via a dedicated and secure helpline. The screening process for any new clients was rigorous. Investigators from Private visited clients at their homes and offices instead of the other way round. Private’s sanctum remained invisible to the world outside.
Inside, polished marble floors were complemented by a bright-yellow staircase connecting the two levels of the office. White acrylic dome lights hung from exposed beams. Santosh greeted the receptionist and crossed the floor where junior investigators handled routine cases, and then took the stairs to his office.
The first member of the team he saw was Nisha Gandhe, his indefatigable assistant. In her mid-forties, Nisha was still capable of making heads turn. The gym and yoga kept her in good shape. But her beauty could not hide a permanent sadness in her eyes.
It had been a tumultuous six months since her abduction by a serial killer in Mumbai. She had still been struggling with the trauma when her husband, Sanjeev, a successful Mumbai stockbroker, had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.
Two months later, Sanjeev had lost his battle with the disease. So when Private had opened in Delhi, Nisha and her daughter, Maya, had taken up Jack’s offer of a fresh start and had joined Santosh.
Santosh beckoned her into his office, calling Neel Mehra in too. Neel was a brilliant criminologist. In his thirties and dashingly handsome, he attracted the attention of women around him. However, not much escaped the sharp eyes of the Private Delhi investigative team and both Santosh and Nisha had worked out on their own that Neel was gay. With homosexuality still technically illegal in India, his two superiors respected Neel’s privacy.
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.”
“Oh? What was it that made you raise the alarm?”
“A half-naked girl, would you believe? Screaming and running away from the house. By all accounts half the lawn had caved in and underneath it was this awful…graveyard or whatever it is they’ve found.”
“What was she doing there?”
“Most likely there with her boyfriend,” confided the woman. “Doing you know what.”
“I see.”
“And you know what?” said the woman. “There’s been absolutely no mention of this on the news or in the papers.”