The Perplexing Theft of the Jewel in the Crown (24 page)

‘Have you traced the gas canisters and explosive?'

Bomberton snorted. ‘Cat in hell's chance. McTavish says the chemical signatures are generic. Both the gas and the plastic explosive could have been picked up for a song from any black market in Mumbai. Rao tells me your bazaars are awash with Israeli surplus.'

‘What about the funds that went into Garewal's account? Rao said one million rupees were deposited just after the robbery.'

Bomberton tapped ash into a clay bowl full of mango pickle swimming in mustard oil. ‘Hawala account set up in Dubai. The account was opened with cash by an unidentified party using forged papers. That's where the trail runs cold.'

‘Many Mumbai gangsters have operations in Dubai,' Chopra said. Here was one more link in the chain leading back to the Chauhan gang.

The waiter returned with their order. He handed Chopra his lime water, then slammed a frosted beer mug on to the table, spilling some onto the glass tabletop. With a last surly look he departed.

Bomberton picked up the pitcher, took a long swallow, then wiped the froth from his moustache with the back of a meaty hand.

‘I think we should work together,' Chopra said, eventually. ‘I have a plan.'

‘Rao won't work with you.'

‘I was not referring to Rao.'

Bomberton sniffed. ‘Hah! What makes you think
I
want to work with you?'

‘What is your opinion of Rao?'

Bomberton shot a dark look down his nose. ‘Rao is the worst officer I have ever met. The man is an imbecile. I wouldn't leave him to tie his own shoelaces. When the Commissioner dropped in yesterday I thought Rao was going to do somersaults. He is convinced Garewal did it. I've watched him trying to sweat Garewal for days. To be frank, the things Rao has done to Garewal…' Bomberton's voice tailed off. ‘But I'm an outsider here. What do I know about your methods?' His stomach suddenly gurgled. ‘Sorry. Local cuisine's been playing havoc with the pipes. Bowels in uproar.' He planted his elbows on the table and leaned forward. ‘Look, even though Rao is a gold-plated idiot it doesn't mean he's barking up the wrong tree with Garewal. I mean we
did
find the damned crown in his home. Now you come up with this Kanodia angle… I grant you, you have something interesting there. But it's a long way from interesting to conclusive.' He paused as he was overcome by a hacking cough. Chopra heard the nicotine rattling around the British policeman's lungs. When the cough had abated he drew deeply on his cigarette again, before continuing: ‘Nevertheless, I am prepared to hedge my bets. Frankly speaking, our investigation hasn't turned up much. We've rounded up all the usual suspects, combed the diamond bazaars, and put the thumbscrews on every informant in the city. Nothing, not a sniff. I cannot – I will not – leave this country without the Koh-i-Noor diamond. The crown without the Koh-i-Noor is worthless.' Bomberton looked glum. ‘A busted flush, Chopra. That's all I've got.'

Chopra's face was expressionless. ‘We agree on one thing, at least… Rao is an imbecile.' He tapped the invitation, still lying on the table between them. ‘I am going to follow Kanodia to the yacht tomorrow tonight.'

Bomberton slugged his beer again before setting it down. ‘Sounds like you're asking me out on a date.'

Chopra bristled. ‘It is your choice. With you or without you, I will pursue my objective.'

Bomberton flicked his cigarette into his beer mug before lumbering to his feet. ‘Don't get so worked up. I didn't say I wasn't coming.'

‘Then I will meet you beneath the Gateway of India at 10 p.m. tomorrow. And remember to dress appropriately.'

Bomberton glowered. ‘What's that supposed to mean?'

‘I mean we must not look like policemen if we hope to board
The King's Ransom
.'

‘You mean we're going in disguise?'

Chopra regarded the hulking Englishman. It would be quite a task disguising Bomberton, he thought. Like trying to disguise the Taj Mahal. ‘Yes,' he agreed. ‘Now you are getting the idea.'

Augustus Lobo, principal of the St Xavier Catholic School for Boys, peered down from his lectern, his brow furrowed into an expression of intense disappointment. The gathered boys stared back up at him in collective bewilderment. ‘Gentlemen, it is with the profoundest sorrow that I stand before you this morning. Usually, at this time each year, it would be my singular honour to lead you in Christmas Mass.

‘Alas, it is not to enjoin you in prayer that I am here today, but to deliver the most scandalous news possible. Not twenty-four hours ago I stood before you and informed you of the reprehensible actions of a group of n'er-do-wells who had seen fit to besmirch the honour of our great institution by stealing school property from the office of Mr Banarjee. I told you that I had replaced the items in question. I openly challenged these goondas to attempt to recreate their crime, not believing that anyone would be so reprehensible, so
audacious
as to actually plunge once more into the dark pool of moral turpitude.

‘Alas, I was wrong. Lightning has indeed struck twice.' Lobo clutched the lectern and leaned forward, fixing his students with a baleful look. ‘I now call upon the perpetrators of this outrage to recall their teachings. We are more than an institution of learning, gentlemen. We are an organisation that stands for something. Christian values. Honesty and integrity. That is what St Xavier expects from each and every one of you. I ask the guilty parties to step forward and confess. Admit your guilt and your punishment will go lightly. For forgiveness is also one of our virtues.'

A pin-drop silence echoed around the hall.

‘Very well,' growled Lobo. ‘Brother Machado, if you please.'

One hundred and eighty heads turned to watch Brother Noel Machado draw the thick curtains over the stained-glass windows of the assembly hall, pitching the vast room into darkness. From this darkness came the disembodied voice of the principal.

‘What I have not told you, gentlemen, is that last night a trap was set. My challenge to the culprits was merely a ruse. You see, when the thieves returned to the scene of the crime, they once again broke into Banarjee's safe. However, this time, unbeknownst to them, a hidden device had been installed. When the safe swung open, this device was activated, releasing an invisible cloud of particles into the air, particles that clung to the perpetrators of the crime. These particles cannot be seen in natural light. In order to observe them, one must employ
ultraviolet
light. Permit me to demonstrate… Brother Machado!'

There was the sound of a switch being flicked, and suddenly, from the stage, there blazed a bank of eerie blue fluorescents. Row by row the light swept over the assembled boys who stared in puzzled astonishment from one to another… And then, halfway along the tenth row, the light stopped.

‘Wadia! Look at your face, man!'

‘What?' Raj Wadia looked around wildly. ‘What about my face?'

‘It's bright green! You're glowing!'

‘And you too, Fonseca. And look at your hands. They're glowing too!'

‘Joshi's got it too. They've all got it!'

‘And look at Baig. He's practically radioactive!'

At the rear of the hall Poppy clapped her hands. ‘It worked!' she exclaimed, delightedly. ‘It really worked! How did you know?'

‘It is a recent technique that is being employed to safeguard valuable items in the homes of the rich,' explained Rangwalla. ‘Chopra told me about it a while back when orders came down that we should be on the lookout for stolen merchandise tagged by this method. Apparently it is all the rage in western countries.'

‘Well, it was a very good idea. Like you said, those boys have been caught, but not
red
-handed.' Poppy sighed. ‘But what happens now?'

Rangwalla shrugged. ‘That is not my business. The school will have to discipline them. It is hardly a police matter.' He winced. ‘Not that I am a policeman, any more.'

Poppy patted him on the shoulder. ‘No,' she said. ‘You are better than a policeman now. You are a private detective, and a very good one at that.'

Augustus Lobo paced agitatedly behind the desk in his office, his hands clasped behind him, his cassock swishing against the flagstones beneath his feet. ‘Well, gentlemen, what have you got to say for yourselves?'

Raj Wadia, Anoop Joshi, George Fonseca and Rafeeq Baig stood to attention before the principal's desk. Joshi and Baig hung their heads, finding something of supreme interest on the floor. Fonseca blubbered quietly into his collar, a trail of snot snaking down from his nose to his upper lip. Only Wadia remained imperious, staring coldly ahead, as if apart from proceedings. At the back of the room Rangwalla and Poppy looked on.

Lobo turned abruptly, causing Fonseca to jump. ‘Wadia, you are the leader of this gang. I demand an explanation.'

Wadia maintained his stony silence.

‘Speak, boy! I order you to speak!'

Silence.

Lobo paced the office again, before wheeling back on them. ‘By all accounts you are very bright boys. What need had you to steal those papers? Answer me!'

Further silence, broken only by another sob from Fonseca.

Lobo's eyebrows knitted themselves together in fury. ‘If I do not have an explanation, you are all finished!' he thundered. ‘You will be expelled, booted out, expunged! I will summon your parents and we will have it out. Do you think grand larceny is a trivial matter? Well, do you?'

Joshi and Baig exchanged glances, then shook their heads. Fonseca let out a loud wail of anguish and buried his face in his hands. Wadia's lip curled in a supercilious smile.

‘Sometimes, I long for the old days,' growled Lobo. ‘A good thrashing, that's what you young goondas need.'

Poppy, who had been watching the pitiable Fonseca and had found herself overcome by a sudden mist of sympathy, now spoke. ‘Sir, perhaps I might talk with them for a moment?'

‘What else is there to say, Mrs Chopra?' said Lobo gruffly. ‘These rapscallions have desecrated the good name of St Xavier. They have undermined everything we have attempted to teach them. They are goondas – no more, no less.'

‘Just a few minutes, sir.'

Lobo stared at her crossly before throwing up his hands. ‘Very well. Machado, come with me.'

After the two men had left, Poppy faced the boys. ‘I know that you are frightened,' she said gently. ‘Even those of you who are pretending that you are not.' She stared closely at Wadia, whose cheeks flushed.

‘But what I also know is that you are children. Children make mistakes. Childhood is the best time for mistakes because you can make up for them. You can learn from them. But first you have to be willing to accept that you have made an error, and you have to be willing to make amends. I will help you, if you are willing to talk to me. I promise that I will not think harshly of you. Everyone deserves a second chance. Will you talk to me?'

She watched as Joshi and Baig exchanged looks again. Fonseca stopped sniffling and wiped a sleeve across his nose, then raised his head to look at her.

And finally, even Wadia turned to stare at her.

‘If I am expelled my father will kill me, madam,' sniffed Fonseca.

‘My parents will die of shame,' declared Baig.

‘I won't even be able to go home,' agreed Joshi.

Wadia said nothing.

‘I think there is a way to stop those things from happening,' said Poppy.

Hope flared in the boys' faces.

‘Do you really think so, madam?' asked Fonseca, his eyes round behind his spectacles.

‘Yes,' affirmed Poppy. ‘I really do.' She patted Fonseca on the arm. ‘But first you will have to tell me what you have done with dear Father Gonsalves's head.'

Chopra sat in his chair in the courtyard of Poppy's restaurant. Before him, on a stool, lay a heap of manila folders, an almost empty glass of lime water, and his mobile phone, which he had just set down, his ears still ringing with Mrs Roy's dire threats.

Chopra sighed.

The backlog of work on his cases was becoming critical. Mrs Roy was not the only unhappy customer. But what could he do? Between the Koh-i-Noor case, Poppy's missing bust, and looking for Irfan, both he and Rangwalla had been completely swamped. It was not for nothing that he had prised himself away from the Koh-i-Noor investigation and spent Christmas morning catching up with some of his other cases. But the simple truth was that he would need a dozen such mornings to make much headway.

There was nothing to do but grin and bear it.

After all, he could always return the retainers he had accepted. It was not the money that bothered him, anyway. Chopra was loath not to follow through on a commitment. In that sense Mrs Roy had every right to castigate him.

He turned as Poppy and Rangwalla entered the compound.

Chopra recalled the telephone conversation he had had with his wife that morning.

He had been delighted to learn that Rangwalla had been successful in engineering the return of the missing bust. He also knew that following the successful conclusion to the case, Rangwalla and Poppy had once again set off on their quest to locate Irfan.

From his wife's crestfallen expression he realised that they had not been successful.

‘No luck?' he said, rising to his feet.

Poppy shook her head, on the verge of tears. ‘It is as if he has vanished.'

‘You will find him,' said Chopra reassuringly. ‘
We
will find him.' He put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulders, realising that Poppy was struggling to come to terms with the fact that they might never see Irfan again.

Ganesha, who had been dozing beneath his mango tree, trotted towards them and rubbed his head against Chopra's thigh. ‘That's a promise to you both,' said Chopra. ‘We
will
find him.'

They decided to have lunch in the courtyard.

Chopra asked Chef Lucknowwallah to set out a table and chairs and to serve up a mix of dishes: aromatic lamb biriyani for Rangwalla, an exotic chicken kolhapuri for himself, and Poppy's favourite, a traditional Maharashtrian pao bhaji – buttered rolls with a spicy vegetarian curry.

The atmosphere was subdued and Poppy seemed to have little appetite. She remarked, more than once, on how miserable it felt not having Irfan around on Christmas Day, sharing lunch with them, horsing around with Ganesha instead of focusing on his food, as he was wont to do. Chopra tried to lighten the atmosphere by asking for more details of the resolution to the missing bust case. This got Poppy talking and he was glad to see a semblance of animation returning to his wife's usually boisterous demeanour.

He listened intently as she explained their efforts, focusing on Rangwalla's successful gambit and how it had flushed out the thieves of Lobo's beloved bust. He found himself shaking his head as he pictured the four boys from St Xavier's stealing the examination papers – not once, but twice! What arrogance! But perhaps that was the problem with the modern generation. They simply did not grasp that there could be consequences to their actions. They seemed to operate from a misplaced sense of invulnerability.