The Perplexing Theft of the Jewel in the Crown by Vaseem Khan Read Free Book Online

main compound. Chopra squinted as the hard sun beat down against his face and onto the parched, dusty ground.
    The jail was just as he remembered from his last visit.
    Directly to his left was the holding cage for undertrials waiting to be transferred to the courts – a number of prisoners looked out between the bars, their expressions listless and grim. At the rear of the compound were the four large barracks that housed the bulk of the prison’s inmates; white, box-like buildings that reflected the sun and shimmered with lost hope and decaying dreams. In the far right corner lay the hospital, woefully under-staffed and under-resourced. A form of relative sanctuary was afforded to a lucky few by the twin buildings set before the hospital, the canteen and laundry, where prisoners fought for work. A few yards from the canteen, Chopra’s eyes alighted on the notorious Barrack No. 3, fiefdom of jailed members of the Chauhan gang.
    His brow darkened.
    He had dealt with Chauhan gang thugs in the past and considered them to be nothing less than vicious animals. Even Mumbai Central Prison was too good for them.
    He completed his survey of the compound by looking to where the Anda Cell was located on his right, a brand-new nine-cell solitary confinement unit designed for the prison’s VIP guests – the maximum-security prisoners.
    Chopra followed the clerk to the Anda Cell, which was surrounded by a high, wire mesh. The interior of the unit was laid out like a giant cake with nine slices. A narrow corridor led to a circular anteroom at the very centre of the cake where a bored guard sat behind a steel desk reading a copy of the
Marathi Times
.
    The clerk spoke to the guard who reluctantly rose and led them to Cell 7. The guard punched a code into the keypad installed in the steel-plated door. It swung open and Chopra entered the cell, the door shutting automatically behind him.
    The cell was dimly lit and it took a few seconds for his sun-blasted eyes to adjust to the gloom.
    The room was spacious and, in comparison to the rest of the prison’s facilities, opulent. The floor was marbled and a generous-sized single bed was bolted against one wall. There was even provision for a private bathroom. A number of posters of Bollywood film actresses adorned the wall above the bed. Chopra suspected that they had been left behind by the previous incumbent.
    He had never been inside the Anda Cell. He knew that it was where the top criminals were lodged – the dons of the underworld or those suspected of terrorist bombings. An exposé earlier in the year had revealed that through bribery and intimidation such men lived a life of ease inside the Arthur Road Jail. This image had enticed at least one man to attack the guards stationed outside the prison in the hope that he would be arrested and thus be able to enjoy the ‘luxurious life of a convict instead of struggling like a beggar on the streets’. The prison’s superintendent – the warden – had been arrested on bribery charges the previous year. He had been released on bail and remained in post, awaiting a trial date that would take years to arrive.
    Slumped on the bed with his head in his hands was Inspector Shekhar Garewal.
    Chopra had not seen Garewal in years.
    Many moons ago they had worked together on a joint taskforce hunting down the suppliers of a new designer drug that had entered the city, working its way from the fashionable southern zones to the impressionable suburbs. Ultimately the taskforce had been successful and a number of unsavoury individuals with links to organised crime had been apprehended. Major shipments of the drug had been seized, and both Chopra and Garewal had been felicitated by their seniors. But since then the two officers had lost touch. Chopra had remained at the Sahar station, content to serve in the locality where he had spent most of his adult life. Garewal had moved on to better things.
    Chopra remembered