Джеффри Арчер - Cat O'Nine Tales

‘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.

‘The Commissioner is expecting you,’ was all she offered. She didn’t smile and she didn’t frown as she rose from her place. Perhaps she was unaware of his fate. The secretary disappeared through another door and returned almost immediately. ‘The Commissioner will see you now, Mr Malik,’ she said, and held the door open for him.

Malik walked into the Commissioner’s office, to find him seated at his desk, eyes down, studying an open file. He raised his head, looked directly at him and said, ‘Have a seat, Malik.’ Not Raj, not Mr, just Malik.

Malik slipped into the chair opposite the Commissioner. He sat in silence, trying not to appear nervous as he watched the second hand of the clock on the wall behind the desk complete a full minute.

‘Malik,’ the Commissioner eventually said as he looked up from the papers on his desk, ‘I’ve just been reading your supervisor’s annual report.’

Malik remained silent, although he could feel a bead of sweat trickling down his nose.

The Commissioner looked back down again. ‘He’s very complimentary about your work,’ said Kumar, ‘full of praise. Far better than I could have hoped for when you sat in that chair just a year ago.’ The Commissioner looked up and smiled. ‘In fact, he’s recommending that you should be promoted.’

‘Promoted?’ said Malik in disbelief.

‘Yes, though it may not prove that easy, as there are not too many appropriate jobs available at the present time. However, I do believe I have come across a position that is ideally suited for your particular talents.’

‘Oh, thank you, sir,’ said Malik, relaxing for the first time.

‘There is a vacancy—’ the Commissioner opened another file and smiled — ‘for an assistant in the city morgue.’ He extracted a single sheet of paper and began reading from it.

‘It would be your responsibility to scrub the blood off the slabs and clean the floor immediately after the bodies have been dissected and stored away. I’m told the stench is not all that pleasant, but a face mask is supplied, and I have no doubt that, in time, one gets used to it.’ He continued to smile at Malik. ‘The appointment comes with the rank of sub-supervisor, along with a corresponding rise in salary. It also has other perks, not least that you would have your own room directly above the morgue, so you wouldn’t have to bed down any longer at the YMCA.’ The Commissioner paused. ‘And, should you continue to hold the post until your sixtieth birthday, you would also be entitled to a modest pension.’ The Commissioner closed Malik’s file and looked directly at him. ‘Any questions?’ he asked.

‘Only one, sir,’ said Malik. ‘Is there any alternative?’

‘Oh, yes,’ replied the Commissioner. ‘You can spend the rest of your life in jail.’

Other than the fact that they had been to school together, the two of them had little in common.