Free Chain of Custody by Anita Nair Page A

minimalism, thought Gowda wryly. A heavy wooden table with a sheet of glass on top sat right in the middle. A table that was conspicuously bare except for DCP Mirza’s laptop that was open and humming. Flanking thetable on either side were units that he knew held books and an assortment of this and that. A nest of phones sat on top of one of the units and a deep brown leather briefcase sat alongside. A striped Turkish towel draped the back of the chair. It occurred to Gowda that the towel’s twin lived on his chair. He didn’t even know why it was there or who had placed it. Gowda wondered if that was what differentiated a public servant from a private sector employee – the striped Turkish towel on the chair back that said so much without saying anything at all. Of the complacency born out of job security, the lassitude of babudom, slavery to bureaucracy and red tape. And yet, DCP Mirza was nothing like that. Speaking of whom, where had the DCP disappeared?
    A minute later, the DCP emerged from the bathroom attached to his chamber. Gowda stood to attention and saluted.
    â€˜You’ve lost some weight,’ the DCP said by way of greeting.
    Gowda grinned. ‘I’ve been working out, sir, and I’ve resumed running.’
    â€˜Are you sure running is advisable at your age?’ a voice asked from behind Gowda.
    Gowda shut his eyes in dismay. How could this orangutan in a uniform arrive just like that? He’d had Gajendra do some discreet probing to check on his schedule for the day and had been told that the man had a hearing at Mayo Hall.
    DCP Mirza looked just as surprised and dismayed to see Assistant Commissioner of Police Vidyaprasad. The man was a nuisance and unfortunately had political connections that went high up. Despite the scandal of the corporator case where there had been a great deal of speculation and some evidence of his dealings with the corporator, including steamrolling Chikka’s bail, he had sneaked back into his seat with just a rap on his knuckles. In fact, it had made him more smug than before and twice asdangerous. Gowda and Vidyaprasad in the same room was, as his Ammi would say, like keeping a mongoose and a snake together.
    â€˜I thought you had a hearing this afternoon,’ Mirza said, waving for Vidyaprasad to sit down.
    There were two chairs to the left of the table. And it was one of these that Vidyaprasad slid into. He looked at Gowda appraisingly as he sat down.
    â€˜It has been shifted to next week. The judge’s wife passed away this morning,’ the ACP said. ‘Bloody nuisance, if you ask me.’
    Then, shifting his gaze to Gowda, he asked, ‘I say, what brings you here, Gowda? You know, don’t you, that all enquiries need to be routed through me.’
    Gowda chewed on his lip thoughtfully. What on earth was he going to do? He knew that no matter what his request, the ACP would either turn it down or keep it pending, merely as a matter of routine.
    â€˜What about that monastery issue? Have you been to meet the priests?’
    â€˜I just got back from Markapur this afternoon and there was a missing case to be looked into. I’ll inquire about the monastery issue by this evening.’
    â€˜Who went missing? A calf? These rural stations …’ The ACP rolled his eyes and guffawed.
    â€˜A twelve-year-old girl, sir,’ Gowda said quietly.
    â€˜She must have run away to a relative’s home. It’s exam time, I say. That’s what these children do. But the monastery rape could become a human rights and communal issue. So look into it ASAP. And send me a full report,’ the ACP snapped.
    DCP Mirza took a deep breath. ‘Vidya,’ he said, using a diminutive rather than the dickhead’s full name to soften whathe was going to say next. ‘I have a confidential matter to instruct Gowda about. Would you excuse us for a few minutes?’
    Vidyaprasad’s eyebrows rose high as his