The Headquarters of the Mumbai Police are situated in a gothic-style heritage building, directly opposite Crawford Market in south Mumbai. Made conspicuous by the dozen or so police vehicles parked outside, the place pulsed with an energy that matched the city’s own rhythm.
Monday mornings, when Commissioner of Police Hemant Gokhale held his weekly meeting with the top brass of the Crime Branch, were especially busy. A veteran with more than thirty years of distinguished service in the force, Gokhale was credited with bringing crime rates in Mumbai down to an all-time low. The purpose of the meeting was to get a first-hand weekly update on what was happening in the city, to gauge what could be done to ensure the safety of citizens.
It also guaranteed that nobody in the Mumbai police force took things easy—not on Gokhale’s watch, in any case.
In addition to the Crime Branch team, there were five other attendees—‘high-potential’ cops, recruited over the last three years. Gokhale had hand-picked these young talents to groom them for bigger roles in the future. Meera Dixit, who had graduated at the top of her class from the National Police Academy, Hyderabad, three years ago, was among them. She had caught Gokhale’s attention at a VIP function when she had denied preferential treatment to a politician’s son.
Meera was the first to reach the stately meeting room on the second floor. She made her way towards one end of the large rectangular table. Just then, Rohini Singh, a batchmate of Meera’s from the Academy, came in. They exchanged a warm hug and sat down next to each other. Gokhale, a stickler for time, walked in at the stroke of nine. The other members of the team followed him.
In his characteristically crisp style, Gokhale ticked off the items on the agenda, making notes intermittently. ‘Any other matters we should take note of?’ he asked at the end of the meeting.
‘Sir, if I may?’ Meera spoke.
‘Go ahead, Meera.’
She described the phone call she had received the previous night. And waited for reactions.
‘So, what action did you take, Meera?’ asked Gokhale.
‘Sir, I immediately went to the address mentioned by the caller. But there was nobody there. I knocked at the door, checked the windows, the back door—nothing. No answer. But I think ...’
‘Strange ... but in all likelihood, it was a crank call,’ Gokhale said, as he picked up his diary and rose to leave.
‘But what if there is something to it?’ Meera persisted.
‘Meera, notwithstanding the fact that crime rates have fallen, do you know how overworked the Mumbai police are? Our people are working double-shifts on most days. And we get such calls every day. Drop it.’
‘Please let me investigate this for some more time, sir. I promise it won’t come in the way of my existing cases.’
‘Meera, we absolutely can’t afford to waste resources on a wild goose chase,’ Gokhale said, with an air of finality.
‘But how can we risk leaving a civilian to die, without a proper follow-up? That too, after what appears to have been a desperate call for help?’ a baritone voice spoke up. It was the Superintendent of Police, Aditya Sachdev. ‘What if the caller was telling the truth, sir?’
Gokhale took off his reading glasses and sighed.
‘What if someone is actually in danger? Should we not help him?’ Aditya repeated.
‘Of course, but ...’
‘Let me assess the situation once. If I end up with nothing, we will drop the case at once,’ Aditya said.
‘Okay, Aditya, you’ve made your point. Check it out, but use your judgement and keep me posted,’ Gokhale said, as he left the room.
‘Sure, sir,’ Aditya said, and signalled to Meera to follow him.
‘Lucky you,’ whispered Rohini, as she nudged Meera and winked at her.