Inspector Chopra and the Million-Dollar Motor Car Read online

  Contents

  About the Author

  Also by Vaseem Khan

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  The Missing Mercedes

  The Premier No. 1 Deluxe Car Garage

  A gambler never learns

  Get in at the ground floor!

  The chef lends a hand

  The face of modern India

  An elephant at a car show

  Back to Poppy’s

  A warning at the hospital

  Jonah and the whale

  Tracking a stolen car

  Abracadabra

  All’s well that ends well

  Acknowledgements

  Quick Reads Section …

  Vaseem Khan

  Vaseem Khan first saw an elephant lumbering down the middle of the road in 1997 when he arrived in India to work as a management consultant. It was the most unusual thing he had ever seen and inspired his series of crime novels.

  He returned to the UK in 2006 and now works at University College London for the Department of Security and Crime Science. Every day that he is there he is astonished by the way modern science is being used to tackle crime. Elephants are third on his list of passions. Great literature and cricket come first and second, not always in that order.

  Also by Vaseem Khan

  The Unexpected Inheritance of Inspector Chopra

  The Perplexing Theft of the Jewel in the Crown

  The Strange Disappearance of a Bollywood Star

  www.mulhollandbooks.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain in 2018 by Mulholland Books

  An imprint of Hodder & Stoughton

  An Hachette UK company

  Copyright © Vaseem Khan Limited 2018

  The right of Vaseem Khan to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978 1 473 65016 9

  Hodder & Stoughton Ltd

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  www.hodder.co.uk

  To all those who have always found reading a challenge … Don’t give up. Never give up, because we will never give up writing stories for you to read.

  The Missing Mercedes

  ‘That van needs a new paint job.’

  Inspector Ashwin Chopra (Retired) turned to see a middle-aged white man walking towards him along the busy, smog-filled road.

  It was a typical March morning in the Indian city of Mumbai. The air was hot enough to burn your lungs. The road was a hell of honking rickshaws, hooting trucks, roaring motorbikes and belching cars. A stream of people flowed along both sides of the street. Cows, goats, donkeys and stray dogs added to the chaos.

  Chopra had parked his van in front of his restaurant which was called Poppy’s.

  He had opened Poppy’s when he had had to retire from the police due to a heart problem.

  Poppy’s was named after his wife, and also served as the office for the Baby Ganesh Detective Agency. The agency allowed Chopra to carry on using the skills he had gained over a thirty-year career. Even though he no longer wore a uniform, justice was still very important to him.

  Chopra watched as the white man came nearer. The man had short brown hair with streaks of grey, a hard jaw and bright blue eyes. He stuck out a hand. ‘My name is Carter. Jon Carter,’ he said, in an English accent.

  ‘Chopra,’ said Chopra.

  ‘I know who you are,’ said Carter. ‘I saw your picture in the paper.’

  The year before, Chopra had stopped a major crime ring in the city. This had led him to open his detective agency, and it had got his name and photograph in lots of newspapers.

  ‘I need your help,’ said Carter.

  ‘Give me a second.’ Chopra went to the rear of the van, let down the ramp and waited as Ganesha trotted down into the road.

  Ganesha was the one-year-old baby elephant sent to Chopra by his long-lost Uncle Bansi. Bansi had not explained why he was sending him the animal. But he had also sent a letter saying, ‘This is no ordinary elephant’.

  At first Chopra had not known what to do with the strange gift. But in time Ganesha had become a part of his and Poppy’s lives. The little elephant was very bright, and adored by everyone. Now he even went with Chopra on cases around the city.

  In a sense, Ganesha was Chopra’s ‘partner’, though he would never say that out loud to anyone.

  Chopra settled the elephant calf under the mango tree in the yard behind the restaurant. Then he led Carter to his office.

  He ordered two fresh lime juices, then waited for the Englishman to explain.

  ‘Have you heard of the Premier No.1 Deluxe Car dealership and garage?’ asked Carter.

  Chopra nodded.

  Everyone knew about Premier No.1.

  It had opened with great fanfare in Mumbai some years ago, the first luxury car importer in the city. Mumbai was the richest city in India and it showed on the streets. Company bosses, movie stars, famous sportsmen and women – everyone in the city wanted to drive the best car they could afford. So sales of such cars had rocketed with all the new money that had flowed into the country. And for the best cars of all there was only one place to go: Premier No.1.

  Of course, thought Chopra darkly, as in most places around the world, while the rich got richer, the poor just got poorer. There were no luxury cars for the ordinary man on the street in India. They made do with rickshaws, taxis, broken-down buses, crowded trains and the humble bicycle.

  ‘I am the general manager at Premier No.1,’ said Carter. ‘I sell luxury cars for a living. You want a Ferrari? No problem. Lamborghini, easy peasy, I can even throw in the fluffy dice. There’s no car we can’t get. That is why everyone comes to us …

  ‘Well, a month ago we got a special order. The priciest car we have ever sold. A 1954 Mercedes-Benz Formula 1 racing car, the same car that world champion Juan Manuel Fangio drove. We bought the car for our client, and he then asked us to upgrade it. New seats, paint job, the works.’ Carter paused. ‘Yesterday the car vanished from our garage.’

  ‘Vanished?’ echoed Chopra.

  ‘Vanished,’ said Carter grimly, nodding. ‘A car worth four million dollars. Gone!’

  Chopra was amazed. How could any car be worth four million dollars? It was hard to believe. People were starving every day in his country and someone was paying four million for an old car! ‘So why have you come to me?’ he said. ‘Why not tell the police?’

  ‘We can’t,’ said Carter. ‘This car is a present for our client’s son. His twenty-first birthday is tomorrow, and he’s a big motor racing fan. His dad gives him anything he wants. And this dad is a man named Bobby Jindal. I guess you have heard of him?’

  Chopra nodded.

  Everyone had heard of Bobby Jindal.

  Bobby Jindal was a dark figure from Mumbai’s underworld, a man known for violence. He had built up a criminal empire, and had then gone into property and other legal businesses.

  He was feared by everyone: his rivals, ordinary people and even the police.

  ‘If Jindal finds out, it will be awful,’ said Carter. ‘My boss, Dinshaw, wants you to find the car in the next twenty-four hours. If you don’t we are both dead men. Like I said, I am the garage’s general manager. At the end of the day, it’s my fault.’ Carter’s eyes burned into Chopra. ‘I have a family. You must help me!’

  The Premier No. 1 Deluxe Car Garage

  The Premier No.1 garage was in the rich Mumbai suburb of Bandra.

  Chopra drove his van through the front gates and parked.

  He followed the manager, Jon Carter, into the garage.

  Inside, he saw rows and rows of cars, vans, trucks and motorbikes. He saw Ferraris, Porsches, Mercedes, BMWs and Jaguars. There was even a tractor painted gold. Staff moved between the rows, dressed in red uniforms. In the corner, cars moved through a giant car wash.

  Ganesha, padding along behind Chopra, flapped his ears as he spotted the car wash. The giant machine had grabbed his attention right away.

  ‘Where was the Mercedes parked?’ asked Chopra.

  Carter showed him to a bay marked 53. There were cars on either side, a Bentley and a Range Rover. In front there was a row of gleaming motorbikes, and behind there were three dark vans.

  There was nothing to see in the bay. Just an empty space.

  ‘We finished work on the Mercedes last night,’ said Carter. ‘I’m due to send the car to Bobby Jindal tomorrow.’ He barked at a mechanic, who rushed away and returned holding a plastic wallet. Inside the wallet was a small black card. Carter handed it to Chopra. ‘We found this on the floor in the empty bay.’

  Chopra studied the card. It said, in Hindi:

  A trickster came, and this was seen,
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  In a cage went a parrot that was green,

  How amazing is what everybody said,

  What went in green, came out red!

  ‘My staff tell me it’s some sort of riddle,’ said Carter. ‘I can’t read Hindi myself.’

  ‘They are correct,’ said Chopra. He read out the riddle, in English, for Carter. ‘But I don’t know what it means,’ he said.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Carter, looking thoughtful. ‘The only thing I can think of is that the Mercedes used to be green. Now, after the paint job, it is red. But I don’t know what a parrot has to do with it.’

  There was a sudden fuss.

  Chopra turned to see a gang of mechanics around the entrance to the car wash. They were waving their arms, and shouting.

  ‘Your elephant!’ called one. ‘He’s gone in the wash.’

  Chopra raced to the car wash.

  He looked in, but all he could see was the back of a Bentley passing between two rollers.

  ‘Come on,’ said Carter, and led Chopra to the far end.

  They waited anxiously. A black BMW 5 series emerged and then, behind it, came Ganesha. The drying fan ruffled the short hairs on the top of his head. He flapped his ears happily as Chopra scolded him.

  He checked the little elephant was all right.

  Then he asked Carter about the security at the garage.

  ‘There were three guards on the front gate. As for the garage itself, a steel shutter rolls down when we close up. That was locked. We also have CCTV but it doesn’t show a thing.’

  ‘What about the back?’

  ‘There’s only a steel fire door that lets on to an alley. But you can’t get a car through that. Besides, it was locked.’

  ‘Show me.’

  Carter led Chopra through the garage’s back offices and a kitchen to the rear door.

  He opened it and they went into an alley with high walls on both sides. Sunlight shone down into the alley. There was a tall iron gate at the far end of the alley, with coils of barbed wire on top.

  ‘That was locked too,’ said Carter. He sighed. ‘There’s just no way anyone could have got into and out of this garage without us knowing. Let alone make a car vanish into thin air. Some of the men are saying it’s magic,’ he added.

  ‘But you don’t believe that,’ said Chopra.

  ‘I am a practical man,’ said Carter. ‘I know that many Indians believe in magic and all that mumbo-jumbo, but not me.’

  ‘How many people work here?’

  ‘We have twenty-two staff. Why? Do you think it was an inside job?’

  ‘It usually is.’

  Carter shook his head. ‘I have thought about that, of course. But I know these people. I trust them. It can’t be one of them.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ said Chopra. During his thirty years in the police, he had learned that complete trust was a rare thing. He had another idea. ‘Don’t your cars have GPS trackers?’

  ‘Not unless the client asks for them. This is a classic car. It would be a crime to fit it with modern kit.’

  Carter’s mobile phone rang. He turned away to answer it.

  Chopra noticed Ganesha snuffling around behind the door. He was running his trunk down the dry sewer along the alley wall. An elephant’s trunk is one of the most sensitive organs in the animal kingdom. Ganesha was always finding things that Chopra had missed. He had often thought that having Ganesha was better than having his own forensics team.

  He watched as the little elephant picked up something with the tip of his trunk. ‘What have you got there, boy?’

  Ganesha held up his trunk.

  Chopra took the object and looked at it.

  It was a small brown bottle. Inside were pills. There was no name on the bottle, just the name of the pills, on a white label.

  It could just be rubbish, Chopra thought. But then again, it might be important. And the alley had been swept clean. Whoever had dropped this must have done so not long ago.

  He put the bottle in his pocket.

  Carter had finished his phone call.

  ‘I need to speak to your staff,’ said Chopra.

  Chopra spent the next two hours talking to the staff at the garage.

  It wasn’t until he spoke to the garage’s accountant, a plump middle-aged lady in glasses, that he learned something useful. The woman, Maria Nova, suddenly burst into tears. ‘It wasn’t my fault, sir,’ she wailed.

  Carter looked at the woman, amazed. ‘Did you have something to do with this, Maria?’

  Chopra offered the woman a hanky. ‘No, sir,’ said Maria, dabbing at her eyes.

  ‘Then why are you crying?’ asked Carter.

  ‘Because I think I know who did it.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Carter, leaning forward.

  ‘Mr Felix.’

  ‘Who is Mr Felix?’ asked Chopra.

  ‘Felix Pinto,’ said Carter. ‘Our head mechanic. Come to think of it, where is he today?’

  ‘That’s the problem,’ said Maria sadly. ‘He has told everyone he is with a parts supplier.’

  ‘But that’s not where he is, is it, Maria?’ said Chopra gently.

  ‘No,’ said Maria. ‘He’s at the racecourse. Again.’

  A gambler never learns

  Chopra drove to the Mahalaxmi racecourse, half an hour away in midtown Mumbai.

  The racecourse was the most famous in India. It was run by the Royal Western India Turf Club, and it was where the Indian Derby took place each year.

  The drive was a difficult one.

  There was heavy traffic and the van’s air conditioner struggled in the baking heat. The journey was further delayed when a man who was moving washing machines by handcart spilled them into the road. The chaos that followed almost caused a riot.

  Eventually Chopra got to the racecourse. He parked his van and went inside. Ganesha trotted behind him.

  Chopra had a picture of the head mechanic, Felix Pinto, with him. He used the picture to search for him. The crowd was quite small. This was a weekday and the race was a minor one.

  Chopra looked around through his binoculars. He saw that some people were lined up next to the track. Only a short white fence lay between them and the racing turf.

  In the starting stalls, jockeys got their horses ready for the race. They wore colourful silks, and were watched by bored-looking stewards.

  And then Chopra saw a man wearing the uniform of the Premier No.1 garage.

  Maria Nova, the garage accountant, had said that Felix Pinto had a serious gambling problem. She knew this because the pair of them were having an affair. Pinto was married, but Maria was not. Pinto had seduced the poor woman and had been borrowing money from her. He had even been asking her to take funds from the garage. Maria knew that Felix’s gambling was out of control. She thought that he had stolen the Mercedes to fund his gambling habit.

  Chopra moved towards the mechanic. He called out: ‘Felix Pinto!’

  Pinto turned around, and saw Chopra.

  His round face, with its bouncy little moustache, looked around in panic.

  Then he turned and jumped over the white fence and on to the track. He tripped up and fell in a heap on the grass.

  ‘Stop!’ said Chopra.

  The race had started and the horses were galloping around the track. Soon they would turn the corner and flatten Pinto. He was in real danger of being hurt.

  Suddenly, a grey blur shot past Chopra.

  Ganesha charged through the fence and on to the track. He wrapped his trunk around Pinto’s ankle and hauled the little man backwards, just as the speeding horses arrived.

  The thunder of hooves passed by Pinto’s ears. Clods of earth landed on his head.

  He got to his feet, shaking, and faced Chopra. ‘Your elephant saved my life,’ he said in wonder.

  Chopra glared at him. ‘Why did you run in the first place? I only wanted to talk to you.’

  ‘I thought you were a gangster,’ said Felix. ‘I owe a lot of money to the wrong sort of people.’

  Chopra gaped at the man. ‘Since when do gangsters go around scaring people with baby elephants?’ he asked.

  ‘You are right. They don’t. Why did you want to talk to me, anyway?’

  Chopra told him the reason. Pinto’s shoulders slumped. ‘So the secret is out,’ he said. ‘Now everyone knows about my gambling problem. Carter will sack me for sure.’