The owner of the shop was undecided about the whole thing but the Havaldar had him pocketed. I passed on & off the bench where Jamil was seated multiple times that afternoon. Every single time, I found his gaze transfixed on the floor & his chin hanging on his chest. It was hard to see a teenager seating alone on a rickety bench just by the cells that held hardened criminals. I made my move as soon as the political leader gave up & left. I had a talk with the parents & found them alright. They told me that Jamil was their brightest kid & worth one chance. I nudged them to go ahead & apologize to the Havaldar for getting the political leader involved. I waited back. Just as they were finishing their apology, I walked to the Havaldar, played the mediator & had Jamil freed. As they were leaving the station, his parents brought him to me. They expected me to advise him but I didn’t. I was sure he had got a lot of it that day. So I simply stared at him for a long moment. It was a cold stare for a boy, but he nodded at me.
He met me a week later at a hotel. I was having a meal alone when I saw him serving another table. As I was eating, I heard a voice from behind. “Tonight at Andheri bus stop, look out for a one armed man. He will have interesting things in his luggage.” The voice was hardly above a whisper but I knew it was meant for me. I didn’t look back. Jamil walked past me at the next moment & nodded at me as I left. That night, a one armed guy was caught at the Andheri bus station. The backpack that he was carrying yielded reconnaissance details of Bhabha Atomic Research Center in Mumbai & 5 kilograms of RDX. Obviously, the case was taken over by my competent friends at the ATS immediately. I was not the person who broke the news. 2 established khabaris had passed on the same information to other cops who had moved into action. But the fact that Jamil had got what seasoned guys had found made me to pursue his talent. Since then, we have had a good run. He has given me some good information & I have helped him with a few things. Like putting in a word for his admission into an engineering diploma college. He is into the last year of his studies.
I finally locate the board for Jam-Jam mobile Shoppe in a narrow alley on the right. Surprisingly, it is at the same place that it was six months back. I tap Ulhas on the shoulder. He follows me as I cross the road to enter the alley. There are identical looking shops crammed into both sides of the alley. There is litter across the passage. Mostly gutkha packets & the usual spit artwork on electric poles, pavement & even shop boards. Mumbai’s humidity seems to have increased here. A few people try to guide me into their shops with “Kya chahiye? iPhone, Android?Idhar. Best deal” But I walk on without looking at them. I stop at the entrance of Jam-Jam Shoppe. It has a smallish entrance but a long counter that runs along the depth of the shop. An elderly man is seating at the cash counter. He looks like spilling out of the chair below him. A short nose gives him a unique look. His bulging eyes are intense though.
“iPhone main Siri dalwana hai.” I say to him. Siri is Apple’s famous digital assistant. But it is unavailable in India. Without the required network support, it is useless even on jailbroken phones. But that is my code. All Siri requests get diverted to Jammi.
“Jammi.” He shouts without moving.
A lanky boy with a hint of mustache walks out of the dark interior of the shop. His large ears stand out immediately. He is wearing a Manchester United T shirt & faded green jeans. His hair is curly & short. He looks at me but does not show signs of recognition.
“Siri.” The man on the counter says.
Jammi motions me to follow him inside. He leads me inside along the counter. The counter is a glass & plywood affair with many handsets on display. There is a small room at the end of the counter. Jammi gets inside it. I and Ulhas follow. It is his work space. It is hardly more than 30 square feet. Most of it is occupied by a wooden table. Neatly arranged on the table are a MacMini CPU & a tower cabinet. There are two 17” computer monitors seating side by side. Also on the table is a large toolbox with at least 10 different screw drivers. A corner of the table has stacked DVD casings. Spinning tantalizingly close to the DVD stack is a single ceiling fan. The room has no windows and a single chair. Jammi perches himself on the table & offers me the chair. But I motion him to take the chair instead. I intend to keep this short.
“Long time no see, Jagtap Sir.” Jammi speaks excellent English. He harbors a desire to go to Dubai. He is almost smiling.
“My keeping in regular touch may not suit you.” His smile disappears. He looks tentatively at Ulhas.
“He is a friend Jammi. I am going to give you a name. Tell me everything you have heard about him.” I get down to business immediately. Jammi swallows hard but is listening intently.
“Achhu” I say in a voice not capable of leaving the small room.
“Achhu?” He repeats.
“Probably South Indian. Around 26-28 years old. Works with computers maybe.” I don’t give him more than what is necessary.
“He does not work with computers. They obey him.” Jammi has a glint in his eyes now. Ulhas shoots me a look. But I ignore him. I don’t want to interrupt Jammi.
“In my trade, he is a legend. While I work with mobiles, he can work with any hardware. He is a magician with computers. Have you heard of the PS3?” He asks me.
“Yes. It has a hard disk. Doesn’t it?” I am good at summing my entire knowledge of a subject in just one sentence.
“Yes but has an operating system too. A Linux based operating system. When it was launched, a European company threw up a challenge to all the hackers in the world. They kept a PS3 connected to the internet 24x7. The hacker who could take control of the PS3 remotely was going to get it as a prize. The deadline was 7 days. Achhu hacked it in two. ” Jammi looks like he is describing the work of a master, a role model.
“Websites, payment gateways, networks; he could master all of them sitting in a place like this.” Jammi continues.
“If he is such a gifted man, why doesn’t he work for a big company?” I ask him the logical question, keeping Achhu in the present tense with effort.
“Well, he is a college drop out for starters. That means most companies screen him out even before a technical interview. He never liked a day job but from what I have heard, he has a gambling problem. Online casinos, slot machines, cricket betting, cards he is into everything. He had put a very large bet on the cricket world cup finals last year. Backing Sri Lanka.” Jammi sighs as if Dhoni’s winning six came off his bowling.
I pause a little before throwing my next question.
“Who does he work for? Have you seen him?”
“He does not work for anybody. He is a freelancer. People go to him. Anybody who needs help with the digital world can get him for a consultation fee. And because of the nature of his expertise, he rarely makes a public appearance. He is known to screen his clients for a month while dealing with them for the first time. I might have met him but don’t know what he looks like.” Jammi explains.
“Where is he from? I think he is not from Mumbai. Do you know his real name?” Ulhas contributes for the first time to the discussion.
“I don’t. The guy is paranoid about privacy.” Jammi throws up his hands.
“Ok Jammi. Try to find out as much as you can about him. Let me know anything that you come across.” I think Jammi has given us all he had.
As I begin to move back to the shop’s exit, Jammi calls out.
“Are you going to bring him in?”
“We almost have.” I answer without looking back.
4
Game zone
I am seating on a steel chair by a tapari or a snacks shop shaped like a box on wheels. It is at a walking distance from the Siddhi Vinayak temple. We are here to grab some fast food. Today being Tuesday means Ulhas is fasting. So he has to eat food that is allowed while fasting. Usually it is fried potato finger chips for him but today he is digging into Sabudanavada. It is a Maharashtrian specialty made out of mashed boiled potatoes & sago. I have long finished my Usal pav (This is a cousin of the VadaPav with sprouts, gravy & Farsan tossed
in. Farsan is a mixture of various fried items made from gram floor & groundnuts. And if you don’t know what VadaPav is, may god be with you when you come to Mumbai) and am seeping on an Energy.
Jammi has weighed in the fact that the Achhu we found at Mira road could be the computer genius he knows by reputation. The anonymity offered by a footpath could be of value to a person looking to keep his tracks clean. It could also serve as a great place to get lost for a while when the heat is on. With the kind of business clients he had, he could require that. The footpaths would be the last place someone would expect him to be. But even if he is the same Achhu, how do I get to one of his clients? Specifically to his last client. That could cast a lot of light on Achhu’s last hours.
Ulhas has destroyed almost 6 Sabudanavadas & given their smallish size, is looking good for the same number more. I rise from the chair & walk to him.
“We need to get back to Mira road.” I suggest.
“Sure. Let’s get going.” Ulhas finishes his lunch with one last flourish.
***
A rickety computer table has been my workstation for the past thirty minutes. It hosts a desktop computer with Windows. The keyboard has worn out letters on the keys & a rotting yellow complexion matched by the mouse. The monitor is a 17” CRT monster. I chose it over the other LCD monitors. Somehow, the colors of the CRT look more natural to me. When looking over photographic evidence, I make it a point to use a computer with these old beauties if they are around. Also lying on the table are the items from the dustbin that have been sorted by Tirpe.
I reached the Mira Road police station to catch up with Ghadge. He got me this workstation. It is away from the window making it easier for me to check the images in low light. Ulhas has gone back to the scene to catch up with the footpathiyas for latest information. I decided to take a look at the 46 photographs that Ghadge managed to take before he was recalled from the scene. Most of the photos are landscape shots taken with the state issue Cannon 5500 camera. The morning light was good yesterday so the shots are crisp. The pictures show Achhu lying on his left side. His eyes are closed & his face looks relaxed. The marks on his neck are visible like a child’s brush strokes in garish purple. The palms of his hands look large. I have been going over & over on the photographs to see if a clue is around. A photograph to me is like a time machine. It can take you to the moment when it was captured. Most of the times, a photograph captures things that the human eye can overlook easily. Spending time with any photograph is like living in that moment. But I have not been able to find anything yet.
As I click the next icon in the preview application, I let the details sink in my mind. The photograph that appears now is a portrait shot that shows Achhu sprawled near the photographer’s feet. His left hand extends away from the camera as if pointing towards a hint. Against the grayish pavement of the footpath, a pinkish speck catches my eye. Judging from the position of the camera it looks to be around 3 meters from it. It is clear as the wall behind the footpath is painted in black. I zoom in on the image with the zoom tool. The pink speck is larger & round now. There is a semblance of a printed image on it.
I fire up “Chitrak” on the computer. This a special image processing utility developed by the CDAC for Mumbai police. It can be used for still images as well as video. I select the image with Chitrak & use its lasso tool to mark up the area around the pink paper ball. I then choose the “Enhance” menu option with maximum quality setting. Chitrak begins enhancing the region on a per pixel basis. Even on a basic computer like the one I am using, it works briskly. It soon polishes the speck of pink into a crumpled paper with a wheel printed on it. The wheel is black in color but has an ornate look to it. I rummage through the evidence bag for it. I find it in one of the small bags.
I unwrap it carefully to reveal just over an inch of cheap paper like the one used for movie or event tickets. Like Chitrak’s view, there is a black wheel on it. But it is only a piece of the entire ticket. This may be a clue or it may not be. The piece of paper has a serrated edge showing the ripped paper. I instinctively reach for the other evidence bag put together by Tirpe from the dustbin. This bag has lot of papers which scatter across the table as I empty it right next to the keyboard.
Many of these have stains of muck & gutkha as Tirpe has dried each paper individually. The stink is still lingering as I move my gloved hands through them. Sure enough, there is a piece of paper that could match the scrap that I have found. I arrange them one next to another on the computer monitor. They match. The wheel is complete now. There is a name printed under the wheel. It reads “The Wheely”. Printed in a smaller font is the address of the Wheely from Dharavi & a date/time stamp from two days ago.
This looks like a shot in the dark that has come off very easy. But most of investigation time is spent in ticking off false clues. So I would tick this off after due checking. I go online for more details about the Wheely. Yes, most of the police stations now have a broadband connection for internet access. I get a lot of references for the search titled “The Wheely, Dharavi”. I open a Google maps view that helps me get a physical location. It looks like a seedy place lost in the mire of Mumbai. About a hundred meters form the main road; the entrance is hard to make out due to three streets surrounding the old building as seen from the satellite photograph. But it is the other websites that reveal useful information.
It is listed as a game zone. Lot of pages list the Counter Strike tournaments held regularly there. Counter Strike is a popular computer game that can be played online against opponents across the world. Fittingly, it is a game where you can play both the commando & the terrorist. The game has been amongst the most popular ones in India. So much so that tournaments with huge cash awards are arranged for this game. The Wheely is one of the major centers of Counter Strike & similar tournaments involving cash prices. So a considerable group of youngsters would be surely visiting daily. This also means that it could be a place for drugs, gambling & prostitution. The video game angle & the gambling possibility looks like a definite honey pot for Achhu. But it is the next piece of information that gets me hooked. I cross check this by logging onto the official address/owner database of the Mumbai police. The Wheely is owned by Anees Vilayati.
Two decades ago, being a part of the Mumbai underworld was a badge to be worn in public. The nexus between the state machinery & gangsters was strong. There used to be special parties for the elite of the city including politicians, ministers, film stars & public figures hosted by the underworld. The investments of the underworld in previously “clean” areas like films & real estate were growing exponentially. Extortion was an industry in itself. It looked like the reign of the underworld in Mumbai was here to stay. They drove the city & enjoyed the best of it. Imported cars, women, five star hotel ownerships, prime properties, they had everything & it was on display in full glory. It all changed after the bomb blasts of 1993.
But even in those glory days, there were a few wily operators who kept a low profile. These men were the new breed of gangsters who had taken it up as a profession & not as the only option. They ventured into new areas of business with innovative methods when the stalwarts were showcasing their splendor to the world. They were paranoid about not making public appearances & careful about any traceable record of their meetings. It was complicated to form business alliances after the blasts. There were dynamics of religion, business sense & loyalties to be streamlined. But these men survived the times & the state onslaught after that because of their preparations. In fact, many of them have emerged stronger after the past decade.
Anees Vilayati is one of the new age gangsters who rode those turbulent times successfully. He is known as a smart man. He has diversified his businesses into multiple legal avenues now. The Wheely’s existence & his mention as the owner exemplify this. The Mumbai police department knows he is still into lot of illegal activities but there is a lack of proof. No documentary trails, no turn coats, nothing. He has a good team of lawyers & an even bet
ter accountant. Very few people have seen him & I don’t remember seeing a photograph of him. That said, Achhu’s exceptional skills with computers could be of value to Anees’s operations. Looks like the meeting schedule for tomorrow is being set up. I am back to big league work.
Ulhas has returned by now. He usually leaves me alone when I am working with a computer. I join him in the lobby of the police station. He has not found anything useful from his visit to the footpath. He spoke with the footpathiyas but they didn’t have anything new. But some people remember seeing a white SUV at midnight. He has brought one of the people who saw the SUV for making a sketch. I tell him about the ticket of the Wheely. His eyes glow with joy at the name of Anees. But he makes a quick point about taking the DYSP into confidence before visiting the Wheely. He is right and I may never get the permission to visit it if I ask for it. Pritam will never allow that so the DYSP is my only hope. I & Ulhas can always go there on our own. But going there without keeping the DYSP in the loop would be problematic if I find something & even worse if I don’t. I think I can trust Ashfaq Khan. If I should not, I will find out soon.
***
The SUV sketch is ready in a few hours. It looks like a Tata Safari but it could also be a Toyota Fortuner. The men who saw it could remember its number plate so the sketches will have to do for now. I use a flat bed scanner to scan them into the computer. They are drawn to reveal rough details from the side & front. There is a perspective composition too. By now, Tirpe has taped the two portions of the Wheely’s ticket. I have them scanned too. Then I instruct Tirpe to send the ticket for finger print analysis. I download copies of all the images into my mobile phone & upload them into the central case repository. Yes, the Mumbai police department does have an online evidence repository now. We can be slow learners but we have always been good at managing the resources.
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