Ramesh paused his glass polishing, glanced toward the door, then leaned in toward John.
“He doesn’t stay here, Sir.” Ramesh paused, glancing at the door again before continuing. “His girlfriend stays here.”
“Ah,” John nodded, fixing a grin on his face. “Lucky man.”
Ramesh leaned in again and lowered his voice. “She’s an actress.”
John raised an eyebrow. “Really? What’s her name?”
“Sir, she’s very famous in Bangalore. Have you heard of Maadhavi Rao?”
47
Three strong and well-made gin and tonics later, sleep was getting the better of John. He had a good buzz, and there was still no sign of Patil, so he decided to call it a night. He hadn’t been able to get much more information out of Ramesh, apart from the fact Maadhavi Rao came to the bar regularly. He pushed back the bar stool, counted out some change, and slid it across the bar.
“Thank you, Ramesh.” John smiled at the barman and reached out a hand. Ramesh took it with a grin. “I’ll see you around.”
“Certainly, Sir. Are you staying with us?”
“No, Ramesh, but I live nearby.”
“Very good, Sir. Goodnight.”
John walked into the lobby, keeping a ready eye for Patil, but there was no one around, apart from a solitary staff member on the reception who looked up and smiled. John pushed his way out the front door. The white Land Cruiser and the Mercedes were still parked outside, but the security guards weren’t to be seen. John looked closer and saw the vehicle windows were all wound down, and the men were dozing inside the car, paying him no attention.
“Can I call you a taxi, Sir?” asked the doorman.
“No, thank you, I’ll walk.” He slipped a fifty rupee note into the doorman’s hand, enough to keep him on good terms but not too much for him to stand out, and headed out the gate. It took only five minutes to get back to his car. The streets, even at that late hour, were still busy, scooters and motorbikes whizzing past him at great speed. The air had cooled considerably from the heat of the day, but dust and exhaust fumes still hung heavy in the air.
John drove slowly back to his hotel, bouncing ideas back-and-forth. The heightened security meant getting access to Patil would be a problem. However, if he could somehow get close to him whenever he visited the hotel, perhaps he could do something. He needed to find out more about this actress Patil was visiting.
Back in the room, he logged into the hotel wifi and googled Maadhavi Rao. After fifteen minutes, John sat back in his chair and scratched his head. He had found nothing particularly useful, the internet full of the usual gossip surrounding a film star. Interestingly, though, nothing about Surya Patil. John guessed Patil exercised his influence to keep that sort of thing out of the press.
After his research, John was no further ahead. At least he knew what she looked like. She was a very attractive woman, and he couldn’t understand what she was doing with a fat slug like Patil. She must have her own money and wouldn’t need his. Surely, power wasn’t that attractive? John chewed his lip and thought it over. History was full of stories of powerful men surrounded by beautiful women. He guessed Patil was no different, but still... He sighed and rubbed his eyes, then checked his watch and did a mental calculation. Time to call Adriana, then turn in. Perhaps a good sleep would help him come up with a solution.
48
Detective Inspector Rajiv Sampath drummed his fingers on his lap as he waited for the traffic signal to change to green. The morning had been a busy one. Yet another early morning mugging had been reported on the grounds of G.K.V.K., the government agricultural university favored by morning walkers. Rajiv had interviewed the latest victim and talked to witnesses but didn’t think he would have much luck catching anyone. The thief had five thousand acres of forest and farmland to hide in.
Rajiv stared out the windscreen as the traffic flowed past in the opposite lane. Why these women liked to go walking at six in the morning, wearing their gold jewelry, was beyond Rajiv. He understood there were traditions, requiring women to wear certain jewelry, the gold mangalsutra worn by married women, for example, but surely, common sense had to come into play? When you were out walking in a secluded area, who needed to know if you were married?
A car passing in the opposite direction caught Rajiv’s eye. It was driven by a westerner, which wasn’t unusual these days in Bangalore, the city increasingly popular with expats and multinational companies, but there was something about this westerner that nagged at the back of his brain, although he couldn’t put his finger on it. He shook it off and went back to thinking about the morning’s case. He would increase patrols in the morning and have his men post notices at the entry points to G.K.V.K., warning of the danger of muggers, but there wasn’t much more he could do. He watched the signal change from red to green, accompanied by a cacophony of horns as the impatient drivers around him itched to get moving. Perhaps he would make the rounds of known thieves in the area, put the squeeze on them. Someone might know something.
“Shit!”
“Sir?” Rajiv’s driver looked over at him in puzzlement.
“Make a U-turn quick.”
The driver swung the wheel over and stuck his arm out the window. Drivers honked in frustration at the obstruction as the police Bolero swung across into the opposite lane and headed back the other way.
Rajiv’s forehead creased in a frown as he scanned the road ahead of him. It couldn’t be, surely? The man had looked different, but it was a few years since he had seen him last. The hair color was different, but still, something was there.
The Bolero slowed as the traffic bogged down, and Rajiv clenched his fist in frustration.
“Put the lights on,” he growled.
“Yes, Sir.” The driver switched on the red and blue flashing lights, but they still made slow progress. The traffic in front tried to get out of the way, but there was little room for them to move. Rajiv scanned the vehicles ahead. It had been a white hatchback, small, a Suzuki or a Hyundai, both common cars in Bangalore. He wished he had taken note of the registration... or made the turn quicker. So many cars had passed since then. They continued forward, edging through the traffic, the driver using the horn whenever a car in front was too slow to get out of the way. Rajiv scanned every white hatchback they passed, looking for one with a foreign driver. They wound their way through the streets of R. T. Nagar, Rajiv getting ever more frustrated as he couldn’t find the car he was looking for.
“Damn it,” he exclaimed, his driver glancing at him from the corner of his eye, wondering what had got his boss so vexed.
“Pull over.”
The Bolero pulled onto the side of the road as Rajiv stared out the windscreen at the traffic flowing past. He must have been mistaken, his mind playing tricks on him.
“Sir?” The driver cleared his throat. “What are we looking for?”
“A white hatchback.”
“Yes, Sir,” The driver frowned as a sea of white hatchbacks flowed past his window.
Rajiv shook his head. No sense in wasting time. He glanced over at his driver.
“Forget it, back to the station.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“No, wait!” Something had caught Rajiv’s eye. He opened the door and climbed out, walking around in front of the Bolero. Holding up his hand, he stepped out into the traffic, crossing the road as the flow of traffic in both directions opened up and flowed around him, missing him by inches. Rajiv reached the other side and looked up at the building in front of him—Butterfly Suites, a small business hotel. Nothing out of the ordinary, like many that had cropped up around Bangalore, catering to traveling businessmen on a budget. What had caught his eye was the white car parked in the forecourt. He walked closer and mentally noted the number plates. The registration was from northern Karnataka, Hubli or Dharwad, maybe some other small rural town in the north of the state. Dust covered the car, the front of it peppered with insect splatter, indicating it had been driven
a long way, but the registration could explain that.
He cupped his hands around his eyes and peered through the window glass. Nothing inside to give any clues about the owner.
Rajiv straightened up and looked at the entrance. He climbed the steps into the reception and pushed open the door. A middle-aged man at the reception glanced at his uniform and gave him a nervous smile.
“Good morning, Sir.”
“Good morning.” Rajiv nodded toward the front door. “Whose is the car outside?”
“Which one, Sir?”
“The white Hyundai?”
It was fleeting, but Rajiv spotted it—a brief twitch, gone as quickly as it appeared.
“I’m sorry, Sir, I don’t know. I have just come on duty.”
“Is that right?” Rajiv gave the receptionist a piercing stare, and the man looked down, unable to maintain eye contact.
“Show me your register.”
“Yes, Sir.” The man opened up a large book and slid it across the counter.
Rajiv stepped closer and ran his finger down the columns of guest names—nothing. He chewed on his lip. Of course, John wouldn’t use his real name.
Looking up, he fixed the receptionist with his stare.
“Are there any foreigners staying here?”
“No, Sir. I mean... I don’t know, Sir.”
Rajiv frowned, not taking his eyes off the man’s face.
“You don’t know...”
“No, Sir. I mean, I haven’t seen anyone, but my colleagues may have booked someone in.”
Rajiv nodded slowly. “If I find out you are lying...” He watched the man’s throat move as he gulped. Rajiv reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. “This is my number,”—he looked at the man’s name tag—“Sunil. If you see anything, I want you to call me.”
The man nodded rapidly, his eyes blinking.
“Good.” Rajiv turned slowly and walked out the door. Stepping down toward the parked car, he pulled out his phone and took a photo of the car’s number plate. He would get one of his men to run the plates once he was back at the station. He walked toward the road and his Bolero, which had turned and was now waiting on the same side of the road. Rajiv opened the door, but before climbing in, he turned and looked back at the hotel. He looked up, scanning each window. Perhaps he was wrong, it could be nothing. It might not even have been the car he had seen, but... he had a feeling, and his gut seldom let him down.
49
“Hey.”
“Hi,” said the sleepy voice on the other end.
“Have I called too early?”
“No, baby. It’s okay, it’s... six thirty. I have to get up soon, anyway.”
John smiled. Hearing Adriana’s voice made everything okay.
“How’s everything? How was the interview?”
“Very good. They asked me when I can start.”
“That’s fantastic. I’m so happy for you.”
“Hmmm.”
John frowned. “What’s the matter?”
“But what about you? What will happen if I work here? Here in Lisbon.”
John stood and paced around the room.
“Don’t you worry about me.” He ran his hand through his hair and smiled. “I can live anywhere... as long as it’s with you.”
“Do you promise?”
“Yes, of course. I’ve never been to Portugal. I hear it’s beautiful.”
“It is.”
John heard the smile in her voice.
“How is your stomach? Last time we spoke, you weren’t feeling too good.”
“Good. Very good, actually.” John subconsciously ran his hand over his stomach as he remembered his experience at the petrol station. “Huh.”
“What?”
“Oh, nothing, it’s just something happened a couple of days ago.” He told Adriana about the sadhu he had met and how he had put his hand on his stomach.
“Do you think he cured you?”
John made a face and shrugged.
“I don’t know. I was probably getting better, anyway.” He scuffed the carpet with his toe. “It was just... a bit weird.”
“Hmmm, well, at least you’re better.”
“Yes.” He wouldn’t tell her what else the sadhu had said.
“You are coming back to me, John? Promise me.”
John chuckled and walked over to the window to let some air in. The room was getting stuffy.
“I promise. Nothing will keep me...”
John stiffened as he looked out. A white police Bolero was parked outside, the driver leaning against the hood, smoking.
“John?”
John stepped back from the window, his heart racing.
“John? Are you still there?”
“What? Ah, yes, sorry, I ah... just dropped something.”
“Where are you now?” The note of concern was clear in Adriana’s voice.
“I’m in Bangalore now. Everything is good.”
John narrowed his eyes as he watched the driver suddenly straighten up and toss his unfinished cigarette into the road. He rushed around to the driver’s door, opened it, and climbed in as a slim, smartly dressed police officer exited the hotel. John’s fingers tightened around the phone as he watched the police officer stop in front of his car and take a photo of the number plate.
“Good, my baby. Please be careful.”
The police officer walked toward the police vehicle and opened the door.
“John? John?”
John’s breath caught in his throat as the officer turned and looked up at the hotel. John took two steps back from the window as his heart pounded. Rajiv!
“Baby, I’ll have to call you back.”
“What’s the matter?”
John watched Rajiv climb into the Bolero, and it pulled out into the traffic.
“Ahh... nothing, I have to go. It’s housekeeping. I’ll call you tomorrow.” John tossed the phone on the bed.
Shit, shit, shit. How the fuck had he found him?
50
Rajiv stared at the single sheet of paper on his desk—the report from the Road Transport Office. He read the text on the paper again, his forehead creased in a deep frown. The number plates on the late model white Hyundai hatchback belonged to a ten-year-old blue Suzuki Swift, registered in Belgaum, North Karnataka. That meant only one thing—the white Hyundai was stolen. Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He needed to think clearly, examine the facts, and not jump to conclusions. He ran back over the sequence of events.
He had seen a westerner driving a white hatchback very similar to the stolen one outside the hotel, but he couldn’t be sure if it was the same car. He searched his memory for the moment he had glimpsed the driver. It had been a westerner, that was definite, but it had been a fleeting glimpse, and despite his hunch, Rajiv was sure the man had fair hair, whereas John’s was black. Rajiv opened his eyes and sat forward.
His job was to work with the facts. The car was stolen. He needed to investigate that, but... if it was John? No, it couldn’t possibly be. How would John enter Bangalore undetected and be in possession of a stolen car? Shaking his head, he pushed his chair back from the desk and stood. One thing at a time. Best not to let his imagination run wild. He picked up his uniform cap from the desk and left the office. As he walked out into the station carpark, his driver jumped up from his seat in the shade of a tree and ran to Rajiv’s vehicle.
“Give me the keys.”
“Sir?”
“Give me the keys,” Rajiv growled.
The startled driver handed over the keys, and Rajiv climbed into the Bolero, started the engine, and pulled onto the road. It took twenty minutes to reach the hotel. Pulling into the forecourt, the white Hyundai wasn’t there. Rajiv cursed under his breath and climbed out, jogging up the steps into the reception. The same man was at the counter, looking anxious when he saw Rajiv standing in front of him.
“Sir?”
Rajiv glared at him.
“Where has the white Hyundai gone? The one that was parked outside.”
The man shook his head, “I-I-I don’t know.”
Rajiv reached out, grabbing the man by his shirt collar, and pulled him over the counter until their faces were just inches apart.
“Listen to me,”—his eyes glanced down to the man’s name tag and then back again—“Sunil. Don’t play the fool with me. I know you know what I’m talking about. Which room is he staying in?”
Sunil gulped and shook his head.
Rajiv pulled his face even closer and twisted the collar tighter. Sunil’s neck turned red.
“You can tell me, or I can get my men down here, and we will go through every room. The choice is yours. If we do that, this hotel will be closed down for days while we complete our investigation.”
Beads of sweat began to form on Sunil’s forehead.
“I’ll ask you again. Which room is he in?”
“Room 313, Sir.”
Rajiv relaxed his grip on Sunil’s collar, and Sunil sagged back behind the counter and straightened his collar.
“Is he in?”
Sunil shook his head vigorously.
Rajiv held out his hand. “The key.”
Sunil hurriedly processed another key card and handed it over to Rajiv, who took it and strode to the lift. He rode the lift to the third floor, checked the sign for the room numbers, then turned right, following the corridor until he stood outside Room 313. Stepping close to the door, he pressed his ear against it, listening, but there was no sound. He swiped the key card over the lock, and the light flashed from red to green. Rajiv pushed down on the handle and slowly, quietly pushed the door open, and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
Looking around, he could see whoever had stayed there was gone, the unmade bed the only sign the room had been occupied. There was no luggage, nothing left on the bedside tables. Rajiv walked over and looked into the wastepaper bin—empty apart from an empty plastic water bottle. He rounded the bed and pushed open the door to the bathroom—again empty. A wet towel lay on the floor, but there was nothing else to indicate who the previous occupant was. Shit!
Reprisal Page 11
