by Mark McKay
Chapter 7
He had booked a room at Rebecca’s hotel, the Green Street. Once he’d unpacked, he sought out the receptionist he’d spoken to from London. As Rebecca was still absent the hotel management had agreed to let him examine her room.
‘Everything is as she left it,’ explained the young Indian woman as she led him up the stairs to the verandah. ‘Is there any news?’
‘Not from my side,’ he answered. ‘Did you report her missing?’
‘Yesterday.’ It was now day three of her unscheduled disappearance. ‘I went to the police station myself and filled in a Missing Person’s Report.’
Nick thought he would visit the station, later. If he told them about Chipra they might get someone to look into it. He had no idea of police procedure in this country and wondered what their track record was like when it came to finding missing people. Still, he would offer his assistance.
The flight and the step up in temperature was taking its toll already, he should have brought some lighter clothes. The receptionist, who was smartly dressed in a white cotton trouser suit, stopped outside Rebecca’s room. It was situated directly opposite his room, across the width of the courtyard below the verandah. She opened the door.
‘I’ll be downstairs if you need me.’ With that, she left him alone.
It was stuffy inside. He switched on the ceiling fan and looked around. Rebecca’s phone was on the bed, along with her bag. He opened the wardrobe to find two empty suitcases stacked below a few dresses and jeans, all neatly hung. Then he checked the clothes drawers. They were well stocked, too. The bathroom cabinet opened to reveal a toothbrush, toothpaste and a small bottle of perfume. Not the sort of things you’d leave behind if you were going anywhere of your own volition.
He went back to the bedroom. The phone was dead, he wondered where the charger was and then spotted it plugged in to a socket by the bed. He connected the phone and turned his attention to the bag. He upended it and the contents spilled across the bedspread. Among the lipstick and various other cosmetics he saw her passport, a notebook and some scraps of notepaper. He opened the passport - Rebecca Slade, no middle name. Born 1982 in Catford, London. A reasonable photo, too, for a passport picture. It caught the inquisitive expression that he remembered from their meeting. That curiosity might cost her dear, he thought. No trademark purple streaked hair, though. He put it to one side and looked at the notebook, which was blank, or so he thought as he flipped through the pages. He almost missed it, she’d written something on the back page. Dated five days ago and it looked like a licence plate number. The day she found the lions. There was nothing else of interest. He picked up the passport, the notebook and the phone with its charger. Taking a last look around, he turned off the fan and then making sure the door was securely shut, made his way back to his own room.
He pondered the licence plate number for a while. It must be significant. It was late afternoon now, but that shouldn’t matter. After splashing some cold water on his face he felt mildly refreshed and then he went downstairs. The receptionist smiled at him.
‘Did you find anything?’
‘Not sure. Can you direct me to the police station?’
‘Best to get a taxi from here. Let me arrange it.’
It was only five minutes by car. The station was an imposing four storey building made of ochre red brick, with white sash windows. Two flagpoles out front flew the flag of India. Nick made his way to the enquiry desk and quoted the reference number the receptionist had given him. The man behind the desk typed it in and then spent a minute looking at the result of his query. He looked at Nick impassively.
‘Are you a relative?’
‘No, I’m a Detective Chief Inspector, from London.’
A slight widening of the eyes greeted this remark. ‘You are investigating this disappearance, then?’
‘Yes, and I wondered if someone here might help.’
‘Take a seat please. I will see who is available.’
Fifteen minutes later a uniformed officer appeared and spoke briefly to the man on the desk, who gestured in Nick’s direction. The officer wore shoulder insignia consisting of three silver stars, with one red and one black stripe beneath them.
‘I am Inspector of Police, Rajeev Shah,’ he said, as Nick stood up. ‘Do you have some identification?’
Nick produced his own credentials, and with the formalities out of the way he followed Shah down a long corridor and into an office. The Inspector seated himself behind a desk and motioned Nick to a chair. He consulted a document for a moment.
‘This lady was reported missing yesterday,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you can explain your interest in this, please?’
Some forty minutes later the Inspector leaned back in his chair, with a sigh. ‘Quite a story.’ He thought for a moment. ‘I will see if we can trace the licence number for you. In the meantime, could you check with the Archaeological Survey of India to see what action they took? If they did nothing I will ask someone in Patna to visit Chipra.’
‘Thank you. Let me give you my contact details.’
As far as international co-operation went, it was a good start. Inspector Shah walked Nick back to reception and promised to call as soon as he had more information on the licence plate. Nick asked the man on reception where he could find a taxi. He felt tired but optimistic, this might provide a lead in the right direction sooner than anticipated. He returned to his hotel room as satisfied as he could be, all things considered.
Mr Singh at the ASI was apologetic. No one had as yet checked the site, he would ring his colleague in Patna again today and find out what was delaying him.
‘I think Ms Slade found something,’ said Nick. ‘I really think you should be taking this seriously.’
Mr Singh promised to expedite matters. Nick was less than convinced, but there was nothing he could do. Maybe Inspector Shah would take it seriously. The next stop was the India Society. When he arrived and asked after Alexander Marsh, the lady on reception duty regarded him bleakly.
‘He is not well,’ she said.
‘Yes, I was told that when I rang a few days ago. I thought he might be out of hospital by now.’
‘He isn’t. In fact his condition is quite serious. Are you a friend?’
‘Acquaintance. Visiting from London.’
She thought for a moment. ‘He’s at the Ganesh Medical Centre. You could go there, but he may not be well enough to see you.’
‘Thank you. I’ll try anyway.’
The hospital was a twenty minute taxi ride. Located in a lush, park style setting, it was a private facility and seemed quite small for a hospital in Nick’s opinion. Two storeys, with a very modern bright white exterior and a squeaky clean shiny interior to match. The reception area was spacious, with only a few people occupying some of the half dozen or so elegantly upholstered sofas facing the desk. One wall was taken up with a painting, showing a figure seated on a richly decorated throne. It was bare chested and wore yellow silken trousers, a garland of flowers and a richly jewelled crown. With four arms and the head of an elephant. Nick recalled seeing a similar little plastic lookalike dangling from the taxi driver’s rear view mirror. He approached the desk.
The young woman seated behind it raised her eyes from her book. ‘Can I help?’
‘I’m enquiring after a Mr Marsh.’
‘First name?’
He told her. She assumed an expression of detached efficiency as her fingers flew over the keyboard and once the record came up she spent a minute checking the details, before asking him if he was a relative.
Some embellishment would be needed if he was to get much further. ‘Business acquaintance, actually. Quite important business. I expected to meet Mr Marsh, but then found out he was here. Is he alright?’
‘I don’t know if he can have visitors. Just a minute.’ She picked up the phone and dialled what he assumed was an internal number. After a few words, she turned back to him. ‘There is
a doctor coming. Take a seat, he won’t be long.’
Nick did as instructed. He was studying the multi-armed elephant man when the doctor arrived.
‘That’s Ganesh,’ the doctor announced. ‘And I’m Dr. Cameron.’
He was a Scotsman, about thirty Nick estimated. Complete with ginger hair, white coat and stethoscope.
Nick stood up. He hadn’t been expecting a European. ‘Who’s Ganesh?’
‘A popular deity, he removes obstacles, amongst other things. The place is named after him. He’s an inspiration, especially to some of the surgeons. They take the removing obstacles thing quite literally.’
‘I see.’ Nick wondered if his expertise extended to removing bans on visitors. He looked at Dr. Cameron curiously. Cameron smiled.
‘Surprised to see a Scot working here are you? Let me tell you, the facilities here make the Glasgow Royal Infirmary look pretty ordinary.’ Then it was his turn to look curious. ‘What’s your connection to Mr Marsh?’
Nick repeated his assertion regarding important business. ‘He will definitely want to speak to me if possible.’
Dr. Cameron looked slightly troubled, but after a second’s deliberation made a decision. ‘Come with me. He is sedated, but conscious.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘We can’t be 100 percent certain, but we think he’s been poisoned.’
‘What?’
Cameron grimaced. ‘Toxicology can’t identify whatever it is and it’s working quite slowly. At the moment we are keeping him hydrated and as comfortable as possible. His liver is under a lot of stress, though.’
‘What’s the prognosis?’
‘To be honest with you Mr Severance, I’m not overly optimistic.’
Nick’s thoughts were in turmoil as he followed Cameron down the hall. Marsh, who had undoubtedly lied to Rebecca about the tomb’s existence, might now be a victim of his own bad choices. Whoever he might be in league with had no compunction about killing people. He had to know what Marsh had to say.
They came to the door of a single room at the end of the hall. Dr. Cameron opened it and beckoned Nick in. The doctor advanced to the foot of the bed and took a long look at his patient.
‘Someone to see you, Mr Marsh.’ Then he looked at Nick. ‘Ten minutes at the most, OK?’ Nick nodded. Cameron stepped out.
Alexander Marsh was semi-upright and attached to a drip on a stand, by one side of the bed. He was attached to a heart monitor on the other side, which beeped softly with a monotonous regularity. His face looked haggard and thin and his eyes were glazed with some analgesic; morphine perhaps. Nick stood on the spot recently vacated by Dr. Cameron. Marsh seemed to look more through him than at him, and of course he hadn’t a clue who his unexpected visitor might be.
‘Who the hell are you?’ The voice was slurred.
‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Nick Severance from London. Investigating the murder of Simon Wood. You met Simon, remember?’
The eyes flickered. ‘I did. And?’
‘And Rebecca Slade, too. You told her not to visit Chipra, because there was nothing to find. But there was something, wasn’t there? She found it and now I can’t find her.’
Nick thought he saw a twitch of alarm on Marsh’s face. ‘How hard have you looked?’
‘She’s been missing four days now. She disappeared the night she returned to Kolkata and sent me these.’
Nick stepped to the bedside gingerly, wary of disconnecting anything. He held up a printout, showing two photos of the golden lions.
‘Seen these before?’
The eyes widened and Marsh reached up a hand, snatching the printout. ‘My God, is this..?’ He stared for a moment, then his arm dropped heavily back again.
Neither man spoke. Marsh seemed to be deliberating something and Nick thought it best to let him get on with it. The beeping heart monitor had picked up the pace a little, it seemed those deliberations were causing some stress. Nick watched, and waited.
Marsh focused again. ‘Are you really a DCI?’
Nick took out his warrant card and held it up. Marsh grunted in acknowledgement.
‘The bitch poisoned me.’
‘Which bitch?’
‘She did a good job. They can’t work out what it is, or reverse the effects. Barring a miracle, I think my time is up.’
It was a fatalistic attitude to Nick’s mind. Perhaps realistic, given the circumstances.
‘Tell me what happened.’
‘I have an arrangement with someone in Europe,’ said Marsh. ‘When some object of value comes to my attention, I let him know. I act as a middleman and take a commission. The object in question may have been acquired illegally by the seller, but nobody gets hurt in the exchange. Until Mr Wood.’
This extended speech was costing Marsh some effort. He beckoned to the jug of water on the nightstand, just out of reach. Nick poured him a glass and Marsh took it with a shaking hand. He sipped slowly and then continued.
‘When Simon Wood first contacted me, I was already aware that the tomb might exist, through someone else. We were making arrangements to excavate it, but Mr Wood’s visit made the matter more urgent. We put people on site immediately and a week later they found those lions you showed me. First time I’ve seen a photo, though.’ His voice trailed off and he paused for more water.
‘Go on.’
‘Then your Ms Slade showed up. When she said Mr Wood had been murdered, I thought there must be a connection. I tried to warn her off by saying there was nothing there.’
‘Didn’t work.’
Marsh sighed. ‘Then Sylvie arrived. She was on her way to Chipra to see for herself, but she wanted to meet with me first.’
Nick’s heart missed a beat. ‘Sylvie Dajani?’
‘Yes.’ Marsh looked at him questioningly but Nick showed no sign of elaborating, so he went on. ‘She wanted to discuss my fee. We went out for dinner and that’s when she must have put something in my food, or drink.’
And now here you are, thought Nick. ‘Did she tell you what they’re going to do?’
‘They will remove the four lions and sell them. It will take some doing, they need to bring in articulated trucks and a bigger crane, to start. And although they told the local headman they were from the ASI, there will still be palms to be greased. If they work quickly enough…’
He was exhausted. He passed his half empty glass to Nick and then let his head slump back and his eyes close.
The door opened and Dr. Cameron was back. He looked at Nick and tapped his watch. ‘Time’s up.’
Nick looked at Marsh, not knowing whether he should feel any sympathy for the man’s predicament. Not a pleasant way to die.
‘Tell me, what was your fee?’
The eyes stayed closed. ‘Ten percent.’
‘Thanks for talking to me.’ A fee you won’t be collecting now he reflected, as he left the room and strode alone down the hall. Dr. Cameron had stayed behind to minister to his patient. He asked the girl on the desk to get him a taxi and as he waited he took another look at Ganesh. The elephant god was doing his job today. The link to Simon’s murder had come unequivocally in the form of Sylvie Dajani, and if you were being charitable you could say that was one obstacle to knowledge removed. It still left him with no clue as to Rebecca’s whereabouts, or even if she was still alive. If Sylvie Dajani was involved in her disappearance then she might well be dead, but as she hadn’t been killed at the hotel there must have been a reason for her abduction. All he had to do was figure out what it was.
