Foreign Body

by Robin Cook

  “Do they have pathology facilities at this medical school?” Jack asked. He was encouraged.

  “Absolutely. It’s a medical school and a small hospital.”

  “How about autopsy facilities?” Laurie asked.

  “Of course. As I said, it is a medical school. They do quite a few academic autopsies.”

  Jack and Laurie regarded each other, then both nodded. They knew each other well enough that a significant amount of nonverbal communication occurred between them.

  “Arun—do you mind if we call you Arun?” Jack asked.

  “I prefer it,” Arun said.

  “Do you think your friend Vijay might be willing to allow us to use his facilities? We’d like to do an autopsy.”

  “You have to have permission to do an autopsy here in India.”

  “This is a special case,” Jack said. “It is not an Indian but rather an American, and the immediate next of kin is here and gives her consent.”

  “That is a unique request,” Arun said. “To be honest, I don’t know the legal situation.”

  “Doing the autopsy, we believe, is very important.”

  “It could put a halt to a possible serial killer,” Laurie said. “What we are concerned about is the existence of an Indian angel-of-death healthcare worker flying under the radar here in Delhi, targeting American medical tourism patients. Now, we were going to go to the involved hospital administrations, but we have learned since getting here that the administrations are, for some ill-advised reason, totally against investigating this problem.”

  “How have you heard about it?” Arun asked.

  “By happenstance a young woman whom I have known for many years is here because her grandmother was the ostensible first victim.”

  “I think you’d better tell me the whole story,” Arun said.

  Between the two of them, Laurie and Jack told Arun everything they’d heard the night before from Jennifer and Neil, including the probable attempt on Jennifer’s life. Arun was captivated by the story and listened intently, hardly blinking. “And that’s it,” Jack concluded, and Laurie nodded. “If any cases needed an autopsy, it’s Maria Hernandez’s and the two others,” Jack added. “Our thinking is, we’re dealing with a probable poisoning, which an autopsy can often ascertain, and even suggest the likely agent. Of course, then it has to be confirmed by toxicology. One way or the other, we definitely need to do an autopsy on at least one case, and all three if possible.”

  “The only toxicology labs here in India are at the public hospitals, like the All India Institute of Medical Sciences, where I am an alumnus, but you wouldn’t be able to do an autopsy there. That’s for certain. Vijay’s facility would be the best bet, and he could arrange for the toxicology to be done. You know, I heard of these two cases here at the Queen Victoria. There is not much chatter about them, but what there is, I did hear. You see, there are very few adverse outcomes in India with medical tourism cases, and when there is, it’s almost always a very high-risk case.”

  “Usually in healthcare serial-killer circumstances,” Laurie said, “there’s an element of rationality perverted involved, such as a misconstrued desire to prevent suffering, or putting people in jeopardy to get the credit for saving them. Can you think of what could be the rationale here, killing American medical tourists? We certainly can’t.”

  “I can right away,” Arun said. “Not everyone in healthcare in India is thrilled with this sudden explosion of the private sector, creating these islands of excellence, like the Queen Victoria Hospital. It’s fostering a startlingly divergent two-tiered system. Right now more than eighty percent of healthcare spending is in this relatively small sector, starving the much larger public health system, particularly in arenas like communicable diseases in rural areas. I know a number of academic types who are passionately opposed to the Indian government’s subsidy of medical tourism, even if ultimately it is for India’s good in relation to foreign exchange. To understand, all you’d have to do is travel from this hospital to a public hospital. It is the equivalent of moving from medical nirvana to a medical underworld.”

  “That’s fascinating,” Laurie said. “It never entered my mind to think of it as a zero-sum situation.”

  “Nor I,” said Jack. “That means there are probably radical medical students who are against it as well.”

  “Without doubt. It’s a complicated issue, just like every other issue in a country with a billion people.”

  “But why would the hospital administration want to block any investigation?” Laurie asked.

  “I can’t help you there. If I had to guess, it’s probably some misguided bureaucrat’s decision. That’s the usual explanation for irrational behavior in India.”

  “And why just Americans? You get medical tourists from other countries, right?”

  “Absolutely. In fact, it’s my belief most come from the rest of Asia, the Middle East, Europe, and South America. Still, it is the USA that has been specifically targeted of late. I believe the government’s department of medical tourism is specifically looking to the U.S. as a major source of growth to push it beyond thirty percent per year. We have the capacity. The existing private hospitals are currently underutilized.”

  “What is your personal feeling about medical tourism?” Laurie asked.

  “Personally, I’m against it, unless the profits went for public health. But that’s not the case and will never be the case. The profits are being skimmed off by the new megabusinessmen, of which we have more than our share. Plus, in my view the two-tiered system that’s being created is ethically untenable.”

  “Yet you are utilizing the private hospitals,” Laurie pointed out.

  “I am. I fully admit, but I’m also doing my part for the public hospitals, too. I split my time, working pro bono at the public hospital as an ob-gyn while supporting myself and my family with my private infertility patients. Since there are not too many of us, I’ve made it a point to join the staff of most private hospitals for my patients’ convenience, although I have offices only at two.”

  “Are you on the staff at the Aesculapian Medical Center?”

  “I am. Why do you ask?”

  “There was a third death at that hospital related to the two here. We believe whoever is involved must have an association at both institutions. It’s what makes us believe we might be dealing with a physician.”

  “That’s a good point,” Arun said.

  “Since you are not for medical tourism, perhaps you might not be willing to help us solve a mystery that seems to be giving the medical tourism a black eye. It could even be one of your fellow academics or one of your radical students who is at the bottom of it.”

  “I don’t condone this methodology,” Arun said categorically. “I’m more than happy to help. In fact, with my interest in forensics, I’ll find it intriguing. What’s first?”

  “The autopsy, without a doubt,” Jack said.

  “Let me call Vijay,” Arun said, picking up his phone.

  Chapter 31

  OCTOBER 19, 2007

  FRIDAY, 9:45 A.M.

  NEW DELHI, INDIA

  Inspector Naresh Prasad was bored and uncomfortable. He’d had his tea, and he’d read the newspaper cover to cover. He had been sitting in the driver’s seat of his Ambassador for almost three hours, with no sign of Jennifer Hernandez and no word from the concierge desk. Although he was certain he’d probably bump into her the moment he left the car, he did it anyway, leaving his door ajar.

  Standing outside, he stretched, then bent over and almost touched his toes. It was the best he could do. The Sikh doorman waved and smiled. Naresh waved back. Still no Miss Hernandez. He looked back in the car. Although he knew he should show appropriate patience and get back in the car, he couldn’t get himself to do it. It was too hot in the car with the sun beating down.

  He glanced back at the hotel. What was she doing? Why hadn’t she come down? But then he realized he was just assuming she’d not come down, and h
e was assuming that if she had, then Sumit would have notified him as per his offer to keep him informed. All at once, Naresh decided it was time to find out if she’d been spotted.

  Closing his car door, Naresh crossed under the porte cochere, constantly on the lookout for Miss Hernandez. He entered the hotel and, still careful, he went to the concierge desk.

  “Good morning, Inspector,” Lakshay said. Sumit was busy with a guest.

  “She’s not appeared?” Naresh demanded, as if it were somehow the fault of the concierges.

  “Not as I’m aware. Let me check with my colleague.” Lakshay tapped Sumit’s arm to get his attention. Lakshay discreetly whispered behind a raised hand.

  “No, my colleague concurs. We’ve not see Miss Hernandez today.”

  “Can you think of a reason to call her in her room?” Naresh demanded. “I want to know if she is there.”

  “I cannot,” Lakshay said.

  “Give me the phone,” Naresh demanded. “How do you get the operator?”

  Once he had the operator, Naresh asked to speak to Jennifer Hernandez. It took only a few rings. A sleepy voice answered.

  “I’m sorry,” Naresh said. “I think I have a wrong number.”

  “That’s okay,” Jennifer said, and hung up.

  Naresh did likewise. She was in her room sleeping, and he wondered what to do.

  Sachin Gupta had his driver, Suresh, enter through the employee entrance. There was a gate and a gatehouse. Sachin rolled down the passenger-side window. He could tell the gatekeeper was impressed with the scrupulously clean black Mercedes.

  “We’re here to see Bhupen Chaturvedi,” Sachin said. “He’s in maintenance. He forgot his medicine this morning, and we’re bringing it to him.”

  The gatekeeper closed his door. Sachin watched him make a call. A few moments later, he reopened the door. “You can park over against that wall,” he said. “Bhupen will meet you on the loading dock.”

  Sachin thanked the man but then directed Suresh to drive directly to the loading dock. As they pulled up, Bhupen was already there waiting. He directed them to back the car into the neighboring garage that was reserved for maintenance. The identification card he was holding got tossed on the dash. As one of the maintenance supervisors, he was dressed in a crisp dark blue uniform, including a baseball-style cap. He was a medium-complected stocky man with a thick neck. He and Sachin had been friends through high school.

  “Are you okay with this?” Sachin asked. “It’s going to result in a big blowup and an investigation: American tourist snatched from five-star hotel!”

  “What I want to know is whether you brought the money,” Bhupen asked.

  Sachin produced a sizable roll of rupees and tossed it up to Bhupen, who hastily pocketed it.

  “I would think you would be the one worried, driving in here with this fancy car,” Bhupen said.

  “There are thousands of these black E-Class Mercedes in Delhi, and the plates are fake. By the way, what’s the medicine I am supposed to have brought you?”

  “My asthma inhaler.”

  “So what’s the situation with the girl? Is she here at the hotel now?”

  “Right after you called this morning, I checked. She’d remained in her room. The security chain was still in place. Her jet lag must have caught up with her.”

  “That’s a bit of luck. So I guess we’ll do it like we did the last time.”

  “That’s right. I already have the dolly with the big tool chest on the floor. Her room is close to the service elevators. Did you bring your own duct tape?”

  Sachin held up a new roll. He also pulled out vinyl gloves, which he handed out to his two minions. Bhupen had his own.

  “Are we ready?” Bhupen asked.

  “Let’s go,” Sachin said.

  They used the service elevator. No one spoke; there was a certain excitement that had everyone on edge. Emerging onto the ninth floor, they found they were not alone. Down at the passenger elevator was a group of four guests, but by the time Sachin and the others had grouped themselves around the door to room nine twelve, the guests were gone. Bhupen had brought the dolly from where he’d left it in the service-elevator lobby.

  Making certain the hall was clear, Bhupen put his ear against the door. “It sounds like she might be in the shower. That would be perfect.” Taking out his master key card, and after checking the hallway again, he opened Jennifer’s door. Almost immediately the safety chain restricted how far it would open. Everyone could hear the unmistakable sound of the shower. “Perfect,” Bhupen whispered. Putting his shoulder against the door and then leaning back, he brought his shoulder against the door in a powerful lunge, hitting the door sharply and without hesitation. All four screws holding the safety chain housing to the doorjamb trim pulled out cleanly. The next second all four men were crowded into the room’s tiny foyer and the door was reclosed.

  The bathroom was to their immediate left. The door was ajar by three inches, and a certain amount of steam was issuing forth. Sachin pointed to Suresh, the giant, to change places with him. Sachin wanted Suresh to lead going into the bathroom. Sachin would be next, followed by Subrata.

  Wrapping his large hand around the edge of the door, Suresh suddenly swung it open and leaped into the room. Within the bathroom was significantly more steam, which he tried to wave out of his face as his momentum carried him into the center of the room.

  But the rush was not necessary. The shower stall was at the far back of the room, and thanks to the rushing noise of the water and the dense steam, Jennifer had yet to detect their presence.

  Sachin pushed past Suresh and yanked open the shower door. Suresh reached forward into the torrent of water and steam and grabbed whatever he could, which turned out to be an upper arm. Using all his strength, he lifted and pulled, yanking Jennifer out into the bathroom proper. She screamed, but the scream was cut short as the three men fell onto her and a hand was clasped over her mouth.

  Jennifer tried to struggle, but it was in vain. She tried to bite but wasn’t able to get anything into her mouth, which was swiftly stuffed with a cloth. The roll of duct tape was spun around her head, holding the gag in place. The duct tape went around her torso, wrists, and several places on her legs. A few seconds later the three men stood up, gazing down at their handiwork.

  On the floor of the bathroom was a hog-tied, naked wet girl whose terrified eyes were darting from one of her three assailants to the others. It had all happened in the blink of an eye.

  “She’s a beauty,” Sachin said. “What a waste.”

  Out in the room they could hear Bhupen maneuvering the dolly into the room.

  “Okay,” Sachin said. “Let’s get her in the box and out of here.”

  The three men grabbed various body parts, lifted, and then with some difficulty got Jennifer out of the bathroom. She tried to struggle, but it was useless. Out in the room, Bhupen had opened the lid of the large toolbox.

  “Put her down,” Sachin instructed. He looked into the box, then disappeared back into the bathroom, returning with two thick Turkish bathrobes. Bhupen grabbed one and draped it around the inside of the box.

  “Perfect,” Sachin said. He gestured toward Jennifer and the three picked her up again. Jennifer tried to struggle anew. Terrified, she tried to keep herself from being put in the box by bending at the waist, but the effort was in vain. She also tried to cry out, but the gag reduced her shouts to muffled grunts. Bhupen closed the lid.

  “Let me check the hall,” Bhupen said. He was back instantly. “All clear.”

  They maneuvered the dolly out into the hall while Suresh went in and turned off the shower. Suresh then closed the door to the room before catching up to the others. Bhupen pushed the dolly with the toolbox.

  “It would be nice if we could guarantee a free elevator all the way down,” Sachin said.

  “We can,” Bhupen said. He took out an elevator key and held it up. “It just has to be empty when it arrives.”

  Th
e elevator was empty, and after wheeling the dolly into the car, Bhupen used his key to make it go to the basement without stopping. Jennifer thumped a few times but was then still. They exited in the basement and took the tool chest into the maintenance garage. It took only a few minutes to switch Jennifer and the bathrobes from the box to the Mercedes’s trunk. She again tried to resist but only briefly.

  When they exited the employee lot, the gatekeeper didn’t even look up from his newspaper.

  “I’d say that was one of our more efficient jobs,” Sachin boasted.

  “Flawless,” Subrata agreed.

  Using his mobile phone, Sachin dialed Cal Morgan’s number. “We have your guest,” he said, when Cal answered. “We’re on our way. This is a bit sooner than we expected. I hope you have the money. It was not a cheap assignment.”

  “Terrific,” Cal said. “Don’t worry. Your money is waiting for you.”

  Twenty-seven minutes later, Cal was waiting in the driveway when Sachin’s Mercedes pulled in. He held up his hand, and Suresh pulled to a stop right next to him.

  “Miss Hernandez will be staying in the garage at the back of the grounds. Can I ride with you to show you where it is?”

  “For sure,” Sachin said from the front passenger seat. “Hop in the back.”

  Cal climbed into the car. “Go straight beyond the house,” he said to Suresh, pointing out through the windshield. As Suresh accelerated, he added, “I have to give you credit. This is a lot faster than I had anticipated. I thought it might take several days at a minimum.”

  “We were very lucky. She slept in for us. As a bonus, we brought her very clean.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll see in a minute. Do we take the left up here or the right?”

  “The left,” Cal said. “The garage is in the middle of that stand of trees.”

  A few minutes later, Suresh pulled up to a four-bay stone garage with dormers on the second floor. The place was shut up as tight as a drum.