The doctor exited with a swish of the cubicle curtain.
Her head throbbed and she rested back on the pillow. The hard trolley pressed into Kal’s back and the cubicle lights glared in her eyes. So she closed them and saw again the silver medallion, swaying as it fell from the man’s open shirt. The insignia a replica of the one on her father’s ring.
She must have lost track of time, slipping in and out of sleep. When a nurse entered to check her status, Kal jerked awake.
“What time is it?”
“Relax. It's….” the woman checked, “…almost four o'clock.”
“Can you help me, please?”
“If I can, I will, though not if it involves checking out. The doctor already told me he’s worried you won’t stay overnight, even if it's for your own good.”
“Yes, I understand, and it's not about that.” Though her sore muscles protested, Kal levered herself up. “When I came in, who else came with me?”
The nurse wrinkled her nose as she thought back. “I was on duty when the ambulance brought you and as far as I remember you came alone.”
“There was a shooting, someone shot the driver, the police must have been involved.”
“A shooting, oh no my dear, you’re mistaken, the driver of the vehicle absconded, as usual around here.”
“No, I saw it - he was killed, I’m certain.”
The nurse patted Kal’s arm. “No one else was injured in the crash. Don’t forget you’ve had a serious head injury and that can cause muddled memories.”
It had been an attempt at a hit and run, no doubt about that. The paedophile syndicate must have put a price on her, presumably after her contact with Chatrawalia. Which meant they’d acted swiftly and efficiently. So that’s why Chatrawalia had let her go, and they’d have to have deep and powerful networks to make her a target so soon. But how to explain the mark on the driver’s forehead? The driver’s death had saved her. The crowded street, the vicinity of the pedestrians, the angle of the surrounding buildings, all signified the marksman to be an expert. And someone had enough clout to remove a body without a trace.
“Now, young lady, you lay back and get some sleep. The ambulance crew brought in your belongings and I'll leave them here on the trolley. We'll transfer you to a ward as soon as we can.”
She lay back down while the nurse fussed, taking her time to check Kal’s pulse and blood pressure again and giving Kal the impression the woman was still worried that her patient might abscond. So Kal moaned a little and closed her eyes. A few minutes later she heard the curtain swish. She counted to ten, then sat back up. Her head didn't feel too bad. Gingerly, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and tested her weight on the injured knee. It held up, so, hopefully, nothing too serious there either. Kal peered around the curtain. All clear. She could still make the flight.
Chapter Thirty-five
Hobbling towards arrivals at London Heathrow airport, Kal kept as much weight as possible from her injured leg. Stiff after the long flight, Kal’s back ached and her knee had swollen ever larger. When an air hostess offered a ride on an electric cart, she refused, even though an elderly gentleman smiled kindly and patted the seat beside him.
Halfway to the terminal, pain shot up her leg. Maybe it hadn't been so smart to reject help. Leaning against a wall, she checked her phone and found Spinks had left a message and interestingly, he'd sent it the moment her airplane landed. So, Spinks logged her departure and her return, which meant she was still a suspect.
Kal rang him back. Detective Inspector Spinks wanted to meet urgently, though he gave no explanation. He relayed a rendezvous address and, just as she was about to ask where exactly that was, he cut off the call.
London was in the grip of another rainy day. Puddles peppered the side of the road, and car tyres slewed through water. Kal took a taxi from the main stand.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
She read out the details from Spink's text. “Do you know what this address is?”
The driver’s eyes met hers in the rear-view mirror. Kal felt a prickle of fear. Stockily built, the driver had a stud in his left eyebrow and the piercing seemed to enhance his already quizzical look, as if he were permanently amused by life. She’d the impression he liked to play on that - the type to be a stand-up comedian. Maybe he had a spot in the clubs as a second job. However, in his response, the driver went for a neutral, deadpan tone with not the slightest trace of wit.
“It's Westminster City morgue,” he said.
Her whole body winced, sending a stab of pain down her leg. The driver kept his concentration on the road, until they turned out of the airport exit, then he spoke as he surveyed multiple lanes of traffic to enter the gyratory.
“Everything all right?”
His voice held no hint of pity and only a tad of concern. He must be used to judging people's personalities because he'd got the pitch just right.
The regular slap of the windscreen wipers filled the cab. Nursing her knee, she stared out at the rain. People scurried along the pavements, hurrying from shelter to shelter, with their umbrellas held high and coats buttoned as if winter returned. Never had London appeared more grim, its population a sea of black and grey. The colours of mourning.
Kal slumped unresponsive, overcome by images of her dead mother.
***
By the time Kal arrived at the morgue, she'd steeled herself for the horror of facing Alesha’s remains. Perhaps charred or mutilated. Requiring identification. As she walked up the entrance ramp, she had to steady herself on the railing.
A sympathetic employee greeted her. The same woman led her inside, talking now and again, not being intrusive, nor condescending, giving just enough information to keep communication going. Kal appreciated the woman's professionalism.
“Detective Inspector Spinks is waiting for you,” the woman said.
Kal’s own response floated in the air, sounding faraway. “Why is he waiting for me?”
“He's going to ask you to identify a body and you have the right to accept or decline. Now, be careful, there's a small step.”
The woman pointed to a tiny indentation in the flooring, flanked by several bands of yellow and black tape. Like her, many who walked this stretch must be in a state of shock, no longer able to function properly.
“Does Spinks think it's my mother?”
“I'm afraid I can't answer that question. The case is held by Scotland Yard so only Detective Inspector Spinks is authorised to discuss it with you.”
“Oh.”
“I advise you to take your time. Listen to the Inspector and then decide what you want to do.”
They halted before a set of chrome doors, their reflections dull and distorted in the brushed metal surface. The woman gave a small smile of encouragement and kept her arms held by her sides, making no move to push open the swing doors.
No, she can’t help me more than she has already, thought Kal. Now, I’m on my own. So staring straight ahead, Kal put her hand out and propelled herself through by force of will, every fibre in her body exerting a collective, cellular impetus to refuse.
“Ms Medi, thank you for coming so promptly.”
Spinks stood alone in a large, rectangular room - a room from a movie set, with dark grey flooring, large drainage grilles and bright overhead lighting and two walls lined with square, silver, drawer-fronts like filing cabinets only in much larger proportions.
Kal pulled her gaze away from the cabinets and onto Spinks. Her other senses continued on automatic and told her that, though several degrees cooler than the rest of the building, the air smelled strongly of disinfectant and faintly and unmistakably of blood and other, unnameable body fluids. Meanwhile, Spinks surveyed her injuries.
“Don't worry, Inspector, I'm going to tell you where I've been and what I've been doing, then you'll understand how I got the bruising. First, you've called me here for a reason and I'd rather get that over with.”
She tried to take a de
liberate in-breath, but it was impossible. She felt like a fish gasping for oxygen.
Spinks offered a chair, which she refused.
“I’ll be frank with you, Ms Medi. Early this morning, a charred body was found washed up by the Thames river. A post-mortem has been carried out and the remains are, as yet, unidentified.”
Her mind went blank. She forced herself to speak. “Is it my mother?” Then she counted the seconds, waiting for Spinks to respond.
A colleague had once shown Kal footage of an immolation. A journalist had been taken hostage, kept for ten days and then burnt as a 'punishment'. The captors released the horrific video to a worldwide audience on the internet and they’d watched it before the authorities took it down. Mercifully, the victim had been drugged but he still screamed in agony. If the matron at ScottBioTec had been lucky she'd have been unconscious first, and Kal hoped her mother would have been too.
Spinks dragged out the silence, as if he turned the ratchet on a torture wrack, stretching her to breaking point. At last, he cleared his throat.
“This is the body of someone much younger than your mother. It's a child. She’s of Indian origin and a girl, around eight or nine years old.”
Kal staggered backwards. “No, that's not possible!”
“It would be best if you sit down, Ms Medi.”
Somehow Spinks managed to position the chair behind her. Kal felt the metal against the back of her legs and folded onto it. Neither thoughts nor words would form. Spinks stood in front, surveying her. He handed her a glass and the water trembled as she stared at it, unable to fathom what he expected her to do with it.
At last, she put aside the glass. “It’s all right. You can continue.” He must hear the tremor in her voice. Facing the body of her mother would have been terrible. Facing the body of Amita would be unbearable.
“Unfortunately, the identification is complicated. I'm sorry to say the body has been burned intentionally after having been doused in inflammable liquid.”
Her stomach churned and Spinks raised his hand in a gentle gesture.
“The burning, I hasten to add, happened after death, presumably in an attempt to disguise the victim. A second serious injury also occurred after death and that was to the skull and though the body was found in the water, the cause of death was asphyxiation.”
He waited for her to assimilate the information.
“Asphyxiation?” The word was faint as she repeated it.
“Yes. There’s evidence of a ligature having been tied around the victim's neck. The Coroner also identified small marks scratched close to the ligature at the front of the neckline. Unfortunately, this leads us to believe the ligature was in place for some time and the victim attempted to remove it with her own fingernails.”
Kal retched. Seemingly from nowhere, Spinks produced a cardboard receptacle and Kal grabbed it and bent in two. After that, she couldn’t help it, she started crying. When she looked up, Spinks offered a box of tissues.
“I really didn’t think you would react so strongly. Am I right in assuming you believe you may know the victim?” he asked.
Kal pressed a tissue to her mouth and nodded.
“You must tell me everything you know, Ms Medi, but first are you willing to proceed with the identification?”
She closed her eyes.
“Ms Medi… are you willing to go ahead with the identification?” Spinks’ voice held a trace of pressure, just enough to bring her back to the here and now.
So she opened her eyes and nodded her assent.
“I must warn you the remains are shocking. The skin on the body has been carbonised and this extends, in places, down to the bone. The Coroner has accepted there may be sufficient tissue left for facial identification, though if there were any other way of us identifying this child, believe me, I wouldn’t be asking anyone to look. Aside from the remains of the face, there is one other identifiable element to the body and you will be shown that also. The rest will be shrouded from view.”
Kal peeled herself from the chair. She braced herself.
“Let's get this over with.”
Spinks pressed a buzzer and a male morgue assistant appeared dressed in overalls. The man accompanied them to the giant, steel drawers. The assistant knew which drawer interested Spinks and he gave a final check to the identification tag and with a light tug, extricated the drawer. The bearings rolled smoothly out to a cushioned stop. A small form lay beneath a white sheet.
“When you're ready, Ms Medi,” Spinks said.
She’d never be ready. Tears rolled down her face, but Kal didn't care. She pressed her lips together and gave the man in overalls a nod. He folded back the corner of the sheet to reveal half of the girl's face.
Kal’s hand flew to her mouth.
“Take your time, Ms Medi,” Spinks said.
Still holding the corner of the sheet, the assistant's hand remained steady on the flimsy material. She stared at his rosy pink, chunky fingers, touching distance from the blackened remains. How could he bear it? Part of her wanted to shatter and sob and scream. She wanted to collapse to the floor and never get up.
“Oh my god, no, no.”
“Take a deep breath, and tell me, do you recognise this girl?”
Her vision blurred.
“No, Inspector, I can’t recognise anything.”
The assistant replaced the sheet and moved to the left side of the body. He folded back the sheet to reveal what should have been the left arm. Only it was a charred stump. The limb was missing.
“Due to the burning, it isn’t possible to ascertain the nature of the limb removal but we know that trauma from its removal was not the cause of death. Healing of those wounds occurred before the asphyxiation,” Spinks said.
A thought was working its way into her mind. Her brain must have stalled because she couldn’t quite grab it.
“Wait.”
“There’s no rush, Ms Medi. Give yourself time to get over the shock. If you’re not certain and wish to take a second look...”
“No, what I mean is, wait a moment, you said there was only one other identifiable element?”
“Yes.”
“And that's this missing arm?”
“Correct.”
“So the girl doesn't have any other limb amputations?”
“No,” Spinks said.
“Both legs are there?”
“Both of the victim's legs are intact.”
In a rush of dizziness Kal grabbed for support. If both legs were intact, then it couldn’t be Amita, though certainly this poor child came from ScottBioTec.
“Ms Medi?” Spinks asked.
The vertigo passed. Blood surged to her fingers and toes, little by little bringing Kal back to herself.
“Give me a moment. I can explain everything,” she said. “Tell me, did you manage to get any fingerprints?”
“Yes, but nothing to match them with because she doesn't figure in any databank. No one has reported her missing.”
She recalled the bead necklace Amita had been working on in the hospital and that, as Tommy told her, all children with arm amputations would work on as part of their therapy. In manipulating the beads, the children would transfer fingerprints from their intact side, so they should be able to get prints from the necklaces. They could use that evidence to link this child to ScottBioTec.
Kal stared at Spinks. He’d had no idea she might be able to identify the body, he’d brought her to the morgue to jolt her, by letting her presume she’d come to identify her mother. That way, he could have forced an error if she were implicated, or if not, lead her to confide in him. What a clever man.
She reached for the glass and the water shook as she took a sip. Kal closed her eyes. Being faced with an impossible choice rips you apart - like tragedies portrayed in films, or nightmares, where you must decide in a split second who dies - you or your lover, your son or your daughter, your mother or a complete stranger. Who would she have preferred be on this slab, b
lackened and disfigured? Her mother or Amita? Her mother or this nameless child? The answer could make you go mad.
When she opened her eyes, Spinks was still looking at her. Kal felt sick with horror. And rage. This poor girl had been abused. Then dumped like garbage. Bringing the monstrous perpetrators down was the only thing that mattered. Even if it was the last thing she did. The only thing to do was to keep going. Push herself forwards.
“I don’t know this girl, though I know where she comes from and that she's received the injury to her skull to eradicate evidence of brain surgery, and the limb amputation is part of the ScottBioTec research programme.”
Spinks raised his eyebrows. He indicated to the man to reshroud and store the body.
“You know I've flown in from Kolkata. I unearthed a paedophile organisation that picks and traffics disabled street children, supplying them to high profile clients in London, and this poor girl was one of them, I’m certain of it. There's a lot I need to tell you, Inspector Spinks.”
So she started there and then giving Spinks an account of everything that happened in Kolkata. Spinks stood motionless, listening to every word without interruption, the full focus of his attention on everything she told him. Part of her registered what an experienced detective he must be, logging every element of such a long and detailed account - the quality of his attention was remarkable. The only detail Kal omitted was that of the man’s medallion, and Spinks commented only once she’d finished.
“This is the second child found washed up by the Thames and both had similar injuries. We suspected a trafficking organisation and I’ve been tracking certain individuals for some time waiting for the vital information. You took grave risks out in Kolkata on your own, Ms Medi, but you’ve given us the break we need. The people we're dealing with are ruthless and, worse than that, they believe they’re above prosecution. You really are a most unusual young woman.”
Spinks shifted his posture, signalling the end of his scrutiny of her. “I'd like you to recount your story one more time because I need to ask questions and I suggest we find somewhere more comfortable. I know a nice Italian coffee bar and it’s only a short walk away.”
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