Blood Money (18 page)
‘I’ll answer the question if you stay up there for another’ – he looked at his watch – ‘minute.’
‘Start working out what you’re going to say.’ Li’s wrists were burning, the heels of her hands numb from taking her weight. But she wouldn’t give up. Not now.
‘In the meantime, what about Bina and her dowry?’
An answer popped into Li’s head. ‘We finish the school. They get educated and get jobs. Then they don’t have to marry and pay big dowries to stay alive. There. The world’s problems sorted if you just look at them upside down.’
Hex was amused. ‘That question was obviously too easy. What’s the square root of zero?’
Li screwed up her face. ‘Huh? That’s daft. How long before I can come down?’
But Hex was looking at the screen. When he replied, his voice had changed. ‘Well, what do you know . . .’
‘What’s happened?’
Hex was looking at the screen. ‘Trilok’s mobile provider says it’s time to send him a bill.’ He read off the screen. ‘
Check address
,’ it says.’ He clicked a button. ‘Yes please.’ Another screen came up. Hex smiled, a slow but very satisfied smile. ‘Got you.’ He turned the palmtop round so that Li could see it.
Check address
,’ it says.’ He clicked a button. ‘Yes please.’ Another screen came up. Hex smiled, a slow but very satisfied smile. ‘Got you.’ He turned the palmtop round so that Li could see it.
Li tried to read the screen, but this destroyed her concentration. She wobbled and fell down. Immediately her hands and arms throbbed.
Hex was excited. ‘This is his home address. The one place we haven’t searched.’
Li was on to his train of thought straight away. ‘Could be where he’s got Bina.’
‘Or some really important clues. We’ve got to check it out.’
They raced down the stairs and splashed out into the street. ‘Don’t think you’ve got out of answering my question,’ Li said to Hex.
‘You didn’t stay up there long enough,’ he grinned.
But for now, they put their minds on the job in hand. ‘Taxi?’ asked Li. ‘Or shall we go on foot?’
26
E
YE
B
ANK
YE
B
ANK
Alex padded down the corridor, a stack of papers in his arms. He had picked them up in the reception of Vikram Medical Supplies and hoped they would make him look like he was busy doing something official.
The next room was a lab. A woman sat working at the bench, face shielded by a mask, forearms visible above her gloves. Alex went cautiously in to get a better look at the room, holding up the papers as though he was consulting them. There was a large magnifying glass suspended on a frame above something on a white tile. The something was roughly the size of a ping-pong ball, slightly pinkish. Alex’s heart skipped a beat. It was an eye. The pinkish colouring was streaks of blood on the white. The technician peered through the magnifying lens and moved the tip of the scalpel towards the eye, just by the brown iris.
She was removing the cornea. Alex blinked hard in a reflex act of protection.
Without looking up, the technician spoke: ‘Have you come to clear the waste?’
If Alex didn’t reply, she might look up and see she didn’t know him. If he played along, she would probably just concentrate on what she was doing. ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘It’s down here,’ said the woman, still looking through the magnifying lens. She pointed to a yellow plastic bag on the bench beside her. She cut carefully around the iris of the eye, as though drawing a circle.
Alex went up to the bench; the woman was absorbed in her task. He was horrified but at the same time fascinated by what she was doing. With a dropper nozzle she shook a few drops of saline onto the eye to keep it moist, then laid the scalpel flat against the eyeball.
That was nearly too much for Alex. He saw the blade glide slowly over the brown iris and pupil and nearly threw up. He willed his heaving guts to calm down. Anything he did, any noise he made might betray that he wasn’t used to seeing this.
He picked up the yellow bag and moved towards the door. He looked in the bag, then wished he hadn’t. It contained several butchered eyeballs. The naked brown irises, shorn of their protective corneas, were drying. Their dull surfaces looked like the gills on the underside of mushrooms. A clear jelly oozed through the black hole of a pupil. From biology lessons Alex knew this was aqueous humour, the fluid in front of the lens. He twisted the neck of the bag tightly shut and blinked hard, squeezing his eyes so that tears lubricated them. But in his mind’s eye he could still see those desiccated irises. He’d never eat lychees again.
Still, there was nothing more to see in the lab. He went out into the corridor. The yellow bag of spent eyes gave him another useful prop.
The next door bore a sign saying
WAREHOUSE
. He opened the door. There were racks of white boxes. As Alex moved along, he saw that they were labelled as bandages and dressings. At the end of the row was a walk-in fridge about the size of a small van.
WAREHOUSE
. He opened the door. There were racks of white boxes. As Alex moved along, he saw that they were labelled as bandages and dressings. At the end of the row was a walk-in fridge about the size of a small van.
The door was open. He peeked in cautiously. Inside were more boxes – some of them drugs. There was also what seemed to be a tray of large ice cubes. Ice cubes? Alex looked closer.
The trays didn’t contain ice, but chilled colourless liquid surrounding an eyeball, waiting to be processed. This was the eye bank.
There was nothing else to see in the fridge, and Alex was about to go out. Then he heard the outer door of the warehouse shut. Someone was coming in.
There was nowhere to hide except further in the fridge. Alex took down a box of drugs and pulled the door to, propping it open with the box, then crouched in the shadows by the door and listened.
He heard boxes being dragged off shelves and people talking. Two, possibly three. Probably putting together a delivery of those dressings and whatever else was out there. He hoped they wouldn’t need anything from the fridge.
They seemed to take for ever. Alex’s breath was showing in clouds of condensation. For the first time since he had arrived in India Alex felt cold. At first it was a relief, but then it became a chill that went through to his bones. It was worse that he had to sit still so he could hear what was going on outside. What was the temperature?
He heard the voices recede and breathed a sigh of relief. Now he could open the door and get out. He stood up, waving his arms to try to generate some heat.
One of the voices grew louder again. Someone was coming towards the fridge. He was about to be found. His white coat disguise only worked from a distance. Close up in a small area, he was pretty distinctive with his blond hair and English complexion. Silently, he reached for a crate of drugs. He’d hold it in front of his face so that at least the most obviously alien part of him would be concealed. If necessary he could use it as a weapon.
The box that was propping open the door was kicked into the fridge. The door slammed. The lights went out. The voices receded.
Alex felt for his phone. His fingers felt sluggish, as if they didn’t want to move. He grasped the phone clumsily and looked at the screen.
There was no signal. Of course – the walls must be thick with insulation. He couldn’t phone for help or send messages.
He could use the blue light from the screen as a torch – a not very powerful torch. He shone it along the wall and found the door. There must be an internal release switch. He felt all around the door. The metal surface was cold and slippery with condensation. He could hardly bear to touch it; it made him feel even colder. He searched the door up and down. Where was that switch?
There wasn’t one.
OK, then he had to break out. He started to search the shelves. Was there anything he could use? He ran the phone light over the cardboard boxes. No; just drugs in there. The frogspawn dots of the eyes were next. Alex shuddered, and not just with the cold.
He had to get out. He could jump up and down to keep warm but he couldn’t do that for long. He flashed the makeshift torch around the walls. There must be some way to get out. If he didn’t – and soon – he would freeze to death.
27
C
LOSING
I
N
LOSING
I
N
Hex and Li were looking for apartment number five on the second floor of a complex arranged around three sides of a central courtyard. It looked expensive but the white stucco was already peeling. Nothing withstood the monsoon rains.
The two friends strolled along a concrete gallery and straight past number five as though it was not what they were looking for at all. They were checking whether there was any cover; what kind of lock was on the door; whether a window was open; whether anyone was home; whether they would have enough cover to pick the lock.
At the end they stopped and leaned over the parapet, a solid wall that went up to waist height. ‘OK,’ said Hex. ‘Here’s what we do. This parapet stops anyone seeing the door from below. I can duck down and have a go at the lock.’ He pulled a couple of probes out of the small toolkit he wore strapped to his waist.
‘I’ll keep watch, then once you’re in I’ll wait down on that bench.’ Li pointed to the gardens. ‘In case the others call in.’
‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ said Hex.
‘And Hex? Is your phone off?’ She smiled.
Hex knew it was but he double-checked to be sure.
They walked back to number five. Li went on a little further and stood near the stairwell. Hex dropped down to his knees in front of the white door. This had to be fast. He slipped a probe into the lock and felt around. It took him a minute. Could do with being faster, he thought. That’s something I’d better practise.
The door swung open. He listened, still sitting back on his haunches, ready to roll away out of sight. Silence. No one was coming to see why the door was open. Hex went in and pushed it closed.
The flat was small and tidy. He had the feeling as soon as he walked in that no one was home. So much for hoping to find Bina. But now he was here, there might be some clues to pick up.
He went into the living room. There was expensive hi-fi and a large TV with a satellite box. Was there a computer? A computer with records on it would be very handy indeed. There was a rack of CDs, a few books, a lone painting, probably also expensive. On the other side of the room, the dining table and chairs. But no computer.
And no papers, which was more disappointing. Trilok must have paperwork. Where did he keep it?
Hex took in all this while he got used to the noises of the flat. The TV was on standby; it gave off a low hum. Next door he could hear people moving around and voices as they talked. If he knew what was ‘normal’, he’d know immediately if anything abnormal happened.
Hex moved to the kitchen. There was nothing worth looking at in there, although the washing-up stacked in the sink would start to smell if it was left for much longer. Back past the living room was the bathroom. It was tiny and basic; no clues there. The bedroom was less neat – the bedclothes were rumpled. Hex opened the wardrobe. People often hid things in wardrobes. No. Just a row of shirts and trousers in pale colours, bearing the labels of local tailors. Hex closed the wardrobe door and went back out into the corridor.
There were no other rooms. He’d searched all he could. How infuriating that there were no records to find. He looked around the living room again. Anything with locked drawers? No. What about the dining table – did it have a cutlery drawer? No. It looked like that was it. He walked back down the hallway to the front door.
Then he heard what he didn’t want to hear. Someone had stopped outside the front door and put down a heavy bag. Trilok? If so, why hadn’t Li warned him?
Hex’s mind worked like lightning. Should he hide in the wardrobe? No; Trilok might come in to change his clothes. He might also go for a shower. Hex looked around. Above him was a loft hatch, where the hallway ceiling had been lowered. He’d have to go up there. What could he open it with?
Leaning in the corner by the front door was a large golf umbrella. Hex grabbed it.
He heard the jangle of keys outside. There was a rasp as one was inserted in the lock. Any minute now the door would be open.
Hex poked the hatch aside with the umbrella. A black hole appeared. He let the umbrella fall, then jumped and pulled himself up into the loft space. He snatched his legs out of the way just as the door opened.
Hex held his breath as a figure came in. It wasn’t Trilok. It was a woman in a sari and headscarf. She closed the door and put down a holdall. She unzipped the bag and Hex saw brightly labelled cleaning products and a mop. A maid, who must have already been in the building working in another apartment. No untouchables for the kidney man, Hex noticed.
He realized he was probably going to be up in the loft for a while, so he might as well make himself comfortable. It was less than a metre high; not an ideal place for someone who suffered from claustrophobia. Very, very slowly, so that he wasn’t heard down below, he eased himself into a lying position. That was better. The ceiling wasn’t so close to his head.
Using his phone as a torch, Hex saw that there was an old suitcase by the entrance to the loft. It was probably empty, but he thought he might as well have a look. He slipped the catch and opened the case.
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