Foreign Body (32 page)

Both women stood and spontaneously hugged. Jennifer was surprised at how frail Rita felt. It was as though if she squeezed too hard, some bones might crack.

They said good-bye in the lobby. Jennifer promised to call in the morning, and Rita thanked her for listening. Then they parted.

As Jennifer exited the hotel, she promised herself a real taxi, not an auto rickshaw, on her ride back to the Amal.

Chapter 25

OCTOBER 18, 2007

THURSDAY, 9:45 A.M.

NEW DELHI, INDIA

On the relatively short run from the Imperial hotel back to the Amal Palace Hotel, Jennifer decided the regular taxi wasn't that much more relaxing than the auto rickshaw except for having sides, providing at least the impression of being safer. The taxi driver was as aggressive as the auto rickshaw driver had been, but his vehicle was slightly less maneuverable.

En route and after checking the time, Jennifer reconfirmed her plans of doing some sightseeing during the morning and exercising and lying around the pool in the afternoon. After her breakfast with Rita, she was even more convinced something weird was afoot, and she didn't want to obsess. As she looked out the cab's window, she was becoming familiar enough with Delhi traffic to recognize that the morning rush hour was beginning to abate. In place of stop-and-go it was crawl-and-go, so it was as good a time as any for her to drive around the city.

Back at the hotel, she didn't bother going up to her room. Using the house phone, she called Lucinda Benfatti.

"Hope I'm not calling too early," Jennifer said apologetically.

"Heavens, no," Lucinda said.

"I just had breakfast with a woman whose husband died last night, not at the Queen Victoria but at another similar hospital."

"We can certainly sympathize with her."

"In more ways than one. The whole situation resembles our experience. Once again, CNN was aware before she was."

"That makes three deaths," Lucinda stated. She was shocked. "Two can be a coincidence; three in three days cannot."

"That's my thought exactly."

"I'm certainly glad your medical examiner friends are coming."

"I feel exactly the same, but I feel like I'm treading water until they get here. Today I'm going to try not to think about it. I might even try to act like a tourist. Would you like to accompany me? I really don't care what I see. I just want to take my mind off everything."

"That's probably a good idea, but not for me. I just couldn't do it."

"Are you sure?" Jennifer asked, unsure if she should try to insist for Lucinda's sake.

"I'm sure."

"Here I am saying I want to take my mind off everything, and I have a couple of questions for you. First, did you find out from your friend in New York what time he learned about Herbert's passing on CNN?"

"Yes, I did," Lucinda said. "I wrote it down somewhere. Hold on!"

Jennifer could hear Lucinda moving things around on the desk and mumbling to herself.

It took about a minute for her to come back on the line. "Here it is. I wrote it on the back of an envelope. It was just before eleven a.m. He remembered because he'd turned the TV on to watch something scheduled at eleven."

"Okay," Jennifer said, as she wrote down the time. "Now I have another request. Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

"Call up our friend Varini and ask her what time is on the death certificate, or if you are going out there, ask to look at the death certificate yourself, which you are entitled to do.

I'd like to know the time, and I'll tell you why. With my granny, I heard about her passing around seven-forty-five a.m. Los Angeles time, which is around eight-fifteen New Delhi time. Here in New Delhi, when I asked to see her death certificate, the time was ten-thirty-five p.m., which is curious, to say the least. Her time of death was later than it was announced on television."

"That is curious! It suggests someone knew she was going to die before she did."

"Exactly," Jennifer said. "Now there could have been some screw-up here in India that could explain the discrepancy, like someone writing ten-thirty-five p.m. when they were supposed to write nine-thirty-five, but even that is too short an interval for CNN to get the tip, verify it in some way, write the piece about medical tourism, and get it on the air."

"I agree; I'll be happy to find out."

"Now, the last thing," Jennifer said. "When my granny was discovered having passed away, she was blue. It's called cyanosis. I'm having trouble explaining that physiologically. After a heart attack sometimes the patient can be a little blue, maybe the extremities, like the tips of the fingers, but not the whole body. With all the other similarities between Granny and Herbert, I'd like to know if he was also blue."

"Who would I ask?"

"The nurses. It's the nurses who know what goes on in a hospital. Or medical students, if the hospital has them."

"I'll give it a try."

"I'm sorry to be giving you all these tasks."

"It's quite alright. I actually like having things to do. It keeps me from obsessing over my emotions."

"Since you're not up for sightseeing, how about dinner? Are you going out to the airport to meet your sons, or are you going to wait for them here?"

"I'm going to the airport. I really am anxious to see them. As for dinner, could I let you know later?"

"Absolutely," Jennifer said. "I'll call you in the afternoon."

After appropriate good-byes, Jennifer hung up the house phone and hastened over to the concierge desk. Now that she had decided to sightsee, she wanted to get on her way.

Unfortunately, there was a line at the desk, and she had to wait. When it was her turn and she had stepped up to the desk, she couldn't help but notice the reaction of the concierge.

It was like he'd just recognized an old friend. What made it particularly surprising was that he wasn't even the concierge who'd given her the city map the day before.

"I'd like some advice," Jennifer said, while watching the man's dark eyes. Rather than make proper eye contact, he seemed to be intermittently looking over Jennifer's shoulder out into the lobby, so that even Jennifer herself turned to see if there was something going on, but she saw nothing unusual.

"What kind of advice?" the man asked, finally engaging Jennifer with normal eye contact.

"I want to do a little sightseeing this morning," she said. She noticed the man's name was Sumit. "What would you recommend for two to three hours?"

"Have you seen Old Delhi?" Sumit inquired.

"I haven't seen anything."

"Then I suggest Old Delhi for certain," Sumit said, while reaching for a city map. He opened the map with a practiced shake and smoothed it out on the desktop. Jennifer looked down at it. It was identical to the one she'd gotten the day before.

"Now, this is the area of Old Delhi," Sumit said, pointing with his left index finger.

Jennifer followed his pointing finger but out of the corner of her eye she saw Sumit wave with his right hand over his head as if trying to get someone's attention. Jennifer turned to look into the lobby area to see who Sumit was waving at, but no one seemed to be returning the gesture. She looked back at the concierge, who seemed mildly embarrassed and lowered his hand like a child being caught reaching for the cookie jar.

"Sorry," Sumit said. "I was just trying to wave at an old friend."

"It's quite alright," Jennifer said. "What should I see in Old Delhi?"

"For sure, the Red Fort," he said, poking a finger at it on the map. He took her guidebook and flipped it open to the proper page. "Perhaps second only to the Taj Mahal in Agra, it might be India's most interesting landmark. I particularly like the Diwan-i-Aam."

"It sounds promising," Jennifer said, noticing that the man no longer seemed to be distracted in the slightest.

"Good morning, Ms. Hernandez," the second concierge said when he'd finished with his last client and was waiting for the next to step up. It had been he who had given her the city map the day before.

"Good morning to you," Jennifer responded.

"Ms. Hernandez is going to visit Old Delhi," Sumit said to Lakshay.

"You'll enjoy it," Lakshay said, while waving for the next hotel guest to approach.

"What about after the Red Fort?" Jennifer asked.

"Then I recommend you visit the Jama Masjid mosque, built by the same Mughal emperor. It is the largest mosque in India."

"Is this area near these two monuments a bazaar?" Jennifer asked.

"Not only a bazaar but the bazaar. It is the most wonderful labyrinth of narrow galis and even more narrow katras where you can buy most anything and everything. The shops are tiny and owned by the merchants, so you must bargain. It is marvelous. I suggest you walk around the bazaar, shop if you are so inclined, and then walk here to a restaurant called Karim's for lunch," Sumit said, pointing at the map. "It's the most authentic Mughlai restaurant in New Delhi."

"Is it safe?" Jennifer asked. "I'd prefer not to get Delhi belly."

"Very safe. I know the maître d'. I'll call him and tell him you might be stopping in. If you do, ask for Amit Singh. He will take good care of you."

"Thank you," Jennifer said. "It sounds like a good plan." She tried to fold the map into its original form.

Sumit took the map and expertly collapsed it. "May I ask how you plan to travel to Old Delhi?"

"I hadn't gotten to that yet."

"May I recommend using one of the hotel cars. We can arrange for an English-speaking driver, and the car will be air-conditioned. It is somewhat more expensive than a taxi, but the driver will stay with you, although not while you visit the monuments or the bazaar. Many of our female guests find it very convenient."

Jennifer liked the idea immediately. Since the sightseeing outing might be her one and only, she thought she should do it properly, and for a babe-in-the-woods tourist, it might make the difference between enjoying herself or not. "You say it's not much more than a taxi?" Jennifer asked, to be reassured.

"That's correct if you are hiring the taxi by the hour. It's a service for our hotel guests."

"How do I make the arrangements? It's not going to work for me unless there's a car available now."

Sumit pointed across the hotel's main entrance to a desk similar to his. "That's the transportation desk just opposite, and my colleague, attired similar to myself, is the transportation manager. I assure you he will be most helpful."

Jennifer wove through the people coming in and going out of the hotel and approached the transportation desk. She was unaware of a balding, round-faced man behind her, more than three inches shorter than her, who stood up from a club chair in the center of the lobby and approached the concierges. But a few moments later she did happen to see him while the transportation manager finished up a phone conversation. She noticed him only because he was talking with one of the turbaned, towering doormen, and by comparison appeared considerably shorter than he actually was.

"May I help you?" the transportation manager said as he hung up his phone.

As she started to speak, she noticed the man had a similar reaction on confronting her as the concierge: a kind of distracted recognition. Jennifer felt instantly self-conscious, worrying something must be amiss with her appearance, like something was stuck between her teeth. As a reflex, she ran her tongue across them.

"Can I help you?" the man repeated. Jennifer noticed his name was Samarjit Rao. She certainly didn't remember meeting him.

"Have we met?" Jennifer asked.

"Unfortunately, we have not-not in person, anyway. But I did arrange for your airport transportation Tuesday evening, and I know you are to accompany an airport pickup this evening. And we are encouraged by management to learn our guests' names and faces."

"I'd say that is impressive," Jennifer said. She then went on to ask how much a car and driver would be for three hours or so, and if one was currently available with a driver who spoke English.

Samarjit quoted Jennifer a price, which was less than Jennifer expected. As soon as he was able to ascertain a car with an English-speaking driver was available, Jennifer said she'd take it. Five minutes later she was sent out to the porte cochere and told a Mercedes would soon be up from the garage for her. She was also told the driver's name would be Ranjeet Basoka and that the Sikh doormen had been informed and would direct her to the right vehicle.

As she stood waiting for the hired car to appear, she amused herself by observing the mix of nationalities, but in so doing she didn't make particular note of a man dressed in black with several gold chain necklaces exit the hotel, weave his way through the crowd, and climb into a black Mercedes. Nor did she notice that the man did not start the car but merely sat in the driver's seat, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Would you Care for more coffee?" the waiter asked.

"No, thank you," Neil said. He folded the newspaper he'd been given, stood up, and stretched. The breakfast had been terrific. The buffet had been one of the most extensive he'd ever seen, and he'd tried just about everything. Having already signed the check, he walked out into the busy lobby, wondering what his plan should be. Catching sight of the concierge desk, he thought he'd start there.

It took a while before it was his turn. "I'm a guest in the hotel . . ." he began.

"Of course," Lakshay said. "You are Sahib Neil McCulgan, I presume."

"How did you know my name?"

"When I arrive in the morning, if there's time, I try to acquaint myself with the new guests. Sometimes I'm wrong, but usually I'm right."

"Then you must be aware of Miss Jennifer Hernandez."

"Absolutely. Are you an acquaintance?"

"I am. She doesn't know I'm here. It's sort of a surprise."

"Just a moment," Lakshay said as he rushed out from behind the desk. "Wait here," he added, as he ran out the door.

Bewildered, Neil watched him though the glass as he made a beeline to one of the colorfully dressed doormen. They had a quick conversation, and then Lakshay ran back inside. He was slightly out of breath. "Sorry," he said to Neil. "Miss Hernandez was just here two minutes ago. I thought maybe I could catch her, but she just got into her car."