Ben Hope

‘I only know what little I was able to get out of him. He said that Kabir called him a few days before leaving on his trip, very excited, and confided something really important. Not just your typical run-of-the-mill secret. Something huge.’

‘If the trip was related to his work, this archaeological project you said he was working on, then presumably this piece of information relates to that as well?’

‘It’s a fair assumption.’

‘In which case, what are the possibilities?’

Brooke shrugged. ‘Archaeologists dig stuff up. Maybe Kabir did, too.’

‘A discovery? Of what?’

‘I don’t know, Ben. You tell me.’

Ben mulled it over for a moment or two, then decided that it was all too vague to even try to speculate about. ‘And Amal thought this secret, or discovery, or whatever it is, of Kabir’s might have had some bearing on the reason for the attack?’

Brooke nodded. ‘That was why he was so convinced it wasn’t just some random incident. But whatever it is, Kabir had made him promise not to tell anyone.’

‘Not even you? His own wife?’ It was hard for Ben to say that last bit.

‘That’s what I said to him, too. Asked him why he couldn’t share it with me, if it was so important. Especially if it meant something about what happened.’

‘And his reply?’

‘He said to me, “He’s my brother, Brooke. Please don’t ask me to betray his trust.”’

‘Okay, fair enough. But why would Amal hold this information back from the police, if it might have shed some different kind of light on the investigation?’

‘I asked him the same question. He said a promise was a promise, and that was the end of it.’

‘Is Amal normally this stubborn?’

‘Look, I know you think of him as just this bookish nerd,’ Brooke said.

Ben held up his palms in defence. ‘Did I ever call him that?’

‘But he has principles. If he felt it was wrong to betray his brother’s trust, wild horses couldn’t drag it out of him.’

‘I’m sure. You’d have to give him a Chinese burn to get him to talk, or twist his earlobe or something.’

She gave him a resentful look. ‘That’s a low thing to say, Ben.’

‘I’m sorry. It might help us, too, if we had any clue what it was. You don’t have any idea?’

‘None.’

‘That’s just great. Nice to have so much to go on.’

‘One thing we can be sure of,’ Brooke said. ‘Kabir had some kind of big, important secret apparently connected with his trip to Rakhigarhi. And Amal was in on it too. Next thing, both brothers have disappeared, first one and then the other. The confidential information is what connects them.’

‘Maybe.’

Her cheeks flushed. ‘Not maybe, Ben. Definitely. It means Amal was right. There’s more to this than a chance bandit attack. Has to be. And it also has to mean that whatever happened to him is somehow involved with what happened to Kabir. It can’t possibly be a coincidence.’

‘And all we have to do is find out what this secret was that Kabir made his brother swear never to tell a soul about. Bingo, our first inkling of a lead.’

‘If anyone can find out, you can,’ she said.

‘Do you think he’d have told his other brother?’

‘Samarth?’

‘If Kabir told him what he told Amal, he might share it with us.’

Brooke thought about it, then shook her head. ‘From the way Amal talked, I doubt that Kabir confided in anyone else within the family. The two younger brothers have a closer relationship than with Samarth. He’s always kept himself at a distance. There’s some tension there.’

‘What kind of tension?’

‘This is India. Traditions are still very strong here. It had always been understood that all three brothers would enter the family business, take over from their father when he retired, and work together to expand the empire that old Basu had founded. But Amal and Kabir both chose to go their own ways, which caused a certain amount of bad blood between them and Samarth. Their father too, though he’s really quite sweet once you get to know him. He’s the reason I was able to get you here so fast. A couple of favours were called in from some very high-level people.’

‘So I gathered. Let’s get back to the events of that evening. You say you never made it to the restaurant. The snatch happened on the walk?’

‘Just before we got there. Not long after we’d had that conversation.’

‘I think you’ve been cooped up in this room long enough. Let’s get some air. Do you have a car?’

She looked momentarily blank, thrown by the apparent change of subject. ‘There’s a Jag house car that I use as a runaround. It’s down in the garage. Or else we could get Prem to drive us in the Maybach.’

Jaguars. S-Class Pullman limousines. Back when they were an item, Brooke’s drive had been a clapped-out Suzuki jeep. Ben said, ‘Let’s leave Prem out of it.’

‘Where are we going?’

He replied, ‘To the food district.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘We’re not going there to eat. I want to see the crime scene for myself. You’re going to take me to the spot Amal was kidnapped.’

Chapter 11 (#ulink_f6b70adb-0cda-506f-9150-7433b2132595)

The sun outside was more intense as midday approached. The air felt as hot and heavy and moist as steam, trapped under the pale sky. Ben’s shirt began to stick to his back the moment he left the air-conditioned cool of the house, but despite the heat Brooke had wrapped a light shawl around her bare shoulders. Green and yellow silk, with a paisley pattern. It looked good on her. She carried a small embroidered handbag, or a clutch purse, or whatever woman termed these accessories, on a thin strap. Ethnic fashion wear, probably bought locally for a fraction of what some trendy London boutique would charge. The handbag seemed to hang heavy on its strap. It always mystified Ben what women carried around in those things.

Bees and giant dragonflies buzzed about the flower beds as she led him across the garden and down a path to the Ray residence’s garage block, a stretched-out and low open-fronted building painted white to match the house, with exotic ivy growing up its walls. ‘I suppose you could call it the family fleet,’ she said, showing Ben the row of cars inside under the shade. All lined up neatly facing outwards, all immaculately waxed and polished. Prem had parked the limousine in a space at the end of the row, dwarfing the bright red Ferrari next to it.

‘Whose is the flying tomato?’ Ben asked. ‘Amal’s?’

‘Amal doesn’t drive,’ she replied. ‘That’s Kabir’s. The Audi roadster is Prem’s. The little yellow Fiat belongs to Esha, Samarth’s wife. She doesn’t get out much, though.’

‘So I gathered. Unlike her husband, who’s never at home.’