The Blood Divide, page 11
Jack, on the other hand, thought it was a great idea. No prying hotel staff, no need to show their passports at reception and little chance of Habib tracking them down.
‘I’ll trust you on this, Cruise – deal.’
For a moment Cruise looked as stunned as Aisha. It was probably the first time this pitch had ever worked.
‘Really?’ he said, before quickly correcting himself. ‘I am meaning this is fantastic news. His rate is being a very reasonable two thousand rupees per night for both the rooms.’
‘Do you know any other number?’
‘Sir … but this is—’
‘Another number, Cruise,’ said Jack firmly.
‘OK, OK – I am negotiating on your behalf first-class exceptional rate of eleven hundred rupees per night.’
‘It had better not be some shit-hole with two beds.’
‘No, sir, I am not taking you to any such a place. He is renting this place to many, many people who are not liking hotels. I am promising you that it is clean. How do you call it in UK – boutique hotel?’
Aisha leaned towards Jack. She looked outraged at the proposal. ‘How do we know he’s not going to take us to some place where they’ll rob us?’ she hissed.
‘We don’t,’ said Jack.
‘And you think that’s acceptable?’
‘Yes,’ he replied.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she whispered urgently.
‘Look,’ he said, trying to soften his tone and diffuse her fears, ‘your father’s going to phone every hotel in Delhi, trying to find out where we are. Let’s remember that our goal here is to find Kirin. It is not about comfort or star ratings. If we arrive and it looks suspect, we’ll leave. But we need to keep under the radar and this is the best possible way. I don’t know what contacts Habib has around here.’
She mulled over what Jack had said and finally nodded her head. ‘I’m just afraid. I have no idea what to expect here, you know?’
‘I know,’ he replied.
‘Is that the sun rising over there?’ asked Aisha, pointing. They’d been driving on the freeway for about half an hour.
‘No, Sister, this is the orange glow of a Delhi morning. It is dust rising into the air. Street lighting is making it look orange. The sun will rise in around half an hour at six.’
‘I’m cold,’ said Aisha. ‘Can you turn the air conditioning off, please?’
‘No problem, Sister,’ said Cruise.
‘My name is Aisha.’
‘But in our culture you are like sister to me, so if it is OK with you, I am calling you Sister.’ Cruise glanced at Jack. ‘I am not calling you Sister – Uncle?’
‘You call me Jack, or we are going to have a falling out.’
‘OK, Mr Jack.’
Jack was too tired to argue. ‘How do you want paying?’ he asked. ‘Daily? Weekly? Cash?’
‘Sir,’ said Cruise, ‘I am wanting to let you into a secret.’
‘Secret?’
‘Well, it is more of a mission statement – hell, it is being a family motto,’ Cruise said, putting on a terrible American accent. ‘Show me the money,’ he whispered softly, dipping his shoulders and bobbing his head in imitation of the character Rod Tidwell from Jerry Maguire. He started laughing and then repeated the line over and over, getting louder each time. ‘Show … me … the … money!’
Aisha creased over. It felt liberating to laugh after the nightmare few days she’d experienced.
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Jack.
Aisha’s giggles ceased abruptly as Kapoor’s mobile started to ring. On the display it said ‘Habib England Mobile’.
Cruise was about to start another rendition but Jack cut him short.
‘Jack, answer it,’ said Aisha, but the phone stopped ringing and a text message arrived.
‘Shit,’ whispered Jack, dismayed that Kapoor had not remained secure for longer. The phone rang again and this time Jack picked up. ‘Habib?’
‘What the hell are you doing, Jack?’ shouted Aisha’s father. His tone was seething with anger. ‘Goddamn you!’
Jack hung up and put the ringer on silent. He asked Cruise to pull into an approaching Indian Oil petrol station, knowing Habib would call again.
Cruise brought the car to a stop next to a petrol pump.
‘Do you need something?’ asked Cruise.
‘Just some fresh air,’ replied Jack. Before Aisha could say a word, he got out of the car and headed past a couple of stray dogs snoozing by the entrance to the back of the store, following the sign to the toilets. This time when the phone rang, he answered on the first ring.
‘Jack, listen to me, you son of a bitch—’ started Habib.
‘No,’ hissed Jack, ‘you listen to me. I’ve got Aisha. In the middle of India, with nowhere to hide.’ He was shaking. ‘I swear to God,’ he continued, ‘if you come after us, you’ll never see her again. She thinks I won’t hurt her – hell, she even tied a rakhi on my wrist, thinking it means something – but you and I both know what I’m capable of. I see you – the girl dies.’
Jack cut the call, dropped the phone on the floor and smashed it with his foot.
He knew Habib was coming.
And in a city where everything had a monetary value, Jack knew the odds were stacked against him.
THIRTY-ONE
‘WHAT DID YOU DO?’ asked Aisha.
Cruise was back on the highway. The road was busier now, the six a.m. commuters starting to surface. Jack had joined Aisha in the back of the car this time.
‘Dumped the phone,’ replied Jack.
‘Did you speak with him?’
‘I told him to back off.’
‘Was he angry?’ asked Aisha agitatedly.
‘Lots of whispering happening back there,’ called out Cruise. ‘Is everything being OK?’
‘How long till we reach Sadar?’ asked Jack.
‘Sir, we will be there in approximately forty minutes, depending on traffic. You are remembering that Delhi is having almost a third of the population of UK. Traffic always terrible.’
He clicked the radio on, leaving the volume low. The weather report was on: another day of thirty-degree heat.
Delhi was starting to wake up. Cars were spilling on to the dusty road from every side street, it seemed.
On Jack’s side of the road, cramped rows of white residential tower blocks were topped with enormous billboards, advertising everything from the latest Bollywood movie to ladies’ fashion garments. Some of the flats had balconies on which bright garments hung from makeshift clothes lines.
The weekly wash displayed clues as to the social status of each family. One had nothing but old withered Asian suits. The flat above had a row of Manchester United football tops and three official Team India cricket jerseys. A family of three boys, deduced Jack. In India that was akin to a lottery win – three males to look after their parents in old age. Jack heard his mother’s voice in his head: Boys are to be cherished and nurtured, girls wept over and protected.
‘Do they have a Tube network in Delhi?’ asked Aisha, spotting the red Metro sign.
Cruise sniggered. ‘Sister, they are having everything in Delhi. Metro has been here for a long time. Every year we are having new stations. We are having every facility now – all models of cars, BMW, Range Rover, Mercedes, and now we are even having a Ferrari garage.’
Aisha was surprised at the explosion in traffic in the space of a few minutes. Cars were gridlocked along the dual carriageway, the air thick with ceaseless honking.
‘Why are they bothering when there’s nowhere to go?’ asked Aisha.
Cruise blasted his own horn and laughed. ‘It is necessary,’ he replied. ‘In the UK you are having this wonderful system, my old client is telling me – mirror, signal, manoeuvre. Am I right?’
‘Yes,’ replied Aisha.
‘Here, Sister, it is manoeuvre, horn, signal, horn. You are only looking in the mirror if you are wanting to check your hair.’ His face cracked into a broad grin.
‘It’s giving me a headache,’ muttered Aisha.
‘This is being mild, Sister.’
‘Where are we?’ asked Jack, frustrated at the lack of progress.
Cruise turned down the volume on the radio. ‘Pitampura. North Delhi. It is taking another thirty minutes to get to Sadar.’
‘God, look at this place,’ said Aisha, amazed at the volume of cars and people, all jammed against each other. There was a scooter on either side of the car, both of them touching the side panels.
A woman wearing a tattered blue sari approached, carrying a Harry Potter balloon in one hand and a Hello Kitty one in the other. Her face was lined with coarse wrinkles, her complexion a burned charcoal in colour. Her eyes were jaundiced yellow and she looked dangerously malnourished. She smiled at Aisha, revealing several gaps in her teeth, and tapped on the window for money.
Aisha stared at her, feeling helpless.
‘Argh! These beggars, always wanting something,’ said Cruise dispassionately. He yelled for the woman to move but she lingered at the window, pleading with Aisha to buy a balloon.
‘It’s awful,’ said Aisha, dropping her gaze to the floor.
A small girl in tattered clothing now appeared at the woman’s side. She was holding a Mickey Mouse balloon and smiled innocently at Aisha.
‘Jack, give me some money,’ Aisha said, looking pitifully at the child, who couldn’t have been older than six.
He shook his head. ‘If we start like this now, we’ll be broke by the end of the day.’
‘Please, she’s just a baby.’
‘Sister, the money is not going to her. She will be having a boss who is taking whatever you are giving to her,’ Cruise said.
Aisha put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a five-pound note.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Jack, reaching out to take it off her.
‘Hey!’ she snapped, jerking her hand away from him. ‘You might be in charge of our journey but not what I do with my own money.’
Before Cruise could intervene, Aisha wound down the window and handed the note to the child.
‘No, this is causing us chaos, Sister,’ said Cruise.
Aisha closed the window. ‘Don’t be so dramatic.’
‘Look,’ said Cruise, nodding towards the crowd of children flocking towards the car, arms outstretched. They surrounded the vehicle, grappling with each other for prime position next to Aisha. One of them pulled out a tooth and tapped it on the window. It left a streak of blood right in front of Aisha’s face.
‘Oh God,’ she said, flinching.
‘Sister, I was telling you this is bad idea,’ said Cruise. He revved the engine and moved the car forward a few inches. The kids didn’t budge.
Aisha sat frozen in her seat. The tooth-child stuck a finger in his mouth and used it to smear more blood on the windscreen, grimacing all the time and imploring Aisha to give him money too.
‘Sister, please, don’t look at them. Only then are they leaving.’
The cars in front started to move. Cruise started to drive and as quickly as they had arrived, the children melted away. Aisha stole a last horrified glance at the little boy, who continued to wave his bloodstained tooth at her.
Half an hour later, having driven past Keshav Puram, Inderlok and then hit Kanhaiya Nagar, Jack saw a sign that said ‘Sadar Bazaar’.
‘Sir, Sadar is mostly a Muslim area,’ said Cruise, pointing towards a mosque on the left. ‘Old Delhi is entirely different to New Delhi. This area is not designed for tourists. I am suggesting that if you are needing to go out anywhere, for anything, you are taking me with you.’
‘Is it dangerous?’ asked Aisha.
‘Sister, I am telling you what I am telling all tourists, especially the women. In busy tourist areas in New Delhi like Connaught Place – no problem. But in non-tourist areas, Delhi is not safe city. Rape is being a huge problem in this city and the police are no use. Never,’ he said, turning to face her, ‘venture out alone. Never. Especially in Old Delhi. Sadar Bazaar is having the largest markets in Asia – very easy to get lost. Even I am not finding my way out sometimes.’
‘Markets?’ asked Jack.
‘Trade markets. Like here on left, this is totally metal market.’
Jack and Aisha gazed beyond Cruise’s outstretched finger. There was nothing obvious, just rows of shabby huts and some impoverished children playing cricket by the side of the road.
Cruise took an abrupt right turn down a narrow alley and a startling darkness replaced the sunlight. The transition was unsettling.
‘There are narrow roads and then there’s this,’ said Aisha, alarmed that the wing mirrors were scraping along the walls to either side.
They arrived at the end of the street and Cruise sounded his horn three times. He took out his mobile phone and sent a text. Aisha was surprised to see it was a new iPhone.
The gate was opened. Cruise parked the car and switched off the engine. ‘We are here.’
Jack and Aisha glanced around. Cruise saw their reluctance.
‘It is appearing dark and perhaps a little scary, I am knowing. The sun is not shining at the back of these buildings. I am giving you my word that upstairs is the apartment you are wanting and I am being with you until you are feeling comfortable.’
He flashed them a smile and stepped out of the car.
THIRTY-TWO
THE BUILDING WAS ON three storeys. Ankur, the ‘manager’, looked about the same age as Cruise. He lived in the ground-floor flat and had converted the top two floors into rental units.
He proudly showed them to a spacious apartment with two bedrooms at opposite ends, a lounge, dining room and small kitchen. Ageing white tiles on the floor were heavily marked and the magnolia walls needed a fresh coat of paint.
The electricity was off, which Ankur told them was routine in Delhi, demand constantly outstripping supply. Ankur told them it would be restored within the hour as soon as the electrical generator in the basement started up.
Aisha had borrowed some money from Jack and asked Cruise to go into the Sadar Bazaar market and get them some neutral Asian clothing. She’d bought a few things in duty free but they were Western-style clothing and she’d stick out like a sore thumb if she wore them here.
‘I am being deeply honoured that you are trusting Cruise with this money. I am informing you now—’
Jack put his hand over the boy’s mouth. ‘Cruise, less of the commentary and more of the doing?’ He sent him packing, telling the boy there was no rush – that he and Aisha would rest before heading into central Sadar in a few hours after lunch.
Before leaving, Cruise had handed Jack a cheap mobile with his number in the memory, in case he needed to contact him. It was a nice touch and endeared him to Jack even more.
‘Apartment looks OK?’ Jack said, when the boy had gone.
Aisha shrugged and handed Jack a bottle of mineral water. ‘These were in the kitchen,’ she said. ‘Keep away from the tap water. I can’t afford you getting Delhi belly on me.’
Aisha closed the creaking door to her bedroom and slid the bolt across. The room was generously sized with a double bed, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. She was relieved there was an en suite and, more importantly, it looked clean. An antiquated ceiling fan started to rotate; Ankur must have started the generator.
Aisha opened a set of double doors and stepped out on to a small balcony over the street. The sunshine hit her hard, momentarily lifting her spirits. Shielding her eyes from the glare, she searched for Cruise but the street was crammed with people. Cars blared their horns, children darted across the road and wild dogs roamed everywhere. Overwhelmed, Aisha stepped back inside, closing and then locking the doors.
She sat on the edge of the bed, sunshine streaking through the window, warming her body. This was a world away from Bradford, and yet here she was, alone with a strange man, attempting to track down a woman she had thought to have died in childbirth. There were so many unanswered questions, not least why Detective Singh, if he even was a detective, had twice now attempted to kill them.
Aisha rested her weary head in her hands, trying to pull her thoughts straight. The flight had been comfortable enough and she had even slept for a few hours, but the comfort of the bed was inviting. The day ahead was uncertain at best.
Aisha laid down and closed her eyes. She fell asleep thinking only one thing.
Her mother was close.
The shower worked poorly but Jack was pleased to have the sensation of hot water on his skin. He stayed under until the water was cold.
With a few hours to spare, he didn’t intend to waste it on sleep. He had work to do. He and Aisha had purchased new iPhones in the duty-free shop in Paris and Jack now started the set-up routine. He didn’t know much about mobile data but enough to recognize that he couldn’t log on to anything he’d previously been connected with. Jack wasn’t sure how far Habib’s reach extended, nor that of Detective Singh.
Next, he created a new email address, Facebook and Twitter accounts. He went online and started to research Detective Singh. Jack was aware that police officers were not supposed to have social media accounts, and with only ‘Detective Singh’ to go on, he found no information.
He then combined a search for Bradford’s local newspaper, the Telegraph and Argus, with ‘Detective Singh’.
Bingo.
Singh had been telling the truth and was indeed a homicide detective. Jack found an article about a triple homicide in Bradford. It showed a picture of Singh and listed his full name as Kuldeep Singh. Jack inputted those details into social media sites and although it returned many hits, none of them was the same man.
Jack tapped his fingers on the iPhone, thinking. There had to be some other digital trace of this guy. He thought of his own cyber existence. His prison sentence had made him an outcast in his community, and Jack had pretty much lived in isolation since Kirin’s death. He found it impossible to trust people. His social media accounts were and always had been dormant. He’d been cautious about what he put out online, especially since he’d been obsessive about staying under the radar with his illegal contraband business.
