‘Excuse me,’ she said, with the kind of frown that climbs out of deep trouble and refuses to leave. ‘I have to speak to you, Lin.’
‘You can talk about the case here, Kavita,’ I offered, still bright with the laughter of a minute before. ‘They’ll find it interesting.’
‘It’s not about the case,’ she insisted firmly. ‘It’s about Abdullah Taheri.’
I stood at once and excused myself, nodding to Lisa that she should stay and wait for me to return. Kavita and I walked to the foyer of the restaurant. When we were alone, she spoke.
‘Your friend Taheri is in deep shit.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that I heard a whisper from the crime staffer at the
‘What?’
‘The cops’ orders are to take him alive, if they can, but to take no chances with him. They’re sure he’s armed, and they’re sure he’ll shoot, if they try to arrest him. At the slightest hesitation from him, they’re ordered to shoot him down like a dog.’
‘Why? What’s it all about?’
‘They think he’s this Sapna guy. They’ve had a solid tip-off, with solid evidence. They’re sure it’s him, and they’re going to get him. Today. It might have happened already. You can’t fuck with the cops in Bombay-not with something this serious. I’ve been looking for you for two hours.’
‘Sapna? It doesn’t make sense,’ I said. But it did make sense. It made perfect sense, somehow, and I couldn’t understand why. There were too many pieces missing; too many questions that I hadn’t asked, and should’ve asked, long before.
‘Sensible or not, it’s now a reality,’ she said, her voice trembling in the shudder of a resigned and pitying shrug. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Didier told me you were here. I know Taheri’s a good friend of yours.’
‘Yeah. He’s a friend,’ I said, suddenly remembering that I was talking to a journalist. I stared at the dark carpet, and tried to find sense or direction in the sandstorm of my thoughts. Then I looked up and met her eyes. ‘Thanks, Kavita. I really appreciate it. Thanks a lot. I’ll have to go.’
‘Listen,’ she said more softly. ‘I filed the story. I phoned it in as soon as I heard it. If it makes the evening news, it might make the cops a little more careful. For the record, I don’t think he did it. I can’t believe it. I always liked him. I had a little crush on him for a while, right after you brought him to Leopold’s the first time. Maybe I’ve still got a crush on him,
She left, smiling for me and crying for him at the same time. At the table, I apologised for breaking up the lunch and offered a vague excuse for leaving. Without asking her if she wanted to come, I pulled back Lisa’s chair for her and lifted her handbag from the chair’s high back.
‘Oh, Lin, do you really have to go?’ Chandra complained. ‘We haven’t even talked about the casting-agency deal.’
‘Do you really know Abdullah Taheri?’ Cliff asked, the faintest hint of accusation in his curiosity.
I glared at him.
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re taking the lovely Lisa with you,’ Chandra pouted. ‘That’s a double disappointment.’
‘I’ve heard so much about him,
‘He saved my life, Cliff,’ I said, a little more harshly than I’d intended. ‘The first time I met him, he saved my life, at the hash den run by the Standing Babas.’
I held open the door of the brasserie for Lisa, and looked back at the table. Cliff and Chandra had their heads close together, their whispers excluding the bewildered girls.
On the bike, outside the hotel, I told Lisa everything that I knew. Her healthy tan faded suddenly and her face was pale, but she pulled herself together quickly. She agreed with me that a trip to Leopold’s was logical, as a first step. Abdullah might be there, or he might’ve left a message with someone. She was afraid, and I felt that fear twisting in the muscles of her arms as she clung to my back. We hurtled through the ponderously slow traffic, riding on luck and instinct just as Abdullah might’ve done. At Leopold’s we found Didier drinking himself into the liquid abyss.
‘It’s over,’ he slurred, pouring himself another whisky from a large bottle. ‘It’s all over. They shot him dead almost an hour ago. Everyone is talking about it. The mosques in Dongri are calling the prayers for the dead.’
‘How do you know?’ I demanded. ‘Who told you?’
‘The prayers for the dead,’ he mumbled, his head lolling forward. ‘What a ridiculous and redundant phrase! There
I grabbed the front of his shirt and shook him. The waiters, who all liked Didier as much as I did, watched me and calculated how far they would let me go.
‘Didier! Listen to me! How do you know? Who told you about it? Where did it happen?’
