“Oh, yes!” Lakshay said. “One of our more pleasant, attractive guests, I might add. But she has only come to the desk to request a city map so far: no other services. It was I who assisted her.”
“Seemingly very friendly woman,” Sumit added. “She always has a smile when she passes and makes an effort to make eye contact.”
“Have you seen her today?”
“Yes, I have,” Sumit said. “She left the hotel about forty minutes ago. You had left the desk momentarily,” he said to Lakshay, in response to his partner’s questioning expression.
Naresh sighed. “That’s unfortunate. Was she accompanied or alone?”
“She was alone, although I do not know if she met anyone outside.”
“How was she dressed?”
“Very casuaclass="underline" a brightly colored polo shirt and blue jeans.”
Naresh nodded as he weighed his possibilities.
“Let me run out and ask our doormen. They might remember her.” Sumit came out from behind the concierge’s desk and briskly walked outside.
“He acts like he’s enjoying himself,” Naresh commented, watching the concierge through the glass, noticing the man’s tails flapping in the breeze.
“Always,” Lakshay said. “Has the young lady done something wrong?”
“I’m really not at liberty to say.”
Lakshay nodded, mildly self-conscious about his obvious curiosity.
They watched Sumit and one of the Sikhs have a short, animated conversation. Sumit then returned inside.
“It seems that she only went as far as the Imperial hotel, provided we’re talking about the same woman, which I’m pretty sure we are.”
A middle-aged English couple approached the concierge’s desk. Naresh stepped aside. While the English couple asked for a lunch recommendation in the old section of Delhi, Naresh mulled over what he thought he should do. At first he thought about rushing over to the Imperial, but then he changed his mind, realizing it had been close to an hour that Jennifer had been away, and that he might miss her, especially with no one there who could make a positive identification. He decided to stay at the Amal in hopes she was not out for the day and would soon return. At least at the Amal he had the concierges available for identification purposes.
“Thank you for your help,” the English woman said after Sumit handed her a lunch reservation. The moment the English couple turned to leave, Naresh moved in to regain his spot.
“Here’s what I’ve decided to do,” he said. “I’m going to sit here in the center of the lobby. If Miss Jennifer comes in, I want you to signal me.”
“We will be happy to do that, inspector,” Sumit said. Lakshay nodded as well.
Jennifer looked across the breakfast table at Rita Lucas and was impressed with how well the woman was holding up. When Jennifer had first arrived at the Imperial hotel, the woman had apologized for her appearance, explaining that she’d been unwilling to look at herself after being up all night, first at the hospital for a number of hours, then on the phone with family and friends.
She was a slim, pale woman, the opposite of her late husband. She reflected a kind of shy, desperate defiance in the face of the tragedy in which she’d found herself.
“He was a good man,” she was saying. “Although he could not control his eating. He tried, I have to give him credit, but he couldn’t do it, even though he was embarrassed at how he looked and embarrassed at his limitations.”
Jennifer nodded, sensing that the woman needed to talk. Jennifer got the impression that it was she more than her husband who was embarrassed and who had urged him to undergo the obesity surgery, which had now resulted in his death.
Earlier Rita had admitted that the hospital had tried to push her into making a decision about disposition of the body. She said they presented it as a suggestion at first but then became progressively more insistent. Rita admitted that had she not spoken with Jennifer first, she surely would have given in and had the body cremated.
“It was their inability to explain how he died that really influenced me,” Rita had explained. “First it was a simple heart attack, then a stroke with a heart attack, then a heart attack causing a stroke. They couldn’t seem to make up their minds. When I suggested an autopsy, that’s when they got almost belligerent; well, at least the case manager got angry. The surgeon seemed unconcerned.”
“Did they mention whether he had turned blue when he had his heart attack?” Jennifer had asked.
“He did mention that,” Rita had responded. “He said that the fact it cleared so dramatically with artificial respiration had made him optimistic he was going to pull through.”
Rita paused for a moment before asking, “What about your forensic pathology friends who are on their way here to help with your grandmother? You mentioned they could check my husband’s case as well. Is that still a possibility?”
“They’re en route, so I haven’t had a chance to ask them. But I’m sure it will be fine.”
“I would really appreciate it. The more I thought about your comment about us owing it to our loved ones, the more I agree. From everything you’ve told me, I’ve become suspicious, too.”
“I will ask them tonight when they arrive and get back to you tomorrow,” Jennifer said.
Rita sighed, and as a few new tears welled up, she carefully pressed a tissue against each eye in turn. “I think I’m talked out, and I know I’m exhausted. Maybe I’d better head upstairs. Luckily, I have a couple of old Xanax tablets. If I ever needed one, this is the time.”
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.”