She looked away while her lips trembled. “I-it’s not me. It’s about my sister.”
“Your sister? What can I do to help?”
Her forlorn eyes locked onto his. “Y-you you did say you know Mr. Morgenstern personally?”
“I do. He even lets me call him Kaz in private, which is his nickname. Now, tell me your concern about your sister, and I’ll see what I can do. Is she on another island or something?”
“N-no. She’s on this island.”
“Yes, go on.”
Her voice became a whisper. “You see, she works directly for Mr. Morgenstern, at his house in the private area. She’s one of the cooks in his estate.”
Bloody hell! Something’s happened over there, he thought while keeping up a straight face. “Yes, I’ve… been to that house a few times. Is she alright?”
Lakshmi looked around nervously, making sure no one could overhear them. “I-I don’t know. We normally chat with each other during our break times, but she suddenly went quiet a few days ago. She’s not answering my calls or texts.”
“I see, do you have a number for the other staff at that house?”
“My sister gave me another number. The other cook is Ranju, and I used to text him also.”
“Well, did you try his phone?”
“I-I did,” she said anxiously. “But I got a strange text from him a few days ago. It simply said ‘help us’ in Malayalam.”
“‘Help us?’”
She nodded. “That is all it said. I tried calling both their numbers, but there’s just a busy signal. That’s all I know and I am very worried for the both of them.”
Franklin’s already on his way here, so I’ll need to call Rebecca about this. She’ll be gobsmacked when I tell her this latest scoop. “Okay, let me call his private secretary’s number, and I’ll see what I can do and get back to you, alright?”
She nodded. “Yes, please.”
He gave her a wink before turning around and heading for the elevators. “I’ll be back soon, luv.”
There was a soft chime as the elevator opened and he stepped into it. This is going to be one hell of a scoop if I can get to the Morgenstern estate. Lady Frankenstein surely mucked things up again somehow.
Pushing the button for the fourth floor, he tapped his right foot in anticipation. The guards at the road checkpoint are too nosy for me to get through over there. I’ll have to make it to the mansion by another way.
He remembered the last time his paper was embroiled in journalistic controversy after publishing an article on Morgenstern, and Rebecca’s directives were clear: if we’re going to implicate him properly, then we need concrete proof this time.
You’ll get the whole truth alright, he thought. Once I get firsthand evidence, I’ll be untouchable. The moment the story gets covered worldwide I could even be in line for a Pulitzer. Take that, you establishment bastards!
The elevator doors opened, and he stepped out into the fourth floor corridor, only to be startled when another man wearing a suit blocked his way.
Taylor Erskine gave him a disarming smile. “Good evening, Mr. Blaise. Are you enjoying all of Lemuria’s comforts so far?”
Blaise nodded. “I am indeed. This resort is impressive. If you’ll excuse me I’d like to return to my room.”
Erskine held up his hand to stop him. “I’m afraid I need to speak with you about something. Right now.”
Blaise became guarded. Does he know something? “I hope this won’t take long. I have to compose an email.”
“An email to your editor, Rebecca Wood, perhaps?”
Blaise’s mouth hung open, but he didn’t say a word.
“We know all about you, Mr. Blaise,” Erskine said. “Or should I call you by your real name: Quentin Everett, tabloid journalist for the Daily Sky.”
Bloody hell, my cover’s blown. He decided to play it coy. “Well, I must say I’m impressed. Your security department is quite thorough, Mr. Erskine. I congratulate you on a job well done.”
“Is that all you have to say?”
“Your resort is phenomenal,” he said. “First class in every way. My editor sent me here undercover to write an article about the posh amenities and I shall do just that. Five out of five stars, as they say.”
Erskine seemed unimpressed. “Our general manager Mr. Budrani told me you pressed him on the local protests the moment you landed on this island. The security team at the road checkpoint also found you sneaking around, trying to worm your way through to the private area.”
“I was just being thorough, checking a few nooks and crannies. It’s my job after all.”
“No, your job is to dig up dirt on this place, and find whatever muck to print, no matter how filthy your rag of a paper is, and I do mean rag,” Erskine said.
He shook his head. “The Daily Sky prints facts, Mr. Erskine. I’m here because the world needs to know.”
“Morgenstern Group has already sued your rag for libel, and I have a feeling they’ll do it again, once I have you transferred to the jail back on the mainland.”
“Jail? Me? I paid for my ticket and room already. You can’t charge me for that.”
“We’ll be detaining you for coming in here using a false identity,” Erskine said. “That’s fraud.”
He snorted. “I’ve done research on the Indian Penal Code before I came here, and fraud isn’t defined as a separate offense. I haven’t stolen anything so you can’t charge me with that either.”
“We’ll see about that,” Erskine said. “You’ll be confined to your room, and then we’ll decide what to do with you when Mr. Morgenstern arrives tomorrow.”
His hopes of getting a personal scoop had been gutted, and he would have to write the article based on pure hearsay in his hotel room from now on. “Very well, I can live with that.”
“I’ve turned off phone and internet access in your room, and your laptop has been confiscated as evidence. Your meals will be sent up to you, and I’ll have a security guard right outside your door.” Erskine held his hand out. “Hand over your smartphone.”
“Now wait just a bloody minute here!”
Erskine quickly unbuttoned his suit jacket, revealing the stun gun and Glock pistol strapped to his belt. “I’m not going to ask you again, Quentin.”
Sighing, he pulled out the smartphone from his front shirt pocket and handed it over.
Erskine took it and gestured at him to move. “Let’s go. Your room’s that way.”
26
KIM DIRKSE SAT AT THE edge of the long pier and stared out into the night. Her parents and younger brother had already turned in for bed back at the beachside bungalow, but she was still too excited to go to sleep. Looking down at the calm, undulating waters just above her bare feet, she could see her mirror image, just below the glowing orbs from the reflected tall lamps of the deserted pier.
She noticed a few small fishes swimming around, attracted to the lights, and she regretted not taking a few bits of food from the cottage’s refrigerator to feed them with. Los Angeles seemed like a wholly different world compared to what she was experiencing, and a part of her didn’t want to go back. I need to finish my degree first, then maybe I could travel the world and find other places like this.
“Good evening,” a voice behind her said.