“I can check for you, sahib,” Arvind said. He used a keyboard that he pulled out from beneath the desk’s surface. “Yes, we do, indeed.”
“I’m sorry, I cannot,” Arvind apologized. “For security purposes, we cannot give out guest room numbers. However, the operator can connect you, provided Ms. Hernandez hasn’t a block on her phone and provided you think it is appropriate to call. It is past midnight.”
“I understand,” Neil said. As excited as he was now that he knew she was there, he couldn’t help but be mildly disappointed. At the very least, he’d planned on going to her door and putting his ear against it. He’d decided that if he heard the TV, he was going to knock. “Can you tell me if she’s scheduled to check out in the next day or so?” Neil asked.
Arvind went back to the keyboard, then checked the monitor. “There’s no scheduled departure date.”
“Good,” Neil said.
After a few more minutes of formalities, Arvind stood up and his chair rolled back. “May I show you to your room?”
Neil stood up as well.
“Do you have a luggage tag?”
“Nope, this is it,” Neil said, hoisting his carry-on. “I travel light.” As he followed the clerk past the main entry doors toward the elevators, he wondered how he was going to surprise Jennifer in the morning. Since he didn’t know her plans, it was hard to decide, and ultimately he thought he’d just play it by ear.
“Excuse me, Mr. Sinha,” Neil said as they rose up in the elevator. “Could you see to it that I get a wake-up call at eight-fifteen?”
“Absolutely, sir!”
Chapter 24
OCTOBER 18, 2007
THURSDAY, 7:30 A.M.
NEW DELHI, INDIA
Jennifer was embroiled in a recurrent nightmare involving her father that she often got when she was stressed. She’d never told anyone about the dream for fear of what people might think of her. She wasn’t quite sure what she thought of it herself. In the dream her father was stalking her with a cruel expression on his face while she yelled to him to stop. Ending up in the kitchen, she grabbed a butcher knife and brandished it. But still he came at her, taunting her that she would never use it. But she did. She stabbed him over and over, but all he did was laugh.
Normally she woke at this point, finding herself drenched in sweat, and so it was on this day, too. Disoriented, it took her a few moments to realize she was in India and that the phone was ringing. Jennifer snatched up the receiver in a minor panic while irrationally thinking that whoever was calling had been a witness to her murderous activities.
The called turned out to be Rita Lucas, and she sensed the anxiety in Jennifer’s voice. “I hope I’m not calling at a bad time.”
“No, it’s okay,” Jennifer said, becoming more oriented to reality. “I was just dreaming.”
“I’m so sorry to be calling so early, but I wanted to be certain not to miss you. I’ve actually waited. I never went to sleep. I was at the hospital for most of the night.”
Jennifer checked the analog clock radio. It took her a moment to figure out the time, as the little hand and the big hand were not too different in size.
“I was hoping we could have breakfast together.”
“That would be fine.”
“Could it be soon? I am exhausted. And can I impose on you to come here to the Imperial? I’m afraid I look the wreck that I feel.”
“I’d be happy to come. I can be ready in less than a half-hour. How far is the Imperial hotel from the Amal Palace? Do you know?”
“It’s very close. It’s just up the Janpath.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know the Janpath.”
“It’s very close. Maybe five minutes in a taxi.”
“Then I should be able to be there close to eight,” Jennifer said, throwing back the covers and swinging her legs off the bed.
“I’ll meet you in the breakfast room. When you come through the front door, continue straight across the lobby. The breakfast room is to the right.”
“I’ll see you in a half-hour,” Jennifer said.
After hanging up, Jennifer put herself in high gear. As a medical student, she’d perfected the process of getting ready. Early on she decided that the aggravation of hurrying was worth enduring for fifteen minutes more sleep.
She was pleased that Rita Lucas was willing to see her. Jennifer was eager to learn about this third American medical tourist death and exactly how much it resembled the first two.
During the process of showering and throwing on her clothes, she thought about the rest of the day. She wanted to steer clear of the Queen Victoria Hospital so as not to be further aggravated by the pesky case manager. That meant she had to think of something to do for the better part of the morning, lunch, the afternoon, and dinner to avoid obsessing about the frustration of not being able to move forward on her grandmother’s situation until Laurie arrived. As for the late evening, she knew exactly what she was doing and looked forward with great zeal to heading out to the airport.
As she stepped out of her room carrying one of her guidebooks, she felt proud of herself. It was only seven- fifty-three, possibly a new record for her. On the way down in the elevator she went back to thinking about the day’s plans. She had decided to contact Lucinda Benfatti for lunch or dinner or both. In the morning, provided breakfast didn’t drag on, she thought she’d sightsee, even though she wasn’t much of a sightseer. She thought it would be a shame to have traveled as far as she had without seeing something of the city. In the afternoon she thought she’d work out and then just lounge around the pool, a rare treat.
One of the Amal Palace doormen, when she told him she was going only to the Imperial hotel, advised her to walk down the hotel driveway and hail a yellow-and-green auto rickshaw if she was adventuresome. Taking the advice as a challenge of sorts, Jennifer did just that, especially when he told her that it would be significantly quicker than a regular cab during the morning rush hour.
At first Jennifer thought the vehicle quaint, with its three wheel, open-sided design. But when she settled herself on the slippery vinyl bench seat and the conveyance took off as if it was joining a race, she had second thoughts. Being thrown forward and backward as the driver rapidly shifted, Jennifer scrambled for appropriate handholds. Once reaching speed, she was then thrown side to side as the driver began to weave among the exhaust-belching buses. The final indignity occurred from a large pothole that threw Jennifer skyward with enough velocity that her head made contact with the molded fiberglass top.
But the worst episode occurred when the driver accelerated between two buses that were converging. Seemingly oblivious to the possibility of being squished by vehicles fifty times the rickshaw’s size, the driver did not slow in the slightest despite the rapid disappearance of space, such that people clinging to the sides of the buses could have shaken Jennifer’s hand.
Convinced that the auto rickshaw and the buses were going to touch, Jennifer let go of the hand railing, pulled in her arms, and switched her grip to the edge of the seat itself. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth,
