floor nine. He wanted to check her room before changing out of his bathing suit.
When he arrived at room 912, he rang the bell, pounded on the door, and shook the doorknob without waiting for a response. He put his head to the door. “That’s it,” he said out loud when he heard nothing.
Descending to his own room, Neil threw on his clothes. When he was fully dressed, he headed for the front desk and asked to see a manager. Typical of the Amal Palace Hotel service, a manager appeared almost by magic. “Good afternoon, sir. I am a guest service officer. My name is Sidharth Mishra. How can I be of assistance?”
“My girlfriend, Jennifer Hernandez, in room nine twelve, was supposed to sleep in today,” Neil said urgently, “but this is ridiculous. It’s now after five, and she doesn’t respond to my calling or pounding on her door.”
“I’m very sorry, sir. Let us try to call.” Sidharth snapped his fingers at a woman sitting at one of the check-in desks. “Damini, would you mind seeing if you get a response in nine twelve.”
“Has she ever done anything like this in the past?” Sidharth questioned Neil, while Damini called.
“Not to me she hasn’t,” Neil said.
“If there’s no answer, we’ll head right up there.”
“I appreciate it,” Neil said.
“There’s been no answer,” Damini said. “Voicemail has picked up.”
“Let’s go, then,” Sidharth said. He also asked Damini to accompany them.
As they rode up in the elevator, Neil began to wonder nervously if he’d given Jennifer good advice about not getting involved with the police the day before. He knew that in a similar situation back in the United States there would be consequences for leaving the scene of a crime.
“Is there someplace Miss Hernandez might have gone?” Sidharth asked. “Could she have gone shopping, anything like that?”
“I’m sure not,” Neil said. He was tempted to mention the possible attempt on her life and that she was afraid to go out of the hotel.
They arrived on the ninth floor and hurried down to 912. Sidharth pointed to the “Do Not Disturb” sign. Neil nodded and said, “It’s been there all day.”
“Miss Hernandez,” Sidharth called out, after ringing the bell. He knocked a few times, after which he took out a master key card. He opened the door and stepped aside for Damini. The woman ducked into the room but immediately reappeared.
“The room is empty,” Damini said.
Now Sidharth went in as well. They looked in the main part of the room and in the bathroom. Nothing seemed to be amiss, except the shower door was ajar with a dry towel slung over the top. Sidharth even made a point to feel it.
“It just looks like she merely stepped out,” Sidharth said.
Neil had to agree. Except for the shower door and the “Do Not Disturb” sign still displayed, everything appeared normal.
“What would you like us to do, Mr. McCulgan?” Sidharth asked. “Nothing seems overwhelmingly suspicious. Perhaps your friend will be back for dinner.”
“Something is wrong,” Neil said, shaking his head. He’d advanced into the foyer of the room, and as he turned to leave, his eye caught the damaged trim on the doorjamb where the safety chain had been attached. “Here’s something,” he said. “The safety chain and its housing are missing.”
“You’re so right,” Sidharth said. He pulled out his mobile and called down to the front desk. “Have security come up to nine twelve on the double.”
“I want the police called,” Neil said. “I want them called now. I think there has been a kidnapping.”
Chapter 36
OCTOBER 19, 2007
FRIDAY, 7:14 P.M.
VARANASI, INDIA
There’s no denying that Varanasi is an interesting city,” Laurie said. “But that’s as far as I’m willing to go.” She, Jack, and Arun had just reached the Dasashvamedha ghat on the River Ganges. They had had to walk on a horrendously busy pedestrian shopping street closed to traffic except for official vehicles for what she thought could have been a mile.
The flight from New Delhi had gone reasonably well, although it was delayed by more than a half-hour. It was also very crowded. The ride from the airport to the hotel took almost as long as the plane ride, but both Laurie and Jack had been entranced by the view outside their windows. There had been a constant cavalcade of small, primitive and crowded commercial shops of a bewildering variety, and the closer they got to the center of the city, the more squalid they became. It was easy for the two pathologists to believe India had a billion people, considering the population density they were witnessing, and also a half-billion stray animals.
Check-in at the hotel went smoothly, particularly because the general manager, Pradeep Bajpai, was an acquaintance of Dr. Ram. And Pradeep had been helpful by providing the contact with a professor at the Banaras Hindu University by the name of Jawahar Krishna, who was willing to be a guide. Jawahar had come directly to the hotel, while the group had an early dinner. The thought was that they might be out a good portion of the night, and they’d better eat while they could.
“It is a city that takes getting used to,” Jawahar said, understanding where Laurie was coming from. He was somewhere in his forties or early fifties, with a broad face, bright eyes, and curly gray hair. With his Western-style clothes and flawless English, he could have been a professor at an Ivy League college. It turned out he’d studied at Columbia University for several years.
“I’m alternately impressed with the feeling of religiosity and repulsed by the filth,” Laurie continued. “Particularly the excrement, human and otherwise.” They had passed numerous cows, stray dogs, and even some goats wandering among the throngs of people, the garbage, and all kinds of trash.
“We make no excuses,” Jawahar said. “I’m afraid it has been this way for more than three thousand years and will continue to be like this for the next.”
Jawahar had also been particularly helpful for the group’s real reason for having come to Varanasi—namely, to try to get access to Benfatti’s and Lucas’s corpses. As a Shiva scholar, Jawahar was personal friends with one of the leading Brahmin priests of the Manikarnika ghat. The Manikarnika was the major of the two cremation ghats in Varanasi, and where Benfatti and Lucas were undoubtedly being sent. As a go-between, he’d been willing to negotiate with his friend on Jack and Laurie’s behalf to be notified by mobile phone when the Americans had arrived and allowed access for enough time to obtain their samples. The price was to be ten thousand rupees, or a little more than two hundred dollars. Jack had tried to have Jawahar find how much the hospitals were paying, but whether the Brahmin knew or not, he wouldn’t say.
“So, where are we here?” Jack asked, looking down the tiered steps toward the river. The sun had set behind them. In the faltering light the river was a vast, smooth, oozing body that looked more like crude oil than water. Down at the edge, fifteen to twenty people were bathing. A wide variety of small boats cluttered the shoreline. The current was slow, as evidenced by various slow-moving flotsam. “My God! Is that a human body they are throwing into the water out there, and a cow carcass floating by?”
Jawahar’s eyes followed Jack’s pointing finger. The objects were about two hundred yards offshore. “I believe you are right,” he said. “It’s not unusual. There are certain people who are not allowed to be cremated. They are just thrown into the water.”
“Like who?” Laurie asked, making a disgusted expression.
“Children under a certain age, pregnant women, lepers, people bitten by snakes, sadhus, and—”
“What are sadhus?” Laurie asked.
Jawahar twisted around and pointed to a line of aged, bearded men with dreadlocks knotted into buns sitting
