I nod. “She’s a very good detective. We trust each other.” I look away from Kit’s keen gaze. “Anyway, I feel like I should be the one to tell her,” I add.
Kit and Peggy exchange a glance and then nod.
“Thanks,” I say. “I’ll call her to find a time. I don’t want to leave my post, in case Hala needs me.”
“I think that’s sensible,” Peggy says.
I leave Kit’s room and try Riya’s home line while I’m making my way out through the lobby. She picks up on the first ring.
“I got a new cell phone,” she tells me. She dictates the number and I save it into my own cell. It gives me something to do while I figure out how to approach this. I decide to be businesslike.
“I need to talk to you later,” I say. “I went to the lab earlier today and we should go over what they said.”
There’s a long pause before Riya answers.
“You don’t have to worry, Jessie. I just called them.”
I swallow, hardly daring to ask.
“They told me what was in the vial,” she says. “And they told me that the nanoparticle is also in my blood sample.”
There’s a terrible silence, and all I can hear is my own breathing. “I’m sorry,” I say, inadequately.
“Don’t be,” Riya replies. “And don’t worry, I’m fine.”
“I’ll come over, as soon as I can,” I tell her.
“No, I just . . . I just need some time on my own. To get used to the idea. Okay?”
“Okay. Riya?”
“Yes?”
I’d like to tell her she’s amazing, that she’s a good cop, that I care about her. That she doesn’t deserve any of this. But I can’t put into words the fear and pain rising in my chest.
“Jessie?” she asks, waiting.
“Nothing. I’ll call you later,” I say.
The truth is that thinking about Riya leaves a heaviness in my heart that makes it hard to function. And I have to stay sharp. I have to find solutions. To that virus and also to the puzzle of what havoc Family First are planning to unleash. Sprinting out of the hotel, I collect my motorbike and rev it as fast as it will go, weaving my way down to the street where Jingo Jain lives.
I park the motorcycle several cars behind the vehicle that Hala is sitting in. Her car keeps a substantial distance from Jingo’s home too, a distance we can maximize because we each wear contact lenses that give us a nice zoom view of the house. I join Hala, slipping into the passenger seat and handing her a sweet milky coffee, while I sip on my own macchiato.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey. Listen. We need to think about getting into his house and persuading him to find out more, faster.”
Hala agrees. “Want me to circle around the back of his place and find a way in?”
Right now, we can only see the front of Jingo’s home and it doesn’t look promising as a subtle way to enter. I give her a nod, but before Hala can exit the car, an old Honda pulls into Jingo’s driveway.
“Hold on,” I say. “Let’s see who we have here.”
“I think that’s the same car from last night, at the morgue,” says Hala.
Sure enough, the driver’s door opens and Sunil gets out. He tucks in his shirt and straightens his tie, looking around at the street for any sign he’s being watched. That gives us a nice view of his face for the snapshots we’re taking through our lenses. Then he knocks and disappears into Jingo’s house.
“I can’t believe this,” I growl. “Well, actually, I can. This asshole has been stonewalling us and Riya from the start. I just knew he was in Jingo’s pocket.”
“Jingo or Family First?” Hala asks.
I shrug, because that might be the same thing. Either way, it’s a huge problem. “We have to get him removed as a detective. I have the pictures from last night, where he’s paying off the guys at the morgue. And now these photos . . .”
Hala nods.
“Maybe Riya should report it?” I go on, thinking through options. “She could start the case with Internal Affairs, or whatever the police disciplinary department is over here?”
I don’t have time to finish that thought because the front door opens again. That must have been the quickest meeting in history. Jingo has come out to the porch to see Sunil off. Jingo’s doing all the talking, looking relaxed in an open-necked shirt, his hands thrust casually into his pockets, while Sunil nods and scrapes like the toad he is, practically backing into his car.
“I’ll follow him,” I suggest.
Hala nods. “Take the bike.”
While Sunil negotiates his old banger of a car back into the road from the driveway, I have plenty of time to pull on my helmet and hop on my motorbike. Giving Sunil a very healthy lead, I ease the motorcycle out with low throttle and minimal noise, and trail him, leaving four or five cars between us. We travel along for around twenty minutes, half of which is spent waiting for two angry bus drivers to stop fighting over a collision and clear the road in front of us. Sunil, policeman or not, makes no attempt to intervene, only shoves in earbuds.
Hala checks in with me on the comms. “Where’s Sunil heading?” she asks.
“Beats me,” I say. “He’s driven right past the usual turnoff for the police station. He’s listening to music or something.”
“Maybe he’s on a phone call?” Hala asks.
“If it is a call, he’s not saying much. I’ll keep you posted.”
Switching lanes so as to avoid getting caught in Sunil’s rearview mirror, I toy with calling Riya and bringing her up to speed. But she calls me first. I pick up the call on my hands-free.
“Riya, hi. I was just thinking about you.”
“Jessie, I had the strangest call, a few seconds ago. From Sunil. He wants to meet.”
I feel the hairs prickle on the back of my
