kind of light on the investigation?’
‘I asked him the same question. He said a promise was a promise, and that was the end of it.’
‘Is Amal normally this stubborn?’
‘Look, I know you think of him as just this bookish nerd,’ Brooke said.
Ben held up his palms in defence. ‘Did I ever call him that?’
‘But he has principles. If he felt it was wrong to betray his brother’s trust, wild horses couldn’t drag it out of him.’
‘I’m sure. You’d have to give him a Chinese burn to get him to talk, or twist his earlobe or something.’
She gave him a resentful look. ‘That’s a low thing to say, Ben.’
‘I’m sorry. It might help us, too, if we had any clue what it was. You don’t have any idea?’
‘None.’
‘That’s just great. Nice to have so much to go on.’
‘One thing we can be sure of,’ Brooke said. ‘Kabir had some kind of big, important secret apparently connected with his trip to Rakhigarhi. And Amal was in on it too. Next thing, both brothers have disappeared, first one and then the other. The confidential information is what connects them.’
‘Maybe.’
Her cheeks flushed. ‘Not maybe, Ben. Definitely. It means Amal was right. There’s more to this than a chance bandit attack. Has to be. And it also has to mean that whatever happened to him is somehow involved with what happened to Kabir. It can’t possibly be a coincidence.’
‘And all we have to do is find out what this secret was that Kabir made his brother swear never to tell a soul about. Bingo, our first inkling of a lead.’
‘If anyone can find out, you can,’ she said.
‘Do you think he’d have told his other brother?’
‘Samarth?’
‘If Kabir told him what he told Amal, he might share it with us.’
Brooke thought about it, then shook her head. ‘From the way Amal talked, I doubt that Kabir confided in anyone else within the family. The two younger brothers have a closer relationship than with Samarth. He’s always kept himself at a distance. There’s some tension there.’
‘What kind of tension?’
‘This is India. Traditions are still very strong here. It had always been understood that all three brothers would enter the family business, take over from their father when he retired, and work together to expand the empire that old Basu had founded. But Amal and Kabir both chose to go their own ways, which caused a certain amount of bad blood between them and Samarth. Their father too, though he’s really quite sweet once you get to know him. He’s the reason I was able to get you here so fast. A couple of favours were called in from some very high-level people.’
‘So I gathered. Let’s get back to the events of that evening. You say you never made it to the restaurant. The snatch happened on the walk?’
‘Just before we got there. Not long after we’d had that conversation.’
‘I think you’ve been cooped up in this room long enough. Let’s get some air. Do you have a car?’
She looked momentarily blank, thrown by the apparent change of subject. ‘There’s a Jag house car that I use as a runaround. It’s down in the garage. Or else we could get Prem to drive us in the Maybach.’
Jaguars. S-Class Pullman limousines. Back when they were an item, Brooke’s drive had been a clapped-out Suzuki jeep. Ben said, ‘Let’s leave Prem out of it.’
‘Where are we going?’
He replied, ‘To the food district.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘We’re not going there to eat. I want to see the crime scene for myself. You’re going to take me to the spot Amal was kidnapped.’
The sun outside was more intense as midday approached. The air felt as hot and heavy and moist as steam, trapped under the pale sky. Ben’s shirt began to stick to his back the moment he left the air-conditioned cool of the house, but despite the heat Brooke had wrapped a light shawl around her bare shoulders. Green and yellow silk, with a paisley pattern. It looked good on her. She carried a small embroidered handbag, or a clutch purse, or whatever woman termed these accessories, on a thin strap. Ethnic fashion wear, probably bought locally for a fraction of what some trendy London boutique would charge. The handbag seemed to hang heavy on its strap. It always mystified Ben what women carried around in those things.
Bees and giant dragonflies buzzed about the flower beds as she led him across the garden and down a path to the Ray residence’s garage block, a stretched-out and low open-fronted building painted white to match the house, with exotic ivy growing up its walls. ‘I suppose you could call it the family fleet,’ she said, showing Ben the row of cars inside under the shade. All lined up neatly facing outwards, all immaculately waxed and polished. Prem had parked the limousine in a space at the end of the row, dwarfing the bright red Ferrari next to it.
‘Whose is the flying tomato?’ Ben asked. ‘Amal’s?’
‘Amal doesn’t drive,’ she replied. ‘That’s Kabir’s. The Audi roadster is Prem’s. The little yellow Fiat belongs to Esha, Samarth’s wife. She doesn’t get out much, though.’
‘So I gathered. Unlike her husband, who’s never at home.’
‘He parks his Bentley there,’ Brooke said, pointing at an empty space next to the tiny Fiat. ‘He’s usually home by six or seven, if it’s not a busy day at the office. You might get to meet him later.’
The silver Jaguar that Brooke used as general transport occupied the far end of the row. It was the latest F-Pace SUV model, compact and boxy. But its plain-Jane exterior was wrapped around a five-litre supercharged V8 engine. Whatever the Rays owned, it seemingly had to be top of the spec list. By contrast, Esha Ray’s choice of a cheap and cheerful Fiat seemed a little out of place.
Ben pointed at it and said, ‘Not exactly your typical millionaire’s ride.’
Brooke shrugged. ‘She used to drive a Porsche 911. She loved that car, but she sold it a few weeks ago. Actually, Samarth made her sell it.’
‘Made her?’
‘Said the insurance premium was too pricey for a woman’s runaround. That’s what she told me, anyway.’
‘I suppose rich folks don’t get that way by spending money unnecessarily,’ Ben said.
Brooke shrugged again. ‘Whatever. Listen, do you mind driving? I’m a bit light-headed from the whisky.’
‘I
