Blood Money (19 page)
Inside was a stack of documents. The top ones were marked:
ST THOMAS’S CLINIC, VICTORIA ROAD
,
CHENNAI
.
ST THOMAS’S CLINIC, VICTORIA ROAD
,
CHENNAI
.
Hex picked one up and started to read.
Alex sat on the floor of the freezer and reached for the box of drugs he had used to prop the door. He tore off the cardboard packaging and tipped out the contents. He didn’t need those. He ripped up the box. His fingers were numb and felt like they didn’t belong to him. A sharp stabbing pain in his hand made him stop, breathing hard. A staple in the cardboard had gashed him and it throbbed like crazy.
Alex ran the phone light over it, expecting to see a deep gouge, but it was just a small cut. It must be the cold that was making it hurt so much. He carried on ripping the cardboard, catching himself on another staple because he couldn’t feel where it was.
When he had enough pieces, he swept them into a pile with his foot. He took his survival tin off his belt and unwrapped the waterproof tape that sealed the lid. It took him several goes to get his nails under the lid and prise it off. He poked the contents with his finger. For all the feeling he had in it he might as well have poked a sausage in there.
He lifted out a box of matches and managed to slide it open. Grasping the match was like trying to pick a lock wearing boxing gloves. At last he managed to wedge one between his fingers and thumb and scrape it along the box. It flared.
Alex touched the match to the pile of cardboard. Would it catch? The cardboard seemed to be plasticized – probably treated with waterproofing. Great. Instead of catching fire it would give off noxious fumes. He’d die of poisoning before the hypothermia got him.
But then a tongue of flame caught.
Alex lit another corner, just to be sure, then stuffed the matches back in his survival kit. The phone light caught a plume of smoke rising into the air. Alex tracked it up to the ceiling and watched it. Would it work? Was that device in the ceiling what he hoped it was? There seemed to be quite a lot of smoke. Surely it was enough.
Maybe he had got it wrong. A shiver racked his body and he almost dropped the phone.
Suddenly the air was filled with a piercing electronic whistle. Water tumbled from the nozzle in the ceiling, like a shower. Compared with the temperature inside the fridge, it seemed warm.
Then he heard what he was waiting for. A clunk, and the door was released. The light came on.
Alex wasted no time. He pulled the door open. No one was about, but outside the warehouse people were running and shouting. The sack of discarded eyes was where he’d dropped it on the floor of the freezer. He stamped out the little fire and stuffed the burnt cardboard in with the eyes. Without evidence, the alert would look like a false alarm.
He checked again that the coast was clear and slipped out. He had to get out of the warehouse. There were other rooms to search. At the door of the warehouse he paused to listen again, then crept out.
Some members of staff stood at the other end of the corridor, putting on visors, preparing to fight the fire. They didn’t notice Alex. He ducked through another door so that they could get past.
He was in a darkened room, probably an office. A set of red blinds were drawn against the sun. Well, at least that meant it was likely to be empty. Perhaps he could even come back to this room and slip out of the window when it was time to leave.
He scanned the room. Filing cabinets stood along one wall. There was a desk – and something else. A human form, lying on its back. Alex froze. A worker having a sleep?
Sleeping on what? His eyes strained to make out the details. On the floor, Alex saw a set of wheels. It was a hospital trolley.
A hospital trolley? In an office? Alex crept closer.
The face was turned away from him, but in the red gloom what he could see was looking more and more familiar. Alex approached the figure.
Her sari had been taken away and she was wearing a white hospital gown. A red blanket covered her, as though she was an accident victim. Her eyes were closed and her features looked younger than her thirteen years. She seemed to be asleep.
Bina.
Alex had found her. So this was where they were keeping her.
Should he wake her? Maybe she was drugged. And if he was going to smuggle her out, he’d have to find her some clothes.
Voices stopped at the door and the handle turned. Alex ducked down out of sight.
28
C
ONTACT
ONTACT
‘Perungalattur Halt,’ read Amber on the station sign. She tapped Paulo on the shoulder. He stopped, put his feet down and turned, waiting for instructions. ‘I’ll text Hex and Li; let them know we’re here.’ As her thumbs worked she said, ‘Should we text Alex?’
Paulo shook his head. ‘No. He’s in enemy territory. We might expose him.’
‘OK. I’m done,’ said Amber. ‘Let’s go.’
Truth be told, Paulo was fed up with the bike. It was a real bone-shaker; its suspension was very elderly and every time they went over a bump – which was often – he could feel the shock rattle up every one of his vertebrae. Not only was the bike uncomfortable, it swerved all the time because the shock absorbers were shot. But he wasn’t going to say that to Amber. She’d only say, ‘I told you so.’
They found the spur line and Paulo tried to stick to the smooth strip of track bed that ran alongside it. But they kept running over pellets of ballast that had strayed from the rails. Paulo felt every one all the way up to his teeth.
The square building came closer. Once they were a few hundred metres from it, Paulo stopped and cut the engine. ‘We’d better hide the bike here and continue on foot,’ he said. ‘We’re a bit conspicuous on this.’ Amber got off and he wheeled the bike over to some bushes and put the stand down.
The bike was so spattered with mud that it blended in with the landscape quite well. No one would be able to see it unless they came up close and looked.
As they walked, Amber stretched her aching limbs. ‘That rust bucket has crippled me.’
Paulo had been moving stiffly but tried to look as though he was perfectly all right. ‘It’s a classic machine,’ he protested.
‘It might be in your country; here it’s a rust bucket. And you’re moving like a knackered old nag so stop pretending you’re not.’
As they got closer, they were able to see the layout of the building.
‘There’s the derelict shed Alex mentioned in his last text,’ said Paulo.
‘So what’s the plan?’ said Amber. ‘Wait to see if Alex needs us?’
This was always difficult to judge. Go in too early and you could blow someone’s cover. Go in too late and . . . it was too late.
‘If he hasn’t checked in by the next deadline in half an hour,’ said Paulo, ‘we go in and try to find him.’
They came to the end of the line, where the tracks stopped by the rusted buffers. Despite the heat, Amber felt a chill. There was something desolate about the place. They slipped into the shed from the back and positioned themselves so they had a good view of the courtyard.
People were moving about. A van stood outside the entrance, its back doors open. A man came out of the building, pushing a stretcher on a trolley.
Amber said softly, ‘A stretcher? This place doesn’t have patients, does it? Alex said it delivered medical supplies.’
The man pushing the stretcher turned it towards the back of the van. He looked up into the rear space, realized he couldn’t lift it on his own and called to someone to help him.
At that moment, Paulo and Amber were able to see who was on the stretcher. It was Bina.
‘I think,’ whispered Paulo, ‘they’ve been delivering other kinds of supplies.’
Amber squeezed his hand tightly. ‘We’ve got to go in. Alex won’t be able to get her out by himself.’
Paulo nodded. ‘We’d better go now, while they’re messing about trying to get her in the back. We’ll go for the front and get in the driver’s seat. Ready?’
Amber nodded. Keeping low, they came out of the shed and sprinted the short distance to the wall. They stopped and checked. The man at the end of the trolley was discussing with a couple of colleagues how to get it into the van. They all looked occupied.
‘Now,’ said Paulo.
Still keeping low, they ran for the cab. It was going to work. Paulo had his fingers on the handle.
Suddenly, behind him, he heard a strangled sound. ‘Paulo.’ He whirled round.
He saw two faces: Amber’s frightened, her throat pinned by a strong brown arm. The other face was the face of the courier who had taken the eyes from the bodies in the police station. He was holding a gun to Amber’s temple.
‘Stay where you are,’ said the man in a harsh voice.
Another two staff members came up behind Paulo. He had to let them take his arms.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Amber.
Paulo could see the frustration in her face.
Amber felt the metal gun barrel prod her temple. She felt the courier’s other hand pat her pockets, searching them. She had to stay still and let him do what he wanted; she had no choice.
‘What have you got here?’ He found the belt pouch with her insulin and pulled the zip across. The contents spilled out onto the concrete forecourt: the foil-wrapped antiseptic wipes, the brightly coloured insulin injector pens, the spare needles in their protective covering.
‘We seem to have a couple of backpackers looking for drugs.’ The courier patted the pockets at the front of her trousers, then put his hands in. ‘What have you stolen from us, junkie?’
Paulo saw Amber’s eyes narrow as the courier explored her pockets roughly. He willed her not to say anything. It was better if they thought they’d come for drugs than if they had to puzzle out why they were really there.
One of the men holding Paulo began to search him. ‘I bet they set off the fire alarm earlier too,’ he said. He found Paulo’s toolkit and hit Paulo with it. ‘Is this for breaking and entering?’
Paulo said nothing.
One of the other men was sifting through Amber’s spilled possessions. ‘These look like insulin pens, boss.’
The courier wasn’t impressed. ‘Junkies will use anything that’s got a needle. They’re crafty as hell.’
Out of the corner of his eye, Paulo saw they had finished loading Bina. A driver was climbing into the front cab. She was going, slipping out of their grasp.
What nobody saw was the blond-haired figure in the white coat and fire mask slip up to the crowd around the van doors. Just as they were about to close them, he strode confidently up and climbed in.
The van did a three-point turn and left the compound.
29
E
VIDENCE
VIDENCE
Li saw the cleaner leave the flat. Shortly afterwards, Hex came across the grass with a large dusty suitcase.
‘What have you got in there? Don’t tell me you stole some clothes so you can dress as him?’
‘This,’ said Hex, ‘is dynamite. You’ve no idea what he’s been up to. Let’s get back to the hostel.’
Once in their room, Hex bolted the door.
‘That bad, huh?’ said Li. She opened the case. It contained papers, carefully sorted into folders, with some rather interesting names on them – St Thomas’s Clinic, the General Medical Ethics Committee. ‘Dynamite,’ she said, nodding.
Hex unloaded some of the papers onto the bed. ‘They go back years. It’s all the stuff that shows what he’s been up to. Look.’ He handed her a blue folder. ‘Remember the General Medical Ethics Committee, which has to approve live transplants? These papers show payments made to various members. When Trilok has got a transplant match he bribes a couple of people on the committee so they persuade the others to approve it.’
Li was nodding. ‘Because if they don’t pass it, the sale falls through and he doesn’t get his money. But why has he kept records?’
‘Because there are several people involved. Any of them could turn nasty, decide to blackmail him. So this suitcase is insurance. If he ever gets arrested, these documents show who accepted bribes and was working with him. That’s why he hid it in his loft.’ He handed her another stack of papers. ‘Look at these.’
Li read the top sheet. ‘These are payments made to Sergeant Chopra.’
Hex nodded. ‘It’s proof that he bribes Chopra to keep trouble away from him. That’s why he stalled us every time we went to him asking about Bina. Then he’d tip Trilok off so he could keep her out of our way. But that’s not as interesting as’ – he took the file from her and swapped it for another – ‘this.’
Li read the letterhead. ‘They’re from the clinic. Test reports.’
‘Tissue matching reports. For matching kidney donors. But do you notice something?’
Li looked through the next few pages. ‘There seem to be an awful lot.’ Some of them had patients’ names on them. The same patients’ names. ‘There seem to be a lot for just a few patients.’
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