The Sand Men (25 page)

‘Flattery isn’t going to work on me, Mrs Brook,’ he said, but she could see that it at least stood a chance. ‘Grab a seat, but you’ll have to be quick, ya? I’ve a hell of a day ahead.’

‘We have... an unusual situation at the compound,’ she said. ‘Mrs Busabi is convinced the migrant workers were responsible for burning down her house. She’d been collecting signatures for the petition to close the underpass.’

‘I think you know how absurd that sounds.’ Hardy tipped back in his chair, openly staring at her legs. ‘If you’re going around talking to people, you should cover yourself up a little more. You’ll get no respect otherwise.’

Lea bit back her reply. She knew that he had declared war on her. The interfering bored housewife—he had seen plenty of those.

‘I wondered if the other residents who signed her petition might be at risk. Do you have an opinion on that?’

‘Hell, I have an opinion. My men are good workers. They keep to themselves. If they behave badly, they know they’ll be punished. They can’t afford to lose their jobs. They’re the breadwinners, and their families are entirely dependent on them. There are literally lives at stake here. That’s why none of this is taken lightly. Do you understand?’

‘I appreciate that. Alexei Petrovich told me that arrests were made in connection with the bombs.’

‘They were, but I’m not prepared to discuss that with you. You were a witness to one of the attacks. You were prepared to blame my workers. You said you saw Muslims, didn’t you?’

‘I thought they might be foreign workers, based on their headgear—nothing more.’

‘Well, there you have it.’ He rocked his chair. ‘The wife’s opinion. Was there anything else?’

‘So, that’s the end of it? Everything is back to normal now?’

‘I have a suggestion for you, Mrs Brook. Instead of making a nuisance of yourself, why don’t you and the other wives do something useful?’ Hardy checked his Rolex. ‘Organise a party at your compound for the opening weekend. I’m sure the men would all enjoy a chance to relax after so much hard work. Now I have to attend a meeting. If you have any further questions, contact our press officer.’ Hardy opened the door for her and virtually pushed her out.

In a state of barely controlled fury, Lea returned home to finish the article. When she calmed down, she marinated steaks for a barbecue. Norah and Cara were planning to do their homework at the beach house, so Colette and Ben Larvin came over to eat with them.

Seated on the patio, facing away from the spreading patch of dead grass, her neighbours looked more tired and miserable than ever. Ben’s shirt collar was a size too big for him. He was losing an alarming amount of weight, and periodically forgot what he was saying, drifting off into his own thoughts. Every now and again he frowned suddenly, as if failing to understand something. Colette tried to sound light-hearted, but lapsed into silence after a while. Lea noticed that both of them were drinking more heavily than usual.

There was still a faint aroma of charred wood in the air. The fire chief had warned that it would take several weeks for the smell to go away. Realising that the mosquito candles around the barbecue had gone out, Lea rose to put the outside lights on.

‘No, leave it like this,’ said Ben suddenly. ‘The dark is good.’

‘So, Lea, Roy tells me you’re writing for a magazine,’ said Colette with forced good humour.

‘It’s just an online piece about the resort. It won’t have as much detail as I’d hoped.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘I’ve only got space for 2,000 words. I’d like to write about some of the things that have been happening here, like the hit-and-run incident and the Busabis’ fire.’

‘Yeah, well—I have a solid theory about that,’ said Ben, anger suddenly colouring his voice, ‘but I wouldn’t want you to write about it.’ He sat back, his face unreadable in the darkness.

‘Why not?’

‘Because you can’t trust anyone around here. Did you know the estate’s Wi-Fi network is being hacked into by our police bureau?’

‘Ben, don’t start,’ Colette pleaded.

‘You don’t know that for sure,’ said Roy hastily.

Ben jabbed a finger at him. ‘Ask Dick McEvoy—he should know. He oversees the resort’s electronic traffic, and that includes mail coming in and out of the compound.’

‘Ben, please.’ Colette laid a restraining hand on her husband’s arm. It seemed to Lea that she hated any public exposure of emotion.

‘So, what’s your theory?’ Lea asked.

‘Ask yourself how many more “accidents” have to happen before somebody starts to make a noise? It’s the whole fucking thing. We’re all complicit.’

Lea had never heard Ben swear in front of his wife before. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

‘Ben’s exaggerating as usual,’ said Colette, panicking that anything her husband said might be reported back. ‘Didn’t you say the safety record has been unusually good for a site of this size? You can’t count things that have happened in the compound. Everything’s fine. Really. And what happened to Rachel—well, she was always doing crazy things. Once she went out in Ohio when the highway safety people were advising everyone to stay home, and she got stranded in a snowdrift overnight. She could have died. She told me she’d gone out for cigarettes—in a snowstorm!’

Ben held up a hand to silence his wife. ‘There’s something I have to say—’

‘No, Ben—’

‘After the autopsy, we received Rachel’s clothing and personal belongings back from the coroner. The one thing that was missing—the only piece of jewellery she never removed apart from her wedding ring—was the silver neck-chain my grandfather had made for her twenty-first birthday. She was crazy about Indian gods, so her father crafted a piece, a Ganesh. She never took it off.’

‘You think someone stole it?’ asked Lea.

‘I damn well know they did And I know who.’

‘These things happen,’ Colette said quickly. ‘It could have been someone in the medical unit.’

‘She wasn’t the only one who lost something,’ said Ben. ‘That guy Rodriguez, the one who fell from the tower. His daughter was found dead in the creek without her ring. She wore her mother’s ring for so long that she couldn’t get it off. Someone cut off her finger.’

‘We’ve been over and over this, Ben,’ said Colette. ‘Please, let’s forget about it and try to enjoy ourselves.’

But nobody did.

The dark is good
, Ben had said. It would have been more accurate to state that in all this searing light, the dark had become a necessity.

T
HE BLACK AND
yellow-striped cement mixer churned. Six men alighted from the yellow construction truck and began unloading wooden battens. They were preparing to seal up the underpass.

Lea pulled the blue Renault over and watched for a while as the barriers slowly rose. Grabbing her laptop, she stepped out of the car and headed for a grass slope, preparing to make notes. She was about to sit down when she noticed a group of sullen-looking young Indian men standing on the embankment staring at her.

‘Hey missus, fuck you!’ called one of the youngest, a boy in a blue headscarf and vest. ‘You have no business here! Go back to your fucking house!’

The others stirred in agreement. A couple began shouting in Hindi. Another ran closer. ‘You got no business here! This is our territory! Go home, fucking rich woman!’

One of them stooped to pick up a rock.

It had been a mistake to come here. Lea took a step back and stumbled. Stupidly, she put out her right hand to break the fall, the one holding her laptop. As she landed on her knees, the computer cracked against the concrete kerb. A rock bounced on the grass beside her, then another. She groped around for the laptop as a lump of concrete passed her head.

A hand reached down to grab her arm. ‘I think you should get back inside your car.’ The man led the way and opened the door for her, running around to the passenger side as more rocks fell around them.

He picked up the laptop, which had come apart. The screen had split from corner to corner. ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t save it,’ he said, handing it back.

‘It was my fault,’ said Lea, ‘I should never have come here.’ She started to turn the car around.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked. The Indians were still shouting insults and hurling rocks.

‘I’m fine.’ She crunched the gears and reversed. ‘I didn’t mean to upset them. Can I give you a lift somewhere?’

‘Could you drop me off at the main gate? I came out in the truck with them. I can’t go back through the underpass, not when they’re like this.’

‘Thank you for your help,’ said Lea as they set off, ‘I’m Lea Brook, Roy’s wife.’ She held out her hand.

‘I know. Rashad Karmeel.’ When she looked back, he was still looking at her. He was a powerfully built man with thick tied-back hair, strikingly handsome.
A strong face
, she thought.

‘Why did they decide to go ahead with the closure after all? Was it because of the petition?’

Rashad shook his head. ‘No, I heard there was one but I don’t suppose anyone even looked at it. They’re building a new road further along. The barracks is going to be torn down. Our work will soon be at an end.’

‘You live there with the other workers?’

‘Of course. They’re my responsibility. I’m sorry they reacted so violently to your presence. There will be repercussions over this incident, I can assure you.’

‘Please no, I don’t want to make the situation worse.’

‘They just want to be left to do their jobs,’ said Rashad. ‘The men gather there because they have nowhere else to go.’

‘They never go into town? To the beach?’

‘They cannot afford to go into town. And they are not allowed on the beaches.’

‘I didn’t know that. I’m afraid I must appear very ignorant to you.’

‘No. You live in your world and I live in mine. They don’t touch each other.’

‘Well, I’m sorry for it. It isn’t the way things should be. People should not be divided by the colour of their skin.’

‘They are divided by money first, Mrs Brook.’

The Renault was approaching the main entrance to the compound. ‘You can drop me here,’ said Rashad. He turned and solemnly shook her hand once more. ‘I hope you will all feel much safer now, and I am sorry for your trouble.’

As he unfurled his powerful body from the car and strode away, she wondered how he could possibly have any sympathy for the white residents of Dream Ranches.

Chapter Thirty-One

The Whores

S
HE MISSED HER
laptop. The general-use desk computer they had brought out from London was overloaded and slow, but would have to do until the newly upgraded models came out next month. Lastri insisted on vacuuming the entire house every day, and nothing Lea said could dissuade her from her routine. The whine of the vacuum cleaner passing doggedly back and forth along the landing broke her concentration, so she pushed herself back from the screen and went next door to visit Colette.

The Larvin household had become a sterile environment since Rachel’s presence had been removed from it. Colette obsessively cleaned the kitchen and lounge, tidying away all signs of life until the interior resembled a set in a furniture catalogue. The smell of bleach and polish was everywhere.

Colette looked unsettled by Lea’s sudden arrival, as if she regarded her as an unwelcome force for chaos. She was wearing even more makeup than before, a beige mask that almost succeeded in concealing her facial expressions. ‘You’ve missed coffee,’ she warned sharply. ‘Everything got put away.’

‘I’ve had enough coffee to last a lifetime,’ said Lea. ‘How are you doing?’

‘I’m fine. I keep telling everyone that. Ben’s the one they should be worrying about. He’s virtually stopped speaking—to me, at least.’

‘Why?’

‘Why do you think, Lea? He’s somehow got it in his head that I should have stopped Rachel from going out to the desert by herself. You saw what she was like, she wouldn’t be told anything. I couldn’t have stopped her if I’d tried.’

‘I’m sure he’s not trying to blame you. I can see what kind of pressure he and Roy are under.’

Colette moped at the kitchen counter, looking for something more to do. ‘The company’s aware of the problem. I know they think they helped with the Friday thing, but I guess that’s cancelled now.’

‘What Friday thing?’

‘You know, the time off.’ When Lea gave her a blank look, she added, ‘Early leave?’

‘What early leave?’

This stopped Colette in her tracks. ‘You mean you don’t know?’

‘Colette, I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘The senior architects and engineers are allowed to finish early on Friday evenings because they put in so much time over the weekends.’

‘Roy never mentioned that to me. He never gets back before eleven on a Friday. What do they do?’

‘I think they go off drinking somewhere,’ said Colette vaguely. ‘They’re not supposed to, of course, but I’m sure that’s what they do. Ben never tells me much about what goes on at the site anymore. He thinks I won’t understand.’

‘Well, where do they go?’

‘I don’t know, somewhere offsite. Down to the King’s Highway, you know where all those bars are past the airport? I’ve never been out there myself. I don’t think they’re the kind of places women go.’

‘You’re telling me they go to brothels on Friday evenings?’

Colette looked stricken. ‘I really don’t know, I don’t suppose they’re actual
brothels
. They need to let off steam. I’m sure it’s all harmless.’

‘That depends. Which ones do they go to?’

‘I know there’s one called “The Pink Panther” or something like that. Ben’s always had a habit of picking up matchbooks even though he doesn’t smoke. I found one in his pocket.’

L
EA WAITED UNTIL
6:00pm, then set off. Under normal circumstances, there would have been no question of trusting Roy, but lately they were being pushed further and further apart. She wanted to see where her husband went on Friday evenings.

She reached the strip just as the dipping sun had rippled and expanded, turning the horizon to a bilious shade of nylon pink. She had driven along the street once or twice before, but in daylight the dusty plastic bar-fronts were shuttered.