What once had been rice paddies were now transformed into water waterlogged discharges with the small streams and canals used as convenient depositories for every kinds of garbage imaginable. The concept was based on the sure knowledge that in six months all would be washed into the sea when the monsoon rains arrived, as every year, and as far as time went back. In the meantime an evil brew formed, simmering under the hot sun, slowly seeping down into the water table just a couple or so metres below the feet of passing tourists.
He also noted several wells and suspected that they were used for drawing water by the locals even though some were covered by fixed wire grills.
He had commenced with the alley that separated the Rainbow Restaurant from the Jasmine hotel, then exited the Jasmine's gardens through a gate that opened out to the maze of back alleys, which were in fact raised dykes separating abandoned rice paddies and coconut palm plantations.
These paddies had no doubt produced food for the inhabitants of the small fishing village that had once been Kovalam. The village had been progressively submerged by the tourist business that had slowly expanded inland from the beach front, taking over the rice paddies, abandoned for easier money, replaced by small restaurants, bars, guesthouses and shops. Nothing had been planned, it was a chaotic jumble and in the backyards of many of the restaurants the conditions of hygiene he observed were nothing less than deplorable, even though they were in full view of any passing tourist who cared to turn his head and open his eyes.
Apart from the Indians going about the coming day's business he passed a few early bird tourists, pale or tanned faces, evidently content to find themselves looking forward to 'another fine day' far from the rigours of a dark grim English winter or the harsh frozen landscape of Sweden or Finland.
Little did they realise that lurking just below the surface the germs of cholera and typhoid fever patiently waited, in the hope a suitable vector would appear to carry them into the human world, where they could proliferate, wreaking devastation on their passage, not caring whether their victims were unsuspecting foreigners or the natives of Kovalam.
*****
Chapter 67
Ryan stood up to greet them, embracing a tearful Emma. In spite of her tan the sheen of her skin had worn off and she looked weary, like a wilted flower. They sat down and had barely commenced to talk when the waiter arrived with a cheerful greeting and the breakfast menu.
'How are you Emma?' asked Ryan in his kindly doctor's manner, pushing the menu to one side.
It was a useless question, what else could he say in the circumstances, she had lost her husband in the most stressing conditions and so far from home. Her only friends were Barton and Ryan.
'Thank you for being here Ryan.'
'It's the least I could do,' he replied guiltily at the thought of having abandoned her to her fate less than twenty four hours before.
'Have you informed your families?'
'No, not yet.'
'Good, I mean it would be best that they stay where they are given the circumstances.'
Barton looked at him questioningly.
'I don't want to be alarming, but if what I suspect is true there's a risk of a real epidemic,' Ryan said.
'I could be wrong, but I think there's already an outbreak at the Maharaja Palac.'
'What do you mean?'
'One of the Russian girls is ill.'
'Perhaps it's just a spot of turista.'
'I'm not sure, she said there were others ill and one of them seriously enough to have to call a doctor.'
'When?'
'Yesterday evening.'
'That's bad. What we have to do is set our priorities and the first is helping Emma. Number one we have to speak to Swami, he knows where the clinic is, we can also check at the Maharaja Palace. I suggest we go and confront him immediately once we've finished here.'
They nodded in agreement.
'In the meantime take these,' he said breaking out two doxycycline tablets.
The breakfast was relatively quick in arriving on their table, something unusual in India. The heat of the day was just starting to build up as they left, turning down past the small Hindu temple where a group of Indians, bearing flowers and fruit, had gathered for some ceremony. Outside the temple was a line of waiting taxis, more than usual it seemed, they took the first one and instructed the driver to take them to Swami's clinic.
At the clinic the receptionist had again changed. Irritated, Ryan recommenced his story, only to be informed that Swami had left for Trivandrum.
'I see,' said Ryan firmly. 'Now please listen to me I am a medical doctor, I was here three days ago and spoke to Dr Swami about his patient Mr Stephen Parkly who has since died. This is Mrs Emma Parkly, the wife of Mr Parkly. We are not leaving here until we speak to Dr Swami and quickly.'
The receptionist realising they would not take no for an answer called Swami on the phone.
'Please Sir, you may speak to Dr Swami,' she said passing the handset to Ryan.
Swami gave them the address of the clinic in Trivandrum and told them he would be waiting for them.
*
Half an hour later they found Swami waiting at the Old Fort clinic in Trivandrum and together they left for a mortuary where Parkly's body was being held. Once arrived Swami took Ryan to one side.
'I'm sorry to say that we have had to carry out an emergency post-mortem to establish the cause of death and I suggest Mrs Parkly does not view her husband's body, it might be an upsetting ordeal for her, especially since she already saw him after his death at the clinic. You can explain this is due to the risk of infection.'
Ryan explained the situation to Emma, who seemed relieved at being excused from the grim task. No religious service or any other procedure was allowed due to the possible risk of spreading infection.
Barton waited with her whilst Ryan followed Swami to another room, donning plastic aprons and disposable gloves, then proceeded into to the mortuary where Parkly's body was laid out in a cadaver bag ready for inspection and identification formalities.
'As you may have guessed the issue of a 'Freedom from Infection' certificate is impossible under the circumstance and the body must be cremated here?today.'
'Freedom of Infection?'
'Yes, we could not ascertain whether Mr Parkly was free from infection, regulations require two consecutive negative stools at least twenty four hours apart, which was impossible in Mr Parkly's case.'
'May I see the death certificate?'
'Of course, it's at the clinic. Unfortunately we must go back to the office as Mrs Parkly is required to sign some papers concerning the cremation.'
Swami explained that as Parkly had died before the cholera bacteria had been demonstrably removed from his system, it followed that his corpse could still be carrying the germ, it would have required a special embalming procedure, draining the body of all fluids, and using approved refrigerated containers. This was however not possible in India and it was necessary, for public health reasons, the body be incinerated as quickly as possible.
After the formalities had been completed they returned to the Old Fort Clinic, where Emma in a trance signed the official papers.
'Here is copy of the death certificate,' said Swami handing Emma the paper.
'May I see this?' asked Ryan.
Emma handed him the document. It was a local form printed in Malayalam and English bearing signatures and official seals.
It announced death due to heart failure following severe intestinal infection, which was correct, except no mention was made of cholera.
'Are you sure it is impossible to have the body sent back to England?'
'Mrs Parkly, everything is possible, but remember you are in India and we have to take all the precautions necessary,' replied Swami wanting the cremation to proceed as quickly as possible.
Emma bowed her head and concurred.
'You mentioned cholera to me two days ago?' said Ryan.
'There was an err
or, it was an acute form of gastroenteritis and Mr Parkly suffered heart failure, no doubt he was unaware he was suffering from a heart condition.'
'May I see the autopsy?'
'I am not a member of the public health authority, but I will request that the pathologist's report be made available to you. In the meantime I suggest Mrs Parkly returns home as soon as possible to get over this tragedy.'
Ryan realised there was little to do and to follow Swami's advice was no doubt the best course, though his reference to a 'Freedom from Infection' certificate seemed strange for a man who had supposedly died from heart failure.
'By the way would you like to collect your bags before you return to Kovalam?'
*
Cholera outbreaks were always went hand in hand with the fear inspired by the disease's terrible reputation and its history of high mortality, and though for decades it had become a pathology that could be treated by simple rehydration and antibiotics, its presence could quickly give free rein to panic and be instrumentalised by those of ill intention.
*****
Chapter 68
Barton thumbed through the newspapers Ryan had brought from Bombay. The three day old Daily Telegraph announced that the shares of West Mercian, the third largest mortgage finance company in the UK, had crashed another forty percent on the London Stock Exchange. The plunge had brought the value of the firm's shares back to the level quoted when West Mercian had been demutualised over four years before.
The news was bad, he would have to get rid of the paper, there was no point in letting Emma see it at such a difficult moment, the debacle of Stephen Parkly's firm would only aggravated her pain
West Mercian had relied too heavily on the credit markets to finance loans for its mortgage borrowers and now, in addition to its announced losses, it was about to be hit by the looming credit crunch. Its only way out was to appeal to its shareholders, but the questions hanging over the quality of its mortgages threatened its future with an avalanche of defaults.
Barton recalled how in his early days in the business firms such as West Mercian were fairly strict about applicants financial information, such as County Court Judgments and the like, and all those who had been declared bankrupt were excluded from the possibility of obtaining a mortgage. Attitudes had since changed, already at the peak of the previous housing boom mortgage firms had loaned money to almost anyone and for almost anything, turning a blind eye to the real financial situation of its applicants and their unrealistic evaluations.
More than fifteen years later the lessons of the previous crash had not been learnt and up until the new crisis had broken more than a fifth of new mortgages had been subprime or self-certified.
Barton, with his knowledge of the real estate market and housing loans, knew that the danger was not just from subprime lender defaults, there were also a good many trustworthy home owners who had gotten themselves into debt and overstretched themselves financially.
The number of people who had been sucked into the vortex of ambition and success was considerable. People had wondered why they were alone in missing out on the boom, especially when they saw friends and friends of friends getting rich as prices shot up, finally joining them by jumping on the bandwagon.
He remembered a friend, Derek Hawes, who had inherited a car salesroom and parking lot back in ninety four, near the centre of Romford. It had provided his parents with a fair though relatively modest living.
Then as the housing slowly boom got underway Hawes sold the property to a developer who demolished the showroom to build a block of private flats on the site and the parking lot. He made a killing, accepting as part of the deal five flats in the development. Hawes then quit his job in the City as the price of property rose, living on his capital and the rents of from the flats, buying a nice detached home in Epping for cash.
Hawes was not yet rich and was cautious, but as prices continued to rise so did his ambition. The pundits declared house price increases would go on forever and it seemed they did. In early 2000, with the knowledge and experience gained renting the flats, he was certain BTLs were a safe bet and invested in several more.
He was right, the housing market never faltered, even after the World Trade Centre attack. Hawes' investments snowballed, he was soon a millionaire, though as with many small property tycoons there were substantial loans on his properties, it had become the accepted norm, loans which in any case were be absorbed as the value of property rose with each passing month.
Property values were like a machine on a fixed track with only one direction - up. It had been called a new paradigm and the new paradigm was part of the new buzz in booming Britain, led by the sure smile and confidence of Tony Blair and his stalwart chancellor Gordon Brown. The message was get rich and that is exactly what Derek Hawes did, like so many others.
The City boomed as new office buildings, of towering height and imaginative design, sprung up and confidence in Britain as the world's financial centre abounded. It was if Britannia once again ruled the waves as the British Army followed George Bush into Iraq, smashing his way to Baghdad, Saddam's armies evaporating like the early morning dew in the desert.
Money poured into the City, foreigners flocked to London for a share in the bonanza, investing in extravagant homes. London was the centre of the banking world announced Ken Livingstone, he was right, more than five hundred international banks had established bases in the City compared to just half that number in Frankfurt or Paris, and surprisingly even fewer in New York.
Some months before Barton had fled London, he had been approached by the very same friend, Derek Hawes, wanting to raise money on his house, now worth three million. It turned out that Hawes had over invested and was in need of liquidity, 'just in case'. 'Why not sell some of your BTLs whilst the market is still good?' Barton had asked. The answer was no, house prices will not go down he was told, and in the worse case would simply reach a plateau.
Barton processed a substantial loan on Derek's home, after all it was not his job to discourage people from borrowing, even his friends. It was now apparent Hawes had made an error of judgement, and those who financed him, continuing in the mistaken belief they still had a good risk on their books, were in for a nasty surprise with default just waiting to happen.
How many other such cases were on the books, Barton wondered, waiting for disaster to happen?
*****
Chapter 69
Barton's phone rang, it was Ryan.
'I'm here on the road outside of the hotel.'
'Come up.'
'I can't, they won't let me in.'
'Why?'
'I don't know?maybe I'm wrong, but perhaps it's to do with?you know?'
'I see, right, I'll get down there.'
He turned to Emma, 'Ryan's downstairs, they won't let him in!'
'I'll come with you.'
Barton sensed a new sound in her voice, a new resolution.
They arrived in the vast lobby where a crowd of guests, hotel staff and other people were milling about.
A voice spoke out.
'Ladies and gentlemen, please?'
The hubbub continued.
The voice spoke out louder. It was an Indian, a man of about fiftyish.
'Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention.'
The noise died down.
'I am Doctor Vishna, from the Kerala Public Health Department.'
He now had everybody's attention.
'I have to inform you that we have had a couple of cases of enteritis amongst the hotel guests. Nothing to get alarmed about, but it is advisable that the guests and personal be examined to avoid any complications?'
His words were drowned by a Babel of alarmed voices: English, Swedish, Russian, Malayalam, Hindi and others.
'Enteritis, what's that?' asked a Russian.
'Enterit,' replied another Russian.
'Tarmkatarr,' said a Swedish voice.
Vishna spoke again, this time with a small loudh
ailer: 'Please?I must have your attention, each person must be seen individually by our doctors and will if necessary be given an antibiotic.'
Chaos broke out as people, breaking up into groups of linguistic affinities, tried to make sense of the sudden and unexpected announcement that had commenced with a printed circular, handed around at lunch time, calling the guests to a meeting in the lobby at four o'clock for a special information meeting.
The reception desk was inundated by a crowd of shouting guests as the manager called for calm.
Vishna made another appeal for calm, 'Please ladies and gentlemen could you proceed to the Tea Plantation Conference Centre where the examinations will commence, the hotel staff will show the way.'
In the meantime Ryan had made his way downhill to the hotel's lower entrance, nearby the beach restaurant and Tea Plantation Conference Centre. As he approached he saw the entrance was blocked by a police car and an army jeep. Screens had been set up, but beyond he could see people in white coats toing and froing, unusually active in the sweltering heat.
He took out his wallet and pulled out his hospital identity card, then with a professional air made his way to the entrance where he presented the card to the police officer. Without more ado the officer waved him in.
He made his way up hill to the main entrance and lobby where after some moments found he Barton and Emma in the general chaos. It seemed like the tourists had their own ideas as Vishna and the hotel management struggled to control the guests, most of whom were used to giving orders rather than receiving them.
'So this is their version of damage control!' said Ryan.
'If it's what you think what are the risks?'
'Well it's not like fifty years ago, healthy person should not worry.' He saw Emma's face. 'I'm sorry Emma.'
'Will the antibiotic we've taken protect us?' asked Barton.
Death of a Financier Page 19