Victoria Falls

by James Hornor

  “I just wanted to mention to Mr. Benjamin that he should plan to remain in Alberta for a while until we can begin to sort this out.”

  The inspector had left his statement intentionally ambiguous. It was stronger than an invitation but not quite an edict.

  “Of course,” Charlie said. “I wasn’t planning on heading back until I know Jenny is safe.”

  The two officers glanced at one another, said their goodbyes, and headed out to their car. Just when Charlie thought that he heard them backing down the driveway, the car stopped. The sergeant got out and came back up to the house. Charlie greeted him at the door.

  “Just one more thing. Did you have occasion to use your own car since your arrival on Thursday evening?”

  “It hasn’t moved since I arrived.”

  “How about Jenny’s car?”

  “Nope. It’s been sitting here the entire time.”

  As the sergeant headed back out to the sedan, Charlie remembered that he sat in Jenny’s car to turn off the ignition, and so his fingerprints would be on the keys. But he had mentioned being in her car when he found her hair clip. That detail was in both the written report and in the oral summary. Still, with his prints on the steering wheel and on the keys, they might hypothesize that he had used her car to dispose of her body and that he had made up the hair clip story as a cover. Why else would the sergeant have come back up the driveway to clarify the use of the cars?

  While James prepared to go back into the village to ask others about the mystery truck, Charlie sat next to the fire and again contemplated his situation.

  The police now had Jenny’s Chinese robe, and it would only be a number of hours before they discovered that it was covered with his fingerprints. The sergeant had scoured the bathroom for fingerprints, and he had undoubtedly discovered something around the base of the tub, which prompted his inquiry about showering versus bathing.

  How would he possibly explain the fingerprints on Jenny’s robe to his father? How would he explain such a thing to Heather? Charlie thought back to his long nap the previous afternoon. He had felt safe and protected, confident that his father would sort out Jenny’s disappearance. Now, in a matter of hours, he had become the chief suspect in the case, and he had been told by the RCMP not to leave Canada. He would have to call his office and Heather in less than twenty-four hours with the Monday morning news that he would have to remain in Alberta.

  Worse, he would have to tell James about his fingerprints on the robe. If he wanted his father’s care and support, he would have to tell him about sleeping with the robe. And this would prompt his father to wonder what else he had failed to tell him. And finally, he knew that the inspector and the sergeant would be back, and they would become even more suspicious when they discovered that he had changed his story and was the type of suspect who was unreliable and adept at lying.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  GERARD HUGEL RANG UP OUR ROOM AT THE NORFOLK shortly before noon, and Melissa headed down to the lobby for their extended lunch date. Before she walked out of the door, she gave me one of her “everything will be fine” kisses, which doubled as both a reassurance of her “business only” intentions with Gerard as well as a “good luck with your lunch” send-off. She was always able to communicate her “don’t let me down” expectations with only a few words, or in this case, with only a kiss and three seconds of eye contact.

  When I arrived on the Lord Delamere Terrace a few minutes later, I found Nisar Malik sitting at the same table that Melissa, Gerard, and I had occupied the evening before, and as soon as I saw him, I realized that we had met several years ago at a World Bank meeting at the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel in Bombay.

  At that time he was heading up the roads and highways construction division for all Indian government projects in the Maharashtra State, and the World Bank had been an ongoing partner in the new road construction south of Bombay. I remembered him as a tough negotiator, but there was a question at the Bank as to whether he was part of the corruption problem in Bombay, or a person who would be integral to the project’s successful execution. He may have been a little of both.

  “Good to see you, Nisar.”

  He half rose from his chair to greet me and at the same time extinguished his Gold Flake, which had only been smoked a third of the way down.

  “Mr. Monroe. We met a few years ago in Bombay.”

  “And my colleague, David Fortran, tells me there has been yet another contract that has fallen through.”

  The waiter came by to fill water glasses and to give us menus. Nisar said something to him in Hindi and he removed the menus and returned to the waiter station.

  “Aren’t we going to eat lunch?”

  “Of course we are, but I wanted thirty minutes of uninterrupted time so that I can tell you what is really going on in Bombay.”

  “I thought you were no longer with the government.”

  “That’s correct. I resigned fourteen months ago. But I’ve gotten back into it as a consultant.”

  “A consultant to what? Further corruption?”

  Nisar pushed back his chair and lit another cigarette.

  “The word is out that the Bank is about to pull the plug on further funding. It’s finally a wake-up call to the ministry in Bombay that has already received 400,000 INR in kickbacks from potential contractors. They won’t make a contract decision, because now there are death threats from the contractors who have already paid but won’t be given the project. The ministry is in paralysis because without Bank funding, they can’t underwrite the project, and they certainly can’t pay bank monies already received from potential contractors. Those funds have essentially disappeared. The ministry is blaming the World Bank based on the funding delays, but there are layers of corruption that will take decades to sort out, and that will open the door for the Ministry of Transportation to be replaced by a private corporation.”

  “A private corporation that hired you?”

  “Actually, I was hired by a group of investors.”

  Nisar motioned the waiter to return and he ordered two beers, this time in English.

  “Would the Indian government replace an entire ministry with a private corporation?”

  “There are ways to do it that would leave the ministry as a shell entity, in other words, as a front for the privately owned and controlled corporation.”

  The beers arrived with two glasses and Nisar poured one for himself and one for me. We lightly tapped glasses; he paused and lit yet another cigarette. I guessed what was coming next.

  “We think you may be able to help us with the transition from state-controlled to privately owned. After all, isn’t that a mission of the World Bank?”

  Nisar was correct that one of the Bank’s goals was to move third world countries from government-controlled economies to a privatized free enterprise model, but the methods were always transparent, not a manipulation that would intentionally bankrupt a particular government ministry.

  “What are you asking me to do?”

  “All we’re asking is that you and your associates at the Bank speed up the process of withdrawing funding.”

  He kept using the plural “we,” as if the group of investors were seated just behind him.

  “That’s a decision that others at the Bank will make. I’m no longer a part of that division.”

  “Still, you have associates who are involved. Specifically, Mr. David Fortran.”

  “You want me to talk to Fortran about tilting a Bank decision?”

  “Of course there would be certain benefits for both of you.”

  The waiter returned with the menus and Nisar ordered another beer. I couldn’t believe that I was being subjected to a scheme that involved bribery.

  “If you are asking me to entertain the idea of accepting a bribe, the answer is a definitive no.”

  I thought about just getting up and abruptly ending the meeting.

  “Do you have any idea the kind of money we are talking about?” Be
fore I could answer, he continued on. “For all you know Mr. Fortran will tell you that the decision has already been made. Then all you would do is report back to me and receive the gratitude of all involved.”

  We finally ordered, and I thought about Melissa flirting her way through lunch with Gerard. The thought did flash through my mind that a windfall of cash would be another way to win her over, but I caught myself before allowing this idea to gain any credibility.

  “Look, can’t you just talk to Fortran and get a sense of the current status of the Bank’s commitment? You know, find which way the wind is blowing?”

  “If I do talk to David Fortran, it will only be to get information. I wouldn’t even consider trying to influence him or the Bank’s decision.”

  As our sandwiches arrived, Nisar leaned back in his chair. By my agreeing to at least talk to David Fortran, he knew that he had gained a small victory and something to report back to the investors. We both knew that my small concession did not deserve the kind of payoff that he had alluded to earlier, but still I sensed that he wanted to reciprocate in some way.

  “That’s very noble of you, James. Surely there must be some small way that I could return your kindness.”

  He was trying to restore some high-mindedness to the conversation by mentioning kindness and nobility, but we both knew that what had transpired was a negotiation and not an act of charity. Still, this was my opportunity to mention Jonathan Samuel.

  “I’m in need of some information as well. A friend of mine has a brother who is awaiting trial in Bombay on drug smuggling charges. He has been incarcerated for almost three years, and nothing is happening.”

  Nisar pushed his plate away and lit yet another cigarette. He ran his right hand through his jet-black hair and exhaled in segments as if he were punctuating what he was about to say. He was now completely in his element.

  “There are one or two judges in Bombay who we could convince to get him released.” Nisar paused and looked out across the terrace. “But it will take a small fortune to get it done.”

  Nisar sensed that he had finally found the pulse that he had been searching for since we sat down to lunch. His mind was clicking ahead as to how he could use my request to his advantage with the World Bank funding proposal, and he was being careful not to appear overly anxious to connect the two.

  “How much is a small fortune?”

  Nisar knew that I was taking the bait, but he wanted the hook to lodge in my mouth as deeply as possible before he began to reel me in.

  “You’re dealing with Indian magistrates—some of whom have been on the bench for decades. They would be accepting a payoff at considerable risk to their own careers.”

  “Wouldn’t David Fortran and I incur the same risk for manipulating a Bank decision?”

  “This is different. They would leave the bench in disgrace, and they would disgrace their family name.”

  “How is it different?”

  “The two of you would simply be moving a decision along that has essentially already been made. A judge in Bombay would be violating the entire Indian criminal justice system.”

  “I still don’t see the difference, if you look at it as a violation of principle.”

  “Then why do you ask for a figure?”

  “I’m hypothetically curious as to what it would cost.”

  “At least $25,000 US and maybe $50,000. It would depend on the judge and the circumstances. A person going into that situation would want even more than fifty in case minds began to change at the last moment. Coincidentally, $50,000 US is what the investors had in mind for both you and David Fortran if you were willing to help us out.”

  “Now our conversation has shifted from bribery to blackmail?”

  “Give it any name you wish. In my mind, we are completing a business transaction.”

  “A few minutes ago you were talking about kindness and nobility.”

  “And since you are checking on the status of the Bank’s commitment, I will do something for you. There are two judges in Bombay City who are brothers. One of them—I will get you his name and contact information—has been known to accept payments to either commute sentences or dismiss charges altogether. The other brother is known as one of the harshest magistrates in all of Maharashtra State.”

  “How does one go about contacting a judge?”

  “You have to know someone in government.”

  “I have World Bank connections in Bombay, but they are all in the financial sector.”

  Our waiters cleared the plates and without asking, brought us coffee.

  “She’s very beautiful.”

  “Who?”

  “Your wife.”

  “You mean Melissa. When did you meet her?”

  “I saw her in the lobby just a few minutes before I sat down on the terrace.”

  “How did you know she was my wife?”

  “She was with another man, but I asked the concierge who she was and he said ‘Mrs. Monroe from Room 17.’ The other man, by the way, seemed very interested.”

  I realized that I had been sitting with Nisar for almost two hours, and I wondered what Melissa and Gerard were doing at that very moment.

  “Do you always allow your wife to go off with such handsome men?”

  Little did Nisar know that he was striking a chord that could move me one step closer to accepting his offer.

  As we sat across from each other, I didn’t reveal any vulnerability, but silently I was calculating where I might come up with $25,000, or perhaps $50,000, to rescue Jonathan. I had $30,000 of my own money in a bank in New York, but that was Jenny’s money for her final two years of college. Using it for some other purpose could jeopardize her education. But taking money to influence a Bank decision was equally repugnant.

  What I did know was Nisar could open doors for me in Bombay, and I didn’t know anyone else with those credentials. My plan for the moment was to keep him at bay until I could gather additional information, and then extricate myself when I saw the right opportunity.

  It sounded innocuous, but later, when this strategy completely backfired, I looked back at our lunch on the terrace as the beginning of a series of events that turned the next nine months into a living nightmare.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  JAMES RETURNED MID AFTERNOON FROM HIS VILLAGE excursion and went straight into the kitchen to boil water for tea. While he was away, Charlie had attempted to sleep on the sofa; he didn’t want to nap on James’s bed, and Jenny’s room now seemed completely off limits. He had no idea where he would sleep that evening.

  Without even asking Charlie, James fixed tea for both of them and they sat across from each other in the chairs next to the fireplace. James could see that Charlie was feeling uncomfortable, and he allowed him to begin the conversation.

  “How was the village?”

  “I sat in the diner for a few hours, listening in on the local gossip. If someone saw something, it will eventually surface among the locals.”

  “Shouldn’t we be doing more than eavesdropping in the diner? Jenny has now been gone for over forty-eight hours, and we don’t even have a lead.”

  “That’s what we’re looking for, a lead.”

  “The inspector and the sergeant seemed pretty casual about the license plate lead.”

  “It’s the weekend. They won’t run the plate numbers completely until tomorrow morning.”

  The two of them sat quietly staring into the fire and sipping tea. Charlie knew that this would be the ideal opportunity to tell James the truth, but he continued to hesitate. It was James who spoke first.

  “What did you think of those two?”

  “The sergeant seemed overly aggressive.”

  “How was he aggressive?”

  “All that fingerprinting. He must have covered every inch of the upstairs.”

  “Just doing his job. If it helps us to find Jenny, it will all be worth it.”

  “I’m worried about what he may have found upstairs.”<
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  James put down his teacup and looked directly at his son.

  “What are you worried about?”

  Charlie realized that the moment had arrived, and he closed his eyes for about twenty seconds as if he were trying to remember exactly what happened. He didn’t want to look directly at James, so as he began to speak, he gazed into the fire.

  “After dinner on Thursday evening, Jenny asked if I could bring her phone to the bathroom as she prepared to wash her hair. She was already in the tub when I opened the door. At one point I knelt next to her as I attempted to find the shampoo, which had slipped under the tub. It was an intimate moment but obviously nothing happened. But because of the shampoo my fingerprints were all over the outside of the tub. I should have mentioned this earlier, but when she joined me downstairs and we had cognac by the fire, I told her that we both had the same father.”

  James’s expression had not changed at all, and now both men sat staring into the fire.

  “Is there some other reason why you are worried about the sergeant’s extensive fingerprint search?”

  Charlie was encouraged by James’s neutral acceptance of the hair interlude; he decided to also mention the Chinese robe.

  “Last night when I slept in Jenny’s room, I put her robe next to me in bed. I wanted something that would remind me of her. During the night I heard her screaming. It was so real that I actually went to the window to see if she was in the driveway. When I returned to bed, I had a dream that she was bathing and her abductor was attempting to wash her hair, hoping that it would result in sexual intimacy. The house was on a lake, and there was a second Jenny standing in the yard and crying as she observed what was occurring in the house. When I awakened, Jenny’s robe was wrapped around my neck, so if the RCMP uses dogs, my scent will be all over her robe.”

  Both men sat in silence; the only sound the cracking and popping of the fire. James deliberately waited a few minutes before he spoke.

  “Of course I believe you, and I thank you for your honesty. The hair sequence will be easy enough to explain. It’s not so unusual to ask another person to help while you are in the bathtub. The problem with the robe explanation is that it has too many moving parts. They will, of course, assume that you slept with her, and the scent on the robe is evidence that whether she wanted you in her bed or not, enough went on for your fingerprints and scent to be all over the robe. They might speculate that many homicides begin with sexual encounters that turn violent, even though you may not have any violent sexual history. They may want to depose your wife, and they may ask her very difficult questions regarding your sexual behavior and any sudden inexplicable mood changes on your part. That would require her to be very candid and very careful about how she phrases things.”