“But you’ve paid the entrance fee.”
“It’s worth fifty of any man’s money to stare at a bit of eye candy after a hot day breathing in dust. You don’t see many sexy chicks on the fortieth floor of a building site. The band is not bad either.” He smiled and walked away.
Aisha once again wondered how much the women charged, and also started to try to think of ways to find out. There was no point asking one of the girls, they would not tell her. Her observations so far suggested all haggling was conducted by whispering in each other’s ears, there was no chance of overhearing the price being fixed.
Suddenly her thoughts turned to Phillips. How much will he have paid? Where will he be taking his acquisition for the night? Perhaps she should have followed them. She then dismissed the idea and settled upon going up to her room to read the novel she had bought at the airport.
Just as she was sucking up the last dregs of her drink through the straw, another man approached.
“Can I get you another Corona?” His head nodded towards her bottle. He was quite short, with a cheeky face and short brown curly hair.
“No thanks. I can’t say I fancy another drink.” Maybe this guy will tell me the going rate, she thought.
“What do you fancy then?” His smile made him look cheekier than ever.
“My bed.”
“A good looking girl like you should not sleep alone.”
“Where are you from? London?”
“Almost, I grew up on Canvey Island. Do you know it?”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“Anyway, are you looking for some company or not?” He shuffled on his feet impatiently.
She leant forward and spoke softly into his ear. “If I gave you my body tonight, what would you give me in return?”
He moved his grinning face over her shoulder. “The best bit of my body, you’ll be impressed.”
Aisha faked amusement. “And is that all?”
“Well, I expect you will want me to pay my share of the cost of the room and something towards your expenses.”
“How much will you donate?”
“Hang about; is this some sort of entrapment?” He quickly looked over both shoulders before turning on his heels.
Aisha watched him head for the dance floor. Suddenly he gave the impression of a man who was only there to watch the band. She headed for the exit.
When she settled down under the well-ironed bed sheets, Aisha played the events of the evening over in her head. Her last encounter in the club seemed like a black cloud, but it had a silver lining. She now knew not to scare Phillips off by asking him what he was willing to pay. All she had to do was decide upon a price, and hope it was not too far off the mark.
Aisha also wondered if it would have been better to try to have completed her mission that evening. If she had trawled the club as soon as she went in, she might have got to Phillips before the blonde did. Once again she reminded herself to stick to the plan. It was a plan she made with a clear head, and it was not sensible to change it on an impatient impulse.
Tiredness took over and she was asleep within a few minutes. The bedside light was left on all night, and the novel sitting below it, remained unopened.
Collins waited until just before boarding the aircraft to phone Cusack.
“Good morning sir.”
“Good morning Dave. We are just about to board. Where is Phillips staying?”
“I’ve drawn a blank on that one. I’ve got the number of a civil servant to call but it seems she won’t be in work until ten. I can tell you that Aisha Al Nuaimi is due back in two weeks. The plane lands at Heathrow at about six-forty in the morning.”
“Shit. This is not good. This flight takes the best part of seven hours. I’ll phone you as soon as I can. I’ll leave my phone on until we get pushed back, phone me if you have an update.”
“Will do sir. Enjoy the flight.”
“I just hope there are no screaming brats in business class. I want to get some kip.”
“Good luck sir.”
“Thanks.” Collins flipped his mobile shut and took hold of his trolley bag.
It was gone midday in Dubai. A Do Not Disturb sign was on Aisha’s door and she was asleep in bed. The previous day had taken its toll.
Suddenly she was woken by a ringing telephone.
“Fuck.” She sat up in bed and took a moment to realise where she was. In her heart she did not want to pick up the receiver, but she knew it had to be done.
“Hello.”
“Good afternoon ma’am. Checkout time is twelve-noon. It is now twelve-fifty.
“But we are staying two weeks.”
“I am sorry ma’am but your room is only booked for one night.”
“There must be some mistake. I will get dressed and come down to reception.”
The telephone rang again while Aisha was in the shower. She ignored it. The plan was to string this out as long as possible.
It was almost two o’clock by the time she approached the reception desk. It was a different receptionist to the night before, so she had to go through her story again.
“Look, if I give you another two thousand to secure the room, can I go and get myself a late breakfast and phone my friend? I’m sure we can resolve this if you just give me a little more time.”
“No deposit necessary ma’am. I will mark your room as a late checkout. The charge for that will be three hundred dirham.”
“No problem, just add it to my bill. How long does that give me?”
“Until six this evening ma’am. You can store your luggage in the storeroom if you need to.”
“No, I’m sure we will have sorted the problem by then.”
Aisha’s attention was drawn to a man checking in a few feet along the counter. The receptionist was looking at the visas in his passport.
“When did you arrive in Dubai sir?”
“Oh no, my tourist visa has expired. I have residency now.”
The receptionist flicked towards the back of his passport and studied the man’s residency visa. “Thank you Mr Johnson.”
That rather scuppered the next stage of Aisha’s plan. Later that evening she was going to suggest they took Alice’s passport and some more money to hold the room until Alice arrived just after midnight. Aisha was going to offer to put her luggage in the storeroom and go over to the other side of the creek for the night and only return to the hotel when Alice arrived with Aisha’s passport. In all likelihood, they would not ask her to vacate the room.
The gamble with the plan centred upon her lack of knowledge about the sophistication of the system. If the hotel only stored passport data internally, there would be no problem. If they fed the data into a central system, and that system was aware that Alice Evan’s was dead, she was in trouble. Killing someone would never be without risks; Aisha calculated that particular risk was very small indeed.
This was another big problem though. There was no entry visa in Alice’s passport, she would be rumbled straight away. A rethink was needed.
“Is there anything else I can help you with ma’am?”
“Oh, no. Sorry, I was miles away there.”
“Have a good day ma’am.”
“And you. Thank you.”
Aisha headed for the Oasis coffee lounge. Her energy levels were low and she desperately needed food, but her churning stomach would need to be treated gently.
Collins’ aircraft was just North of Qatar when Aisha approached the reception desk with her revised strategy and backup plan. The backup plan was to check into another hotel not too far away. That would mean handing over her own passport, but with any luck she would not be there for more than one night. Well, not even a whole night. After all, it was desirable to have a room in the same hotel as Douglas Phillips, but she could work round it.
She was pleased to the receptionist who checked her in the night before.
“Good evening ma’am.”
“Good evening,” she stared at t
he girl’s gold name badge, “Angela.”
“Right. The bad news is that my friend is still not here with my passport. The good news is that she will be here about two in the morning. Can I suggest I vacate my room but pay for two more nights as a goodwill gesture? That way you could hold it for us until she arrives. I can easily amuse myself in Dubai until two in the morning.”
Another mini-conference took place between the girl and the manager. The manager looked over and unashamedly fixed his gaze on Aisha for a full ten seconds.
Once again, the girl’s smile told her that the deal was done. Now it was time to see if the full psychology had paid off.
“No need to vacate your room ma’am.”
Perfect, thought Aisha.
“Do you have a credit card I can scan?”
Last night’s reserve strategy kicked in. “No, I have a debit card but not a credit card. It’s not a Visa or Mastercard.” She put on a pathetic face.
“One thousand dirham. Eight hundred for the room and two hundred additional security. If your friend does not arrive you must check out by midday tomorrow.”
“Oh, don’t worry, she will be here.” Aisha passed over two five-hundred dirham notes.
Her stomach was now ready for a bigger meal. She headed for the Lebanese restaurant on the first floor.
Collins phoned Cusack as they glided along on a travelator at Dubai’s terminal one.
“I need to be quick. Where’s Douglas Phillips staying?”
“They wouldn’t tell me. And now Elliot is on the warpath. My reading of it is that he’s got it in the neck from a higher level.”
“Look, you go tell Elliot that if these silly sods don’t tell me where Phillips is staying, we could have an international incident on our hands.”
“I will sir. Oh, and by the way. Heather called me about ten minutes ago. This Aisha Al Nuami woman told immigration she was staying at the Sheraton in Abu Dhabi. When Heather checked it out, she’s not at either of them. There’s two evidently.”
“I am certain Aisha Al Nuaimi is in Dubai, but where in Dubai is what I need to know. Keep pushing hard your end, see if you can’t get me hooked up with some local coppers out here. Push fucking hard.” Collins pressed the red button as he stepped off the end of the travelator.
At immigration Chas Harrington went to join the back of a long queue.
“This way plonker.” Collins was already pulling out his warrant card as he headed for the sign that said; fast track.
The warrant card worked its magic, and minutes later they were out in the warm humid air. A yellow sign overhead directed them the short distance to the taxi rank.
A white-shirted driver jumped out of a red and cream Camry at the front of the taxi queue. He took both their bags and slid them into the boot. Collins and Harrington climbed into the back of the car.
“Festival City, Intercontinental hotel,” barked Collins.
“No, Deira city,” said Harrington quietly. “We’re in the Ibis at Deira City Centre.”
“We haven’t come here to sleep. The trade conference is at Festival City.”
“It will have packed up for the day by now.”
“Aye, this time difference hasn’t worked in our favour, but if there is a trail to follow it will pass through Festival City.”
The taxi made its way over two large humps, designed to stop vehicles mowing down the hundreds of people milling around outside the airport.
“These people look more Indian than Arab,” remarked Collins.
“Less than eight percent of people in Dubai are Emirate,” said the driver.
“And where are you from?”
“India. Kerala. It is a beautiful place. You should visit it.”
“Aye, I will. But I have more important things on my mind at the moment.”
The journey terrified both Collins and Harrington. It seemed that near misses within millimetres of contact were perfectly acceptable and that tailgating was a national pastime. Zooming up the outside lane and suddenly swinging across to take an exit from the dual carriageway did not even draw a honk from the motorists they cut up.
Thankfully the journey took less than fifteen minutes.
The meter said twelve-fifty but Collins passed forward a one-hundred note. “Can you wait for us?”
“Yes.” There was no hesitation and no negotiation.
Leaving their bags in the taxi, the two officers walked into one of two large hotels at the end of a shopping mall.
Collins walked straight up to the concierge desk. “Where’s the trade conference taking place?”
“It has finished for the day sir.”
“But where was it?”
“This way sir.” The concierge stepped out from behind his desk and pointed along a wide luxuriously decorated corridor to their right.
Collins and Harrington briskly walked down to the conference centre. People were vacuuming carpets, moving tables and attending to notice boards. The conference was definitely over for the day.
“What now?” asked Harrington.
“Reception.”
At the reception desk it took some time before his warrant card had its effect on the reception manager. Reluctantly he checked the computer.
“No, we have no one by the name of Phillips staying with us. You might try the Crowne Plaza nextdoor.”
“I will.” He turned on his heels.
It was more of the same at the Crowne Plaza; Douglas Phillips was not staying there either.
Collins approached their concierge, once again with his warrant card flapped open. “Excuse me. This is a little sensitive.”
“Yes sir?” The uniformed man leant forward.
“If a man was in Dubai and looking for some action of the feminine kind, what hotel would he stay at?”
“This is an Islamic country sir. I suggest you try Amsterdam or Thailand.”
“No, you misunderstand. I am trying to find someone, a man that has a weakness for women.”
“This is not the place such a man would visit. Married couples are not allowed to hold hands in the street.”
“I see. So there is no red light district, or anything like that?”
“Not in Dubai sir.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“My pleasure sir.”
“Come on Chas, let’s get to our hotel and regroup.”
“Our taxi driver might point us in the right direction guv.”
“You ask him, would you?”
As they approached Deira City Centre, the roads were heavily congested. In some ways it was a blessing in disguise, it limited the options for playing dodgems at sixty miles an hour on a three-lane road.
Harrington leant forward towards the driver. “Where can you go in Dubai to meet women?”
“Ha, ha. Many places, many nightclubs. Jumeirah beach and the marina area are very popular at the moment.”
“Is that near Deira City Centre?”
“No, it is not. It would take an hour at this time of night.”
“How about near here?”
“I am a good man. I am also a poor man. I do not go into bars and clubs. I am told there are ladies in some of the hotel bars. Many men ask to be taken to the better hotels in the area.”
“Are there many such hotels here?” asked Harrington.
“Ha ha. Many many. This is Dubai.”
“Are they all near each other?”
“Yes, very, very close. Only ten minutes in taxi.”
“Ten minutes in a taxi is close!” exclaimed Harrington.
“Ha ha. I see from where you are coming. This is Dubai. No one walks here.” The taxi swung into a slip road on the right, went past the entrance to the Novotel and round the corner. “Here you are, Ibis hotel.”
The meter had been turned off.
“Does the hundred cover it?”
“Twenty more please.”
Collins suspected he had been swindled but was powerless to do anything about it. He passed over a
twenty note. A hotel porter was already at the back of the car taking their bags from the boot.
As he looked out of the window of his eighth floor hotel room, Collins realised the enormity of his problem. Traffic was jammed solid both ways on a bridge going over the creek. Beyond that there was what seemed like millions of lights disappearing into the distance. The buildings were tall, red lights flashed on top of scores of them. Everything he had seen on television about Dubai led him to believe it was a modern but compact city. He couldn’t have been more wrong. If ever the phrase, ‘it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack’ was true, this was it.
At nine o’clock he met with Chas in the hotel lobby.
“I phoned Cusack again,” said Collins. “He’s getting nowhere.”
“But guv, we know he will be at the trade conference tomorrow. We can make sure we are there to greet him. We’ll intercept him tomorrow.”
“Aye, we can wait until tomorrow. I would be a lot happier if we had tracked him down tonight though.”
“How about Aisha? Has Dave or Stuart come up with anything there?”
“Nothing about what she’s up to over here. But we now know she is our Spanish killer. During the week leading up to Ortega’s party, she took a ferry to France in her own car, but hired a white Seat in Cordoba. You have to give it to her, she thought it through. I knew I should have trusted my instincts when I first interviewed the slippery bitch. The only thing worse than a dangerous woman, is a dangerous woman with a brain.”
“Have you any plans as to where to look next?”
“Who for?”
“Well, either Aisha or Phillips.”
“No. Like you say, all we can do is get a good night’s sleep and then get back over to the conference tomorrow. I could do with a drink.”
“Next door, or a hotel at the far end of the shopping mall across the road. I checked before you came down. The lady suggested the pub in the Deira City Hotel would probably be more to our taste than the bar next door. The pub is called Churchill’s, she told me there is a good guitar player and female vocalist that play there.”
“Well, we have nothing better to do. Do they do food?”
“They do. They even do fish and chips evidently.”
“Good old Churchill, I always liked that bloke.” Collins stood up.
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