‘Have you heard anything more about your sister?’
‘Well, this keeps happening. I get all excited when I hear something about her and it usually is just a red herring. I just met someone who said he had spotted her at the Panjim market a few hours ago. Liza got onto a motorcycle with a guy he didn’t recognize and drove off before he could ask her anything. But . . . who knows? It may just have been any other blonde girl with curly hair. From a distance we all look the same, don’t we?’
Panjim was only about half an hour away from our beach. But I wondered over the lack of excitement in Marian’s voice. She sounded tired, or was it the anxiety that had exhausted her? I tried to strike a positive note.
‘That’s really wonderful to hear! And how did she seem to them? Did she look happy or sad . . . or scared?’
‘They said she didn’t seem to be scared or in a bad shape but I find it all very odd. If she’s okay why doesn’t she call or get in touch, with my parents or with me?’
‘Did you have a fight of any kind before she left?’
Marian paused and took a large swallow of her beer, leaving a faint foam on her upper lip.
‘We didn’t exactly have a fight.’ She took off her dark glasses, and looked at me with her large kohl-lined blue eyes, which had more than a hint of sadness in them. ‘Though we did disagree on whether we needed to go to that party on the night she disappeared. I wasn’t really interested, but as I might have mentioned earlier, for her it was work-related. Liza said her future boss was going to be there. He had promised her a job in a travel agency. Some clients and the guys who owned the agency were going to be there, as well.’
‘You mentioned Fernando being there, as well as a guy called Curtis, and some minister. Who was he? Can you try to remember?’
She hesitated before replying. It could be either that she had forgotten the events of that night, and she was genuinely trying to remember – or that she regretted having mentioned the politician, knowing that to have done so could be dangerous. Or like yesterday, this cautious manner of speaking might help her not to answer anything with precision.
‘She had told me that she had met some pretty powerful people. I remember there was someone connected to a ministry that night, though I can’t recollect his name. But I later found out that, because a part of Fernando’s is quite secluded, well-known people who don’t want to be recognized can come from the back entrance, and leave that way as well. I had never met this man before. He seemed alright to me. Much older than I expected, and they said he had a stake in a casino. You know those offshore boats on the Mandovi? Liza sat by his side, and he held her a little too close and kept, you know, touching her everywhere. It was very sleazy. I tried to stop her from sitting near him, but she got angry so I shut up.’
An older man. Obviously not anyone I had seen in the video.
‘And this man was going to give her a job in a travel agency?’
‘That’s what she said.’
‘I thought you mentioned she wanted to be a hairdresser?’
‘She’d just turned sixteen. Who knows what she wanted? She had just wanted to enjoy herself and get a good job, make some money.’
I wondered if she realized that she was speaking in the past tense. Perhaps it was just the stress.
It was becoming more and more apparent to me that even though Liza was her sister, Marian seemed to know very little about her. It was not surprising: teenagers, I had found over the years, could lead a double life without anyone finding out.
‘So did Liza get the job? Was there any discussion about it?’
‘This guy did mention that he had arranged for her to fly to Europe and learn more about the work quite soon, but then, as I told you, after some time the evening became a bit of a blur.’
‘Now when you look back was there anything at all that evening which would have worried you? Perhaps if you had been completely sober?’
‘I was later told that most of the people at the table were also taking some drugs in the kitchen. Cocaine and so on. Everyone would go inside and come back after a bit. I thought they were just checking the food-and-drink order, because we were seated apart from the other guests in the shack, within a private party space. But I’ve now been told that drugs on the beach are quite common, and that probably people were snorting cocaine.’
‘Did you know anything about Fernando’s before you went there?’
‘Not much. I think you must have guessed by now that my sister and I led fairly separate lives in Goa. Most people wouldn’t even be able to tell that we’re sisters because we have such different interests.’
She paused and lit a cigarette, passing me one as well. Even though I normally prefer smoking my own local (and cheaper) brand, I took one from her.
She continued. ‘You may wonder that I didn’t spend too much time with Liza . . . but I am more into spiritual stuff and yoga, while Liza was into parties and generally having a good time. We’re very different and she’s much younger than me – seven years. And even now, because I haven’t made a fuss over her disappearance, only a handful of people know that we’re related.’
It was distressing that they were not close, but not improbable.
‘Amarjit sent me a picture of Liza.’ I took out my mobile phone and went through the images till I found the one I was looking for. I handed the phone over to her.
It showed a much younger girl than the one sitting opposite me. She had a big smile on her lips and her hair flowed over her shoulders and over her forehead in a curly fringe. The kind of girl you immediately warmed to. Apart from the blonde hair, blue eyes and the full pouting mouth, there was little resemblance between the pleasantly plump girl in the photograph and the woman sitting opposite me. Yes, it was true – few people would be able to guess that they were sisters.
As if she had read my mind, Marian gave the phone back to me with a slight smile. ‘She still looks like a child. And of course, I look exactly like my mother.’
She opened her handbag and took out a frayed wallet, which contained a photograph of a woman who bore a striking resemblance to her.
‘That’s Mum.’
There was almost a tone of pride in her voice.
‘Where is she?
A busy woman. Works in a bank in London. I haven’t seen her for a long time, but we are in touch constantly thanks to the Internet.’
I handed her wallet back to her and a card fell out on the table.
It said Astrologer Anne’. She reached out for it quickly but I picked it up before she could and turned it over. A glowing galaxy with a central meteor slashing across was printed on one side, with the slogan ‘Unlocking the secrets of your life: past, present and future.’
For a minute I was surprised, and then realized that Marian was probably turning to the stars for an answer. Nothing wrong with that, except that very often vulnerable people like her, who obviously needed help, spent their whole lives between all kinds of astrologers, numerologists and face-readers. I was reminded of a friend whose son had disappeared, and who now spent all his time and considerable fortune on astrologers and palm-readers. He even had tried the Ouija board, talking to spirits he hoped would help him locate the missing boy.
Feeling even more sorry for her, I returned the card and she quickly put it inside the wallet, her face flushing a deep red.
‘I guess you want to try everything,’ I told her sympathetically.
She shot me a worried look. ‘What do you mean?’
I injected a gentle note into my voice, trying not to sound too critical. ‘I mean, you obviously would like to find out anything that you possibly can about your sister, by whatever means. I don’t believe in astrology myself, but I know that in some parts of the world even the police use mystics once in a while.’
‘And so they should, because often people don’t tell you the truth. You need to go behind the obvious.’
It was an emotional moment and I found myself agreeing with her.
But before I could say anything further, over her shoulder I saw Veeramma coming over with her troupe of women. For some reason she hadn’t called me.
Reaching the absolute limit of how close she could come to the shack, she stood at a discreet distance, raising her hand to peer inside, till she located me. No overt gestures were permitted, as the owner of Yankee Doodle would take offence at the slightest transgression.
Large notices had been put about, warning tourists from mingling with or encouraging the beach vendors. I wondered what had happened in the past that had forced such a harsh decision. Rumours had always been afloat of these vendors harassing tourists, and even the over-friendly Maggie at the hotel had warned me about them. But I doubted if someone like Veeramma would risk her livelihood and reputation by doing something underhanded. Besides, she had a whole group of women to look after. Once blacklisted, I imagined it would be difficult for any of them to return to the beach.
I explained to Marian that I needed to speak to someone urgently, and as she turned around to look at who it was, to my surprise I saw Veeramma pointedly swing upon her heel and turn her back on us. In fact she immediately walked a fair distance, followed by her friends, till she was near the sea and sat down on the sand, spreading her colourful cotton saree around her.
Leaving Marian to munch her way through the fish and chips that I had ordered, I trudged towards Veeramma, who was determined not to look towards us or face the shack. She seemed angry with me, which was surprising, as we had parted on very good terms a few days earlier.
She said something brusquely to the group. They glanced at me curiously and headed away from the beach. None of the happy smiles I normally associated with them were visible. I was a little hurt by this cold treatment, since I had promised to pay for her time. Even a thousand rupees were obviously not enough to merit a cheerful look today.
Thinking she might be offended because I had kept her waiting, I held the promised money out to her, and sat down next to her, staring out to the sea, which seemed a little rough.
‘For the conversation we are about to have.’
She took the money, and put it inside her bag, but her expression did not alter. The corners of her mouth remained turned down.
‘I’m looking for a girl called Liza,’ I began abruptly.
She looked wary, drawing patterns on the sand with a twig she had picked up.
‘Who?’
I took out the phone and showed her the photograph.
‘Have you ever seen her?’
She peered at Liza’s smiling face and almost disinterestedly shook her head.
‘No, no.’
‘But she must have come to the beach.’
‘What you do with her, madam? Why you want mess? Ask police,’ she said in an irritated tone.
I didn’t like the sound of that.
‘I’m trying to help her sister find her.’
‘Her sister? If she her sister, she look after her, no? Why you care?’
It was irrefutable logic. I knew already that Marian, far from looking after her young sister, had allowed her to spend time with all sorts of men about whom she herself knew little.
It was not a good record.
Veeramma got up, using unnecessary vigour to dust the sand off her saree.
‘Hang on. You told Durga that something happened to this girl.’
Veeramma hauled her bag onto her shoulder. ‘Where your daughter, madam?’
‘She’s gone back to Delhi.’
I was puzzled at Veeramma’s attitude. There was no desire in her to help me. It was a complete change from the charm she had previously demonstrated.
‘That good, madam. And you go too.’
I quickly scrambled to my feet.
‘Veeramma, I need your help. You obviously know something. You told Durga that a girl had disappeared. Where did you last see her?’
Reluctantly, Veeramma whispered, ‘No remember. Too long ago.’
Too long ago? What could it possibly mean?
Turning around, she started walking away briskly. I was forced to half-run alongside, feeling like a fool. Usually vendors were the ones who pestered you. Today I was behaving like one of them.
‘Please at least think about it and give me any information you might have. I tell you what, give me your phone number. You have mine already. Just in case. Please.’
I folded my hands together, prayerfully, as I knew that I needed her every step of the way. She was the eyes and ears of this beach.
As a reconciliatory gesture she called out to a woman standing at a distance, selling coconut water. She said something to her, and the woman quickly chopped off the top of a coconut, and sticking a straw into it, gave it to me.
‘From me, madam. I your friend,’ said Veeramma. ‘But I no like your question. Big danger for you. Buy coconut, buy tattoo, but don’t ask for Liza.’
Obviously she did not want us to part in bad blood, and though I was puzzled by her quickly changing moods, I drank the coconut water, handing the empty shell, along with some money, back to the woman who had given it to me. Keeping up the pretence that this was a ‘gift’, I did not pay the exact price, but twice the amount. These gestures, especially monetary transactions, could be an important part of building trust between Veeramma and me. Indeed, everything, even friendships, had a price here.
Looking somewhat mollified, Veeramma whispered her mobile number as though I had asked for a state secret. I immediately took out my phone and dialled it to make sure there were no mistakes.
As soon as her phone rang I hung up and put mine back in my handbag, and she began edging away from me.
‘Shall I call you tomorrow? Please check with your friends. They might know something,’ I said, still with that pleading note in my voice.
‘Madam, I do tattoo for girl. That all I know.’
Firmly turning on her heel, as though it was her last word, she walked away.
More disappointed than I could have imagined, I returned to the shack. I had been so sure that Veeramma would tell me something about Liza; something about her attitude, and her reluctance to speak, clearly indicated she knew more than she had admitted.
Back at the table, to my amazement, I found that Marian had left as well. I had a feeling that she was as averse to Veeramma as the latter seemed towards her.
There was a note from her, however, which had a fairly friendly tone.
‘Thank you, Simran. I have a lot of hope that you will find Liza. Let’s meet tomorrow on the beach again and I will take you to the guest house where we used to stay. Have to rush.’
With a sigh I sat down. Apart from being a fairly complicated case, it was likely to be a very slow investigation, especially if Marian came and left as though we could afford to spend months, or perhaps years, searching for her sister. She appeared anxious but had parted with very little information so far. What was she trying to do? If I hadn’t seen that frightening video I would have abandoned this case right now. But I felt I owed it to Liza to continue, and it was very possible that Marian, like Veeramma, knew more than she was prepared to tell me.
Was she trying to hide something about the timing of Liza’s disappearance? Veeramma had said it was ‘too long ago’. And her behaviour had been very strange.
It was possible that both women had been threatened. Perhaps by the same two men who had frightened the children into leaving?
I called home and learnt that Durga had arrived safely and that she and my mother were planning to join the protests at India Gate against the government apathy towards the Delhi gang rape survivor. The case was extremely tragic but as it made news all over the world it forced attention on the increasing incidence of sexual violence against women and the almost institutionalized indifference to the suffering of victims. Right from the police stations to the hospitals to the courts (if at all a case was registered).
I did not tell my mother about Liza as she would get worried. I smiled ruefully, thinking that Ma
rian hadn’t told her own mother that Liza was missing either. It was through these little omissions that we protected our families, I suppose. Or hoped that we were protecting them from painful reality.
But I did tell my mother that it might be a while before I came home and asked the travel agent to book me a return train ticket for two weeks’ time. My fear of flying kept me from catching a quick flight back, so I had to ensure an escape route was available at a later date. If no evidence turned up in a couple of weeks, we could assume, sadly, that whoever had organized Liza’s disappearance might have also engineered her death.
Feeling depressed and helpless I pondered whether to send Amarjit a message about the hurdles suddenly in front of me. I nibbled at the remainder of the fish and chips, and finished the beer which was tasting rather odd and flat. Lighting a cigarette, I tried to chalk out a plan for the rest of the evening.
Obviously I couldn’t really relax or enjoy the seascape because I felt I had to expedite the investigation. I made a list of people I could speak to who might know about Liza’s disappearance – along the beach and in the shacks, the staff of the guest house where she had stayed, and so on. The problem, of course, was what I could ask them that would not reveal I was hunting information on her? An impossible task.
I wondered if I should go to Fernando’s on my own. It was just on the next beach down the coast. Why wait for Marian, who was turning out to be a little too preoccupied with her own affairs?
I decided to go back to the room, change my beachwear for something more sober, and then set out again.
I had barely reached my room, when the familiar ping on my mobile phone told me a message had come through.
But I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.
It was another video. Much worse than the first.
This time it came from an anonymous source, and the screen read ‘number withheld’. The image was not as blurred as the first video, even though it was shot at night with little light.
The girl, with her distinctive curly golden hair, was walking, or rather stumbling, along a beach.
The video-maker must have been at a distance, as she showed no signs of even noticing him or her. There was an occasional blur of a pillar or the base of a palm tree, as though the videographer was trying to shoot from behind some kind of cover.
Sea of Innocence Page 7