by Elise Noble
I glanced around the room, but there were no filing cabinets, only a metal cupboard opposite the door that didn’t look big enough to hold a hospital’s worth of patient information.
“There’s a door at the far end of the hallway that might lead to some sort of filing room,” Black told me. “Try there.”
Next time, I’d sit outside and sweat while Black skulked around the hospital.
The door was plain white, no viewing window, no sign, and locked from the outside with a bolt and padlock. The high-tech approach. I found padlocks even easier to pick than regular door locks, so I was inside before anyone asked me what the hell I was doing.
Jackpot. Well, sort of. Rows and rows of filing cabinets stretched away from me, filling almost the entire room. The only bit of space was at the far end, where a scarred wooden desk identical to those in the main office sat in front of the window. Each of the filing cabinets had a sticker on the front denoting an Arabic letter. I only had to hope that the filing clerk knew the alphabet better than whoever had fucked up the computer system.
“Mack, gimme the first name.”
Half an hour later, I’d found four of the files, but none of the serial numbers matched our victim. Two to go—Reem Younes and Malgorzata Kaminski—but as I approached the Y cabinet, I heard more footsteps in the corridor. Two sets, and coming in my direction. Keep going. Keep going.
But it seemed my luck had run out tonight.
“Why is the door unlocked?” a male voice asked. Not an Egyptian. He sounded French.
“Who cares?” a woman asked, followed by a giggle. “Just get inside.”
Ah, shit.
CHAPTER 17 - EMMY
THE LIGHT CAME on as I crawled under the desk, thankful for the modesty panel across the front. Once designed to stop perverts from looking up their secretaries’ skirts, now it was the only thing between me and a very awkward conversation. What were the pair doing in the filing room so late at night anyway? I hazarded a guess that it had nothing to do with paperwork, and I was right.
The man’s belt buckle hit the tiled floor with a clunk alongside his stethoscope as he dropped his trousers. The woman was wearing scrubs. A nurse? Now I knew why the admin office had a no fraternisation sign on the wall. Seriously, who had time for this shit? These assholes were supposed to be downstairs fixing car crash victims, not screwing over a desk, because that was surely what was about to happen.
Another giggle, followed by, “Ooh, Dr. B. You’re so big.”
Jeez… She’d been watching too many adult movies.
A condom landed next to me, and the woman’s manicured hand groped around to retrieve it an inch from my knee. I flicked it towards her, thoroughly cheesed off. At midnight on my vacation, I was the one who should’ve been getting screwed, not some nurse who had better things to do. Mack’s laughter in my ear didn’t help either.
As the woman started moaning, porn-star-style, I pulled out my phone and fired off an email to my beloved colleague.
Next time, you can do the hard work and I’ll sit behind a keyboard.
She typed faster than I did, and her reply came almost instantly.
Oh, please. You think Python’s a kind of snake.
The only saving grace was that Dr. Grunts-a-lot didn’t last long. Two minutes of sweaty balls slapping flesh, and it was all over, for them at least. They hurried out, still breathing hard.
“Well, that was fun.”
“If it’s any consolation,” Black said, “a dog pissed on my boot while I was waiting.”
“Couldn’t you have gotten rid of it?” Mack asked as I snorted.
“Not when there was a trio of doctors smoking three feet away.”
We were clearly in the wrong jobs here. And speaking of jobs, I still had work to do. Two sets of patient records left to find, and I’d better do it fast because I didn’t fancy hiding under the desk again.
As Sod’s Law dictated, the file I wanted was the last one I checked. Malgorzata Kaminski, a thirty-three-year-old Polish national who’d had her arm pinned two years ago after a fall. She’d listed an address in Assalah.
“Got it,” I told the others. “I deserve a glass of wine after this.”
Actually, make that a bottle, because when I checked the door, the doctor and his lady friend had carefully bolted it afterwards.
“Uh, we have a small technical problem.”
“Don’t tell me problems; tell me solutions.”
If I had a dollar for every time Black had said those words…
“Fine, I have a solution. I’m coming out the window. If I fall, you’d better fucking catch me.”
“I’ll always catch you, Diamond.”
And that was why I loved him.
Three floors up, and thank goodness we were around the back of the building because the last thing I needed was a crowd of onlookers seeing me climb out onto the windowsill in my scrubs. Knowing my luck, or rather the lack of it, they’d try to talk a suicidal “doctor” out of jumping.
Slowly, slowly, I inched my way down, clinging onto whatever I could—stonework, window frames, a sign proclaiming the Dahab International Medical Center to be the “No. 1 hospital in Egypt.” By the time I landed in Black’s arms, my nails looked as though I’d filed them with power tools.
“I called the hotel,” he murmured in my ear. “The wine’s waiting in the villa.”
“Gimme a second. I just need to pop inside and ask that horny nurse where she got her manicure done.”
“Want me to fly Bradley over?”
“No, I want to go to bed.”
“That sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all day.”
When I crawled out of bed in the morning, Black was already pottering around in the kitchen. Glass clinked as I staggered in his direction.
“Tell me you’re making coffee.”
The counter came into view, and I took in the bottle of drain cleaner, the hydrogen peroxide, the nail polish remover… If he was making coffee, I’d changed my mind. I didn’t want any.
“No, I’m making luminol. I want to find out for sure whether it’s blood on that cord we found with the second heart scarab.”
“Where did you get all this stuff?”
“Borrowed it from the hospital. I grudgingly admit that Bradley’s bag has a practical use after all.”
He turned the burner on under a conical flask, poured in some chemicals that bubbled and fizzed, then watched as acrid fumes drifted across the kitchen.
“Is this safe?” I asked.
“More or less.”
“More or less?”
“I haven’t done this for a while.”
“Fucking hell.”
“Don’t worry, I got good grades in chemistry.”
“James told me you set fire to the lab building.”
“James has got a big fucking mouth.”
“So it’s true?”
“There was never any proof of that, and in any case, my parents kindly donated a new one.”
We did have a fire extinguisher in the villa, didn’t we? Yes, by the back door. I checked it was pressurised, then threw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and went in search of coffee. No way was I dealing with an explosion before I’d loaded up on caffeine.
By the time I got back with a family-sized cafetière and a plateful of pastries, Black was scraping white powder out of a beaker, and the whole villa stank. Just another day in paradise.
“Well?”
“Almost done. Is there any fruit?”
“I brought you a banana.” The catch on the kitchen window was stuck, so I jimmied it open with a knife to let in some much-needed fresh air. “I’ll be on the terrace.”
Information was already coming in on Malgorzata Kaminski, also known as Gosia. The basics weren’t difficult to find—she even had a website with a blog attached. And the logo looked familiar.
Love Life, Love Dahab, the same slogan that had been on Carmela’s bag.
A coincidence?
Or had they connected with each other in the past? I scrolled through the pictures of Dahab, of Gosia’s life and friends, but I didn’t see Carmela in any of them.
“Hmm,” Black said, peering over my shoulder.
The other notable thing about the website was the “Missing” poster splashed across the home page, together with an appeal for information on Gosia’s whereabouts. She’d vanished on June twenty-seventh, just over three months ago. The picture showed a brunette with a tanned face and plaits hanging down over either shoulder, smiling for the camera with her arm around somebody out of shot. The mountains formed a backdrop, and she was carrying a backpack.
“Last seen walking in town,” Black said. “What if she decided to carry on walking farther?”
“You mean into the mountains?”
In Dahab, people liked to explore. To take pictures, to get fit, or simply to get some peace alone. A lot of people claimed to have had spiritual experiences in those hills.
Black scrolled farther down the page. “She’s wearing hiking boots in this photo. If she meandered into the mountains and fell and hit her head, it’s not inconceivable we’re looking at an accident.”
“If it wasn’t for the two scarab beetles and now the logo, I might just believe that. Is the luminol done yet?”
“Assuming I’ve remembered the recipe right, yes.”
“Then let’s find out if we’re on the right track with this.” I glanced at the screen again. “You know, if you squint, Gosia looks a bit like Carmela. Same face shape, same hair colour, similar smile. You could mistake her for a sister.”
Inside, I closed the shutters in the bedroom, leaving us in darkness apart from Black’s flashlight. He’d put his concoction into the spray bottle Bradley had bought for the houseplants that died about five years ago.
Moment of truth…
I got ready with the camera as Black sprayed luminol at the necklace. The thing lit up like a damn Christmas tree, splodges on the cord fluorescing blue, and when Black turned it around, the spell on the back of the scarab glowed eerily in the gloom.
Sure, luminol could give false positives, most commonly if it touched bleach, but with the colour of the stains on the cord and the circumstances, it was pretty clear we were looking at foul play.
Gosia hadn’t died of natural causes.
I clicked on Gosia’s Facebook profile, having logged in with a fake name I used on the internet. No way did I want details of the real me sitting on a server somewhere to be sold to the highest bidder. Every so often, I clicked on a bunch of random adverts just to keep the data trolls nicely confused—internet Emmy was a thirty-seven-year-old spinster who enjoyed quilting, skydiving, heavy metal music, plumbing, and collecting Christmas ornaments. She also had a pet snail and may or may not have had a fungal toenail infection.
Gosia’s life was more clear-cut. Once I scrolled past all the “Have you seen this woman?” posts, a picture of a dedicated eco-warrior emerged. She promoted vegan food, organised litter collections, and was a fierce advocate for animal rights. Her latest initiative, Sixty Seconds to Save the Planet, aimed to install recycling points within a minute’s walk of anywhere in Dahab.
“Didn’t Aurelie say that Carmela met Youssef while they were cleaning up the beach?” Black asked. “I wonder if Gosia was involved in organising that?”
“It’s possible.” I scrolled through pictures of teams traipsing along the shoreline carrying sacks of rubbish, but I couldn’t spot Carmela or Youssef in any of them. “I bet Aurelie would know.”
“Then let’s ask her.”
“Can I come?” Zena asked from the open patio door that led onto the terrace. “I’m bored.”
Were we ever going to get a moment to ourselves? “Don’t you have bridesmaid stuff to do?”
“Mom and Chris are talking to the caterers this morning, and I’m not invited. Please? I’ll stay really quiet. There’s nothing else to do around here.”
“What about going to the beach? There must be ten different kinds of water sports you could try.”
“Mom won’t let me. She says it’s dangerous.”
“What, even paddleboarding?”
“I might die of boredom if I go paddleboarding.”
Okay, I had to give her that one. I looked at Black, and Black looked at me, then he shrugged as if to say “she’s your responsibility.” Aurelie wouldn’t mind if an extra person came, right? Letting Zena tag along was easier than trying to win an argument with a teenager.
“Fine. But you let us do the talking.”
Zena mimed zipping up her mouth and throwing away the key, then immediately started speaking again. “I won’t say a word. Promise. I’ll be back in two minutes. I just need to go and change my shoes. These flip-flops are rubbing.”
“Meet us out front, okay?”
On the way to the lobby, we saw Captain Bob striding towards us, his back ramrod straight as always. Why did he look so serious?
“Have you seen Zena?” he asked.
“She went to change her shoes. Why?”
“Lynn called. They drove into town to meet the tailor for their final dress fittings, but while Lynn was getting changed, Zena disappeared. She’s back here?”
That little minx. She’d lied, or at least bent the truth, although I had to give her credit for doing so with a perfect poker face.
“Yeah, she’s here. Guess she must’ve walked back.”
“Damn. I was almost hoping she wasn’t. Now I’ll have to talk to her. What am I supposed to say to a young lady who hates everything?”
“She doesn’t hate my rabbit.”
“That’s true. She’s actually been easier to deal with since you arrived with the bunny. I thought we might have turned a corner, but now this happens… Lynn’s at the end of her tether, and I don’t know what to do to help. I know Zena’s not keen on Chris, but he makes Lynn happy, and…and… Give me a platoon of SEALs and a war zone over a teenager any day.”
From the stories Black had told me, Bob had spent much of his military career overseas, so he hadn’t been around for his own daughter’s childhood either. No wonder he didn’t know how to deal with Zena.
“What does Sondra say?”
A shrug. “We never had any of this trouble with Lynn.”
“Zena mentioned she wanted to live with her father.” Might as well be honest. “Has anybody asked him for some input?”
Bob’s face clouded over. “The man’s an asshole. He sends Zena expensive gifts and says the right things on the phone, but when Lynn spoke to him about taking her for a while to see if that’d help, he refused to let her stay even for a weekend.”
“Does Zena know that?”
“Lynn didn’t want to hurt her any more than she’s been hurt already.”
A difficult conundrum. By sparing Zena’s feelings, Lynn had caused a different kind of pain. And I knew what it was like to be rejected by a parent. Both of them, in fact. My father didn’t stick around for long enough to know my mother was pregnant, and as for the woman who’d borne me, I’d taken second place to just about everything in her life—drink, drugs, boyfriends, you name it.
Over the last decade, I’d gone out of my way to help teenagers who’d ended up in similar situations. As well as Blackwood Security, we ran a charitable foundation to fund our pet projects, and mine was a scheme to help street kids in London and Richmond find work and a place to live. I even mentored some of them myself when I had the time, so Zena’s antics weren’t the first time I’d had to deal with teenage angst.
“Maybe Lynn has good intentions, but Zena feels like a spare part at the moment. Is it true that Chris made her get rid of her pets?”
“They moved house, and he said there wasn’t room for them at the new place.”
“She said they lived in her bedroom, so surely if she wanted them to share her space, that was up to her?”
“Between you and me, I agree with her about the pets. But although Chris has his faults, Lynn’s come
out of her depression since they’ve been together, so I have to support her decision to marry him.”
His grimace said he didn’t care much for Chris either, and I felt sorry for Captain Bob too. It couldn’t be easy watching his family fight.
“We’re going into town to ask Carmela’s friend some more questions. How about we take Zena with us and go to the tailor for the dress fitting afterwards?”
“You don’t mind?” Bob looked to Black when he asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation?”
“The vacation isn’t really happening,” he said. “Too many dead bodies. And Zena’s oddly enthusiastic about helping—does that bother you?”
“If she’s with you two, no harm’s going to come to her,” Bob said, reminding me I needed to have a chat with Zena about the dangers of wandering around town alone. Although we weren’t yet sure whether Gosia’s death was murder, it seemed wise not to take chances. “Zena always did have a morbid curiosity about death, but so long as she’s not causing it, I won’t lose any sleep.”
“What about Lynn?”
“Lynn’s more of a hearts-and-flowers girl.”
“I meant will she mind Zena tagging along with us?”
“Oh, I’ll talk to her. Tell her not to worry. Right now, I think she’s just grateful to avoid some of the tantrums. She says Zena’s going through a phase.”
The girl herself came running along the path, but her footsteps slowed when she saw her grandfather. Busted.
“Uh, I can explain.”
“You don’t have to,” I told her. “We’re going into town, and you’re going to try on your bridesmaid’s dress while you’re there.”
“But—”
“If you don’t like that idea, you’re welcome to stay here and help your grandpa unblock the toilets by the dive centre. Right, Bob?”
He looked puzzled for a second, then nodded. “Right.”
“Car door’s unlocked. I suggest you get inside it.”