Kiss & Die - Lee Weeks [36]
‘Who is saying it?’
PJ shook his head and glanced nervously back into the restaurant. The youngest of his sons, Hafiz, walked past in view of the door. He was dark eyed, pale faced; he had the look of Asian skin that never sees the sun. He had the look of a user.
‘There have been names mentioned. I do not want to repeat them. It will only go badly for me but I want you to know, Inspector…’ he stared hard at Mann, ‘…that I will pay whatever it takes to stay here. I am sorry for the family of the young woman. If I can help I will.’
Shrimp stepped forward. ‘Mind if I take a look inside? I have never eaten in here. It’s got a great reputation.’
‘Please…please. Take a look.’ PJ opened the door wide for Shrimp to see inside. Hafiz turned and looked at Shrimp before he quickly disappeared to the kitchen.
‘Such a fab place. Love the décor. I’ll definitely be back.’
PJ bowed his head. ‘Thank you. You will get a good discount.’
As PJ disappeared back into the furore of the Delhi Grill, Mann caught a glimpse of Mahmud waiting for news from his father. He watched PJ shake his head, touch his shoulder affectionately and the boy glance Mann’s way. PJ pushed past Hafiz and dismissed him with a wave of the hand.
Mann and Shrimp waited for the lift down. ‘We need to keep pressure on. PJ’s is the best restaurant in the Mansions. If a deal has been made it will be with him.’ The lift didn’t look like coming. ‘Let’s take the stairs,’ said Mann. ‘See if we can help in the search for the girl’s family. The tailors are all on the first floor.’
The echo of voices filtered up from the floor below, the sound of an Indian woman singing and sitar music. They overtook a young woman on the stairs; she had stopped to check her phone for messages.
It was Ruby.
Chapter 23
Ruby knew they weren’t Africans as soon as she heard their footsteps on the stairs; they weren’t wearing trainers. She turned and looked at their feet as they approached. Expensive shoes. Ruby knew then that they didn’t belong in the Mansions. They were strangers. She kept her eyes down until they had passed. She was wearing a curly brunette wig and the same simple big-belted black mac that could be bought in any shop in Hong Kong: fashionable, chic but nondescript. In her oversized handbag she carried another wig and a change of shoes. They were the two things that would transform her. Also in the bag was the tool kit hidden inside the rolled cloth bundle.
As the two men turned to go down the next flight of stairs she glanced over the railings. She recognized Mann but not the other officer. She smiled to herself when she looked at Shrimp in his suit – there was something about a man in a suit. Ruby hung back until she could no longer hear their leather soles on the concrete stairwell. She knew once they got to the first floor they would be swallowed by the sari sellers, the samosa stalls and thousands of people and they would never notice her following them.
She walked past the lift and took the stairs. She didn’t go in the lift on her own. Even though now they had cameras; cameras could be hidden, covered, cameras could have their recordings wiped if you paid the right person. It was all about knowing what someone wanted in exchange. Some people wanted sex. Some people wanted money but they all wanted something.
She kept her head down as she slipped quickly past the Africans who hung about the stairwells and doorways. They sat on the steps and watched the world. They sat in groups and talked of home. They walked up to the mosque and talked of Allah. But they were warm-blooded men.