The Wreckage - Michael Robotham [78]
“Was it something you said?”
“I looked at them the wrong way.”
Jimmy chuckles and cracks his knuckles. At the door, he turns. “Are you leaving town?”
“Looks like it.”
“People are gonna miss you.”
“You trying to tell me something?”
“I just did.”
A pine-scented air freshener shaped like a Christmas tree swings from the rear-vision mirror of the Skoda but it still reeks of fresh paint. Luca drives to the al-Hamra Hotel and gives the keys to the concierge. He tries to call Daniela’s room from downstairs. She doesn’t pick up. She hasn’t checked out. One of the housekeepers opens the door for him.
Daniela is lying in darkness, curled up on the bed. Luca reaches for the light switch but she tells him to go away, anguish in her voice, a soft wet sound.
The housekeeper leaves quickly, pocketing a banknote. Luca moves into the room. Sits on the edge of the bed. Catches a glimpse of her face.
“I’m sorry to hear about your German friend.”
“He wasn’t my friend.”
She rolls on to her back, pulling the sheet up to her stomach. Her hair is matted into greasy clumps, her eyes dull and listless. Luca takes her hand and pulls her up. Groaning softly in protest, she’s like a refugee being told what to do and following automatically. He leads her to the bathroom where he turns on the shower, letting steam billow and the air grow humid.
Button by button he undresses her until her blouse falls open and slips from her shoulders; her drawstring pants are pushed down, one foot raised and then the other.
Standing before him in quivering stillness, she waits while he undresses. Then he leads her beneath the stream of water where he soaps a flannel and gently washes her arms and legs, her feet and hands, her shoulders and breasts. He shampoos her hair, massaging his fingers into her scalp, letting the soap stream down his forearms and over his penis.
Only when he’s finished does she open her eyes and gaze into his. Her lips move slightly apart. She wants to be kissed, but he holds her at arm’s length and begins drying her. Wrapping a robe around her shoulders, he takes her back to the bedroom and pours her a drink from the mini-bar.
“Shaun is dead,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“So are the others.”
“What happened?”
“They were dressed like soldiers. They came into the Ministry and started shooting.”
“Where were you?”
“Away…” She sucks in a breath. “I had to identify Glover’s body. They tortured him with an electric drill and then cut his throat. He was covered in flies…”
Her voice has a mechanical quality, devoid of emotion, like a person who has spent a lifetime tethered to the banks of a river, only to wake one morning and discover that someone has severed the mooring lines overnight and she’s drifted into a dark new place.
“The attack was premeditated. We were the targets. They went straight to the basement.”
“Why would they do that?”
“To stop the audit.”
“Had you discovered something?”
“The software had only been running for forty-eight hours. There were some double payments and overpayments…” The statement tails off.
“Except?”
“Do you know of Jawad Stadium?”
“It’s south of here.”
“According to the financial records it has been completely refurbished. Work began in 2005 and was finished two years ago. But the work was never done. I’ve seen the stadium. That’s where I was when they launched the attack.”
“How big was the contract?”
“Ninety million dollars.”
“And the duplicate payments?”
“Forty-two million.” She pulls her knees up and takes another sip, unused to the harshness of the vodka.
“Who knew you were looking at the contracts?”
“Glover called the Iraqi Reconstruction Management Office and asked what team approved the project.”
“Did they tell him?”
“No.”
“Did you talk to anyone else?”
“I sent an email request to New York asking for information about the main contractor, Bellwether Construction. They sent a file, but most of the important details had been blacked out.”
They lapse into silence.
Swinging her legs out of bed, Daniela moves barefoot across the floor. She opens her satchel on