Robin Cook - Foreign Body

To the right, down several levels, were the picture windows facing the gardens and the pool. Again, Neil had to suffer disappointment. He didn’t see her.

“How many persons?” the maître d’ asked when it was Neil’s turn.

“Just one,” Neil said.

As the maître d’ got out a menu to give to one of the seating hosts, Neil asked, “Would you by any chance be familiar with a hotel guest by the name of Jennifer Hernandez? She is—”

“I am,” the maître d’ said. “And you are the second gentleman looking for her this morning. She has yet to come in for breakfast.”

“Thanks,” Neil said, encouraged. She must have been in the shower when he called earlier. Neil allowed the host to lead him to a table for two near the windows but didn’t sit down. “Where is the nearest house phone?”

“There are several in the hallway leading to the restrooms,” the young woman said. She pointed.

Neil thanked her and hurried over. His heart was again pounding in his chest, which surprised him. He hadn’t anticipated getting as excited as he was, and it made him wonder if he was more attached to Jennifer than he was willing to admit. When the operator came on the line, Neil again asked for Jennifer’s room. Feeling confident he was going to get her this time, he even began to ponder an opening line. But he didn’t need one. The same as earlier, the phone just rang and rang.

Finally, Neil disconnected. As sure as he’d been that she’d answer, he was even more disappointed than he’d been earlier. He even experienced a touch of paranoia by irrationally wondering if she’d been warned he was coming and was deliberately avoiding him. “That’s utterly ridiculous,” Neil murmured when his more sane self intervened.

Deciding that a good breakfast was in order, Neil headed back to his table. As he walked, he wondered if her absence had anything to do with the other gentleman who had been looking for her, and as he pondered the question, he realized something else. He felt jealous.

Positioning himself at his table so he could see the hostess stand, he picked up the menu and motioned for the waiter.

Inspector Naresh Prasad directed his government-issue vintage white Ambassador automobile into the Amal Palace Hotel driveway and accelerated up the ramp to the hotel’s entrance. As it was nearing nine a.m., there was a profusion of other cars arriving and discharging their businessmen occupants.

When it was Naresh’s turn, one of the resplendently attired and turbaned doormen waved him forward, then put up a hand for him to stop. He opened the Ambassador’s door, straightened up, and saluted as Naresh alighted from the car.

Having gone through this ritual before, Naresh had his billfold open, displaying his police identification. He held it up almost at arm’s length so the impressively tall doorman could read it and check the photo if he so chose. Naresh recognized there was an element of humor in the scene as he was on the short side. At five-foot-three, he made the nearly seven-foot Sikh look like an absolute giant.

“I want the car parked up here by the door and ready for a quick departure if it is needed,” Naresh said.

“Yes, Inspector Prasad,” the doorman said, indicating he had carefully checked Naresh’s ID. He snapped his fingers and directed one of the uniformed parking valets on where to put the car.

Naresh self-consciously tried to make himself as tall as possible as he walked up the few steps toward the hotel’s double doors and past a group of hotel guests waiting for transportation. Once inside, Naresh glanced around the expansive lobby, trying to settle on how to proceed. After a moment of deliberation, he decided enlisting the help of the concierge made the most sense. Wanting to avoid making any scene, he waited his turn as several guests kept the two concierges busy making dinner reservations.

“What can I do for you, sir?” one of the formally dressed concierges asked with a charming smile. Naresh was impressed. The man and his partner conveyed an alacrity that suggested they truly enjoyed their work, something Naresh rarely saw in the vast Indian civil service that he had to deal with on a daily basis.

Continuing to be careful not to make a scene, Naresh subtly flashed his identification. “I am interested in one of your hotel guests. There is nothing serious. It’s just a formality. We are only interested in her safety.”

“What can we do to help, inspector?” the concierge asked, lowering his voice. His name was Sumit.

The second concierge, finishing with a guest, leaned forward to be included in the conversation after having seen Naresh’s police identification. His name was Lakshay.

“Are either of you acquainted with a young American woman who is a guest of the hotel named Jennifer Hernandez?”

“Oh, yes!” Lakshay said. “One of our more pleasant, attractive guests, I might add. But she has only come to the desk to request a city map so far: no other services. It was I who assisted her.”

“Seemingly very friendly woman,” Sumit added. “She always has a smile when she passes and makes an effort to make eye contact.”

“Have you seen her today?”

“Yes, I have,” Sumit said. “She left the hotel about forty minutes ago. You had left the desk momentarily,” he said to Lakshay, in response to his partner’s questioning expression.

Naresh sighed. “That’s unfortunate. Was she accompanied or alone?”

“She was alone, although I do not know if she met anyone outside.”

“How was she dressed?”

“Very casual: a brightly colored polo shirt and blue jeans.”

Naresh nodded as he weighed his possibilities.

“Let me run out and ask our doormen. They might remember her.” Sumit came out from behind the concierge’s desk and briskly walked outside.

“He acts like he’s enjoying himself,” Naresh commented, watching the concierge through the glass, noticing the man’s tails flapping in the breeze.

“Always,” Lakshay said. “Has the young lady done something wrong?”

“I’m really not at liberty to say.”

Lakshay nodded, mildly self-conscious about his obvious curiosity.

They watched Sumit and one of the Sikhs have a short, animated conversation. Sumit then returned inside.

“It seems that she only went as far as the Imperial hotel, provided we’re talking about the same woman, which I’m pretty sure we are.”

A middle-aged English couple approached the concierge’s desk. Naresh stepped aside. While the English couple asked for a lunch recommendation in the old section of Delhi, Naresh mulled over what he thought he should do. At first he thought about rushing over to the Imperial, but then he changed his mind, realizing it had been close to an hour that Jennifer had been away, and that he might miss her, especially with no one there who could make a positive identification. He decided to stay at the Amal in hopes she was not out for the day and would soon return. At least at the Amal he had the concierges available for identification purposes.

“Thank you for your help,” the English woman said after Sumit handed her a lunch reservation. The moment the English couple turned to leave, Naresh moved in to regain his spot.

“Here’s what I’ve decided to do,” he said. “I’m going to sit here in the center of the lobby. If Miss Jennifer comes in, I want you to signal me.”

“We will be happy to do that, inspector,” Sumit said. Lakshay nodded as well.

Jennifer looked across the breakfast table at Rita Lucas and was impressed with how well the woman was holding up. When Jennifer had first arrived at the Imperial hotel, the woman had apologized for her appearance, explaining that she’d been unwilling to look at herself after being up all night, first at the hospital for a number of hours, then on the phone with family and friends.