Ellie stood at the entrance of the Dali Butler store. From here, she could see the gate of the school across the road. She scanned the street for white vans, the previous surveillance vehicles and most importantly, the motorcycle.
Seven missed calls from Tenby and three messages. She hadn’t listened to them but could guess what they were about. She was two hours late to the next round of aid talks. There was even a voicemail from Solomon. You knew you were in trouble when the station chief called you.
She rolled down the sleeves of her cotton blouse and checked that her hair was tucked into her headscarf. The faded olive-green silk and dark glasses were the best she could do to fit into the predominantly Muslim neighbourhood she was loitering in.
She brought up a photo of a car and number plate to cross-check against the growing line outside the school. At 13.27, the car she was waiting for glided past the queue and pulled into the last spot. Shirani Dennis was either running late or deliberately just on time. Ellie suspected the latter when she saw a white van drive past the school, also searching for a place to park. The packed queue forced the van much further down the street.
Nicely done, she thought.
The car door opened and Shirani emerged. Her headscarf slipped, revealing greying hair scraped carelessly into a high bun. She swiftly re-tied the scarf and joined the other parents, a huddle around the school gate.
The school bell chimed loud and discordant. Ellie crossed the road in time to see the doors open. She merged into the clash and embrace of parents and children, and reached Shirani just as she released her small daughter from a hug, both of them laughing and breathless.
Ellie touched Shirani gently on the arm. The other woman looked up, startled. She pulled the child into her body, tense and poised to run, but was trapped by the crowd around her.
Ellie leaned in to murmur quickly in Shirani’s ear. ‘My name is Ellie Harper. You’ve been hanging up on me. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m a friend of Sathyan’s. Come with me, please.’ She looked down at the little girl. ‘Come on, honey. It’s Renu, right? I like your shoes.’
The child smiled. ‘I’m not supposed to wear them, but they’re my favourite.’
‘I like sparkles, too,’ Ellie replied. She pulled out the High School Musical pencil case she had bought at Dali Butler and waved it in front of the child, then took her hand, leading Shirani and Renu back into the school building.
‘Do you need anything, madam?’ A teacher stopped Shirani and looked from the child to Ellie.
‘It’s all fine,’ Shirani replied. ‘Renu just forgot her hat. We’ll be out in a moment.’
‘Thank you,’ Ellie said as Shirani led her into a classroom.
‘Don’t thank me, I have nothing to say to you. There’s a reason I don’t take your calls.’
‘I know. You’re being followed. I saw the van,’ Ellie replied.
‘Not just followed. The phones are tapped. I don’t trust my computer. I don’t trust anyone.’ The door to the classroom rattled and Shirani jumped as though she’d heard a gunshot. ‘I can’t do this.’ She murmured something to her daughter in Tamil. Renu tried to argue but Shirani raised her voice and insisted. ‘This was a mistake,’ she said to Ellie. ‘Leave me alone. Please don’t do this again.’
‘After the shooting, you went back to the newsroom,’ Ellie said desperately. ‘You didn’t run to the side of your lifelong friend and professional partner. You knew it was coming. You were prepared.’
‘Of course I knew it was coming! Everyone knew it was coming. Even Ameena.’ The anger in Shirani’s voice subsided, the grief breaking through. ‘She wrote that obit months ago. I just did what she asked me to do when it happened.’
‘And what would she ask you to do now?’
‘She isn’t here to ask me anything.’
Ellie tried again. ‘936/8 Araliya Place. We know it’s a brothel and we know Ameena visited it often. Did she have an illegitimate child she was hiding there?’
Shirani looked at her sharply, opened her mouth and then closed it abruptly. The reaction prompted Ellie to push on.
‘She paid for a large shipment to this address—children’s books.’
‘Ameena wasn’t hiding a child. She never hid anything.’
‘How about a lover?’
Shirani laughed bitterly. ‘That’s your theory?’ Shirani asked disdainfully. ‘That she was killed by a lover? Ameena loved Sathyan, and before him, her husband, Anil. There was no one else. There was never anyone else for her.’
‘Not even your husband?’ Ellie asked quickly. ‘We have records, Shirani. Phone calls between them over the last six months. Too many phone calls.’
Ellie didn’t actually think Sachin Dennis had anything to do with Ameena’s death. This wasn’t a crime of passion. It was a well-planned, well-funded and well-executed assassination. But there were aspects of Ameena’s life that didn’t add up.
‘You’re so stupid.’ Shirani pulled her handbag across her chest. ‘They were planning my surprise birthday party.’
‘And your divorce? Thirteen years ago, your husband filed for divorce but you eventually reconciled.’ It was a stretch, but the maths worked with the secret child theory.
‘Sachin and I were having problems. All couples do. We worked it out. We’re happy now. I’m happy now.’ Shirani’s eyes strayed to her daughter. ‘He’s in Canada, waiting for me. He wasn’t even here when it happened. He loved Ameena. We all did.’ Tears began to fall down her face.
Ellie knew love and grief when she saw it. But she also knew deception. Shirani wasn’t telling her everything. ‘Please sit down. Help me understand. The brothel—why did Ameena spend time and money there?’
‘She was meeting a source. It was a safe place to do it.’ Shirani pulled a tissue out of her handbag and sat down, reluctantly. ‘It wouldn’t serve the government to surveil that location. The owner and the President have an arrangement of mutual discretion.’
‘The name of the source?’ It was worth a try.
‘I honestly have no idea. Confidentiality is standard practice for safety, mine as much as the source’s. Ameena never told me more than their code name—Narada.’ Shirani watched her daughter play with the pencil case in the corner of the room. ‘Ameena’s key focus was the arms-for-infrastructure deals that are being made with the Chinese government and their contractors. Her source had primary evidence: lists of weapons, paperwork on the money trail, emails confirming the exchange.’
‘The exchange of what?’ Ellie asked.
Shirani shook her head, irritated. ‘The exchange of weapons for the privilege of building infrastructure here. The terms of these contracts are ridiculous—they include ninety-nine-year leases and military landing rights for the Chinese. The right to bring their naval ships into our harbours, planes into our airports. That kind of thing.’
‘You mean like the new port at Hambantota?’ Ellie asked. Solomon’s briefings to Washington about the port had been troubling. He said China’s foothold on the island had become a stronghold with this port.
‘The port, the airport and others.’
‘What other infrastructure projects—highways?’
‘Of course. Think about it. Everything China needs from the outside world has to sail past Sri Lanka, most importantly energy. You invaded Iraq and made nice with Saudi tyrants to secure your energy supply. China is taking a different approach, creating allies by investing in them.’
‘The Belt and Road Initiative,’ Ellie said. China had been securing land and sea routes for the last decade as part of its String of Pearls strategy.
Shirani nodded, looking at the door again. ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Who pays for all this?’ Ellie asked.
‘The Sri Lankan people pay. We always do. Either we take out loans with the Chinese and become more indebted, or the Chinese fund the projects directly. Either way, debt becomes equity very quickly.’
‘And China owns a piece of Sri Lanka,’ Ellie finished. Solomon was right to be alarmed; station chiefs usually were. ‘What is the Sri Lankan government getting in return for the contracts? Money?’ Politicians here were known to skim a transaction fee for every contract they touched.
‘It’s more complicated than that, but yes, that’s essentially it. The government gets the weapons it needs to finish this war and the politicians get the cash they need for their retirement or exile plans, depending on which way things go.’
‘You mentioned primary evidence—’
‘Most of it was confiscated after we ran the first two articles. The rest was taken after her death.’ Shirani talked faster now, moving over to her daughter. She swiftly packed up the pencils, whispering instructions to Renu.
‘Wait, please.’ Ellie grasped Shirani’s arm.
‘No, you wait. Wait here and let me go. Do your job and get your own answers.’ Shirani jerked her arm away knocking a chair over. ‘How dare you come to my daughter’s school and ambush me. I—’ Her eyes still glistened. ‘I’m done with this place. I’m taking my family and we are getting out. I don’t want any trouble, not now. We’re so close.’
‘Where are you going?’ Ellie put some distance between herself and Shirani. Renu huddled into her mother.
‘Canada. We have family there. Sachin has taken our older two. I’m joining him … soon. An extended holiday.’
Ellie understood. ‘Canada’s beautiful. Peaceful and progressive.’ Tenby had already confirmed that Shirani had moved her flight to leave tonight.
‘Ameena said the same thing. All her favourite authors were Canadian: Shyam Selvadurai, Michael Ondaatje, Michael Clayton. She should have gone while she had the chance.’ Shirani reached for her daughter’s hand and led her to the door. ‘Take care, Ellie. I know you mean something to Sathyan and he’s lost enough. Don’t follow me out. They’ll be waiting.’
Renu raised the pencil case, offering it back to Ellie.
‘Keep it, honey. It’s yours.’
The little girl smiled and followed her mother.
Ellie exhaled deeply. She had more information, but not enough. There were not enough data points to see the trajectory she was looking for.
Almost too late, she registered something Shirani had said. She ran after her, past the empty school yard and gates. Everyone had collected their children and gone. A car screeched to a halt as Ellie reached Shirani, who shuddered and turned at the noise.
‘The first two articles,’ Ellie said urgently. ‘You said, “the first two articles”. Was there another one planned?’
Shirani looked around the road reaching for the door handle. ‘Please go.’
‘Was there another?’
‘Yes,’ Shirani bundled Renu into her car, then moved around to the driver’s side door.
‘Where is it?’ Ellie asked.
‘It’s gone. They took everything, I told you.’
‘Could Ameena have been killed for it?’ Ellie’s mind raced. She used to be better at this.
‘Absolutely,’ Shirani replied. ‘She was going to publish it on the fourth of February.’
‘Sri Lanka’s Independence Day?’ That was soon.
‘Yes, poetic justice and all that. I think it was almost ready. Ameena was on the verge of …’ Sudden fear on Shirani’s face made Ellie turn.
The van was approaching slowly. A large lens peered over the top of the window. Could they have heard their conversation? Ellie pulled the frayed edges of her scarf forward, tucking her hair under its olive-green silk. Her eyes scanned the road for the motorcycle. The van was predatory but predictable. The man on the bike was different.
‘Leave me alone, I beg you,’ Shirani hissed as she started the car. ‘There’s nothing I can do for Ameena anymore. Now I have to do this for my family.’ She shut the car door and sped away. The white van pulled out and followed her.