Chapter Thirty
The Dark
THREE GLEAMING RED trucks still stood around the house, hoses snaking to hydrants. Lea watched as the firemen cleared debris away from the site. They had been at work for the last two hours, making sure that no cinders drifted to other parts of the compound. Several other neighbours had come out of their houses, but although it was only 6:45am it was already hot, so most stayed indoors and watched from their windows.
There was nothing left of the Busabis’ house. Lea could see the blackened contours of the rooms and some loose timbers, but no more than that. The air was acrid with the tang of smouldering varnish.
Tahir Mansour alighted from his Mercedes and spoke with the fire officers. After a few minutes, he headed back to his car. Lea stopped him on the way. ‘Mr Mansour, do you know what happened to the Busabis? Are they all right?’
Mansour turned and stared at her, as if trying to recall her face. ‘Mr Busabi is being treated for smoke inhalation. He will probably be kept in the hospital for a day or two, just for observation. They were very lucky.’
‘Have they said what happened?’
‘Mr Busabi is a smoker,’ said Mansour with disapproval in his voice. ‘A terrible misfortune.’
‘We saw them in Peruglia last night.’
‘I heard he had been drinking earlier in the evening. It appears he may have failed to put out his cigarette properly when he came home. This is why we discourage smoking in the compound or at the resort. Please excuse me.’ Having performed his official duty as perfunctorily as possible, he returned to his waiting car. He seemed to find the tragedy distasteful, another sign of foreign sloppiness.
Lea felt it was her duty to visit Mrs Busabi. After Roy headed to work, she drove over to the Dubai Hospital and found her seated alone in a perfectly white visitors’ waiting room, sipping from a Starbucks cup. The icy air smelled antiseptic. There was no sound of life anywhere.
‘Oh, Lea, you shouldn’t have come, really,’ Mrs Busabi said, holding out her hand. For once she was wearing no makeup. She suddenly looked old and unprotected. ‘Harji’s in having tests and can’t have visitors until this afternoon.’
‘I came by to make sure you were all right,’ Lea replied. ‘If you want to stay at the hospital, I can pick some stuff up for you.’
‘Really, I’m fine. I’m going to stay with my sister tonight. We lost everything, Lea. There’s not a stick left. Mr Mansour virtually accused us—’
‘Mr Mansour says Harji left a cigarette burning.’
‘That’s an outright lie. Why would he say such a thing? Harji gave up smoking six months ago. He’d been having trouble catching his breath, and I begged him to stop before it was too late, so he did.’
‘Perhaps Mr Mansour didn’t know that.’
‘It’s true Harji was downstairs by himself, but I believe him when he says he wasn’t smoking. He called upstairs to say that he could smell something burning. The next moment, the hall was alight. If the back door hadn’t been open we’d have been trapped in the house. We’d have burned alive.’ She wiped her eyes, trying not to cry. ‘I asked the police to test for traces of petrol but they say they don’t need to, that it was obviously an accident. How can they possibly know such a thing? They’re not planning to investigate it at all. They’re just sweeping it under the carpet like they do everything else.’
‘Why would they do that?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? It’s because we’re so close to the resort’s opening date now. They don’t want any trouble. I know who did this. They wanted us out because we complained about them. They destroyed our home.’
‘Who are you talking about?’
‘You know very well who.’ Mrs Busabi’s eyes hardened with hatred. ‘The Somalians, the Nigerians, the Indonesians, the mixed-race whatever-you-want-to-call-them, they want what we’ve got and when they see they can’t have it, they try to take it from us. We’re the minority here.’
‘But you were in the minority in India too.’
‘That was different. We once owned India. There was still respect for all we had done, despite all the damage that self-serving little lawyer Gandhi did, with his fasting and his fancy dress. Well, we took out plenty of insurance when we moved here. We’ll replace everything.’
‘I’m glad you’re not going to let something like this upset you, Mrs Busabi.’
‘Oh, we’re not going to be intimidated. We’re made of sterner stuff. Harji and I had a contract job in South Africa, where they think nothing of butchering a cow and leaving it on your front doorstep when they’re upset with you. That’s the trouble with these outposts, you always walk into someone else’s territorial disputes.’
‘Where will you live now?’
‘The company has already promised to sort out the compensation and rehouse us on the north side of Dream Ranches. There’s another nursery over there where I can work.’
‘What will you do until then?’
‘They offered to put us up in a hotel until then, but I told them I’ve made other arrangements.’
It was Lea’s last sight of Mrs Busabi for a while, seated on the white plastic couch in the waiting room, angrily shredding a paper napkin around her Starbucks cup.
The next morning, Harji Busabi was released and they left for his sister’s house on the far side of the city. When they returned to Dream Ranches two weeks later they stayed away from their old neighbours, only stopping to nod briefly at golf club dinners, as if everyone else was somehow to blame for what had happened.
YOU REALLY HAVE no idea what’s going on, do you?
Cara’s words had stayed with her. Now Lea was starting to wonder if she was right. She thought about the Busabis and wondered if their house had been deliberately torched because they had become a nuisance. The idea seemed ludicrous until she applied it to all the accidents and disappearances. Then a paranoid pattern started to emerge.
The next morning, she presented herself outside Leo Hardy’s office at 8:45am and waited for him to arrive. When he walked into his office, she told him she was writing another article for Gulf Coast’s website, and needed five minutes of his time to conduct an interview.
Hardy let out a harsh mirthless laugh. ‘Is that still going? It’s not a magazine, Mrs Brook, it’s a bunch of perfume ads for rich old women.’
‘Andre Pignot has launched a new online edition.’ It was something of an exaggeration, but Hardy’s attitude irked her.
‘Has he now?’ Hardy seemed amused. ‘Pignot is a bankrupt womaniser and a drunk. He can’t have thought that idea up by himself.’
‘I thought that as the most respected security officer working for DWG, you could give me your take on a situation,’ she said. ‘Especially now that you’ve had a promotion.’
‘Flattery isn’t going to work on me, Mrs Brook,’ he said, but she could see that it at least stood a chance. ‘Grab a seat, but you’ll have to be quick, ya? I’ve a hell of a day ahead.’
‘We have... an unusual situation at the compound,’ she said. ‘Mrs Busabi is convinced the migrant workers were responsible for burning down her house. She’d been collecting signatures for the petition to close the underpass.’
‘I think you know how absurd that sounds.’ Hardy tipped back in his chair, openly staring at her legs. ‘If you’re going around talking to people, you should cover yourself up a little more. You’ll get no respect otherwise.’
Lea bit back her reply. She knew that he had declared war on her. The interfering bored housewife—he had seen plenty of those.
‘I wondered if the other residents who signed her petition might be at risk. Do you have an opinion on that?’
‘Hell, I have an opinion. My men are good workers. They keep to themselves. If they behave badly, they know they’ll be punished. They can’t afford to lose their jobs. They’re the breadwinners, and their families are entirely dependent on them. There are literally lives at stake here. That’s why none of this is taken lightly. Do you understand?’
‘I appreciate that. Alexei Petrovich told me that arrests were made in connection with the bombs.’
‘They were, but I’m not prepared to discuss that with you. You were a witness to one of the attacks. You were prepared to blame my workers. You said you saw Muslims, didn’t you?’
‘I thought they might be foreign workers, based on their headgear—nothing more.’
‘Well, there you have it.’ He rocked his chair. ‘The wife’s opinion. Was there anything else?’
‘So, that’s the end of it? Everything is back to normal now?’
‘I have a suggestion for you, Mrs Brook. Instead of making a nuisance of yourself, why don’t you and the other wives do something useful?’ Hardy checked his Rolex. ‘Organise a party at your compound for the opening weekend. I’m sure the men would all enjoy a chance to relax after so much hard work. Now I have to attend a meeting. If you have any further questions, contact our press officer.’ Hardy opened the door for her and virtually pushed her out.
In a state of barely controlled fury, Lea returned home to finish the article. When she calmed down, she marinated steaks for a barbecue. Norah and Cara were planning to do their homework at the beach house, so Colette and Ben Larvin came over to eat with them.
Seated on the patio, facing away from the spreading patch of dead grass, her neighbours looked more tired and miserable than ever. Ben’s shirt collar was a size too big for him. He was losing an alarming amount of weight, and periodically forgot what he was saying, drifting off into his own thoughts. Every now and again he frowned suddenly, as if failing to understand something. Colette tried to sound light-hearted, but lapsed into silence after a while. Lea noticed that both of them were drinking more heavily than usual.
There was still a faint aroma of charred wood in the air. The fire chief had warned that it would take several weeks for the smell to go away. Realising that the mosquito candles around the barbecue had gone out, Lea rose to put the outside lights on.
‘No, leave it like this,’ said Ben suddenly. ‘The dark is good.’
‘So, Lea, Roy tells me you’re writing for a magazine,’ said Colette with forced good humour.
‘It’s just an online piece about the resort. It won’t have as much detail as I’d hoped.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I’ve only got space for 2,000 words. I’d like to write about some of the things that have been happening here, like the hit-and-run incident and the Busabis’ fire.’
‘Yeah, well—I have a solid theory about that,’ said Ben, anger suddenly colouring his voice, ‘but I wouldn’t want you to write about it.’ He sat back, his face unreadable in the darkness.
‘Why not?’
‘Because you can’t trust anyone around here. Did you know the estate’s Wi-Fi network is being hacked into by our police bureau?’
‘Ben, don’t start,’ Colette pleaded.
‘You don’t know that for sure,’ said Roy hastily.
Ben jabbed a finger at him. ‘Ask Dick McEvoy—he should know. He oversees the resort’s electronic traffic, and that includes mail coming in and out of the compound.’
‘Ben, please.’ Colette laid a restraining hand on her husband’s arm. It seemed to Lea that she hated any public exposure of emotion.
‘So, what’s your theory?’ Lea asked.
‘Ask yourself how many more “accidents” have to happen before somebody starts to make a noise? It’s the whole fucking thing. We’re all complicit.’
Lea had never heard Ben swear in front of his wife before. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘Ben’s exaggerating as usual,’ said Colette, panicking that anything her husband said might be reported back. ‘Didn’t you say the safety record has been unusually good for a site of this size? You can’t count things that have happened in the compound. Everything’s fine. Really. And what happened to Rachel—well, she was always doing crazy things. Once she went out in Ohio when the highway safety people were advising everyone to stay home, and she got stranded in a snowdrift overnight. She could have died. She told me she’d gone out for cigarettes—in a snowstorm!’
Ben held up a hand to silence his wife. ‘There’s something I have to say—’
‘No, Ben—’
‘After the autopsy, we received Rachel’s clothing and personal belongings back from the coroner. The one thing that was missing—the only piece of jewellery she never removed apart from her wedding ring—was the silver neck-chain my grandfather had made for her twenty-first birthday. She was crazy about Indian gods, so her father crafted a piece, a Ganesh. She never took it off.’
‘You think someone stole it?’ asked Lea.
‘I damn well know they did And I know who.’
‘These things happen,’ Colette said quickly. ‘It could have been someone in the medical unit.’
‘She wasn’t the only one who lost something,’ said Ben. ‘That guy Rodriguez, the one who fell from the tower. His daughter was found dead in the creek without her ring. She wore her mother’s ring for so long that she couldn’t get it off. Someone cut off her finger.’
‘We’ve been over and over this, Ben,’ said Colette. ‘Please, let’s forget about it and try to enjoy ourselves.’
But nobody did.
The dark is good, Ben had said. It would have been more accurate to state that in all this searing light, the dark had become a necessity.
THE BLACK AND yellow-striped cement mixer churned. Six men alighted from the yellow construction truck and began unloading wooden battens. They were preparing to seal up the underpass.
Lea pulled the blue Renault over and watched for a while as the barriers slowly rose. Grabbing her laptop, she stepped out of the car and headed for a grass slope, preparing to make notes. She was about to sit down when she noticed a group of sullen-looking young Indian men standing on the embankment staring at her.
‘Hey missus, fuck you!’ called one of the youngest, a boy in a blue headscarf and vest. ‘You have no business here! Go back to your fucking house!’
The others stirred in agreement. A couple began shouting in Hindi. Another ran closer. ‘You got no business here! This is our territory! Go home, fucking rich woman!’
One of them stooped to pick up a rock.
It had been a mistake to come here. Lea took a step back and stumbled. Stupidly, she put out her right hand to break the fall, the one holding her laptop. As she landed on her knees, the computer cracked against the concrete kerb. A rock bounced on the grass beside her, then another. She groped around for the laptop as a lump of concrete passed her head.
A hand reached down to grab her arm. ‘I think you should get back inside your car.’ The man led the way and opened the door for her, running around to the passenger side as more rocks fell around them.
He picked up the laptop, which had come apart. The screen had split from corner to corner. ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t save it,’ he said, handing it back.
‘It was my fault,’ said Lea, ‘I should never have come here.’ She started to turn the car around.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked. The Indians were still shouting insults and hurling rocks.
‘I’m fine.’ She crunched the gears and reversed. ‘I didn’t mean to upset them. Can I give you a lift somewhere?’
‘Could you drop me off at the main gate? I came out in the truck with them. I can’t go back through the underpass, not when they’re like this.’
‘Thank you for your help,’ said Lea as they set off, ‘I’m Lea Brook, Roy’s wife.’ She held out her hand.
‘I know. Rashad Karmeel.’ When she looked back, he was still looking at her. He was a powerfully built man with thick tied-back hair, strikingly handsome. A strong face, she thought.
‘Why did they decide to go ahead with the closure after all? Was it because of the petition?’
Rashad shook his head. ‘No, I heard there was one but I don’t suppose anyone even looked at it. They’re building a new road further along. The barracks is going to be torn down. Our work will soon be at an end.’
‘You live there with the other workers?’
‘Of course. They’re my responsibility. I’m sorry they reacted so violently to your presence. There will be repercussions over this incident, I can assure you.’
‘Please no, I don’t want to make the situation worse.’
‘They just want to be left to do their jobs,’ said Rashad. ‘The men gather there because they have nowhere else to go.’
‘They never go into town? To the beach?’
‘They cannot afford to go into town. And they are not allowed on the beaches.’
‘I didn’t know that. I’m afraid I must appear very ignorant to you.’
‘No. You live in your world and I live in mine. They don’t touch each other.’
‘Well, I’m sorry for it. It isn’t the way things should be. People should not be divided by the colour of their skin.’
‘They are divided by money first, Mrs Brook.’
The Renault was approaching the main entrance to the compound. ‘You can drop me here,’ said Rashad. He turned and solemnly shook her hand once more. ‘I hope you will all feel much safer now, and I am sorry for your trouble.’
As he unfurled his powerful body from the car and strode away, she wondered how he could possibly have any sympathy for the white residents of Dream Ranches.