Chapter 20

‘Joko has nothing,’ announced Rio. ‘No phone calls, no messages, no computer use. Mr Wally Flannagan has disappeared without a trace.’

‘What about the Facebook access?’ asked Bagus.

‘If someone else got to him, if they took his phone, they might have opened the app on his phone. In his confusion before something happened to him, he might have even opened the app on his phone himself. Without any actual activity from him, a post or comment, there’s no proof the access was intentional.’

‘So you think someone else grabbed him?’

‘Whoever found him has got their money’s worth and disposed of the old fool. What do you think?’

Bagus was shaking his head. ‘There’s something missing, some information or source we have overlooked. I’ve been racking my brain, and an idea popped into my head while you were on the phone. Leon’s courier, the one who found the sucker who spoke English, then later joined us in first class. We should check him out. You never know, he might remember something about the man chosen to pass messages between Leon and the conductor.’

Rio stared out the window as if ignoring him.

‘Have you spoken to Leon since?’ Bagus asked.

More silence, broken by a brisk reply that made Bagus jump.

‘Yes, yes, that young courier, the messenger, the conductor. Follow up with them. Well done, Bagus. Let’s call Leon, see how he is, if he remembers anything else.’

They put him on speaker, but Rio, disgusted, could barely tolerate listening to the injured man. The hospital drugs must have made Leon forgetful, because he offered Bagus a different version of what had happened. On the other end of the line, of course, he couldn’t see Rio and Bagus raising their eyebrows then lifting their hands in exasperation. They knew he was lying, and Bagus said as much. Realising his mistake, Leon attempted to account for it, blaming his head wounds and claiming that he couldn’t remember earlier.

‘Then why make it up?’ Rio screamed.

Bagus hung up. Rio drew a finger across his neck, and his lieutenant nodded.

Next, they contacted Leon’s cousin. Leon had already provided Bagus with the family’s telephone number. They ran a water-carting business, which benefited from the injections of cash brought home by their favoured son after he had helped his Uncle Leon. They all understood the conditions, to say nothing. Their son was always keen to help. The money gave him prestige in the eyes of his family. In fact, the ‘courier’ was little more than a dogsbody in Rio’s scheme, his part simple:

First, find a sucker who speaks English.

Second, take him to the conductor … and move onto Bagus and the doctor in First Class and tell them, all good.

Third, do whatever Bagus and the doctor ask. But usually, just sit, until it is time to return to Leon.

Rio rang, but the young courier could not offer any clues as to who the English-speaking messenger was. He couldn’t remember anything that would help them find this one man among millions. He then mentioned the trouble he had got into at Jakarta when he arrived at the station without a ticket.

‘But then I was let off. I don’t know why.’

‘No trouble,’ said Rio, and hung up. He had friends in high places …

Rio and Bagus frowned at each other. Their legitimate work, their other criminal work, both required their attention, but they had none to give. The loss of Mr Wally Flannagan was all-consuming.

‘Go back to Bandung,’ Rio said. ‘Contact Azka.’

‘Probably our last hope.’

‘Don’t underestimate Hanif.’

‘If nothing else, Azka has a keen eye and brilliant memory. He’s more likely to remember something we can use than that water courier. But if I was a betting man, I wouldn’t put money on a result. But leave it to me. I’ll visit the station, have a talk with his manager. Hope I don’t have to visit him. His home and that suburb are complete dumps, filthy, they have no standards, those dogs.’

Bagus arrived again at Bandung Station later that afternoon. He parked in the spot reserved for the station manager; the man rode a scooter and didn’t need it. Mr Gupta welcomed him into his office, then, after a short chat, walked out to the platform. Perfect timing: Azka’s train was due any minute. Perhaps Bagus’s luck was changing. Azka always reported to Mr Gupta before knocking off, but his duties before that visit often took some time. This time, the manager would direct Azka straight to the office — and Bagus.

The two sat alone in the station manager’s office. Bagus smoked and Azka looked at the floor. Bagus wasn’t interested in chitchat.

‘You know about the incident on the train? Leon and his cousin got on. What followed afterwards?’

Azka nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, Mr Bagus, sir.’ Gentle soul, he believed Bagus was speaking of the young boy who had held the overhead box. The terrified young boy whom Leon had kicked in the stomach and threatened. Such an appalling incident … ‘Yes, it was bad, so bad, I am not fully clear, but it was bad.’

‘Well, doesn’t matter what you have heard, or how many stories are going around. We just need some help. That young man who came to you along with Leon’s courier and handed over the note and then went back to Leon. Could you describe him? Was there something about him that might help us identify him? We believe he could have seen Leon being beaten up, or heard the argument. Afterwards, did he come back? Or did someone else talk to you? It must have created a lot of interest. Even the White Suit being thrown off the train must have created quite the stir.’

Azka lowered his head towards the floor and scratched his head.

‘Take your time,’ said Bagus. ‘The smallest detail may help. Anything?’

In truth, Azka had heard some gossip about Leon, about the White Suit, but he hadn’t listened. His whole life, centred as it was on the life of his daughter, hung in the balance. He had obeyed his instructions to the letter and in the spirit they were intended. Remember, there will be no need to check on Leon or the White Suit. Do not make enquiries or ask questions. Ignore any comments or reports the odd passenger may pass on about the White Suit. He had avoided knowing anything that he shouldn’t. Bagus’s plans — outside what he had shared — were not Azka’s to know. What was he talking about now? Leon beaten up? The White Suit thrown from the train?

Leon will send two people to contact you. One, Leon’s courier, you will recognise. The other will be a temporary helper, collected from the carriage. Then, as arranged, the temporary man will send you a signal via a note. After contacting you, the temporary courier will return to Leon with the card you hand over.

Azka’s mind was in overdrive. He remembered the petrified look on the face of the helper when he’d handed over the note. He remembered the logo on his shirt — the Seasons Hotel. And the man’s name tag — Diyab. Azka would never forget that moment, his hand on the man’s shoulder, the words he had thought but could not say, ‘Take care …’

Bagus crossed his legs, took a drag on his cigarette, kept his eyes on Azka. It wouldn’t do to keep this man waiting.

‘I am sorry,’ said Azka. ‘I remember nothing. He was a man. Average. Undistinguished. He handed over the note. I gave him the card that I had been given. He returned to Leon without trouble.’

Bagus stubbed out the cigarette.

‘So. I half-expected you to say that. Our Mr Wally Flannagan has disappeared without trace. Your station manager has assured me that nothing has been reported to him beyond what we already know. It is good to share what you know, because we have many ways of finding out what you think we may never know.’ He met Azka’s eyes and held them. ‘I best move on.’

Azka stood, forced a smile at Bagus as he left, then followed him out the door and waited for his time with the station manager.

His pay was most welcome, but Mr Gupta desired him to tarry. Just as Bagus had spoken of ‘the incident on the train’, Mr Gupta spoke of the assault and disappearance as if Azka were in the know and up to date. He thanked him for his cooperation. Their talk ran to nothing and eventually he let Azka go home.