Burning Bright

Chapter 1

‘Kate? Kate!’                            

‘In here!’ I called from the stationery cupboard. I emerged to see the Colonel waving a Post-It note in my direction. Colonel Sanders, and no, I couldn’t keep a straight face when I thought of it, so he was always known as The Colonel and woe betide anyone who mentioned fried chicken in his hearing. He was the Ambassador, I was a mere minion in the consulate. Or Consular Officer, according to my business card.

‘One in the clink. Apparently a minor celebrity.’ He crunched on a ginger nut and then said a name rather indistinctly.

‘Did you say Ian McKellen?’ I asked with some surprise. ‘Sir Ian McKellen?’

He glanced at the bit of paper again. ‘No. Ian Macken.’

‘Oh. Never heard of him.’

‘I said he was minor. Can you get down to Grant Road nick, or whatever it’s called these days.’ The Colonel had a few issues in remembering the new, or rather, old names for the roads since India had decided to reclaim its heritage from the British, and still referred to them by their English names. As did the majority of the locals.

‘Any idea what he’s in for?’

‘Not sure. Telephone message was a bit garbled.’

‘OK, I’ll go and find out.’

I wasn’t surprised I’d been tasked with this. The Colonel was due to go on his mid-tour leave the following day and wouldn’t want to be tied up with what was probably a standard consular case. I grabbed my “Prison Pack”, checked the contents, and phoned for the driver. I did have my own car here, but preferred to take the official Land Rover and driver when making these visits, which were far too frequent for my liking. I suspected drugs in this case, as that’s what it usually was. Hopefully only possession of a minor amount which could be fairly easily rectified, providing this Ian had some money, or access to it. Drugs or theft, or one because of the other, that’s what I normally had to deal with.

As Kunil hooted his arrival, I picked up some bottles of mineral water and fruit and climbed into the passenger seat of the Land Rover.

‘Grant Road Police Station, please, Kunil.’

‘Yes Miss,’ and we drove carefully out of the compound and Kunil tried to avoid the biggest pot holes on the way out of the city.

It took nearly an hour to get there along the bumpy tarmac roads and then the bumpy rutted untarmaced ones. Grant Road was more of a village than an actual road. I’d only been here a couple of times as most of the police stations I had cause to visit were at the coast rather than inland like this one, but it boasted two cells and a reasonable Custody Officer. Who was waiting outside for me.

‘Miss Curran,’ he said, and gave a formal bow. ‘The prisoner is in here. He has been treated well. You would like to see him first?’

‘Thank you, Abdul. Yes, I would. What’s he done?’

‘Very serious crime, Miss Curran.’

‘I’m sure it is, Abdul.’ It always was.

I followed the Custody Sergeant into the building which wasn’t blessed with air conditioning. Already I could feel sweat forming between my shoulder blades. He indicated me down to the further of the two cells and stepped away.

The man was lying on his back in just a pair of khaki trousers, his T-shirt balled up under his head as a pillow almost hidden by his wavy dark hair. Despite no sign of headphones, he was clearly in a world of his own as he was drumming out a rhythm on his tanned rib cage with his fingers.