THIRTY TWO
NIGEL RETURNED to his suite, flopped down on the sofa and picked up the phone. He dialled 9 and called home. "Sorry I didn't call sooner. I woke up this morning in hospital next to Stan."
"How's Michael?"
"He's hanging in."
"How are you?"
"I feel fine. It was just an anxiety attack."
"When are you coming home?"
"When Mike is out. I knew I couldn't rely on Stan."
"What was Michael doing sketching prostitutes?"
"It's his art. I've never seen him sketch so well."
"I really hope it's all worth it."
Nigel glanced around the suite. "Hang on hon."
"You okay?"
"Something is missing. I'll call you back."
Nigel hung up, rose, checked the safe then looked around the room. He rushed out of the suite, found a maid and started questioning her. She didn't understand a word. He gave up, took the lift to the lobby and rushed over to the receptionist.
"I need to see all the maids from my floor."
A senior-looking staff member stepped over. "Can I help you?"
"An important document has been taken from my room. I left it on my desk."
"Your room number, please?" "Suite 1918."
"One moment, sah."
Nigel took out his phone and speed-dialled Pang.