Who is Anisa Haque?

Chapter 25 - Tug O' War

'So that's what you've been doing since I've been gone?'

My shrill voice startled him and he sprang up to his feet, knocking over a bottle of Voss water with his wobbly knees.

'You should knock-'

'Before entering my very own crime scene?' I smiled wickedly. 'Never! Now explain to me why you are watching,' I glanced at the curved screen with a two person panel and a text column to the right. 'Bloomberg TV instead of doing what I asked you to do?'

'I've finished,' he replied humbly, handing me back my DocuScanner.

'And the hospitals?

'Finished them too,' he handed me the ream of about 30 something pieces of paper that now had his pencil marks all over them.

'All checked. No familiar names. I even scanned Ihsan's photos too to save time,' he added mighty proud of himself.

I flicked through the sheets roughly, furrowing my brows. 'Well then,' I sighed, dropping my bag on the leather seat and wondering how such a clueless person could be so efficient and thoughtful. Do they teach them that in billionaire school? 'I just hope you didn't get anyone to help out, remember what I told you about keeping evidence contained?'

He nodded. 'I remember and I didn't.'

I sank into the empty leather recliner to catch my breath.

With Khalifa not being with me this time, I couldn't use the VIP lift. I had to climb up 4 flights of that clear spiral staircase I'd been dreading all day. Way too much exercise, if you ask me. I pinched my tender calves firmly to check for muscle hypertrophy. Nothing? Even after all that exercise?

He looked at me strangely, clearly judging me for being unfit. 'Perhaps I should get you a barrel of water?'

'I know where to get water,' I eyed him back as I walked towards the kitchenette area of the loft where a pastel peppermint coloured Smeg fridge was located.

At first I thought it would be stealing to drink water from a client's fridge but I was so breathless, what if my heart stopped pumping?

I'll just replace it later, I resolved.

The water that is, not my heart.

'I wish I could replace my heart,' my mind wandered. I'd pick a durable, unbreakable plastic one that's incapable of fear and anxiety.

And maybe an on/off switch? So my brain can shut it down when it's thinking of doing stupid things like falling in love or taking on hopeless cases because it feels sorry for the clients. Wouldn't that be splendid?

The first thing that popped at me as I swung the fridge door open were medicines - lots of them! Lots and lots! So many meds that I barely noticed the drinks, water and a variety of chocolates that managed a tiny corner of the fridge.

'Which one of them is asthmatic? I yelled across the room, holding vials upon vials of salbutamol nebules.

'Ihsan,' he replied, uninterested.

'Why does she need so much medication? Isn't her asthma under control?'

He ignored, his attention inseverable from the boring financial program he was watching.

I had to walk over and turn off the TV before he flinched.

'Hey!' He came at me.'What was that for?'

'Focus on the case!'

'But you haven't started, you're just getting water,'

'And there I found a clue, medicines!'