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Back The Dead Line Save as PDF
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. By the Same Author
  3. Dedication Page
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. Acknowledgements
  86. Also Available by Holly Watt
  87. The Hunt and the Kill

‘Teffy.’ Casey and Hessa were back in the Cox’s Bazar hotel room with Ed. ‘What the hell does that mean?’

They had run variants of the word through every search engine, every database they could think of. Nothing showed up.

‘We’re running out of time,’ Casey said despairingly.

Raz had called, voice unctuous. ‘Miss Emily, not long to wait now. Are you enjoying beautiful Cox’s Bazar?’

‘It’s delightful,’ Casey lied. ‘The beach is beautiful.’

And there was a despairing message from Emily herself. ‘Is there any news, Casey? Anything at all? I don’t think I can bear it, Casey. Please.’

Casey deleted Emily’s message and turned back to her laptop. Teffy. Teffy.

Hessa glanced up at her, eyes worried. ‘What if we can’t work it out?’

39

39

As the day sprawled towards night, Hessa and Casey went for a short walk out along the beach, enjoying the breeze off the sea. One of the hotels, even seedier than the rest, had a neon pink sign hanging over the door. Men slipped in and out of the door.

The town’s brothel, Casey thought. There was always one, at least, in most cities in this country. Bangladesh was unusual, among Muslim countries, in permitting prostitution.

‘I remember’ – Hessa waved at the pink neon – ‘my cousin telling me about Daulatdia, when I was about eleven.’

Children giggling in a corner. Have you heard? Have you heard? Showing off, in a whisper. And then the round eyes. And the shock. No. No. No.

‘Daulatdia?’

‘It’s a vast place, Daulatdia,’ Hessa went on, a sudden anger in her eyes. ‘Just to the west of Dhaka. They think almost two thousand women work there. It’s basically its own town, with shops and streets and everything. Children are born in Daulatdia, with no idea who . . . And then they grow up there, and they spend the whole of their lives there. And, one fine day, those little girls, they go into the business too.’

‘Grim,’ said Casey.

The Bay of Bengal looked blue in the distance, but lapped brown against the sand. The neon was glowing brighter as the evening closed in.

‘I read up about Daulatdia properly a few years ago,’ Hessa went on. ‘When I first started working at the Post. The average age of a girl arriving in Daulatdia is fourteen. Some of them are only ten years old when they start working.’

Casey sat down, kicked her heels into the sand.

‘It’s hideous, everywhere.’