Chapter 61
“I went to Fiji,” I confessed to Diya at five the next morning, the staff having allowed me to sneak in because Diya was wide-awake when I called the ICU to check on her status. I needed to buy her a phone so she could contact me when she wanted, would do so as soon as the shops opened today.
“You did?” No sedative today, her eyes going wide as she sat up in bed sipping at the hot coffee I’d grabbed for her from a drive-through. “Why?”
“You said Ani’s name when I found you.” I put one hand on her leg, above the blanket. “I was just looking for an answer, any answer, I guess.”
Her face fell. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about her.” Looking away, she bit down on her lower lip. “I don’t feel good when I think about Ani.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” I squeezed her leg. “I didn’t go to the beach, though—I thought we could go together, and you could show me around like you promised.”
She turned back to face me, the hollows in her cheeks too prominent, as were the shadows under her eyes. “Ani died.” A wet shine to her eyes. “We were playing and she fell and she died.”
It made sense to me that her family had reshaped things that way for the five-year-old she’d been, turning a murder into an accidental tragedy.
So she wouldn’t ever give away what they believed she’d done, tell others of the stain of blood they’d put on her.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said, because I thought she needed to hear it. “You know that, right?”
A jagged nod. “But after Ani, they became so suffocating. Always watching, always calling if I was even a minute late home from school. I couldn’t just hang out with friends, could barely even make them.” Tears rolled down her face. “Bobby used to follow me on dates sometimes!”
I frowned. “He followed you?”
“He said he wanted to be close by in case anything happened and I got scared and needed an out, but it just made me feel like I couldn’t breathe. I used to get so mad at them for it.” She began to cry in earnest. “And now they’re all gone, Tavi. My brother, Mum and Dad, they’re gone.”
Gathering her into my arms after managing to put her coffee on the table before she spilled it, I just held her while she sobbed for her lost family…sobbed so long and hard that the nurses got worried and called Chen, who’d been about to head home after a night shift.
He gave her something to calm her, and I sat with her until she closed her eyes once more in sleep, her wounded body needing rest to heal.
“Tavish.” Chen appeared at the end of the bed. “Can we talk?”
“I thought you’d gone home after seeing Diya, Dr. Chen,” I said when I joined him in the hallway.
His bony face tired, he said, “I wanted to talk to you about this first—I’ve had a look at your wife’s records. She’s been treated for mental health issues since she was a teenager, including severe depression.”
Scowling, I set my feet apart as I folded my arms across my chest. “Sure, but you can’t blame her for her current state. This is not a normal situation.”
“No, that’s not what I meant—I want us to be proactive here, treat her mind as we’re treating her body. I’m going to arrange for a mental health practitioner to come speak to her.”
Unable to forget how she’d cried and cried, powerless to stop, I knew the doctor was right—she needed to talk to a professional.
“Look, I have a feeling her parents pressured her into getting medicated, so whoever you find, make sure it’s not someone who’s going to push drugs on her. She won’t be receptive. Not now.”
“I’ll talk to them myself to drive home the fact that it’s to be a therapeutic conversation only.”
“Thanks.” Unfolding my arms, I pushed my hand through my hair. “My sister-in-law, Shumi? She’s still not conscious?”
He shook his head. “It’s worrying since she appeared to be waking, but with the near drowning…it’s difficult to judge her true status. We have to wait and see.”
—
The day passed as slow as molasses. Diya slept for large portions of it, while I kept her company and went for occasional walks around the hospital.
My wife was to be moved out of the ICU the following day, her status stable enough that she no longer needed the same level of care, but Shumi would remain for the time being.
Ackerson came in at around two to interview Diya and had to deal with me there because Diya wouldn’t let go of my hand. As it was, she didn’t remember anything more than that there’d been a fire, and that she’d been afraid.
The detective attempted to nudge her memory using various methods, to no avail. She finally gave up when Diya said she was tired and needed to sleep.
I wasn’t surprised when Ackerson asked me to step into the outside hallway with her.
“Ngata,” I said the second we were alone. “Seriously, if you want to talk to me, wait till I can get my lawyer here.” I just wanted to be with my wife, not answering questions I’d already answered ten times over.
“It’s not about you.” Ackerson’s mouth was tight. “Were you aware that your father-in-law wouldn’t permit your wife to move out, even after she reached adulthood? That it wasn’t strictly her choice to remain at the Lake Tarawera property?”
Another truth Diya hadn’t yet shared with me, our relationship too new, the two of us yet learning each other.
“No, but honestly, that’s not unheard-of with some Indian fathers,” I said with a shrug.
“And how could he stop her anyway? Yeah, he could turn on the parental guilt, but she runs her own business, has her own income.”
She tapped her pen against the notebook she’d pulled out when talking to Diya.
“That business is barely breaking even. Most weeks, she can’t cover even her most basic expenses.
Her parents funded her entire life—and used that money like a leash.
They threatened to cut her off if she tried to move out. ”
A storm of nothingness in my head, a buzz. “Don’t you dare try to pin this on her. Even if they were controlling her before, she has me now. We were actively looking for a rental place of our own, and regardless of what you might think of my prospects, Detective, I can support both of us.”
Hands on her hips, she tapped her foot. “So you don’t know anything about the threat of financial disownment?”
“No—and even if they said that during a fight, they’d never have gone through with it. She was too precious to them.” Never would Rajesh and Sarita have allowed their daughter to stumble through life without a safety net. “Who told you that nonsense?”
“A reliable source.”
“Fuck that. My wife’s best friend is currently in the next unit over, and her family is dead. And Diya’s not the kind to blab family business to just anyone. Whoever told you is shit-stirring.”
I could see her struggling to decide something. Finally, she said, “Do you know Kalindra Renata?”
“Diya’s old school friend?” I snorted. “She wasn’t even at our engagement party. If she’s passing on that so-called threat, it must’ve been from back when Diya was a teenager.”
A deep furrow between her eyebrows. “Ms. Renata says she and Diya talk every week on the phone for at least an hour, and have since Diya returned from the States and reinitiated contact. She wasn’t at the party because Sarita and Rajesh Prasad didn’t like her.
She got caught smoking in high school, was suspended. ”
“I’m calling bullshit on long heart-to-heart calls,” I said, because protecting Diya was a primal compulsion—but the truth was that I had no way to know for sure.
We hadn’t been attached at the hip. She’d gone out for hours at a time to talk to suppliers, check venues, all the things an event planner needed to do.
“Even if there was some threat,” I added, my face hot, “I hope you’re not implying Diya murdered her family because of it. She was stabbed, and those weren’t self-inflicted wounds.”
“I’m just trying to get my finger on the intricacies of the family.
” Ackerson showed no signs of backing down.
“It’s difficult. The parents don’t seem to have been close to anyone—friendly, yes, well-liked and respected professionals, but so far, I haven’t managed to unearth a single deep friendship.
“My Indo-Fijian colleagues tell me that’s unusual in their community, where even unrelated people can become family over time—especially so when we’re talking new immigrants. The Prasads seem to have made no attempt to forge connections within that tight-knit group.”
I knew she was right. It was why Los Angeles had a Koreatown and Little Armenia among other neighborhoods.
Because people sought the comfort of the familiar, others who could make a new land feel like home.
It had been years before I’d realized that the man my paternal grandfather called his brother was no blood relation whatsoever; the two had just met on their first day in America and become fast friends.
“Maybe they were just snobs,” I suggested, though I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach that this was about hiding a single terrible family secret.
Ani.
A secret so damaging that the family had become a closed bunker.
“They invited plenty of doctors and other professionals to the engagement party.”
“But they didn’t talk to any of those professionals,” Ackerson insisted.
“Even Dr. Rajesh Prasad’s closest colleague—one of the two other partners at the firm—could tell me nothing about his so-called friend that wasn’t public knowledge.
Said he always felt as if he was being held at arm’s length.
The Kumars, too, are in the dark about the family’s internal dynamics. ”