Such a Perfect Family, page 6
I’d found it all a bit too much, but I was also aware that my family dynamic wasn’t exactly a healthy one. And if it made Diya happy, I wasn’t about to stand in her way. “It was overwhelming for me,” I decided to admit, because one look at the profile of the Advani clan and Ackerson would know the truth anyway. “My family is the opposite. We all do our own thing.”
“All that togetherness must’ve made you nuts.”
“They weren’t obnoxious about it.” No forced invitations, no expectation that I’d come down to hang out each time Diya did. “And it was by the lake—when I needed a breather, I just went for a walk along the edge, or out on the jetty.”
I leaned my head back against the wall, staring up at the darkness beyond the atrium’s glass roof for a moment. “And I don’t want to give you the wrong impression about Diya—she went out with her girlfriends, too. Dinners, chick-flick dates, brunches, that kind of thing.”
I’d met three of her girlfriends at the engagement party. I only remembered the name of one—Carolyn something—and had been struck by the fact that I knew less than nothing about her and the two others; Diya didn’t tend to talk about them except to mention their names when she was planning to meet one or all three.
In my head, I’d filed them under the more-casual-friend category.
“Did Shumi Prasad often accompany your wife on these outings? You did say they were best friends.”
I frowned, flipped through the pages of memory. “I never thought about it, but no, she didn’t, especially not if it was at night. She’s devoted to Bobby.” I’d never once seen her go against him, even in the most playful argument. “Maybe she’s a bit more traditional in her thinking? The wife staying home with her husband kind of thing?”
I shrugged, because honestly, I was guessing. I hadn’t spent that much one-on-one time with the other woman. “She and Diya did things alone together, though—coffees, getting their nails done.” Perhaps Shumi found that acceptable because Diya was Bobby’s sister, and thus Shumi wasn’t stepping out on her commitment to Bobby and their marriage by spending time with her.
Ackerson’s expression shifted subtly, more tension to her jawline, more darkness in her eyes. “You have any other ideas of who we should be looking at? Given the stabbings, the likely accelerant-enhanced fire, and multiple victims in the bright light of day, it’s highly unlikely to be a random intruder.”
“Overkill,” I said, my throat dry. “That’s the word they use on the TV cop shows.”
“Yes, unfortunately that’s the correct description. Because while, at present, we have no way of knowing how the other victims died, we can extrapolate from what we know of Diya’s and Shumi’s wounds.”
…no way of knowing how the other victims died…
My stomach lurched, my mind creating horrific images of what the cops might find of my in-laws. Rajesh and Sarita had both been fit and toned—though Rajesh had started to develop a small belly despite his daily vigorous swims, and Sarita had been muttering about how the sari looked on her taut runner’s frame.
“I think I’ve put on some weight around the hips,” she’d said to Diya in my hearing. “I’ll have to change my running route, add in a few more hills.”
The fire had consumed that troublesome flesh, their bones the only pieces of them that remained.
Swallowing, I said, “From what I saw of how people came up to them when we were out in public together, my in-laws were trusted and good doctors.” One woman had cried in the ice-cream aisle of the supermarket while hugging my mother-in-law.
“They even won an award recently for the surgical forums they hold for trainee doctors in Fiji—that’s where they emigrated from. I think maybe they even offer a scholarship for one student a year from Fiji to train in New Zealand.”
Diya had been born in the tropical island nation, as had Bobby, though neither carried any trace of their parents’ unique accent.
“You didn’t mention your brother-in-law,” Ackerson prompted.
I pressed my lips together.
“No point protecting anyone now, Tavish. You need to tell me what you know.”
“Fuck.” I shoved a hand through my hair.
Chapter 10
Private notes: Detective Callum Baxter (LAPD)
Date: Dec 5
Time: 14:15
Virna Musgrave’s attorney is in the process of gathering details about the current value of her estate but was able to confirm a ballpark figure of “around fifteen to twenty million” as her net worth.
No legal paperwork exists for the alleged quarter-of-a-million-dollar transfer to Tavish Advani, and we haven’t yet gained access to Virna’s financial records. Interesting thing is that Advani isn’t exactly doing it hard, either, not from what we can see on the surface. We’ll need to dig deeper.
Time: 20:18
Forensic mechanic refuses to speculate on anything to do with the Musgrave vehicle, but he did admit that he’s already spotted signs of tampering.
Case is now a homicide in my books. Perez agrees.
Chapter 11
“Diya mentioned that her brother fired some employees recently,” I told Ackerson. “Bobby owns and runs that big electronics store in the center of town, has several more branches around the country.”
“Elektrik Ninja?”
“Yes. I don’t know the reason for the firings, but apparently the people he fired weren’t happy about it.” I folded my arms, suddenly cold. “They’re the only ones I can think of who might’ve had reason to be angry with any of the family. But it still doesn’t make sense that they’d come for all of them.”
Unless, of course, the Prasads had had a stake in their son’s company. Perhaps they’d even been silent investors. Given the family’s closeness, that would make sense.
“We’ll check that out. People have done worse things when driven by anger.”
My nape prickled, and I wondered if I was imagining the glint in her eye. It had to be my paranoia—no way she could’ve dug up any real information on me so fast. “So the fire was set on purpose?” I asked.
“That’s what it’s looking like.”
“And the explosion? Was that on purpose, too?”
“Fire investigator will work on finding an answer to that question, but it can be complicated—lot of things can set off an explosion.” Taking out her phone even though it hadn’t made a sound, she glanced at it. “One more question,” she said after putting it back in her pocket. “This might be me buying into the stereotype, but a lot of doctors end up with doctor kids. Why not here?”
I gave a hollow laugh. “I actually asked Diya that, because you’re right—especially in South Asian immigrant families. If not a doctor, then at least a lawyer or an engineer.” My family had been different, only one son set up for success—and in a field most immigrant families would never countenance.
But then, the Advani family had never toed any line when it came to tradition. Sometimes I’d wondered if that was why I felt so rootless, so divorced from life. Then I’d met Diya and understood that I’d been searching for her. She was my roots, was the solid earth under my feet.
“Diya told me that Bobby was determined to make his own way—and he was really good at mechanical-type things from childhood. She said there was tension when he was younger, but it evaporated once his parents saw how good he was at what he’d chosen.”
As for me, I’m the baby of the family. No one ever pushed me too hard.
The words had been playful, her eyes gleeful.
I hadn’t found the little brown bottles back then. And we still hadn’t talked about it. Now I told Ackerson the gist of what Diya had said. Let her believe my wife was just spoiled; better that than she start digging into the private pain that tormented the woman I adored.
“Where can I find you if I need to talk to you?” the detective said in response.
“Probably here.” I gave her my cell number and had the thought that I’d have to buy a charger—the battery would be flat by tomorrow.
“I probably don’t have to tell you this, but the house is off-limits,” Ackerson said after inputting my number into her phone. “There’s nothing there you can salvage anyway.”
Pain shot through my jaw as I remembered Diya’s dad watering his prized lawn, her mum pointing out the designer wallpaper mural she’d had hung on one wall of the lounge as a feature. They’d been so proud of that house, of building something so beautiful after coming to New Zealand as doctors from a small island nation whose qualifications weren’t automatically recognized.
They’d worked hard to gain the right to practice here.
“What about the cars? Can I get access to one of them?” They were likely damaged from shrapnel sent out by the explosion, or just from proximity to the heat, but hopefully at least one was still in working order.
“The entire property is off-limits for the time being. If you need funds, I can get—”
“No, I have my cards on me.” Diya had bought me my sleek black wallet as a gift, even had it monogrammed with my initials in a muted bronze that suited me far better than gold or silver. “When…when will you know anything?”
“It’s a big scene, a lot to process. It’s going to be a while.” She passed a slightly crumpled card to me. “My contact information.”
After accepting it, I thought of what Diya would want me to do. “The funerals?” My mouth was dry, my hands a second away from trembling. I had no idea how to organize one funeral, much less two and possibly three.
“Don’t plan anything yet. There’s no guarantee when the remains will be released.”
Remains, not bodies.
I just nodded, grateful that Shumi’s parents were flying over. They’d know what to do for the Prasads, the rituals that were to be followed. My in-laws hadn’t been heavily religious, but I’d seen a small prayer alcove in the house, caught the distinctive scent of incense two or three mornings a week.
Their faith had mattered to them.
“Wishing your wife and your sister-in-law a fast recovery,” Ackerson said, the rote words sounding rehearsed and stiff.
I thanked her regardless, because right now, she was my only way into the investigation.
She paused before leaving. “Keep me informed of your movements, Tavish. I don’t want to waste time chasing you down.”
My pulse accelerated at what had sounded very much like a subtle threat, but, well-versed in dealing with cops, I just nodded again and stood slumped against the wall for long minutes after she’d left. It was clear that Ackerson considered me a suspect. She didn’t need to have any information from the LA cops.
All it would’ve taken was a simple online search.
The name Tavish Advani had been splashed all over the news and gossip sites three and a half years ago, when Jocelyn fell from her luxury apartment on the ninth floor, her body a shattered doll on the pavement.
Jocelyn Wai’s Boy Toy Lover Taken in for Questioning!
Did She Fall or Was She PUSHED?
Model, Philanthropist, Socialite…Murder Victim?
Accusations and insinuations like that tended to stick. Especially after they’d been raked up again in the wake of Virna’s accident.
If I didn’t get my head on straight, figure things out, Ackerson might railroad me right back into a nightmare I’d barely escaped. One of the first things I planned to do was call my father and ask him for the contact of a good local criminal defense attorney. Just in case.
“Mr. Advani?”
I jerked at the sound of the nurse’s voice; it was the same nurse who’d found an answer for me when I’d asked if Diya was still in surgery. That he’d tracked me down outside the ward had my heart thumping.
“Is my wife out of surgery?”
“Yes.” He held up a hand when I would’ve rushed past. “But you have to be prepared—she’s in a critical state.”
“I understand.” Happy to get even a glimpse of Diya, I followed the nurse upstairs. The woman with the unread book was gone from the waiting area, but the couple was still there; they offered me small, tired smiles when I passed by—and I realized they must’ve told the nurse I’d gone downstairs with the police.
“Thank you,” I mouthed to them before we turned left to close the short distance to the ICU.
It was easy to find my wife once I was through the doors; the three patient beds I could see were placed in a generous space directly in front of the nurses’ station—from where the staff could keep a constant eye on them and intervene at a second’s notice. However, that was the secondary level of care—the first would come, I saw, from the nurses seated at the small stations directly in front of the beds.
One nurse to one patient.
The seats and desks for the assigned nurses were higher than the beds, so they could easily monitor their patients.
Each bed also had a curtain that could be pulled fully around it for privacy—as long as the nurses never lost their line of sight.
Only Diya’s curtains were pushed all the way back right now.
And Diya, my Diya, looked so small and pale, far too many lines going out of her, far too many machines surrounding her. The intricate mehndi of which she’d been so proud stood out stark and dark, almost as if it was hovering above her skin…but for the spots marred by white strips of plaster to hold various lines in place.
Heavier wound dressings covered the side of her neck and the skin by her collarbone on the other side; no part of her body visible above the blanket was free of the evidence of violence. There was even a large, square dressing on the side of her skull.
I hadn’t realized she’d been stabbed there, there’d been so much blood everywhere. Her hair must’ve been matted to the wound. I wondered if the doctors or nurses had had to shave off a patch to check the wound.
Diya would no doubt scrunch up her face when she woke and realized. Then she’d laugh and shrug and probably go hunting for a vintage hair clip to help cover up the spot while her skin and hair recovered.
“Baby, I’m here.” I gently touched her foot through the blanket.
“I can arrange something for you if you want to stay here,” the nurse who’d brought me in said a few minutes later, “but I suggest you go home and get a few hours of proper sleep. You can talk to the surgeon tomorrow—she had to respond to another patient or she’d be here now. I can tell you that your wife’s been placed into a medically induced coma due to…”
I wasn’t listening, my focus on the rise and fall of Diya’s chest, the butterfly beat of her pulse against her skin. She was alive. The woman I loved with all my heart and soul, the woman I’d watched put out seeds for baby birds every spring morning, the woman who’d danced with me in the glitter and glamour of Vegas, was alive.
I wanted to stay with her all night, just watch her breathe, but I knew the nurse was right. I had to start thinking, had to start trying to figure out what had gone so horribly wrong. Not just for Diya, but because right now, I was the perfect gift-wrapped suspect in the multiple murders and attempted murders of the Prasad family.
Sweat broke out over my back, my tongue feeling too fat in my mouth.
Because this time, I was innocent.
Chapter 12
Private notes: Detective Callum Baxter (LAPD)
Date: Dec 11
Time: 10:17
Interview with Tavish Advani. Full record in official file.
Good-looking, articulate, highly intelligent. Cooperated fully, admitted that Virna had given him a monetary “gift” in the range of a quarter of a million, and appeared embarrassed when I pointed out the client-adviser relationship he’d had with Virna.
“I screwed up,” he said. “We became friends, and when she offered, I was in a tight spot. She told me it was loose change to her. I still should have said no, but she was so insistent that I allow her to help me.”
Not sure what I think of him, but I can see why Virna was charmed. He’s barely a couple of months past twenty-six, but he knows how to talk and say exactly the right words. None of that bullshit young asshole stuff—man is smart and smooth. Big difference between running a love con on a rich and vulnerable older lady and murder, though.
Perez says it’s a slippery slope. He’s definitely got Advani as his number one suspect.
Especially since unconfirmed rumor is that Advani was fired from his job a couple of days ago after Jason Musgrave kicked up a stink at Advani’s old investment firm. That job came with a serious six-figure pay packet—which leaves us the question of why Advani was in a tight spot in the first place.
Man should’ve been swimming in money.
Chapter 13
Aleki had left a duffel bag for me with someone he knew at the hospital, and shot me a text: Hey man, they said you were up in the ICU and I wasn’t sure if I could get in. My auntie JJ has your stuff with her at the nurse’s station in Maternity. Call me if you need anything—I mean it.
His aunt proved to be a matronly Samoan woman who gave me a silent pat on the hand when she handed over the battered duffel bag. Aleki hadn’t just gotten me the T-shirts I’d asked for; he’d bought me a toothbrush, toothpaste, even a razor and some soap, along with a set of sweatpants, a hoodie, and a box of protein bars.
I couldn’t think of anyone in LA who’d have done this for me, who’d have been so thoughtful about it. And my family was based in the city.
The people I’d called friends…they’d gotten the gloss and shine of Tavish Advani, investment adviser and child of A-lister Audrey Advani. None of them knew me. Several had, however, picked up the phone when the Musgrave case hit the headlines.
