Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
“I’ve only just met him,” I said, thinking of how Mrs. Kumar had called him back to the motel room. “He seems okay on the surface.”
Kamal’s lip curled. “I pity the woman who becomes his wife. Ajay will always do what mummy says—she made him that way.” The rocking increased. “I wasn’t home that day, was at the station house by the koro. You would’ve passed it on the way here.”
I remembered the small blue-and-white building across from the village where I’d seen the boy running for his ball, nodded.
“It was Sarita who called me. She was at home after a night shift at the little clinic they used to run, having a sleep while her mother- and father-in-law looked after the children. Rajesh was on day shift.”
“They all lived together?”
“Yes.” Picking up the cigarette packet on the table, he slid out another slender tube, put it to his lips, but didn’t light it. “Shumi came running home, said Ani was hurt, so of course Sarita’s in-laws woke her. She was a doctor. But there was nothing anyone could do—baby Ani was dead.”
Diya must’ve been so scared and confused, I thought. “What happened?”
“In the report, I wrote that she fell against a rock while playing, smashed her head.” He lit the cigarette now, cupping his hands around it with the ease of a longtime smoker. “Big crack in the head.” A shake of the hand to douse the match, the first puff of new smoke. “Her lips were blue by the time I got there.”
The visceral sensory memory of backroom poker games pushed aside the echo of Susanne enjoying her last cigarette. The nicotine had been so thick in the air at some of those games that it had been a visible cloud—but I’d never indulged. One self-destructive addiction was more than enough. “But you don’t think it was an accident.”
“It wasn’t.” Flat words. “There was another rock nearby. Blood and hair on it. The Prasads were a good family, Sarita a dedicated young mother. And what use was there in punishing a child for being angry for a moment?” Another puff, while my mind tumbled. “The Prasads did good thing after good thing for the locals. And they’d suffered so much already. No reason to ruin their name.”
So this small-town cop had covered up the murder of a child. Even knowing the consequences of his choice, I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t have done exactly the same. “How did you…”
A shrug. “It wasn’t hard. I was the senior policeman, and it was believable. No morgue here, so we had to drive her to Labasa and the doctor there knew me since I was a young officer, accepted what I said. Terrible accident.”
“Weren’t you afraid he’d do it again?” It took all my strength to keep my voice even. “Kill someone else?”
“He?” Taking out his cigarette, Kamal stared at me. “It wasn’t the boy. Little Diya got jealous of her cousin-sister being gifted a new doll and hit her. She was so small herself, had no idea what she was doing.” He sighed. “She was standing there with the doll in her hands when I got there, her dress all splattered with blood. Yellow hair and blue eyes, I remember that doll had yellow hair and blue eyes.”
Chapter 32
Susanne
Nothing tasted right anymore, not even the ginger drinks Tavish made her with such care. Susanne sipped this one nonetheless, unwilling to hurt his feelings.
“You’re in pain.” He tucked another pillow behind her. “How bad is it?”
Sighing, she put the drink on the bedside table. “It feels as if my spine is crumbling inside me.” She hadn’t been to the oncologist again, already knew what he was going to tell her—the cancer had spread, likely to her bones. “Be a sweetheart and open up the curtains a bit more.”
Tavish moved to do as she’d requested, Singapore a spread of glittering buildings and water on the other side. “You should see Dr. Chua,” he said when he turned back to face her. “This is moving too fast. He said you’d have longer.”
Oh, but he was having a hard time handling her mortality. “It’s too late now, Tavish,” she said gently, and patted the spot beside her on the bed. “I can feel the disease eating at me in greedy bites.”
He came, picked up the drink. “Have a little more,” he coaxed. “You’re losing so much weight—I tried to bulk this up with protein powder and honey.”
Susanne took another sip to please him but couldn’t stomach the taste. Nudging it away, she said, “I’d have had maybe a twenty-five percent chance of beating this if I’d started aggressive treatment straightaway, but I chose another path, and unfortunately, I gambled wrong.”
It wasn’t that she hadn’t had some good time after the diagnosis, just that the time had been too short, the end of her life a sharp and jagged descent rather than a gradual slope. Now the only thing left to discuss was how she would spend her final days.