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’m guessing she got back in touch?”
“Yes.” A beaming smile. “She’s nowhere near ready to go back to work, but she said she’s been looking at our past plans again, and she’s still excited about the idea. So fingers crossed.” She’d held up the crossed digits. “Honestly, I’m just happy to hear from her. I’ve missed her.”
Taking out my phone, I began to search for a serious mugging in Rotorua in April, throwing in the words “event planner” as part of the search.
There.
Emblazoned across the local newspaper were the words
No Suspects in Brutal Kuirau Park Assault
The resulting article named the victim as Violet Long, a thirty-year-old event planner who was starting to become well-known for her wedding work and who’d even been in the running for the well-publicized upcoming wedding of a national television celebrity. A photo provided by her family showed her to be a Eurasian woman with blunt-cut bags and a sleek bob, her face the kind of plump that just made her prettier.
…Ms. Long was attacked after agreeing to meet a new client near the thermal footbaths in Kuirau Park at four p.m. on the seventeenth. Ms. Long tried to reschedule the meeting to another location given the heavy rain that week, but the client was insistent on the park, as they intended to get their wedding photos taken there and had no other free slots in their schedule.
“They’d never spoken on the phone,” Ms. Long’s mother, Jenn Long, stated. “It was an online query, then they communicated by text. It sounds silly now, but that’s how all the young people do things these days—Violet told me almost none of her clients like to talk on the phone until well into the process. And, well, it was daylight, wasn’t it? Who even worries about getting assaulted in broad daylight in a busy public park?”
Ms. Long was hit over the back of the head with a blunt object when she reached the footbaths—which were otherwise empty, due to the weather. Police say there are indications that someone tried to push her head into the thermal water, possibly in an attempt to drown her, but were interrupted by a group of teens who’d decided to visit the baths despite the rain.
The teens didn’t see anyone but are sure they heard the sound of running feet.
Police are asking anyone with information on the case to contact them at once. “This attack displays a dangerous level of premeditation,” Detective Tawhai stated. “The perpetrator lured Ms. Long to the site with the promise of a lucrative work contract, then lay in wait. They clearly used the weather to their advantage.”
Police have been unable to trace the perpetrator’s phone number and say it was likely an unregistered prepaid mobile. Ms. Long remains in hospital.
I read several more articles on the assault, but the information was all much the same: A rainy day. Everyone in wet-weather jackets with the hood up, or with umbrellas blocking their vision. Take a chance that no one else would be around even at four in the afternoon—no harm, no foul if someone was; just call off the meeting for some made-up reason and reschedule for another attempt. Otherwise, attack Violet, then lose yourself in the park.
Just another person in a hooded jacket.
That cop who’d been interviewed was right. The entire thing showed a psychopathic level of planning and confidence.
Whoever this was, it hadn’t been their first crime.
Ani. Rhiannon. Violet.
The connection between Bobby and the first two women was crystal clear, but Diya hadn’t said anything about Violet ever being involved with Bobby.
His sister was an adorable thing, though. Rhiannon loved her, used to make a special batch of cookies for her right before we went down each summer. “For my little Dee,” she’d say. “My adopted baby sister.”
I never thought it was Diya beti—or that it was about a doll. She used to play for hours with Ani, shared all her toys. Diya loved Ani.
I feel so free with you, as if I’m truly seeing life for the first time. No filters, no restraints. I’m myself and I remember all of me.
A sick feeling in my gut, a dawning awareness that I’d got it all wrong, that this had nothing to do with finances and pride…and everything to do with making sure Diya never ever forged a bond outside the closed family unit. Because then she might feel safe enough to remember…and tell about the killing that had begun all of it, destroying the foundation of the perfect, beautiful life the Prasads had built in the aftermath.
Which meant…she had remembered at some point, had tried to talk about it. Only for her family to shut her down, tell her she was wrong, that it hadn’t been like that. It had driven her mind to fight itself, and then had come the medication.