“Right. I know. Okay, suspects as of this morning?” Michael asked.
“The victim’s wife and the father are at the top of the list. No forced entry. Not a robbery. The safe is here, and untouched. The father and the wife both had the opportunity to kill Chaundhry and Kumar, and then call it in. I checked the call to SFPD. It came from here, the landline number. The caller didn’t leave his name, but it was a man. So.”
“Who else?” Michael said.
“You tell me, doctor,” Marvin said. Marvin had changed into a dark grey suit and looked put together, but his eyes were red and puffy from lack of sleep.
“There was a guy who has been texting the wife. She never answered him. He wanted to meet her for coffee,” Michael said.
“Who is it?”
“Name is Robert Thomas. I had the phone number looked up. He’s a local society brat, owns a gallery on Geary Street. I Googled him. The Thomas Gallery.”
“Sounds like he’s gay? Gallery business.”
“Can you sing and dance?” Michael said.
“Sing? No. I’m a hell of a dancer, though, ’cause I black.”
“Okay, I’ll swing by, see what he’s about. We both should interview Chaundhry senior. I want you there with me this morning.”
“Did you ask him to come down to Bryant Street?”
“Didn’t get a chance to. He said he’d meet us at his lawyer’s office downtown.”
“He lawyered up quick,” Marvin said. “And where was he yesterday, I wonder? He took the kids and left the scene?”
“It looks that way. The wife said her father-in-law was expected home for dinner, but she didn’t see him when she got back from the store. What about keeping the scene shut down?”
“Another day at least,” Marvin said.
“Nirad Chaundhry wants it back,” O’Higgins said.
“This is a high profile case. We have two suspects who we’ve not locked into a story yet. I want to interview them before this all gets disturbed and someone comes in here and starts contaminating our scene.”
Fields stuck her head into the room. “Okay, I’ve got the orientation maps. You want to see them?” She was a tall woman in her early thirties and a mountain-bike racer in her off time. It showed; all the single cops got nervous around her because she was pretty, athletic and unavailable.
“Yeah. Okay,” Marvin said.
Marvin went into the hallway with Fields to review the sketches she’d done of the bodies, giving their orientation North, East, West, and South with notes: position of wounds, blood cast off from the murder weapon, and other details.
The criminalists’ photographs of the scene would be burnt to disk and those disks assigned a number that would appear in the “murder book.” These notes, sketches, and photos were critical to get right, as the District Attorney’s office would need them. They were the spine of the murder book, and would be shared with the defense, with the rest of the murder book’s contents if and when the case went to trial.
O’Higgins walked to the window and looked out on the bay. His mind was full of random details, trying to organize them for the preliminary report they would soon have to write. He didn’t react to the sight of the bay, grey-blue that morning.
He turned away from the window and dialed Robert Thomas’ cell number. It went to voice mail. He left a message asking him to call Detective Michael O’Higgins from the SFPD at his earliest convenience.
Almost immediately, his phone rang. It was the District Attorney’s office, saying that the Indian Consulate was not going to allow Asha Chaundhry’s daughters to be interviewed by anyone, including Social Services. Members of the family would be taking the two girls back to India in the next 24 hours. It was all very imperious and final, as if the SFPD’s murder investigation was of no importance.
O’Higgins ended the call realizing this was not going to be a normal murder investigation.
CHAPTER 9
Pandit Singh LLC was not a lawyer, but the name of a huge international law firm representing various transnational Indian corporations and elite Indian families. It had ties to Indian intelligence, but these were unknown to the general public.
The CIA and other foreign intelligence agencies had found that law firms—like the Dulles brothers’ firm, Sullivan & Cromwell—were the perfect cover, and useful tools. Vladimir Putin had been trained as a lawyer as well as a KGB officer. Law, espionage, and investment banking were fingers of the hand that held the reins of the modern nation state. India was no different from America or England in that regard.
The public did know that Pandit Singh LLC was started in the 1920’s by young Indian lawyers in order to better represent radical elements who opposed the British Raj. Ironically, it had started in London. Singh was now one of India’s premier corporate law firms. It occupied two floors in the same building as the Mandarin Hotel in San Francisco’s financial district.
Det. Marvin Lee and Det. O’Higgins were ushered into a stunning conference room on the thirty-second floor, with a fabulous view of Coit Tower and beyond it the East Bay. O’Higgins noticed that all the employees, including the young woman who’d shown them to the conference room, were Indians.
Nirad Chaundhry was sixty years old, according to O’Higgins’ Google search. His hair was coal black, and Michael thought he was dyeing it. He was bigger physically than he’d sounded on the phone. He used a cane, O’Higgins had read, as the result of a terrible automobile accident in his youth. His eyes were wide set and the lids heavy with dark circles under them that looked almost blue. His pock-marked skin was leathery. That morning he looked like a man who’d not slept in days, or had been drinking a great deal, or both. He also looked like a man who was used to being obeyed.
Next to Chaundhry was a young, eager-looking Indian lawyer in a thousand-dollar suit. The lawyer’s hair was slicked down and combed straight back. A cup of chai in a porcelain cup rested on the table in front of him. In contrast, Chaundhry wore a black turtleneck sweater and slacks and looked rumbled, certainly for a captain of industry and reputedly the richest man in South Asia.
“This is Mr. Nath,” Chaundhry said. “He works for the family.” He smiled curtly, as if the detectives were there for a business meeting and not an interview about a double homicide in his family.
“Pleased to meet you,” Nath said without moving his face muscles. Then the young lawyer smiled. It wasn’t genuine; it was a lips-only smile, and phony. The lawyer was twenty-five, if that. He looked out of his depth but quick-witted and eager to please his boss. His teeth, O’Higgins noticed, had been over-bleached to an eggshell white, and seemed too big for his mouth.
“Thank you for meeting with us,” O’Higgins said. “We’d like to ask you some questions, Mr. Chaundhry.”
“Please, sit down,” Chaundhry said. “Speak freely. I’m here to help. Anything I can do to help — under the circumstances.”
Michael sat down on the other side of the wide conference table. Marvin slipped into the seat next to him. Chaundhry didn’t seem particularly upset by the circumstances he was referring to. He took a sip from his cup like an animal holding its prey, looking at O’Higgins as he did.
The huge boardroom style conference table had a glassy finish and appeared as if it was never used, not a scratch on its polished surface. The lawyer picked up his pen, looked down at a fresh yellow legal pad and noted the time. Michael watched him glance at his big expensive watch. He remembered how his wife used to make fun of big-dick watches.
“I’m sorry about your son,” Michael said.
“It’s a terrible tragedy. Yes. Thank you,” Chaundhry said. He put his cup back on the saucer carefully, as if it might break.
“Were you in the house yesterday when your son was attacked?” O’Higgins asked.
“No. I’d gone out. I got to Broadway around five and found my son in the elevator. He was dead.”
“Where were you yesterday?” O’Higgins asked.
“I was organizing our new corporate offices here in this building — meeting with Mr. Nath, in fact, and others. I was here all day,” Chaundhry said.
“You called the police when you got to the house?”
“Yes. I came home about five or so, and found my son already dead. I called the police immediately. I found the children across the street at a neighbor’s and took them away before they could find out what had happened to their father. Their safety was, of course, my chief concern. That’s why I left and went straight to the Indian Consulate. I know the Consul General. He’s a personal friend.”
“So the children weren’t in the house when you arrived?” Marvin asked.
“No. They were across the street at the neighbors’, the Gilberts. They had a play date, I think you call it here. The Gilberts have a daughter their age. My daughter-in-law keeps a white board in the kitchen with the girls’ schedule. She keeps them very busy. I checked the board as soon as I found Rishi’s body. I was afraid the children were in the house. Terrified, in fact — that Asha had done something to them, too. I saw they were scheduled to be across the street and got them.”
O’Higgins turned and looked at Marvin. Chaundhry was accusing his daughter-in-law of the murders.
“After you called 911, you went and got the girls from the Gilberts’ place?”
“Yes,” Chaundhry said. O’Higgins saw the lawyer was writing each of his questions down on his notepad.
“Did you know that the girls’ nanny had been attacked as well?”
“Yes. I found her body while I was looking for my grandchildren.”
“And after you called 911?”
“I don’t remember. I was upset, of course. I may have found Miss Kumar after I called.”
“Do you know who might have wanted to harm your son? Or the nanny?”
“I’m afraid — Asha. Rishi’s wife. I believe she killed my son. And Miss Kumar.”
“Why do you say that?” Michael asked.
“Because I think Rishi was having an affair with Miss Kumar. I suspected it, anyway.”
“Why did you believe your son and Ms. Kumar were having an affair?”
“I caught Rishi coming from the girl’s room one afternoon when Asha and the children were out. It was clear to me then. They were both bare-footed, and the girl was dressed inappropriately. I was obviously not expected.”
“Did you confront your son about what you suspected?” Marvin said.
“No.”
“But you believe it was going on, this affair?” Michael said.
“Yes. The girl was very pretty. You couldn’t blame him, not really. Asha must have caught them, or somehow found out about it. If they were so foolish that I caught them, Asha certainly must have realized what was going on in her own home.”
“So you think your daughter-in-law killed your son? That’s what you’re saying?”
“Yes. Asha has a violent temper. I’ve seen it many times myself.”
That registered as a lie to O’Higgins, and he noted it. The woman he’d met that day on the ferry did not seem to be that type at all. She seemed gentle and kind. He’d seen her with her two girls and with her husband. He didn’t believe it. Chaundhry’s expression — his tightly pressed lips — said “lie,” too.
“So you went and got your grandchildren and left — in an Uber cab?”
“Yes, directly to the Indian Consulate. I wanted the girls to be protected from the press, and, of course, from their mother. Especially the Indian press. I knew my son’s death was going to be — well, a mess. It’s all over the Indian media today, in fact. They’ll be sending reporters. I don’t want the girls’ pictures taken for obvious reasons,” Nirad said. “Right now the girls think their father is in India.”
“What time did you arrive at your son’s house yesterday, exactly?” O’Higgins said.
“Five, maybe a little before. As I said.”
“You’re sure of the time?” Marvin said.
“No, not exactly, sure. I didn’t look at my phone until I was in a cab with the girls on the way to the Consulate. When I called the Consul General, I noticed the time.”
“And when you arrived at the house and found your son’s body, Mrs. Chaundhry wasn’t at home yet?” Marvin said.
“No, she was not there. The house was empty when I got there.”
“So you never saw her at the house, after you arrived?” O’Higgins said.
“No.”
“When was the last time you saw her — Asha Chaundhry?” O’Higgins said.
“I saw her yesterday morning, around eight in the morning. We all had breakfast together. The three of us. The girls had been driven to school. There is a car service that picks them up and brings them home.”
“How about your son?” O’Higgins said.
“I saw him at breakfast as well.”
“He didn’t go to the office with you?” Marvin said.
“No. He was going to the new plant. He was to take a helicopter at ten a.m., I believe.”
“A helicopter?” O’Higgins said.
“Yes. It saves time. We take it from San Francisco International to the plant, near Gilroy. He went to the plant and came home in the afternoon. We spoke on the phone, twice.”
“I see. So you came home around five p.m. and found your son’s body in the elevator?”
“Yes. I was going to use the elevator to go up to the guest room. My room is on the third floor.”
“The same floor as the nanny’s room?” O’Higgins said.
“Yes.”
“And you called the police — when, exactly?”
“I called almost immediately, of course.”
“911 got the call at 5:31 PM,” O’Higgins said.
“Well — I was in shock. I may have called from the Uber car. I was naturally upset.”
“And after you picked up the girls?” O’Higgins said.
“Yes. I think so. I’m not sure. I was upset, of course. I can’t say now exactly when I called. I believe I called from the house.”
“You don’t remember when you called the police?” Marvin said.
“No, not exactly. But you say it was 5:31?”
“Yes.”
O’Higgins was in possession of all the important time stamps in the case to date. He watched Chaundhry’s face for a micro expression and saw one. Since the accident he’d read a great deal more about the human face, and he’d taken classes on micro expressions in order to make detective. They could betray real truths.
The question, Michael thought, had produced a look of concern. Before that, the man’s face had worn a placid expression — what behavioral scientist called a “neutral” expression —and what Michael had learned was a forced, inappropriate smile when he and Marvin walked in.
Chaundhry hadn’t seemed upset that his son had been murdered. Nirad Chaundhry seemed, instead, to be prepared for a business meeting with underlings, and not an interview with the police about a murder of a family member.
Nirad looked at his lawyer, who was busy writing down the detective’s questions, not bothering to look up.
“You had your cell phone with you?” O’Higgins said.
“Yes.”
“You didn’t use your phone in the cab on the way to your son’s house?” O’Higgins said.
“No. I was tired. I simply wanted to take in the drive and relax.”
“Did you receive any text messages or emails while you were in the house?” O’Higgins said.
“No. I don’t know. A text may have come in as I was paying the Uber driver,” Nirad said. “But I didn’t respond. As I said, I was tired. I didn’t look at my phone.”
“Did you call anyone after you had the children with you?”
Marvin said.
“Yes. I called my wife in India from the consulate and told her what happened to our son. I wanted to be the one to tell her what Asha had done.”
“Did you call your son’s wife to let her know her children were safe?”
“I don’t know. I might have. I don’t remember. I think not. I was angry. I believed she killed Rishi. No, I don’t think I did,” Nirad said.
“You might have? You don’t know? Or you didn’t? Which is it?” O’Higgins said.
“My concern was for the safety of the children. That was my focus. No, I don’t think I did.”
“Are you implying that Mrs. Chaundhry might have been a threat to her own children?” O’Higgins said.
“One never knows in these cases. Jealousy is a frightening emotion. I had to be sure the children were safe,” Chaundhry said. His expression was placid again.
“So you believe Mrs. Asha Chaundhry murdered your son and Ms. Kumar?” O’Higgins said.
“Yes. I think so. That’s the second time you’ve asked me the question, Detective. The front door was locked when I came in. I had to punch in the code. There didn’t seem to be any sign of a robbery as I looked for my grandchildren. My son was having an affair with the children’s nanny. It seemed obvious what happened from the moment I opened the elevator door.”
“Obvious. I see. But you went around the house checking for a break-in?” O’Higgins said.
“I was looking for the children. I couldn’t help but notice — I was looking for both, I suppose.”
“Your daughter-in-law, Asha Chaundhry, murdered your son because she found out about Rishi and her nanny, Bharti Kumar, having an affair? Is that what you’re telling us?”
“Yes. That’s what I believe. If Ben Affleck did it, why not my son? He was only human. I told him that Miss Kumar might not be the right choice for a nanny. I always thought she was too pretty.”
“You said you had your son’s cell phone?” Michael said.
“Yes.”
“Why did you take it from the scene?”
“I’m not sure,” Nirad said. “I just did.”
“Where was it? His phone?”
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