“Are you going to get out, Asha?”
She shook her head no.
He was calling her by her first name now, no pretense. No playing the official role of police detective and suspect.
“I don’t want to be alone,” she said. “I can’t stand it. The silence —”
He understood what she meant. After the accident he couldn’t even sit still for more than a few minutes or he would immediately go back to those first moments, floating in the ice cold water, his daughter next to him — the sound of the buoy clanking, his screaming his wife’s name over and over. The cold quickly making his frantic screams stop altogether, the cold making it impossible to even swim. The fear of sharks …
A continuous crush of tourists passed them and seemed surreal, all the different types of fun-seekers mixed in with the occasional baggy-pants-wearing gangsters from Turk Street’s open air drug market, a no-man’s land that tourists avoided, or missed all together, only five blocks south of where they were sitting, and a world away from the elegant hotel.
“Who is this Thomas?” O’Higgins said finally.
“Just a friend,” she said. “I don’t have any now. My Indian girlfriends haven’t returned my calls. Nobody wants to see me. They all think I did it. It’s absurd. They’re afraid of the publicity. And what people are saying back home in India.”
“So you admit that you were lying to us.”
“Yes. Yes. I was lying. Is that what you want to hear? That I’m pathetic, Detective. Does that make you feel good? I lied. Yes!”
“No, it doesn’t make me feel good. But we need the truth. Did Nirad ask you to lie to us?” he said.
She turned and looked at him. She seemed completely shattered, as if she were held together by only her pain and loss. He wanted to grab her and hold her, protect her.
“He said that if I confessed to what I’d done he would bring the girls back and I could see them again. He said he would get me a lawyer. I could plead temporary insanity — He won’t let my mother see the girls. He’s got them — The Indian prime minister is a personal friend of his. There’s nothing I can do to stop him. He won’t even let me talk to them. He said he would keep my parents from even visiting them. He has all the power. Do you understand? He’s like a god in India.”
“You should stay away from Robert Thomas,” O’Higgins said.
“Why?”
“Because. He vibes weird. And he’s been a person of interest in other murder cases. Nothing was ever proven. But his name has come up before. He was the one who was texting you all the time, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. I was wrong about him, maybe. I have no one here. I’ve no money either. All my credit cards were Chaundhry Company cards, and they’ve been shut down. Nirad, again, I suppose. I tried contacting the company, but no one will explain why— I can’t pay the bill here. I have no money. I don’t know what to do. Robert paid my hotel bill. He paid my hotel bill. He used his own credit card. Do you understand, Detective? They were going to ask me to leave the hotel. I can’t go home either. I don’t think I can face that place,” she said.
“Do you want to go back to the house, back to Broadway?” O’Higgins said.
“No. Maybe, I don’t know. Yes, if you could get my girls back for me, Detective. Can you? They’re children — how is it possible? How can he steal my daughters from me? Is it sex you want? I’ve seen you look at me. I’ll do anything.”
He didn’t answer her, in part because she’d surprised him. He’d thought he’d kept his desire tucked away, out of sight. It shocked him that she’d known it was there all along.
“I spoke to Neel again. He called,” he said. “He’s trying, on his end, to help —”
“I’m sorry for suggesting — I didn’t mean — what I just said.”
He shook his head as if he’d not heard her ugly offer. “Neel said that your father-in-law is working with my government. Do you know what they were doing, with the Americans?”
“Rishi told me they weren’t building a normal computer chip. In the new factory. It was secret, what they were doing. He was very proud of it. They are using a new technology. He showed me once. One of the chips. The new chips are going to be made of synthetic diamonds. I wasn’t supposed to say anything to Nirad about knowing about the new technology. It was a company secret. The new chips will change everything. Something about heat.”
“I saw some, I think, in Rishi’s office.”
“Yes. He’d been working on this technology for a few years in India, with the Americans. They don’t conduct heat. The idea was developed in the family’s research laboratories, and then here in America. He said this new technology would make the Chaundhry Company the most important tech company in the world, and the richest. That’s why Rishi was working so hard. It was a terrific strain because of the secrecy, and the Americans insisting he build the plant here. They threatened — if the company didn’t decide to build here, in the States, that they would interfere with the Chaundhry businesses and end Nirad’s chances of being Prime Minister of India. They made it very clear there was no choice in the matter. They were told to build here. The Americans wanted Nirad to be Prime Minister. He’s done everything they’ve asked of him.
“Nirad didn’t think I knew anything about it. We even had monitors—Indian Intelligence people and American—watching us night and day. The Americans are afraid the Chinese want to steal the technology, Rishi said. The minders were there that day on the ferry. I was annoyed because we couldn’t even go on a simple family outing without being bothered by the security people. It made me uncomfortable. I wanted to be free of them. The girls were embarrassed at school because of the minders.”
“Where were they, your security, the day of the murders?” he said.
“They must have been outside the house. They were there, parked night and day. Someone followed me to the Safeway. They always followed me. Anytime I went anywhere, someone was following me. But someone was parked in front of the house night and day since we arrived, first here at the hotel, and then at the house. Rishi said the FBI was part of it, guarding us.”
“So you’re saying they would have seen everyone and anyone coming in or out of the house that afternoon?” he asked.
“Yes. They know if anyone broke in. They know who came and went. They even made sure that the house wasn’t bugged before we moved in, and would sweep it while the contractors were in the house.”
“And now?”
“No one. I’m alone. Since the murders, I’ve seen no one. They’ve all disappeared.”
“You’re sure?” O’Higgins said.
“Yes.”
“The big guy, the one who wears the turban?”
“His name is Colonel Das. I saw him at the house several times. Rishi told me he was an Indian intelligence officer and in charge of our security. Will you help me, Detective? Please?”
“Did Nirad kill Rishi and Kumar?”
“I don’t know. That’s the truth. I saw Rishi before I left for the market. He’d gotten home around three or so. He was in his office working, we spoke. I told him I’d be right back. Oh my God. It seems impossible. All of it. Nirad wasn’t there when I left, but I suppose he could have been. I don’t know.”
“When did you see Ms. Kumar last?”
“She helped me set the table, and helped me start dinner before I left for my class. Getting things ready. She washed the eggplants. It was Bharti who noticed that I’d forgotten the coconut milk, and that I’d better get some. She called me and left a message.”
“What time? I need a time, when you saw Bharti last.”
“She’d walked the girls over to the neighbors at three and come back. I saw her just before she took them. She went upstairs and straightened out the children’s playroom on the second floor. I noticed she’d finished setting the table for dinner while I was away at Pilates.�
�
“The neighbors, the Gilberts — did they know Nirad before you moved next door?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. Impossible. We didn’t meet the Gilberts until a week after we arrived. We had a housewarming and invited all the neighbors before Christmas. Nirad, as far as I know, doesn’t know them even now. He was in India when we had the housewarming party. I never saw him speak to any of the neighbors,” she said.
“He does now,” O’Higgins said.
CHAPTER 20
They met at Lefty O’Doul’s on Geary Street. The San Francisco institution was a throwback to a time before the City was invaded by New Yorkers and their tall soulless buildings and their big-money, people-squashing high-rise plans for the City.
The restaurant had paneled walls and “carving stations” with hunks of rare roast beef under warming lights, glowing reddish yellow. Chinese cooks wore tall white chef hats, their faces bathed in the warm light, carving portions of meat in silence. It was as if time had stood still and men outside still wore fedoras, women wore white gloves, and Dashiell Hammett might walk through the doors. More than anything it was a man’s place, even today.
“These are from her phone? The nanny’s phone?” Marvin asked. They were sitting in a booth in the back.
“Yes,” O’Higgins said.
“Well — now what?” Marvin said.
“Look at them. They change everything.”
“Are you sure you want me to? It’s not going to make a difference now,” Marvin said.
“What does that mean?”
“It means this case is a problem. We need a suspect. The DA told Towler we’ve botched it. We don’t have a suspect. We can’t find the nanny’s phone, because you didn’t tell anyone we found it. The DA wants us removed. And they’re thinking of putting you out to pasture, amigo. The DA is saying you’re a nut job who couldn’t find your ass in the dark. They found out you’re seeing a head doctor. They want to interview her. They want the department to explain why you, someone with obvious psychological issues, was assigned this high-profile case. The Indian government wants to see you patrolling Wal-Mart for Bozo Security. How’s that sound?”
“Fucked up, I guess,” O’Higgins said, indifferent. “Now can I show you these?” Since the accident the idea of being threatened seemed almost comical.
“Fire away, white boy.”
“Okay, a kid, a friend of Rebecca’s, pulled these off of Kumar’s phone’s iCloud backup. Here you go.” He rolled through a series of photos that his daughter’s propeller-head friend had somehow managed to get off Bharti Kumar’s backup files, automatically stored on her iCloud service, which she was most likely unaware of having activated. They were all photos sent in the body of emails. All of them were “selfies” of Nirad Chaundhry and Kumar having sex. All were disgustingly pornographic. They’d all been sent to her from the same email address. Some showed Kumar in bondage and were especially hard to look at, as the girl looked frightened and cowed.
“No shit. Wow,” Marvin said, looking down at the iPad on the table.
“So we have a connection between Nirad and Kumar. It was Nirad who was having the affair, and my guess it wasn’t really consensual,” O’Higgins said.
“You mean he got what he wanted when he wanted it. Okay, I’ve seen enough.” Marvin stopped scrolling through the photos and pushed the iPad back at him.
“Yeah. Probably it was going on before Asha and Rishi came to the States. Asha said that Nirad’s wife had chosen Kumar to help Asha. I don’t believe it. I think Nirad chose her, and told her to keep her mouth shut. I think it had been going on for years.”
“So now what?” Marvin said.
“We question Nirad about these photos,” O’Higgins said.
“No, I don’t think you heard me. They’re taking us off the case any minute now. This guy Chaundhry has important friends. Don’t you understand? This is not a joke, Mike. He’s got the spooks calling the DA. He’s got the US State Department calling the DA. The DA got a call from the fucking Indian Prime Minister’s office, no less. Nirad Chaundhry is an untouchable.
Has the coin dropped yet, Mike? ’Cause it should have by now. I got two kids in private school who cost me a fortune. I got a pension. I got eight years and I can go to Cancun and sit on the beach and watch Mexican girls with tight butts walk by. Are you getting the picture?”
“Marvin. We can get this asshole.”
“Yeah. How are you going to do that, Mike? You can’t prove he killed the girl, much less his son. So he’s fucking the nanny—that’s not proof he killed her, last time I checked. But I know you will piss him off with these photos. You need to prove the asshole killed Kumar and killed his own son, and you need a motive. You don’t have one the DA will prosecute a billionaire on.”
“This is the motive! The affair. Rishi finds out. My guess is Kumar finally goes to Rishi and asks him to make it stop. Rishi confronts his father, maybe Kumar knows she’s pregnant and tells Nirad, who goes off and kills them both because he can do anything he wants. Maybe Rishi threatens to tell the press, if his father doesn’t leave the girl alone. Threatens to ruin his father’s chances of being the next Prime Minister of India. You’ve seen the guy. He’s a volcano. He goes off on both of them. Okay, he’s connected; I get it. Come on, man. Help me get this fucking guy. I don’t care who he is — we can do it. He’s a killer. It’s as simple as that.”
“No, see, we can’t. Give me Kumar’s phone and I’ll lose it. It won’t ever be found. That’s your only chance at getting out of this, Mike. I want you to go tell Towler you can’t do this anymore. You’re not well. You’ll get a half pension. There’s State disability. Rebecca can go to college. Give me that fucking phone! We never found it. Who knows what happened to it.”
“No.”
“Why, Mike? Why? What’s going to happen to Rebecca? Huh? Tell me that. This guy is going to come after you, and he won’t be alone. He’s bringing a lot of friends. Don’t be a hero. They’re all dead now. There’s only Big Money, and it will bury you. That’s what’s going to happen.”
“I don’t know. I saw people die Marvin, Didn’t they die for something? Bad deaths, eighteen-year-old kids. They had to die for something. Didn’t they? I don’t care anymore. I’m just going from day to day. I don’t care what they do to me. They can do what they want.”
“You can’t set the world right, Mike. You can’t. All you can do is duck. Take it from a black man. I know the rules. ‘Them that’s got the gold, makes all the fucking rules.’ That’s the way it is, man. That’s the way it’s always been. Get next to it. You don’t understand the rules of this game.
“Now, I’ll tell you why I’m here. We’re going to bring Robert Thomas in for the murders. Both. He was seen hanging around the place the day of the murders. The Indian consular staff took photos.”
“Who saw him?” O’Higgins said.
“Indian security people were watching the house. Indian spooks from the Consulate, obviously. They won’t say why. They’ve got photos of Thomas, and say that they were taken the day of the murders. They’ve passed them to the DA.”
“He didn’t do it,” O’Higgins said.
“You know that for a fact? You were the one who found all his fucking texts on Asha Chaundhry’s phone, right? From this guy Thomas? Now let’s go. Let’s bring him in for questioning,” Marvin said. “You might even be able to keep your job.”
“What about these photos? Nirad had a motive, Marvin.”
“What about them? Remember we didn’t find Kumar’s phone. You stay employed. Let them decide who did it. We arrest this guy for the killings, and we look like we’re doing our job. Let the DA do the rest. End of the case. We move on and chase some Mexican gang bangers. That’s the best deal we can get.”
“You mean play along with what Chaundhry
and the government want?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. They’re going to decide who to prosecute for this, and they’re going to do it quickly. Don’t you get it? They want the newspapers and all the media to go away. That’s how you do it. Charge someone, and the media goes away. You know that. This guy Thomas, or the wife, but somebody has to take that perp walk, and soon. You don’t want it to be Asha. I get it. You’ve sprung on the chick — so then, it’s got to be this guy Thomas. Take it or leave it. You’re running out of cards and time. Do it for Rebecca, man. Jesus Christ, don’t be so fucking naive!”
O’Higgins’ cell phone rang. He saw it was Towler and took the call. Towler said he wanted to be present when they brought Robert Thomas in for questioning. He congratulated them for their fast work on the case.
***
“We’ve arrested the wrong man,” O’Higgins said.
“What do you mean?” Dr. Schneider said.
“I mean someone who didn’t do the crime has been arrested,” O’Higgins said.
“For the murders on Broadway?”
“Yes. But everyone is happy. The DA is happy. My immediate superior is very happy.”
“I don’t understand,” Schneider said.
“It’s called the justice system,” O’Higgins said.
“How are you? You seem upset, Michael.”
“Okay.”
They sat for a moment in silence. He saw in his mind’s eye the look on Robert Thomas’ face when they handcuffed him in the interrogation room on Bryant Street. It was a strange look that he still couldn’t place: fear coupled with something else, confusion probably. Thomas admitted to stalking the house, and that had been enough. He swore he’d not been there the day of the murders, but the photos taken by “Indian Consulate staff” were conveniently time- and date-stamped, putting him at the scene at five o’clock on the afternoon of the murders. No one questioned the photos’ authenticity. Or whether the Indian government might be protecting Nirad Chaundhry.
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