by T. G. Ayer
In that moment, Vee felt the warmth radiating from her grandmother, although a part of her mind swore that it was only the sunshine streaming through the window and heating up the back of the already warm car.
It occurred to Vee that each time she held these conversations with this figment of her imagination, Vee herself seemed to fall into a sort of natural acceptance that the vision was real. She should stop doing that, or else she’d confirm to herself that she was nuts.
“My mother once told me something in the days before I was married. She said that a woman’s laughter is like the sound of birdsong. That a woman’s love is like peace for the soul, and that a woman’s life is her only true possession, one that can never be taken from her. The world may see a woman as an extension of her husband. They may take her visible claim on her marriage,” Radhima pointed at the bright spot of red on her forehead, “from her when he leaves this plane. But nobody can control the one true fact that a woman is the embodiment of life. Unless we choose to stoop to utter barbarism, nobody can take that life power from her. Do you know what the red bindi is a representation of?”
Vee was startled by the sudden question. She’d been lulled by Radhima’s voice, by her beautiful words, and the inquiry jolted her from what she discovered had been a place of peace. Vee cleared her throat. “A representation of marriage. Something about the goddess Laxmi. Fertility? Being the light of the household?” Vee shrugged, running out of responses.
“And who do you think created those rules. The gods? Would a god have decreed such a thing?” The old woman shook her head. “Those who choose to negate a woman’s claim on her husband’s estate, those who wish to destroy the power she’d once held as his consort, they are ones who sought to instill that barbaric ritual.”
“But you wore the bindi all through your marriage. And you allowed them to remove it when Babaji died?” The longer Vee spoke, the more uncertain she felt. Radhima was turning everything Vee had known about her past on its head.
Radhima smiled and stared out of the window for a moment. When she looked back at Vee, her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “There was a good reason behind my mother’s advice. She was giving me the tools to live a life as a strong woman…a strong woman who had to pretend to the world her entire life.”
Vee frowned and sat back. She wanted to laugh it off, make a joke and change the topic. Her grandmother’s words made her uncomfortable, and she sensed the natural social urge to protect herself from the truth. But that was cowardly. She’d be disrespecting Radhima by making light of her pain.
Vee said the only thing that she could think of. “Do you want to talk about it?” Vee felt tears burn her eyes and she swallowed against the tightening in her throat.
The old woman smiled and shook her head. “That is not the conversation we are having now, child.” She inhaled slowly and looked up at the sky. “I understood much later in life what my mother had meant. You see, nobody owns the birdsong. Perhaps the bird is caged, but its music is free to dance on the wind, to make people smile. Our birdsong is the song of our hearts, our creativity, our literal voice, our art. Even caged, we can still make ourselves heard.”
Vee’s ears were ringing. The reality of what her grandmother was saying was hitting her hard. She had to force herself to breathe, to listen as Radhima continued, “A woman’s love? It can only be had when her partner has traveled the right journey, conquering ego, uplifting selflessness, giving freedom. A woman’s life? It’s the one thing nobody can take from you.”
The back of the cab was steeped in silence for a few moments until Vee said, “What about a woman’s body…her physical self?”
“Physical life?” Radhima tilted her head to study Vee. “Physical form, yes? That can be beaten down. But not your inner essence. That’s yours no matter what happens to your physical self. Even through great trauma, one’s inner essence remains within us. We just have to find our way back. I won’t say the journey is ever easy, but we do what we must to go home,” she said, patting below her sternum—at the point of the solar plexus chakra.
The cab rolled to a stop and Vee peered out at the address, reaching for her bag. Her eyes widened at the sight of the red carpet and the gold plaque set into gray stone beside the entrance. She raised her eyebrows and turned to share her surprise with her grandmother when she realized that she was alone.
Radhima was gone. Vee sat back, stunned, deflated. She’d been speaking to the ghost—apparition—for all this time and she’d totally forgotten that the old woman wasn’t even real. And yet she’d felt real. And Vee wasn’t thinking about the warmth that had emanated from her body from time to time.
No. It had been more than that.
“You’re a fortunate young woman,” a high, crackly voice said from the front of the cab.
Vee snapped her attention to the driver—who had twisted around in his seat and was facing her— and frowned at his words. She didn’t feel particularly fortunate right now. Still, she shook her head, confused as she waited for him to elaborate. “Good spirits don’t often visit us, you know. If she’s coming to you and she’s been kind and loving, then you know she’s here for a reason other than to do you harm.” The old man smiled and winked. As if that was going to make her feel better.
Vee tilted forward, still frowning. “You saw her.”
He nodded. “When you live a long life like I have, you tend to see a lot of strange things.”
You can say that again.
Vee glanced back at the empty space beside her. “I thought I was imagining her,” she murmured.
The driver shrugged. “If that was the case, I’d say that imagination of yours is very strong.”
The things Vee’s grandmother had said had been illuminating. And yet it made her realize something. Vee now had information she could take to her mother. A fact about Radhima’s life that she’d never been told. A piece of the past that Radha’s daughter no doubt knew.
A tiny part of Vee’s mind asked what she would do if it turned out that Mom knew nothing about her mother’s marital discontent.
Vee suppressed a sigh. She had no choice but to speak to her mother now. After what the apparent apparition had just revealed, Vee owed it to herself and to her ghostly gran, to confirm once and for all if she was real.
Though the cab-driver’s confirmation should have been enough, she still needed her mother’s response to what Radhima had revealed.
Because if Vee’s figment-of-imagination grandmother was really Radhima come back to the land of the living, Vee was going to have an epic meltdown.
Chapter 60
As Vee entered the hotel room—or suite if she wanted to be specific—she grimaced. Her nostrils were assailed with the scent of blood. The apartment itself was cloyingly hot—despite the cold outside—the sun had just passed its zenith and was at the perfect angle to light up the room. The brightness only highlighted the white-on-white decor within the plush suite.
Vee dug inside her messenger bag for a pair of bootees and latex gloves. She slipped the coverings onto her shoes and then—as she strode further into the room—drew the latex gloves on.
Crime scene techs and police officers milled around the front living room, hands, and shoes also protected. A few shifted their attention to her as she entered, their spines stiff as if ready to tell her to get lost. She waved a gloved hand and drew her jacket aside, revealing the FBI badge and gun on her belt.
The sight of the badge turned a few expressions sour, but not everyone appeared to be entirely hating her. She had a few people on the local force who respected her enough to at least greet her with a modicum of civility. She greeted the room and kept walking past a feature table that lay on its side, a large brass bowl toppled over with white roses and carnations strewn across a patch of wet carpet. Thick cream pile covered the floor, and white and gold marble end-tables were scattered around the large space. All the furniture was white leather or expensive fake fur or hand-woven wool.
Its pristine condit
ion was destroyed by the streak of blood on the far wall, and a large oval shaped bloodstain on the carpet near the windows. A pair of double doors opened to Vee’s left, and from the low hum of voices, she figured that was the location of the murder. Vee walked over to the inner doorway, and entered right into a middle of an argument, their huddle blocking the view of the victim on the gigantic bed beyond them.
The three cops embroiled in some sort of turf argument all turned to look at Vee who stood serenely on the threshold. Detective Andrea Monroe stood closest to Vee, and for once she didn’t ignore her. The two other detectives didn’t appear to know Vee. Which could work in Vee’s favor.
Or not.
Monroe strode toward Vee and held out a latex-gloved hand. Vee raised an eyebrow and looked at her hand, then took it and gave it a short shake. Whatever the woman was up to, Vee decided she’d enjoy the semblance of professional courtesy Monroe was currently affording her.
“Agent Shankar, glad you could make it.” Monroe smiled, though the expression didn’t seem to meet her eyes.
And Vee had a strong feeling that the detective’s bad attitude was not directed at Vee herself. Monroe turned to the waiting men and strode off without a word. Assuming Monroe had meant for her to follow, Vee hurried after her.
She scanned the room as she went. Large, at least ten times the standard size of a double bedroom, cream wool carpeted the floor, deep mahogany furniture completing the plush expensive decor. Floor-to-ceiling drapery graced the right-hand wall—which consisted of one giant window— and was currently flung wide open. Allowing the sun to stream inside. Had Vee been in charge she would have shut the curtains, especially knowing what heat did to biological evidence. Surely Monroe knew that.
She came to a stop in front of the two detectives. Both had already begun speaking, but Vee lifted a hand, cutting them off. “Can we get those drapes closed, please? Before the biological evidence degrades?”
Monroe raised her hands in the air and then dropped them. “That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell them, but they refuse to listen.”
Vee shifted her attention to the two men. “And why exactly is that?”
“This is our jurisdiction,” said the first detective, poking his thumbs into his belt loops. He wore a pale pink shirt, unbuttoned to reveal a tanned chest covered in a thick layer of chest hair, a fat gold chain gleaming around his neck. His hair was cut short, military style, and his shoulders were muscled. He wore dark chinos and cowboy boots, which he hadn’t bothered to protect.
His partner on the other hand—dark-suited and elegant—was so pretty Vee had to force her jaw to close. Startlingly blue eyes, thick hair cut long on top to grace his chin, short and sensible at the back. High cheekbones, full lips, firm chin, all making Vee peg him as Middle Eastern, Persian or something East Asian. He stood there, watching her watch him, his stance wide, his eyes devoid of emotion.
Neither man introduced themselves.
“Jurisdiction or not, you clearly do not understand the concept of preserving the evidence.” Vee reached into her messenger bag and withdrew two more pairs of bootees. Handing them over she said, “I’m sure that should you win the argument over jurisdiction—which you likely won’t because Monroe is Special Victims and you guys just want to make things difficult—you will ultimately want to catch the killer. To do so, you will require evidence. Viable evidence. The sun coming in through those windows is turning this place into an oven.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Vee could see Monroe opening her mouth.
Vee didn’t allow the detective to speak. “I’m absolutely confident that my associate Detective Monroe here knows procedure. So, can I assume that it is you two detectives who saw fit to ignore protocol?” Hands now on her hips, Vee looked over at Man Chest, who stared at her, features schooled—so he was good at this—and then turned to look at Pretty Boy who let out a soft hiss of breath.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement as Monroe waved at a tech to close the drapes. Within a few seconds, the drapes drew shut and the room was filled with bright light from an expensive chandelier that probably cost as much as it had to decorate the whole suite itself
Vee knew that she’d made an impression when she’d entered. And not a good one. The men shared a glance that spoke volumes, their lips turning up in a pair of matching smirks. “Something amusing you, detectives?” Vee asked. She was beginning to lose her patience with their insolent stares.
Neither of the men were interested in her words. They were both staring at the front of her shirt where her boobs were currently stretching the buttons because of her hands-on-the-hips stance. She usually had her jacket buttoned, but with the stifling heat within the apartment, she’d instinctively and unconsciously released the buttons at some point.
Vee wasn’t prudish by any means, but the outright rudeness and disrespect of these two men had her head burning up. Time to flip the two assholes.
“She’s here because she got a call. And I don’t mean just-a-call.” Monroe thrust a thumb in Vee’s direction. “When she gets a call, you know it’s from high up in the food-chain. Sorry guys. I would have loved to fight you on this—and win—but if I know one thing, that package of tits and ass already has a warrant to take over this case. You two may as well skulk back to your precinct and cry on your captain’s shoulder.”
Vee tried hard not to smile as she shared a glance with Monroe. “Ass too?”
Monroe nodded, then jerked her chin at Pretty Boy.
Vee lifted her eyebrows, pursing her lips in disgust as she looked back at them. “Are you two still here?”
Man Chest took a step forward, sticking his face close to Vee’s. She merely smiled and said, “You do know that’s not a threat, right?”
His eyebrows scrunched.
“You. Shoving your face in mine. Showing me how strong you are. Threatening me with your height and your physique and your manliness.” Vee moved her hand, cupping her fingers in position. “Show me more of your power, detective. Because I’ll be happy to show you mine.”
Just as Vee glanced pointedly at her hand, Monroe let out a decidedly unladylike bark of laughter. “Gianni, she’s got you by the cojones. Literally.”
Chapter 61
Monroe curtailed her laughter, likely taking the dead woman into consideration, and Vee wasn’t amused to find Man Chest’s—or Gianni’s—partner grinning widely.
Meanwhile, Gianni stepped away from Vee’s cupped hand and readjusted his pants. As if that would change anything.
Vee moved around the men and ignored them as she turned to study the bed. Likely the biggest bed she’d ever seen, it was covered in a silk duvet that had once been a delicate cream color. Matching silk sheets and pillowcases bore a randomly patterned combination of dull red and cream.
A setting more for romance than murder.
Vee shifted to the bedside, studying the victim’s body, which was a strangely gray, almost ashen color—a sure sign of an extreme lack of blood. The victim lay with her torso hanging over the edge of the bed. Vee crouched down beside the victim and inspected the woman’s throat. It had been clawed open in one swift move, after which it appeared the woman’s blood had been extracted. Vee didn’t need to access her aural reading skills to know that.
“Victim’s name?” Vee asked without looking over her shoulder.
“Victim checked in under the name Susie Ling. New York driver’s license. Looks like she was a gossip columnist for a local rag. We’re following up on the address on the license.”
Behind Monroe, Pretty Boy was saying, “So what does the FBI want with a New York serial killer case? He hasn’t crossed state lines anyway.”
Vee shifted and looked over her shoulder at him, to find him staring—very pointedly—at her ass. She rose to her feet and turned to face him. “I didn’t get your name?”
“Detective Hasif.” He extended a hand, revealing very well-manicured fingernails.
Vee gave his finge
rs a dirty look and met his eyes. “Okay, Detective Hasif. Firstly, how is it that you are so sure this case doesn’t cross state lines? And secondly, what makes you think that the FBI only deals with crimes that cross state lines.”
Hasif lifted one finger, his eyes flicking to Vee’s cleavage for a few moments before he spoke. “Because we’ve been tracking this case for the last four months and nothing indicates that the killer strays too far from this particular area.”
“And you came to that conclusion how?” Vee asked.
“Sorry, Agent Shankar. That’s privileged information.” He smirked.
The man was getting on Vee’s nerves. For all his beauty, he was just as much a misogynist as his distasteful partner. Vee paused. That was a bit of a prejudiced thought. The man was an asshole, but having a beautiful face never once guaranteed the owner a beautiful personality or heart.
Vee let out a long breath. “My warrant says it’s not.”
“I haven’t seen a warrant, Shankar.” Gianni had finally decided to jump into the battle, although Vee noticed that the man remained on the other side of his partner, as far away from her as possible.
“If you check your emails you will,” she said with a sweet smile. Or what she hoped was a sweet smile. Inside herself, the smile she gave them was nothing short of demonic.
There was a long pause before Monroe took a step closer. “Gentlemen. This is a closed crime scene. I’m leaving too, so I’ll be happy to escort you out.”
The two men stared at each other, weighing their options. Gianni snorted and snagged his cell phone from his pocket. A few swipes later, he looked up and gave Vee a filthy glare, his lip curling in a snarl. “She’s telling the truth. I got a copy of the warrant forty minutes ago.”
Vee didn’t say a word. She wasn’t above crowing—particularly with these two louts—but she wanted the men out of the room as soon as possible. The heat would not only damage the integrity of the biological samples, not to mention it would also be affecting the strength and clarity of the auras she intended to read.
