Veen had eyed her with concern. ‘What if someone shoots at him, trying to settle a score? Here’s something else. Don’t cops mess with women of questionable repute? You know what I mean? Hookers? Thieves? Drug addicts? Petty criminals?’
‘What are you talking about?’
Veen’s eyes had flashed a flame of warning. ‘I saw a news item about a cop using his position to have his way with vulnerable women. He was caught in bed with a teenage hooker.’
‘Why are you telling me about a creep like that? Justin isn’t that kind of man. You don’t know him at all.’
A shade of contemplation had fallen over Veen’s face. Following more probing, she’d admitted that the excerpt didn’t specify Justin’s name or any name at all.
Then Annette, a friend of Veen’s and an ex-police officer – tall, slender, high heels, purple blazer, strawberry-blonde hair and Dior perfume – had dropped by. They’d lost the thread of their conversation. When Annette left, Maya had asked Veen, ‘Hey, what about Annette? You’re friends with her and she’s ex-police. So obviously not all cops are bad.’
Veen had changed the subject. She must have realized that the topic of dirty cops was inappropriate and that if she wanted to have a splendid time that evening with her friend she’d better not go there again, her negativity toward Justin never explained.
A plane flew overhead; the sound shook Maya back to the present. She strode back into the house and was greeted by the sounds of her mother tidying up in the kitchen. In the living room, her gaze settled on the iPad resting on a side table. She plopped down on a chair, logged onto the Internet and studied the screaming headlines:
Self-Immolation in Seattle
Two female Tibet activists set fire to themselves
The headline jumped to a pair of color photographs, each portraying a covered body lying on the sidewalk. Maya couldn’t look at the familiar scene without feeling the same alarm and revulsion she’d experienced only a few hours before. She squinted incredulously at the screen and skimmed through the narrative that followed, which characterized the suicides as an isolated incident protesting the Chinese suppression of Tibet. No involvement of a ‘Dalai Lama clique’ had been suspected. And no other violent demonstrations had taken place anywhere else in the city. Thank God. Nevertheless, the authorities were on high alert. A link to an unofficial video had been provided.
Uma stepped into the living room and fluffed up the throw pillows, patting them a little harder than usual. ‘There isn’t much in this world I haven’t seen or read about in my life, but two girls setting themselves on fire publicly in an American city?’ she said. ‘It’s an outrage beyond my comprehension. In the East, it’s different. We come from a land used to the notion of sacrificing one’s life if the occasion calls for it, but not here. Why would Sylvie …?’
‘Don’t have it figured out, Ma.’ Maya gripped the arm of her chair. For the sake of Veen and her family, and for her own reasons, she needed to trace the events that had led to Sylvie’s death. Indeed, a plan of action began to hum in her mind. ‘I’ve left messages for Justin. He might help me get to the bottom of this.’
‘Never met the man and not sure I want to.’ Uma studied her face the way mothers do, examining every pore and intensely trying to probe into her interior. ‘But to think you’ll go to him? After how he treated you?’
‘I know, Ma, I know,’ Maya said quickly, not wanting to rehash the painful, humiliating memory. ‘It didn’t work out but we’re still on good terms.’ She gulped, realizing that the last bit might only be a delusion on her part. She hadn’t seen him since they’d split.
‘Veen didn’t seem to approve of him.’ Uma always paid attention, never forgetting what she’d seen or heard, even in passing. Usually, this was a boon.
‘Oh, girlfriends. You know how protective they can be.’ Maya waved her hand in dismissal of anything Veen had said about Justin. ‘It took me a little time after we split but I’ve gotten back on my feet.’
‘So you say.’ Uma walked toward the kitchen and hesitated at the doorway. She looked back at her daughter, her dark eyes even darker in warning. ‘I’m afraid you’re fooling yourself.’
‘Ma, really,’ Maya began, shaking her head with a forced chuckle.
‘Give yourself a break, dear,’ Uma said with unexpected tenderness. ‘Don’t head for the house of pain.’
Maya didn’t answer. She stood and scooped up her cellphone. Not for the first time, she would ignore her mother’s advice.
She shoved the cellphone into her purse and said a hurried goodbye to Uma. If Justin did call – and it would be interesting to see how quickly he got back to her – she would like to answer. He might wait until after work. By then, her heartbeat would slow and she would see him as just another cop, a faint shadow from her past, a house plant that had stopped flowering and now sat outside on her porch, orphaned.
A few minutes after six p.m., she found herself cruising through Justin Stevenson’s neighborhood, one she’d religiously avoided over the past few months. She turned the radio on and listened to a snippet of news.
‘The Chinese foreign minister, Hui Yao, has immediately cancelled all of his public appearances. A spokesperson for the minister says he wants to stop any more demonstrations or further violence from taking place. He offers his condolences to the families affected and wishes peace to our city. He has left for Beijing.’
Good for him. Maya made a right turn to get to Justin’s street, a hawthorn-lined thoroughfare with single-family dwellings on either side. She steered around a curve, slowed and glimpsed the single-level, pale yellow twenties’ Craftsman house. Although she couldn’t see the yard, she knew every inch of it; she’d tinkered there for countless hours, planting, staking, weeding, watering and pruning in the two or so years of their relationship. Justin never had the time to do those chores, although, surprisingly, he always noticed the gentle beauty of the flowers she’d helped bloom.
Should she take a peek to see how her plants were doing? Maybe she shouldn’t. Why wade through old memories, experience the emotional see-sawing? They hadn’t had any contact since the day he left, without much explanation. No phone calls, no accidental meetings – it had been a clean break.
He wouldn’t be home quite yet if his old habits were unchanged. He’d have dinner somewhere first, then he’d cozy up to his favorite ice-cream parlor for a scoop of coconut gelato. He would have no idea that Maya was now a certified P.I. That the inspiration had come partly from him. That she’d gleaned much from him about detective work.
Maybe just a peek? What if a neighbor saw her loitering on his property and reported her for trespassing? She pulled up to the curb and picked up an envelope from the passenger seat – a utilities bill ready to be mailed. She stepped out and sprinted up the front stoop, acting as though she had to deliver this envelope to Justin’s mailbox, not sure in her heart if she should be doing this.
The weeds were having a field day. The crew-cut grass was veiled in a layer of summer dust. The daisies moped, shrunken and brown. Even the prolific candytuft, jutting out from nooks and crannies, sported only a few reluctant blooms; they obviously hadn’t been watered. A trashcan, filled to the brim, was topped with crumpled newspaper pages. Somewhere a crow made a racket.
About to pull a patch of grass that had made its home among the creeping rock rose, she heard footsteps pounding up the front stoop. She stood up, a cold wash running down her neck.
A bright male voice, one she would know anywhere, filled with surprise, called out, ‘Maya!’ The tenor of that voice still had the power to cause a quake in her body. ‘Really? You?’
Justin, dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt, stared at her. She took in his tall frame, fine-cut facial bones, full mane of dense blond hair and confidence as solid as crystal, the man who once could make her forget time. ‘Oh, I was passing by and wanted to have a peek at your garden.’
He fumbled for words, then said in a wavering tone, ‘Total surprise.
Didn’t expect to see you here.’ He moved nearer, an eager light in his eyes, as though wishing to embrace her. Then he thought the better of it and positioned himself at a respectable distance. In that big blank space, she witnessed their shared history disappearing.
Cheeks flaming from her embarrassment at being there, she replied, ‘Did you get my messages?’
‘Yes, I did. Since it was on my way, I stopped by your house. Your mom said you were out. Hope I didn’t disturb her. She seemed, oh, a little distracted.’
Maya forced a pleasant expression. Uma, with her motherly instinct and all she’d heard about Justin, hadn’t been as welcoming as she’d normally be, offering tea and chatting up a minor storm. Even so, it cheered Maya that Justin had taken the trouble to pop up at her place. ‘Oh, mom was just busy. She’s quite social, actually.’
He leaned toward her as he listened to her response; there were changes in him. He appeared happier and boyish, not the cool, mysterious man he’d been in the last few months of their relationship. He also sported a beer belly, something unexpected. And no, it didn’t seem like he was trying to get back with her, although he might have some regrets about their uncoupling, made evident by a brief, worried look at her, followed by a short sigh that escaped him.
She looked toward the yard for a plant, a flower, even a weed to catch her eye and distract her from this letdown, and finally spoke. ‘I wanted to talk with you about what happened today, Justin. I was there at the scene.’
‘You were probably spooked. We’d expected demonstrations against the Chinese foreign minister but this type of violence is a first. Of course, we’re going to do a death investigation and, in conjunction with the fire department, a fatal fire investigation.’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry for your loss. I know how close you are to Veen. But Maya, we’ve spoken to a lot of people, which has given us a good picture of what went on today. The crowd was cooperative and I got a number of eyewitness accounts. Our technicians have walked the scene. They’ve collected all physical and biological evidence they could get their hands on – hairs, fibers, footprints, fire remains, nature of the accelerant used. Our forensics unit is doing the lab analysis. An odontologist will check the dental details.’
‘But wouldn’t you like to hear another first-hand report?’
‘I think you should wait a day or so when you’re more rational.’ He gave her a glance of concern. ‘But I can offer you a glass of iced tea.’
He was treating her like a crime victim in need of solace. No, she wanted to tell him, she wasn’t a casualty, she stood on her own strong feet. ‘I’m perfectly rational and ready to give you a statement.’
‘Of course, of course. I want it in writing.’ He was about to say more when a noise from across the street momentarily claimed his attention. Maya turned to see a workman wearing a hard hat, safety goggles and denim overalls attacking a big-leaf maple with a chainsaw. At least ten feet off the ground, he stood on the very branch he was about to dismember.
Maya gave the tree-cutter a stunned look. ‘Shouldn’t we—?’
‘He’s an expert, knows what he’s doing. That’s his kamikaze style.’ Justin gestured with a hand. ‘Let’s get away from the noise.’
He led her along a brick walkway to his fenced backyard dominated by a pine tree. A round, wrought-iron table and a set of wicker chairs stood in the middle of the patio, canopied by a garden umbrella. He disappeared through the back door into the house, fetched a pad and a pen and placed them before her. He asked her to jot down her impressions, then drifted back into the house.
He had guns in his bedroom.
She didn’t know why she was reminded of that. Her palms were wet.
She reconstructed the suicide scene in her mind. As she finished her narrative account and put down the pen, he popped up with two tall glasses of red rooibos tea. He took the opposite chair. For one glimmering moment, Maya basked in the warm glow of connection to the past, noticing how the cuff of his shirt closed around his slender wrist. She pushed the notepad across the table toward him. He glanced at it.
‘What you might not know is this.’ Elbows on the table, Justin proceeded in the cool, detached manner of a professional. ‘The women had released a joint written statement to selected press members minutes before they took their lives. Marked confidential, it said no one was responsible for their deaths. They chose this particular fate of their own volition.’ He paused. ‘Insane – that’s all.’
‘I’ve known Sylvie. She was a top scientist, highly respected in her field. This doesn’t—’
‘We’re going to get both the signatures verified,’ Justin rushed ahead. ‘We’ll also study the coroner’s report when it’s delivered.’ He glanced at her. ‘Are you all right?’
Reluctantly, Maya pictured Sylvie’s burned flesh lying on a wheeled, stainless-steel table in the chilled, windowless morgue. She could almost smell the stench of a horrible death. ‘Well, no, I haven’t quite settled down yet.’
Justin tapped his fingers lightly on the table. ‘We’ll all need a few days, maybe even a few weeks.’
‘Did you listen to the latest news?’ She informed him of the Chinese foreign minister’s departure.
‘Yes, I heard. That’s a relief for us, even though we’ve increased patrols in public areas. Until things return to normal, which, I trust, will be soon.’
Maya studied the tall, stable pine tree. There wasn’t the slightest breeze to sway its branches. It crystalized in her brain now: Justin was advising her to erase the episode from her mind.
She raised her voice to be heard above the chainsaw’s racket. ‘But the real issue remains.’
‘The whole Tibetan conundrum, you mean?’
‘Yes. Protesters give their lives to raise attention to the plight of their people, to get their country free again from China’s clutch, but then it’s back to normal.’
‘I’ve kept up with the news from Tibet ever since I dug into the murder of a local Tibetan community leader,’ Justin said. ‘Despite his family’s fears, there was no Chinese involvement – none.’
‘This is an entirely different situation, wouldn’t you say?’
Maya heard a crack. A gunshot? Her heart leaped. She heard a snap and couldn’t breathe.
Then it came to her: it was only a branch falling from the tree-trimming activities across the street. Arms crossed, Maya sat back as Justin ignored her question and stared into space. Again, she observed how the atmosphere between them had cooled. She was beginning to get a headache, a throbbing in her temples from the tree-cutting noise and Justin’s non-cooperation. Not about to give up, she asked, ‘Who was the second woman, by the way?’
‘Her identity has been released. Anna Kamala, another Asian-American.’
Maya weighed this fact. ‘I don’t suppose you know what Anna Kamala did for a living?’
‘She was a candy-maker, worked for Spices and Sweets located on Sandpoint Way.’
‘Oh, that place.’ An odd sensation ran over Maya. She glanced at Justin. A craving for Indian mithai, sweet concoctions reminiscent of her younger days in Kolkata, had led her to make multiple visits to that confectionary, although she didn’t recall ever meeting an Asian-American worker there. Justin had developed a taste for those sweet treats as well; he relished the rush of milky sugar. She recalled bringing a box home and presenting it to him one evening when he came to see her. He put a piece of the killer raj bhog into his mouth, washed it down with a sip of chai, closed his eyes, drew her closer and planted kisses on her lips.
The tree-killer from across the street must have turned his chainsaw off. For a split second, a stiff silence prevailed. ‘Here’s another point I’d like to make,’ Maya began. ‘Neither Veen nor I had any inkling that Sylvie was so gung-ho about Tibet. There were no signs she cared one bit about her motherland.’
Justin rubbed his eyes, either to remove the day’s tension or as a cue to cut this conversation short, and said off-handedly, ‘Well, she could have been mum for
any number of reasons. My guess is you’ve watched too many cop shows on TV. Just let us handle it. We know what we’re doing, Maya, believe me.’ He paused. ‘I know you’re concerned about Veen’s well-being. The best thing you can do is stick with her, provide emotional support and maybe even arrange for her to see a therapist.’
He flicked his gaze at his watch, making it obvious he wanted to terminate the conversation. It had also become clear that she wouldn’t be able to depend on police resources, if necessary, and certainly not Justin’s division.
She pushed herself to her feet. ‘Better be going – dinner with my mom. And, oh, on another topic – the coroner’s report?’
‘I’ll call Veen when I get it.’
The evening had begun to thicken around the pine tree and the fence. They stood facing each other for a moment. His voice curled around an unexpressed emotion as he said, ‘Good to see you, Maya.’
Could she make a similar response in return? No, she couldn’t. She hadn’t expected to be thrust back to the rosy days of their courtship but she’d wanted a bit more than she’d gotten from him, such as taking her concerns seriously. That hadn’t happened.
‘Thanks for the tea,’ she said and turned away.
FOUR
The next day, watering her yard in the early afternoon, Maya felt a sharp twinge in her elbow. She rolled up the sleeve of her blouse, examined her arm and rubbed the aching area gently, only to find it still red and swollen. Once again, the image of Atticus popped into her mind, the strange man who’d called her office several times, who might be a potential informant. He was, after all, her countryman, a desi. Although India had more languages than you could count with the fingers of your hand, she figured from his last name that they came from the same state.
How would she get hold of Atticus, whose real name was Atul? She only had his full name and his occupation, that of an accountant.
OK, Atticus Biswas wasn’t a common name in Seattle, if it was a common name anywhere. Within minutes of sitting down at her iPad, Maya found a website: www.AtticusBiswas.com. The homepage announced: It’s a numbers game! We’re @ your service to help you with all your accounting needs. Come to us for care, precision and friendly service.
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