Quiet in Her Bones Singh, Nalini (the top 100 crime novels of all time .txt) 📖

the rain would’ve diluted or contaminated any trace evidence. “Crime of passion?”

“Too early to call.”

“What about the money?”

“According to the old police report, your mother is meant to have taken a leather satchel from your father’s office. She apparently concealed the money in there.”

“An old brown thing my grandfather gave him. I think he was as pissed about losing that as he was about the quarter mil.” If my mother had even taken anything at all.

His rage ­though … that had been real. So maybe she’d taken it well before that night and hidden it somewhere where no one would ever find it. But he checked that safe daily. He’d have noticed. So she must’ve taken it before their night out. Chances were high it had still been in the car.

“Is it possible the people who found the car took it?”

“No, the Department of Conservation team didn’t even get close enough to see the remains. They reported it as an abandoned car. Two officers came out here on a routine pass to check it ­out—­they’re the ones who made the discovery.”

“Nice of you to share so much information.” I made no attempt at sincerity. You’d have to live under a rock not to know the police tended to be manipulative when they suspected family involvement.

That scream.

Red taillights.

No cigar smoke.

A son who’d made a mess on a prized rug.

“This isn’t a television show, Aarav. We want your cooperation. We won’t be playing games.”

I took that with a grain of salt. Before being a family liaison officer, Sefina Neri was a police officer. Her loyalties were never going to be to my family. But I had my own cards to play. “Some things I can discover that you never will. Be open with me and I’ll share.”

“If you know something and hold it back, you risk being charged with obstruction.”

“Bullshit.” I shifted in an attempt to ease the pressure on my ­shoulder—­right now, the cane was taking most of my weight on one side. “We both know the optics would be terrible for the department. Especially after that recent case where you charged the son and it turned out he was innocent.”

A staccato movement as she shifted on her heel and began to walk back the way I’d come.

I didn’t even make the attempt to go after ­her—­pointless with a bum leg.

“The instant you run after anyone, Ari, you give them power,” my mother had said. Her lips on my cheek, her fingers around the thin stem of a cocktail glass, diamonds sparkling in the sun. “Be the one who is pursued.”

Constable Neri halted so I could catch up. She wasn’t about to leave me alone at the scene, even though we both knew it to be a meaningless stance with no guard on duty down here.

“The Cul-­de-­Sac community is incestuous,” I told her, my breath even because I hadn’t rushed. “They’ll clam up against you.” Newcomers like Leonid and Anastasia might talk, but they had nothing to tell.

“You’re so sure this involves someone in the neighborhood?”

I pushed back my hood, the rain now down to a hazy mist. “Or they might know something. For example, as a teen I once heard Paul and Margaret Dixon murmuring about how the Henares were on the verge of bankruptcy.” They’d been in their yard, Margaret smoking and Paul mixing drinks, while I walked in the bush only meters away yet fully screened from their view.

Funny how much of the Cul-­de-­Sac was accessible through the back way. No one ever seemed to worry about an intruder from the bush. Probably because it was too hard to ­access … unless you lived there.

“Henare?” Shoving back her own hood, Neri raised an eyebrow. “That would take some doing. They have significant investment interests.”

“Maybe. But ten years ago, that family had a serious financial problem. If that’s true, where did they get the money to survive? And recover?”

“That’s all you have?”

“Let’s just say it’s a gesture of good faith on my part. Work with me and I might remember more.”

Tight lines bracketing her mouth, she broke off to the left, heading down a track I knew led eventually to another tiny parking area. Good luck to her in dealing with my father. I had other things to do, other pots to stir.

Transcript

Session #4

“You’re looking happy.”

“It’s been a good day, ­work-­wise.”

“You sound pensive.”

“I was just thinking, it’s funny.”

“What is?”

“My father used to say I was useless, that I’d never make anything of myself. Now every day someone finds a way to tell me I’m brilliant.”

“Does that cause mental dissonance?”

“If you mean confusion, then no. It’s ­just … it’s strange. Like the me that people know is a skin suit that I wear for the rest of the world.”

17

I’d barely made it back to my car, my leg hurting like a bitch, when my phone lit up. I knew what it was as soon as I glanced at the screen. “I missed the appointment, I’m sorry,” I said when I answered the call.

Honey, always honey. Until a situation altered and called for more calculated manipulation.

“Dr. Binchy understands this is a difficult time for you, Mr. Rai, but he really needs to see you. It’s part of ­your—­”

“Sure. No problem. When’s the next available appointment?”

“We just had a cancellation at twelve. Can you make it?”

“Yes, I’ll be there.” To make sure of it, I drove straight from the site and toward the exclusive suburb where all the specialists had their offices and examination rooms.

Since I was early, I stopped off at a café to grab something cold and sweet, sat down at one of their tables while a heavy rain washed the windows. And fought my brain.

That night. The rug. Why couldn’t I remember?

My spine grew stiff, and suddenly, I was moving again. My city apartment wasn’t far from the doctor’s office, and it took me only twenty minutes to make it there. Entering the underground garage after punching in my code on the security gate, I drove to