Season of Sacrifice Page 3

  Maya had thought for an instant. ‘Oh, I’d shadow him and catch him off-guard. Disguised as a man, I’d videotape him in a latrine, lighting up and humming.’

  Sen had given a rare laugh. She’d concentrated on Maya’s résumé in front of her. ‘You paid for your college tuition by working part-time as an office assistant to a private detective? Now I see why that might have worked. You took criminology classes in college? That shows real interest. Even earlier, you helped your mom when a burglar broke into your flat in Kolkata and stole all your possessions. You gave a testimony to the police and helped indict the criminal. That was in the Statesman newspaper. You were only twelve then?’

  Maya had nodded.

  ‘It’s obvious you’re an independent soul. If you work for us, you’ll have autonomy as far as the cases you wish to look into.’

  How will I learn the trade so fast? Maya had wondered. You don’t exactly inherit those qualities from your father, do you? And as far as her former lover, Detective Justin went … In their two-year history, she’d watched how he operated. Even with the support of a whole department, it hadn’t been easy for him. ‘How will I do it all by myself?’ she’d asked Sen.

  ‘You’d laugh if I told you who we used as operatives – our eyes and ears, our sixth sense – when we first started out: cabbies, servants, street vendors, friends and relatives, and neighborhood busybodies. The point is, Maya, mainly we talk to people. Research and surveillance are our other tools.’

  Maya had held her back straight. She’d always considered herself a good researcher and interviewer, someone who could listen between the lines. People generally did confide in her about their feelings. And she had the ability to jump into action – she kept her purse by the front door – when necessary. But could it really be that easy? ‘What’s your success rate?’

  ‘We’re hitting sixty to seventy percent. Our competitors think they’re doing well if they come close to the fifty percent mark.’ Sen had smiled. ‘You’re interviewing me? Good, good.’

  After a lengthy conversation, she’d offered Maya a position as a private investigator based in Seattle. ‘We’ll give you all the support you need from here. We have informers and plenty of databases at our fingertips. When can you start?’

  Maya had hesitated. Working long distance for a foreign company in a line of work that was new to her … She could be trapped, stabbed, kicked or shot at without her boss knowing about it. Yet, she could also view herself on the street, excited to be chasing a lead and identifying a culprit, wherever that might be. One good break and you’re made, as they say. And from what little she could remember of her father – a tall, slender man with a light of mischief in his eyes – he’d enjoyed his chases. Once, coming home late and bending over her, he’d said, ‘What do I do all day, my darling? I give bad guys a run for their lives.’

  How fortunate also that she’d picked up so many investigative tips from her relationship with Detective Justin: do your legwork. See, hear and smell. Read the client, hoard the facts and lie if you have to. And Justin, with ample law enforcement resources at his disposal, might help her crack a case, if only as a friend. At that moment, she’d experienced a sudden burst of happiness, silently thanked her mother and replied to Sen. ‘It’ll take about a month to get background checks done and get licensed by the Washington State Business Licensing Services. Another week or so to obtain a liability insurance policy. I should be able to start within a couple of months.’

  ‘Hire a smart assistant. And build a business website.’ Sen had offered Maya a joining bonus to help pay for both.

  In the following weeks, with the official papers in her hand, Maya had formally opened the Seattle branch of Detectives Unlimited for her employer.

  A car door slammed; Maya looked out through the window. Her closest friend, Veen Burton, came around the front of her Toyota on the driveway. Face pinched and the edges of her mouth downcast, she walked up the stone pathway leading to the front porch. Normally at this hour, Veen, a dedicated architect, would still be at her job, her ‘green game.’

  A woman of ample proportions, Veen, who had an American father and an Indian mother, boasted a creamy complexion and eyes the color of a perfect cup of tea. Her reassuring manner usually declared: Everything will be all right. Maya hurried to the front door and yanked it open.

  ‘Maya!’ A cry of pain escaped Veen’s lips.

  ‘Hey, come in.’ Maya led the way to the living room and gestured to her friend to sit. ‘You all right?’

  Veen slumped onto the sofa. Maya, feeling Veen’s agitation, seated herself next to her.

  Eyes raw, Veen could only say, ‘I got your message.’ After another moment of heavy silence, she whimpered in a teary voice, ‘Oh my God … Sylvie … Oh, Maya … Sylvie’s dead. Dead. She set herself on fire. She’s dead.’

  ‘What? What?’ It took Maya a few seconds for the facts to sink in. Her blood chilled, insides churning, mind a blur, she closed her eyes for a moment and absorbed the honking of a passing car. ‘Some sort of a religious ceremony was going on. Sylvie, a scientist. No, I can’t imagine that.’ She gasped, touched Veen’s hand. ‘The police must be wrong.’

  ‘I can’t believe it, either. For the life of me, I never would have thought … My sis. How could she? God, what got into her? What could possibly get into her?’

  This morning’s blazing scene played before Maya’s moist eyes. A scream, a painful blast, almost escaped her throat. Her stomach turned. She’d done nothing to stop that traumatic incident. ‘Sylvie? It was really Sylvie?’

  Uma bustled into the room. She balanced a fragrant tea service on a tray, complete with several antique teacups, a platter of snacks and a blue-flowered teapot. Maya wiped her eyes with a hand, stumbled to her feet and helped Uma lower the tray to the coffee table.

  ‘I heard your voice,’ Uma said to Veen, warmly.

  ‘Auntie!’ Veen rose, smothered her face in her hands and dissolved into sobs.

  Uma put her arms around Veen’s shoulder, almost standing on her toes. ‘What in heaven’s name’s happened, my dear child?’

  Veen’s shoulders were rigid but, as Uma held her, she melted and softened and rested her tear-streaked face on Uma’s shoulder. In a minute, Veen raised her head and said, ‘Sylvie’s dead.’

  ‘Good Lord.’ Uma’s face went ashen. ‘What happened? What could possibly happen? A sweet young girl like her? Impossible.’

  ‘I can’t take it, Auntie. I can’t take it anymore. I wish I was dead.’ Speaking in fits and starts, Veen repeated the story she’d told Maya, then dropped back on the sofa.

  ‘I can’t believe it.’ Uma brought the armchair closer to Veen and watched her guest carefully. ‘No way could it have happened. Sylvie practically saved my life when I caught malaria. She got the news from Maya and recommended the best doctor in Kolkata, someone she’d heard about.’ She paused. ‘How did you …?’

  ‘The police called me this morning before nine,’ Veen said. ‘I was like, “Shit,” still half-asleep. My alarm was set for nine-thirty because I had the morning off – I’d worked my ass off the last four nights. The officer asked me to go over to the Harborview Medical Center.’ Veen covered her face with her hand.

  Maya held her breath and put a hand on Veen’s shoulder.

  ‘My sis …’ Veen inhaled deeply, her eyes shining with tears. ‘She was the youngest – it was our duty to look after her. She burned herself to death. Can you fucking imagine?’

  Uma, also clearly distraught, lifted the teapot and, almost mechanically, poured Veen a cup. Then she poured one for Maya and one for herself and gently encouraged Veen to eat. A few restless sips brought color back to Veen’s face. She served herself a piece of samosa; Maya helped herself to a fudgy-white, tender sandesh. To distract herself, she silently thanked Uma, who still followed the Indian tradition of balancing the pungency of tea with a combination of savory and sweet bites.

  ‘I’d planned on calling Sylvie yesterday but
never got round to it. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Sylvie!’ Veen cried out. ‘If only I had known. I’d have rushed there to stop her madness. Even if I had to catch on fire myself, I’d have jumped in and dragged her away. Even if I had to burn to death, I’d have—’

  ‘I … I was there, right there, by chance … on the way to the bakery,’ Maya said to both Veen and Uma.

  ‘You were there?’ Veen said in a voice rising high with reproach. ‘Why didn’t you stop her? Why didn’t you, Maya?’

  Maya shifted her position and felt that same burning ache she’d experienced at the scene of suicides. ‘I was half a block away when I first noticed it. When I got closer … well, the crowd wouldn’t let me get too close, nor could I see the faces of the two women. I was dumbfounded that they’d do this – but Sylvie?’

  Uma rose, patted her tummy and asked Maya, ‘Why didn’t you tell me this?’

  If only Uma would resume her understanding, forgiving and placid posture. If only she would stop scrutinizing Maya’s actions so minutely. ‘Oh, Ma, I didn’t want to upset you.’

  ‘Upset me? Am I so old or what?’ Uma shuffled over to the sideboard and fussed with the dahlias placed in a vase. She returned, her face pale, and picked up her chai, but didn’t take a sip.

  ‘You didn’t at all suspect what Sylvie was up to?’ Maya asked Veen.

  A slight irritation showed in Veen’s voice. ‘I’ll always hate myself for that. She lived only three miles from me but we didn’t hang together. Lately, she hadn’t been acting like herself. Something changed. I haven’t seen her in over two months.’

  ‘Of course, as a malaria scientist, she must have worked her butt off,’ Uma said.

  ‘Yes, malaria research, and only that, got her juices flowing. She was so fucking dedicated – pardon my French. And we had a few issues between us. She didn’t share much with me, except to say a month or so ago that her cat, Augustine, had died. She’d already buried her.’ Reaching down to put her teacup on the coffee table, Veen missed. The cup fell to the floor and shattered into pieces; a trickle of liquid smeared the rug. ‘Oh, no, I’m so sorry, Maya, I broke …’ Veen, appearing mortified, tried to reach down to the floor.

  ‘You sit still.’ Maya looked at the pink-and-white demitasse, a favorite of hers, now reduced to jagged pieces and shimmering on the floor. She paid no attention to her tender feelings, fetched a dustpan, a small vacuum cleaner and a wet cloth, and cleaned up the mess. She slipped into the kitchen, her investigative self newly awakened to the reality of the situation. Belatedly, she noted the death of Sylvie’s cat, Augustine. And the fact that Sylvie ‘hadn’t been acting like herself.’

  Standing by the kitchen window, Maya checked her cellphone. No message from Justin. An email from Hank said that the Indian gentleman had called back, again from a blocked number, and again refused to give out how to get in touch with him.

  ‘He clammed up with me,’ Hank had added. ‘Shall I get rid of him?’

  She sent a text to Hank saying she’d look into the matter.

  Back in the living room, Maya settled into her seat, heard the screech of brakes outside and asked Veen, ‘Do you know anything about Sylvie’s meditation group?’

  ‘Meditation? No. That seems to fit. Sylvie was the quiet, dreamy type, an “Om girl” who kept to herself. But how do you know about her group? She never told me. Did she tell you?’

  ‘No, a man in the crowd did.’

  ‘What? A man in the crowd? Who the hell is he? Tell me what you heard. Tell me!’

  Maya repeated the little that Atticus had revealed: he and Sylvie went to the same meditation center. Sylvie had texted him early this morning.

  ‘I didn’t get a text. Why didn’t I? And meditation? I don’t think even my mom knows about that.’ Veen checked her watch. ‘Mom hasn’t heard. She’s coming home this afternoon – she’s been in India for the last four months teaching post-colonial studies as a visiting lecturer at Delhi University. I have to pick her up from the airport shortly. She’s been traveling for almost a day, with layovers in Bangkok and Los Angeles. How in the world can I break the news to her?’

  Maya sighed and leaned toward Veen. ‘Should I come with you?’

  Veen shook her head and turned to Uma. ‘Sylvie was Mom’s princess. To her, she glowed like precious gold. She grew up classy, chic and beautiful. I could never match her in style or popularity. Mom will question why I didn’t look after Sylvie in her absence. But how can you look after a thirty-one-year-old who keeps to herself, and who has no time for you?’

  ‘Dear me,’ Uma said to Veen. ‘It’ll be difficult. Did Sylvie have a boyfriend?’

  ‘Yes. Eight or so months ago, she met a guy at her research lab, a junior scientist. His name is Ivan Dunn. I saw her even less after they became an item.’

  ‘Did you ever meet this guy?’ Maya asked. ‘I sure didn’t.’

  Cheeks blushing copper, Veen looked down at the floor and said in a low voice, ‘Yes.’

  ‘I suppose Sylvie’s emails would further point to—’

  ‘The police detective has taken her laptop and all of her documents, Maya. No one is allowed in her apartment.’

  ‘But how did the detective connect her with you so quickly?’ Maya asked.

  ‘Apparently Sylvie was wearing a gold bracelet that she threw on the ground once the fire began.’ Veen pressed her shaking hand to her mouth. Both Uma and Maya placed consoling hands on her shoulders.

  ‘I saw that,’ Maya said softly. ‘I saw her throw it onto the ground. What did the bracelet look like?’

  ‘It was a wide band made of genuine gold, in a swirl pattern, studded with pearl, and with intricate markings inside, including Sylvie’s full name in a stylized Bengali script. Mom gave it to her on her eighteenth birthday. We’d all gone to Kolkata to celebrate with our extended family, some sixty or so people. Our family jeweler made that bracelet to commemorate the event. I think Sylvie wanted to pass the family heirloom on to Mom and me before fire melted it.’

  ‘It’s quite a coincidence that the detective would know how to read Bengali.’

  ‘No, Maya, he couldn’t read it. A crime-scene officer did a walk-through of the street corner and collected all the physical evidence he could find, including the bracelet. The detective who was also there later asked an Indian colleague. He deciphered the name in English. Made it easy for the detective to Google that name and get the link to Sylvie’s website.’ Veen laid her snack plate gently on the table. ‘Sylvie had my website link on her site and that led the police to get in touch with me.’

  Pretty good work, given the possibility that the bystanders might not have known Sylvie’s real name. And DNA identification was pending. ‘I wonder why Sylvie threw the bracelet away like that,’ Maya said.

  ‘So it’d go to us, her family. I just explained that.’

  ‘You have an overactive mind, Maya,’ Uma said. ‘You tend to overanalyze.’

  ‘Auntie’s right,’ Veen said. ‘An experienced police detective has taken charge.’

  That was Veen. She could be cruel. Maya lowered her head, realizing she’d irritated both of them. Perhaps she should keep her mouth shut for now. Yet an insistent inner voice worked on her.

  ‘No doubt the detective is sharp,’ Maya said to Veen, trying to smooth over any annoyance she might have caused her friend. ‘Did you get his name? Don’t you suppose I should speak with him?’

  ‘Are you sure you want to?’ Veen sighed. ‘It’s Justin Stevenson.’

  THREE

  After Veen’s departure, Maya lingered in the side yard. Her feelings about Justin had never fully gone into remission, not after being intimate for almost two years. How long had it been since they broke up? OK, let’s stop pretending. Five months and twenty-one days.

  Then why did it seem like they’d been together yesterday? She stared at the scraggly lilac tree at the back fence, long past its blooming time, as if it might have the answer. She could so easily imagine the good-lookin
g, muscular man who stood just over five foot eleven, quite a few inches taller than her, and who could never ‘uncop.’ One image dissolved into another and soon she pictured a leisurely dinner on a soft summer evening, their second date at Chowder House.

  He’d talked about a young dude beating up a teenager walking the Green Lake trails, beating him up bad. ‘By the time our men arrived, the guy had taken all his clothes off and jumped into the lake. We had questions. Does he have a criminal record? What does he do for a living? What’s his home situation? Where there are questions, there usually are leads. We eventually got him.’

  Maya had given a warm look to the tough cop with intense eyes and a quiet demeanor. Where there are questions, there usually are leads.

  Over the next few weeks after they’d met, as the basil in her garden spread its leaves and the plums turned a fierce red, Maya saw her quick-on-his-toes new man almost daily – dining, jogging, catching midnight shows – and basked in his attention. Here was a caring friend and a considerate lover, so easy to be with, even though he saw the ‘worst of the worst.’ She’d never expected to be so fascinated by a cop, one she could trust, one so thorough and conscientious. He’d been raised partly by his grandmother who had taught him to be that way.

  All seemed fine until the day when Veen spoiled Maya’s ecstatic state. Seated at Café Trieste, Veen, ever the blunt person, suggested to Maya that she’d lost both her head and her heart. ‘Really, Maya, what do you see in him?’

  What did she see? A galaxy, complete with sun, moon, stars, planets and a golden halo. All she could hope for. And a steady, dependable pattern, too. Justin wasn’t full of himself like so many other dates she’d had. She’d decided not to challenge Veen quite yet and replied instead, ‘A cop makes a girl feel secure, you know.’ Justin carried a ready-to-fire gun both to work and when off-duty, and had at least one rifle in his house. He saw violence in the streets and in people’s homes every day and knew how to handle himself. In Maya’s presence, he was patient, gentle, and caring – most of the time.