The detective’s expression seemed to soften as she looked down at me. “While we’ll have more concrete details once the SOCOs can get in, right now it’s possible that one of the three missing family members wasn’t in the house at the time of the fire.
“Since both the doctors had patients they were monitoring and are known to answer their phones at all hours, there’s a high likelihood that the missing member is Bobby Prasad. But we won’t be ableto confirm identities or the number of deceased for some time. There was significant damage and the rubble covers a wide area.”
Nausea was a watery taste in my mouth.
That violent boom of sound. The smoke so black and vicious.
The forensic team might have only bone fragments with which to work.
Chapter 8
Private notes: Detective Callum Baxter (LAPD)
Date: Dec 3
Time: 11:17
Search on Tavish Advani brought up an upscale address on Venice Beach. It also brought up his connection to Jocelyn Wai and, more specifically, to her death—have to say, I did not see that coming. Neither did Perez. We both thought Jason Musgrave was just throwing out wild accusations due to grief, but man might be onto something.
Have left a message for Detective Gina Garcia, lead on the Wai case.
Chapter 9
“I’m Detective Senior Sergeant Rose Ackerson,” the cop said at last. “And this is my colleague Constable Jeffrey Wong.”
“Tavish Advani.” It was reflex, no thinking required—because obviously, they were already well aware of my identity.
“Why don’t we head downstairs to talk further,” Ackerson suggested after two people in street clothes passed us with curious looks, likely visitors on the way to a patient room. That interruption was followed by a doctor rushing past, his lab coat flapping.
My shoulders locked. “I don’t want to be away from Diya.”
“The staff member we spoke to earlier said she’ll be in surgery a while longer. You’ll be back well before then.”
Despite her reassurance, it took all of my willpower to get up and walk even the short distance to the doors, then down the flight of stairs to the sprawling atrium…which was no longer drenched in sunlight, the world outside far darker than I’d realized. So many hours, Diya in surgery the entire time.
My stomach—empty, I realized, but with no real sensation of hunger—twisted.
We halted next to a wide wall away from any foot traffic.
“You found a change of clothes.” Ackerson indicated my scrub top.
“A nurse gave it to me, told me to change. I guess my bloody T-shirt was unhygienic.” It felt surreal to talk about clothes while two—possibly three—people were dead and the love of my life lay critically wounded in a surgical suite, while her sister-in-law fought for her life in another room.
Ackerson nodded. “We might need your T-shirt for evidentiary purposes. Is it in the waiting area?”
“No, I put it in the trash can inside the toilets near Emergency.”
Ackerson gave her colleague a nod and he walked off in the direction from which I’d entered this part of the hospital. “You really shouldn’t have been allowed to leave the scene,” she said in a mild tone of voice. “You’re a witness to a crime.”
“I would’ve fought you if you’d tried to stop me.” I folded my arms. “No way in hell was I about to let Diya go alone in the ambulance when she was bleeding and unconscious.” When she could’ve fuckingdiedbefore ever reaching the hospital.
“I understand that. Were you the one who called Shumi Prasad’s parents?”
“I figured they should know.” I wasn’t liking the direction this was going—her tone might be mild, but the questions held a faint undertone that rubbed me wrong. I knew what my father would say:Shut up and get a lawyer. But I also knew how that would look this early into the investigation.
I had to take another tack.
“Do you think I had something to do with this?How?I wasn’t even there.” It didn’t take any effort to tinge my voice with disbelief and shock. I might be the son of an Oscar-winning actress, but at thisinstant, I was also a grieving and angry husband with a wife who might not make it out of surgery alive.
