I wasn’t a kid person, but I could see that Ani had been a beautiful baby. Also a happy one in this picture, her hands caught in a clapping motion as she sat on her mother’s lap, while her father stood behind them with his hand on his wife’s shoulder. He was wearing a crispwhite shirt and dark pants, while she wore a rich pink sari over an aquamarine blouse.
The photo had faded, but not enough to wash out those brilliant shades.
Her mother had put little Ani in a white dress that poufed around her, and put two golden barrettes in her fine hair. I knew it had been the mother. The way she held Ani, it said this little girl was her heart and soul.
They could’ve been any young family that had dressed up to get their photo taken.
Turning it without thought, I saw a single line of text written in blue ink in neat cursive writing:Annika’s first photoshoot!
Annika. A grown-up name that would’ve meant only her family sometimes slipped and called her baby Ani after she became an adult. But Annika had never grown up, would always remain baby Ani in everyone’s minds.
Heart heavy, I tucked the photo back where it belonged, in this sacred space created by a family that had been mourning three lost lives. That didn’t absolve Sarita and Rajesh of what they’d done, the terrible weight they’d put on Diya’s fragile shoulders to protect their only son, but I could feel horror at their choice and sadness for them at the same time.
The house seemed to whisper in melancholy as I closed and locked the door behind me. As if it knew that its owners were never again coming home except as ashes. “Diya will come back,” I promised the spirit of the house. “She’ll open you up and let the sea winds sweep in.”
With that, I turned toward the banana grove, intending to hand Ravi the key.
The wind chime began to play.
I froze, staring at the unmoving leaves of the mango tree, and ofthe banana palms. There was no breeze to move the slender metal tubes that hung from the chime, not even the whisper of one. The morning was a still photograph broken only by the metallic shimmer of the chime dancing…and the faint echo of a little girl’s laughter in the air.
That’s Ani. That little baby never left here. I think she plays under the mango tree.
Chapter 36
Private notes: Detective Callum Baxter (LAPD)
Date: Jan 8
Time: 20:11
What interests me about Susanne Winthorpe is that, according to an off-the-record chat with her oncologist, her cancer wasn’t terminal, but she went from diagnosis to death in under a year. She did refuse treatment, but even without treatment, she should’ve had a good couple of years at least.
The Singaporean authorities ruled her death a suicide, and if there was an autopsy, I haven’t yet been able to get hold of the report. Whatever they found in an autopsy—if there was one—it didn’t change their conclusions. And I can’t run any further tests. Her body’s gone, cremated as per her wishes.
How hard would it be to find a way to poison an already dying woman? Weak immune system, probably not preparing her own food. And Advani was staying with her for the last months of her life. On the flip side, why take the risk if you knew she was a dying woman anyway?
Impatience might be the answer. He was barely twenty-two when she died. Could be he got sick of being stuck at an invalid’s side, got sick of pretending to care. He’d already missed his final year of university—though apparentlyhe managed to do enough courses remotely that he did get his degree only six months after he should have. Not the same as partying it up with your class, though, is it?
So maybe there was resentment there, too.
I asked her doctor if he had any of her blood or tissues left, anything on which we could run further tests, but no luck. He barely saw her after her diagnosis—just for a bit of pain medication and that was about it.
End result is that I still have nothing except some disturbing circumstantial evidence.
Susanne Winthorpe (Advani aged 19.5–22): Died by suicide. Would’ve otherwise died of natural causes (untreated lung cancer) per the official record.
Jocelyn Wai (22.5–23.6): Dead of a fall ruled accidental due to drug intoxication (a mix of ecstasy and alcohol), her case closed with nothing in it to force a reopening.
Virna Musgrave (25.7–26.2): Dead. Vehicle tampered with; likely homicide.
That gap of over two years between Jocelyn and Virna worries me. Who haven’t we found? Who else is dead?
Time: 23:17
I forgot about Susanne Winthorpe’s niece. The lawyer mentioned her, said she acted as Winthorpe’s nurse at the end—and that she appeared close to Tavish. Fuck, I hope the woman is alive.
Chapter 37
