Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Stiff muscles were a small price to pay for critical information.
I wasn’t the least surprised when I spotted a police cruiser an hour into my drive to the country’s biggest city. I made sure to stay exactly at the speed limit no matter if traffic was flowing faster and kept passing me. But whichever cop Ackerson had asked for a favor suddenly put on their lights and siren anyway; I was getting ready to pull over when the cruiser raced past me, on its way to respond to an incident.
If another cop was shadowing me during the drive, I didn’t see them.
I made only one stop—for gas, and to use the toilet. As a result, my muscles were already tight when I pulled over at the southern border of the sprawling city of Auckland to call Andrea in the hope of getting her address. If it ended up being on the far northern end of the city, then I wouldn’t make it back to Rotorua till after midnight—rush hour had already begun, and Auckland was like LA in the sheer spread of its borders.
It was only as I input Andrea Smithy-Carr’s number that I realized I’d been stupid in my desperation—the number on the website could’ve long ago been disconnected.
“Hello.” A woman’s voice.
“Is this Andrea? Rhiannon’s mother?”
A long, long pause. “Who is this?” A harsh edge now.
Relief kicked me like an angry horse. Dropping my head against the headrest, I said, “I want to talk to you about Bobby Prasad.”
She sucked in air. “That bastard is finally dead.” Her voice held nothing but contempt and satisfaction.
“Yes,” I agreed even though I wasn’t too sure of that, “but he still hasn’t paid for Rhiannon’s death. Have you seen how they’re memorializing him in the papers? Smart young businessman, employed hundreds of people, brilliant member of the community.”
“It’s all lies.”
“Could we meet and talk? I think you’ll be interested in what I have to say.”
It was a testament to the intensity of her faith in her convictions—or perhaps a testament to her obsession—that she didn’t ask me anything about myself, just gave me her address. Luckily, it ended up being only twenty-five minutes away from where I’d parked, and I was soon in what looked to be a family-style neighborhood of old wooden houses.
No fancy landscaping, but the lawns were neatly cut and scattered with brightly colored kids’ toys. A few houses boasted basketball hoops attached to garages, and one had a Persian carpet hanging over the verandah railing, as if they’d been expecting sun, only to be hit by a cloud-heavy afternoon.
The scents that drifted through my open window told me someone was cooking dinner, and it involved a combination of spices unfamiliar to my tongue. Two kids who looked to be around seven or eight rode bicycles beside their T-shirt-and-tights-clad mothers; both women were laughing, delighted by some inside joke.
The group of four stopped in front of another house, waved to the older man who was out there washing his car.
A little black dog with a white muzzle ran out to greet the kids, its tail wagging.
Hands tight on the steering wheel as the small group retreated in my rearview mirror, I realized I was nearing Andrea Smithy-Carr’s home. Slowing down, I soon found myself pulling up in front of a small house with peeling gray paint and an overgrown lawn.
Chapter 50
Private notes: Detective Callum Baxter (LAPD)
Date: Jun 10
Time: 13:07
Had an extra hour today so pulled out the file again, to see if we’d missed anything. There’s one thing. That neighbor who found Virna Musgrave? He mentioned that he’d had a guest staying with him that week who’d just left—that was why he was walking his dog later than he usually does. He’d dropped off his friend at the airport.
We never interviewed the guest. Seemed no reason to since they were gone well before the accident, but since it looks like this file is staying cold, I might as well see if I can track them down to tie off the loose end. Wife says she’ll divorce me if I don’t give up the obsession, so I’ll have to do it while at work—can’t even mention the name Tavish Advani at home without riling her up.
Chapter 51
A board mounted on two thick posts stood amid the weeds in Andrea Smithy-Carr’s front yard. Hand-painted on it were the words Justice for Rhiannon. Below the blocky header flowed tiny writing in what looked like marker pen that had been traced over and over as it faded. From what little I could read, it was a diatribe against the authorities for covering up the murder of her daughter.
I’d already figured out that Andrea Smithy-Carr wasn’t exactly stable, but I hadn’t realized the depth of her obsession until this instant. But I was here now, and she was opening her front door even as I set foot on the mossy and cracked path through the grass, so she’d clearly been watching for me.