Pryor made the introductions. Thin and small-boned, Rashesh Banerjee had a dark complexion and a heavy five-o’clock shadow. He wore black slacks and a striped, collared dress shirt. Aditi Dasgupta, now Banerjee, wore open-toed sandals, black leggings, and a white loose-fitting shirt that extended below her knees. Both thanked Tracy for agreeing to meet.
“My wife is very worried about her friend Kavita.” Rashesh spoke with a hint of a British accent.
“I understand you were roommates?” Tracy said to the young woman.
“For several years,” the man said.
Tracy smiled. “Mr. Banerjee, I appreciate you wanting to help, but this will go a lot faster and much more smoothly if I can speak directly to Aditi. Okay?”
“Of course.” Rashesh nodded and took a step back while making a hand gesture for Tracy to proceed.
“You and Kavita were roommates?” Tracy asked. Aditi repeated much of the information Katie Pryor had told her the previous afternoon.
Tracy listened, then asked her next question, hoping for the best. “Aditi, is it possible Kavita might have just needed some time to process all of this information? It sounds like it was a fairly significant, and unexpected, change for both of you.”
“It’s possible,” Aditi said, nodding as if she, too, wished it to be so. “I thought the same thing, but . . . Kavita wouldn’t worry me like this. She would have called or sent a text to let me know she was going away, to let me know she is okay, no matter how upset she is with me.”
Tracy nodded, not wanting to discount what the young woman had to say but still not convinced Kavita Mukherjee wasn’t somewhere, trying to process everything. “How was she when you left her on Monday?”
“She was upset. We were both very emotional. We were both crying. It was very difficult for me to tell her, and I’m sure it was very difficult for her to hear. She left the apartment because she did not want to see me pack. She said it would be too hard.”
“And you were gone when she presumably returned later that evening?”
“Yes. I came back to the apartment because I was worried about her. Before leaving I placed a note and a gift on her bed.” She looked at Katie Pryor. “That’s when I noticed that the gift, a sari, was unfolded on the bed and the note had been opened.”
“And the check,” Rashesh prompted.
“Yes. I left her a check for the rent, but she tore it into pieces. So I know she returned that night.”
“She tore up a check?” Tracy asked.
“I told Kavita I would pay the rent until she found another roommate,” Aditi said. “I knew paying the rent would be difficult for her.”
Tracy considered the fact that Kavita had torn up the check to be a strong signal she was angry with Aditi. “Did she have plans to go out that night, plans that you’re aware of?”
Aditi shook her head. “Not that I know of, but I have been gone for almost twelve weeks.”
“She didn’t mention any plans?”
“No.”
“Okay. Do you still have a key to the apartment?”
“We called the superintendent,” Rashesh said, stepping forward again. “Aditi is still on the lease. He will let us in.”
Minutes later, a superintendent led them to the apartment and unlocked the door. “I’ll go in first,” Tracy said, slipping on a pair of blue latex gloves and stepping into an entryway of dull light.
Kavita Mukherjee unlocked the deadbolt and cautiously pushed open the apartment door. She was not afraid of what she might find inside the apartment, but rather of what she would not find. She paused in the hallway, recalling how excited she and Aditi had been upon their first visit, how Aditi had commented on all the natural lighting.
Kavita tossed her keys into the empty bowl on the table by the door, a habit, and walked into the living room. Aditi had placed her keys to the apartment on the kitchen counter. Otherwise, everything in the living room looked as it had when she left. Kavita figured Aditi and her husband had no need for used furniture in his London apartment.
Kavita stepped from the living room to the kitchen. The dishes and glasses remained in their designated places. They didn’t eat at home often. Usually, they’d go out and buy something and split the cost. It had always been that way, Kavita and Aditi, for as long as she could recall. If there was a fraternity party, they attended together. If one needed to study, they walked to and from the library together. For tests, they quizzed each other. Yes, Kavita had always received the higher grades, but it was true that Aditi had been the harder worker. Who would Kavita study with now, in medical school?
Kavita looked out a window at the afternoon sun shining on the roofs of the campus buildings where she’d spent four years and had hoped to someday attend medical school. Now that she would be going alone, she decided she no longer wanted to go to the UW. She wanted to go away, to someplace where she would not have memories, someplace far from her family. The thought made her wonder how much of Aditi’s decision to marry was dictated by fear instead of love, the same fear Kavita now felt. The fear of being alone. The fear of failing in medical school and having to return home with her tail between her legs.
Her mother certainly would be of no comfort. She’d already resorted to guilt-inducing phone calls. Love is overrated, she’d say. You can choose to love after marriage.
And you could choose not to, Kavita would frequently retort.
Had Aditi married out of fear that she would never have another opportunity? Had she been afraid that Kavita would one day marry and leave her alone? Had she decided it was better to cling to someone, to anyone, than to cling to no one at all?
Kavita left the front room and walked down the darkened hallway, where the light from the windows did not reach. Tonight the gray seemed more pronounced. She pushed open the door to what had been Aditi’s room. The furniture remained, unneeded, but the bed had been stripped bare and the dresser drawers had been emptied of Aditi’s clothes. Hangers hung naked on the closet crossbar, and slatted shadows marked the bare walls.
The emptiness of the room hit Kavita hard, as reality often could. Aditi was gone. Kavita was alone.
Weeping, Kavita shut the door and continued past the bathroom. She had to get ready for her date, and she’d never been so happy to have a distraction, even if she didn’t feel like putting on a happy face and going out.
She noticed a pair of dark-blue Bata sandals at the foot of her bed and, neatly folded on top of her down comforter, gold-and-blue fabric. Aditi. It was so like her to bring Kavita back a present. Kavita picked up the fabric—a sari—and marveled at the intricacy of the design. In the United States, such craftsmanship would have cost Aditi two weeks’ pay. Not in India.
Kavita allowed the sheer fabric to unfurl as she walked to the mirror mounted inside her closet door. She held the material close to her body and recalled one of the first occasions that she’d worn a sari—to her cousin’s annaprashan. Kavita’s mother had lectured her that day, telling her the sari was more than just clothing. It was an Indian woman’s means to communicate. She showed her how holding the veil across a corner of her face indicated she was being playful, while a tug of the folds of her shoulder indicated she was feeling demure.
Kavita had never felt any of those things. To her, the sari was a nuisance that made her feel clumsy and without grace. More often than not, the fabric would slip from her shoulder and the pallu, the long train intended to be draped over her shoulder and arm, would drag on the floor. When the sari was wrapped tight—to give just a hint of the woman’s figure—she felt entrapped in the fabric, claustrophobic.
Kavita held the material close to her face and admired how the blue brought out the color of her eyes, while the gold reflected her skin tone. Aditi. She was always so deliberate when it came to gifts; Kavita could only imagine how much time her best friend had fretted over the dress before buying it. She felt bad she had not been here to accept it, to thank her in person.
She let the six yards of fa
bric unfurl to the hardwood floor. A card slipped from one of the folds. Kavita gathered the fabric and picked up the card, taking both to her bed. She sat on the foam mattress and placed a pillow at her back. The envelope was addressed to Kavita in Aditi’s beautiful script.
She opened it and pulled out the handwritten note.
My Dear Vita:
I saw this sari when I was shopping for my wedding and I marveled at how the blue matched the color of your eyes and the gold your skin.
Kavita laughed. They knew each other so well.
I went back the following day nervous that it would be gone, that someone would have snatched it up. It is so beautiful I simply had to buy it for you. I know it will never be the same as your jeans with the holes in the knees and your T-shirts ☺, but you would be so beautiful in it, Kavita. I hope someday you will find an opportunity to wear it, and when you do, that you will think of me, your dear friend Aditi.
I will be leaving for London at the end of the week. Until then, Rashesh and I will be staying with my parents. Family—you know. It is the Indian way ☺. I do hope that you will come and see me and meet my husband before we depart. Though it has only been minutes since you left, I miss you already.
Come to London, Vita. You will love it! And we will have so much fun together! No pressure!
Always your sister,
Aditi
Behind the note, Kavita found a check for Aditi’s share of the rent for the next two months. She smiled. So like Aditi to worry about her. She sighed, realizing there was no longer a need to worry, not about finances anyway.
Kavita would be a doctor. Of that, she was now quite certain.
Aditi led them on a tour of the apartment. The final room belonged to Kavita. Aditi pointed to the bed, which looked to have been clumsily made, the covers pulled up to the pillows. Scraps of paper littered the down comforter. “That’s the sari and that’s the note I left her.”
“Is that the check?” Tracy asked, noting the scraps of paper.
“Yes. I put the check in the envelope with the note.”
Tracy again thought that the torn-up check indicated Kavita had not been fine with Aditi’s marriage, far from it. She noticed a backpack leaning beside a bedside nightstand and retrieved it. Inside she found a laptop computer.
“That’s Kavita’s,” Aditi said.
Now this was unusual. Most young people rarely went anywhere without their laptop and phone.
“Do you know her password?” she asked. Aditi did not. Tracy handed the backpack to Pryor. “We’ll take this with us and get a warrant to search the computer for her e-mails and her social media.” She turned back to Aditi. “Do you see anything out of the ordinary, other than the check?”
Aditi shook her head.
“Okay,” Tracy said. “I’m going to take a few pictures. I’ll meet you in the living room. Again, don’t touch anything.”
After taking approximately two dozen photographs using her phone, Tracy went back to the living room.
Pryor was speaking to Aditi but turned to Tracy when she entered. “Aditi told Kavita’s parents that we might wish to speak with them.”
Tracy checked her watch. “Where do they live?”
“In Bellevue,” Aditi said. “Her father works at Microsoft. Do you think something could have happened to Kavita?”
“I don’t know,” Tracy said. If something had happened to the young woman, it hadn’t happened in the apartment, not on first appearance anyway. “Aditi, I have to ask you a difficult question; I’m sorry. Is it possible that Kavita could have harmed herself?”
Aditi shook her head. “Not the Vita I know. No. I don’t believe she would.”
“Was Kavita the type of woman who’d go to a bar, maybe have a couple drinks, and go home with someone she didn’t know?”
Again, Aditi shook her head. “No. That would have been out of the ordinary for Kavita.”
“Had you ever known her to do that?”
Aditi paused, and Tracy wondered again if her hesitancy was because of Rashesh’s presence—a young woman who perhaps did not want to admit her and her roommate’s sexual experiences in front of the man she’d just married. “No.”
“Did she drink?”
“On occasion. She liked red wine.”
“What about drugs?”
“No.”
“No drugs? Not even pot?”
“Maybe a few times in high school and college, but no, not regularly.”
“What’s the rent here?”
“It’s $1,850 a month.”
“And you said Kavita’s parents had cut her off financially?”
“Yes.”
“Could Kavita afford the apartment on her own?”
Aditi shook her head. “That’s why I offered to pay until she found a new roommate. I felt bad for leaving her.”
“I suggested to Aditi that we pay two months’ rent,” Rashesh said.
“But she tore up the check,” Tracy said, more to herself. “So how did she plan on paying the rent?”
“I don’t know,” Aditi said. “I assumed Kavita would get another roommate. Are you going to speak with her parents tonight?”
Tracy no longer had a choice. “Yes.”
“Then I’ll let them know you’re coming.”
Tracy removed a business card from her pocket and handed it to Aditi. Pryor did the same. “That’s my contact information. If you hear from Kavita be sure to immediately call me or Detective Pryor.”
“What will you do now?” Rashesh asked.
“We’ll get out a missing persons alert to the agencies in the state and provide Kavita’s picture and her vital information,” Pryor said.
“I’m going to need Kavita’s phone number and the name of her cell phone carrier,” Tracy said. “We’ll ask the carrier to track the phone’s last known location. If we find the phone, hopefully we’ll find Kavita, or at least we’ll know where she’s been.”
CHAPTER 13
The Blaismiths’ neighbors had come out of their houses, curious about the Jetta strapped to the bed of a flatbed tow truck. Faz suspected rumors went around the neighborhood faster than trick-or-treaters on Halloween.
He and Del would follow the tow truck to the vehicle processing room at Park 95. He had already e-mailed Gonzalez and told her to forward the signed search warrant to the Latent Print Unit, also located at Park 95. In the morning, technicians would seek to lift fingerprints from the hood. They might even pick up DNA, though that depended on how long the car had been left in the sun, which could destroy DNA evidence.
Obtaining a usable print and having that print match one in their system remained daunting, but they were at least one step closer.
Faz considered Doug Blaismith, who stood in the driveway of his perfect home in his perfect development. Blaismith looked like a person whose house was going up in flames, with no way to save anything inside. Doug had not offered any protest when Faz told him they were impounding the car. Faz suspected Doug was just as eager to determine whether his wife had been in South Park, though given the wife’s reaction, they already knew that was probably the case. Why she would have been there was a whole other question, and Del and Faz might never get that answer or need it. After giving up the Windex and the rag, Sandy Blaismith clammed up tight. When she did speak it was to ask for an attorney.
“Woman’s been watching too much CSI,” Del had said. “I wanted to ask her if she meant a criminal defense lawyer or a divorce lawyer.”
Faz and Del had agreed not to arrest Sandy Blaismith for obstruction of justice, given that Del had intercepted her before she could wipe down the car. They didn’t really care if she’d been buying drugs or if she’d driven to South Park for some other reason, like an affair. That was between her and her family.
When the flatbed departed, Del and Faz followed in the pool car. Del turned down the radio broadcast of the Mariners game.
“You think it’s drugs?” he asked. “You think she was buyin
g?”
“Based on her reaction, the way she went pale, I think it might be more personal than drugs.”
“She’s cheating on him?” Del said.
“Maybe. Not really our business,” Faz said. “There’s a family to think about, two kids who are innocent in this.”
“Yeah, I know,” Del said. “It just pisses me off that she would try to wipe away evidence in a murder investigation to keep her own secret . . . What kind of a person does that?”
“I don’t know,” Faz said. He thought of Doug Blaismith, standing at the end of his driveway, alone, and with the excitement of the evening having now subsided, Faz’s thoughts returned to Vera. He wondered if she was okay, home alone, without him, again. Vera had spent many nights alone during Faz’s career, but he’d never worried whether she was okay. He’d just assumed it. He wished now that he had called her more often to check on her, to let her know he’d been thinking of her, that he cared.
“Life is way too short to put up with that crap,” Del said.
“Not if he loves her . . . ,” Faz started to say, but that’s when the emotions of the day, the emotions Faz had been fighting so hard to suppress, tore through the façade, and he broke down, crying.
CHAPTER 14
After leaving the newly married Rashesh and Aditi Banerjee at the Village Place apartments, Tracy and Katie Pryor intended to drive immediately to Bellevue to speak to Kavita Mukherjee’s parents, but as Tracy drove down University Way, Pryor pointed out the store, Urban Trekking, where Mukherjee worked.
“Call the parents. Tell them we’ll be a few minutes late,” Tracy said, figuring she’d kill two birds with one stone, since she might not get another stone, not with South Park heating up. She and Pryor parked and walked up a sidewalk filled with people dressed in shorts and tank tops and soaking up vitamin D.
A Steep Price (The Tracy Crosswhite Series Book 6) Page 8