by Kim Knight
Dunne chuckled. “Yeah, either way, something’s telling me to check it all out.”
“You find anything on Lance?” McDonald asked.
“He does own a garage–just as Chelsea said. Got the address too.”
“Okay, I’ll be back in five.” McDonald headed out the door.
At the office, and after McDonald had made an official file for the evidence and gotten in contact with forensics, he placed the phone on its receiver and flipped open Manisha Patel’s file.
A picture of her slipped out. He picked it up and studied it, taking in each fine line of her features. The signs of stress that appeared across her face were easy to see. All though she had never been arrested or charged for Tony’s murder, experience had shown him to always look close to home, especially when it comes to murder suspects.
In the picture, she had a sad expression. He placed it to one side and thumbed through the paperwork. He stopped at a transcript of one of the first interviews he and Dunne had done with her.
Slowly, McDonald re-read the statements she had made a few months ago: Tony had insisted on a separation but still loved her; she had no idea he had started an affair; his whereabouts were unknown to her.
McDonald placed the transcript down, leaned back in his chair, and then thought for a moment. After a beat, he picked up the phone and pressed speed dial to reach Dunne.
“Yeah,” Dunne answered the phone with an annoyed tone on the first ring.
“You think the wife sent the note?” McDonald asked, then picked up Manisha’s picture again.
“The wife? We can’t rule anything out. But what makes you point the finger at her?”
McDonald dropped the photo and exchanged it for the transcripts of the interview with Manisha. He held up the sheet of paper. “Just reading back over the interviews. She said she didn’t know about the affair, so she had no obvious motivate to kill him—they were still married. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t bitter with the way things played out.”
“What do you mean?” Dunne probed.
“Think about it. Chelsea got away once,” McDonald said. “This could be her attempt to make sure someone is found guilty, the right person. That is if it was Chelsea and the wife knows something we don’t.”
“It’s possible, but she remained silent for a long time—I mean, why now?”
“Hmm, we need to call her in again. See if she knows anything else. I’m not convinced.” McDonald tapped a finger against Chelsea’s picture.
“Agreed, let’s see what comes back from forensics.”
“Okay, give me a shout if you find anything on Lance.”
“Will do.”
McDonald placed the phone down and turned his attention back to the file on Manisha. Something wasn’t sitting right with him about her.
11
Two Sides to Every Coin
Manisha
In a fresh set of clothes and her hair towel dried, Manisha sat in the same spot since she had arrived home and changed.
Earlier, when soaked to the bone from the down pour of rain at cemetery, anger had consumed her. During that time, she had performed a frantic search of the house—for what, she wasn’t sure. And now, the kitchen table was covered in the memorabilia she had collected over the months.
Her only comfort was the clock ticking on the wall.
The house is silent, as empty as always. Manisha sighed at the thought of empty nest syndrome. Ever since the kids had grown up and moved out, it was just her and Tony. Well, when we were on good terms.
She wrapped her cold hands around the warmth of her mug, took a sip of the steaming hot tea, then looked down at the newspaper cuttings she had dug out of her scrapbook.
Her stomach turned, she felt nauseous.
Tabloid paper headlines from a few months ago glared back at her.
The Sun newspaper ran a front-page article about a sixty-year-old entrepreneur found dead on the common in south London by a local dog walker.
That man was her husband, well, estranged husband. They had been apart for a couple of months while they ‘tried to figure out’ where their marriage was headed.
She pushed the paper to one side.
“Thirty years of marriage,” she said with a scoff, “an arranged one at that.”
Manisha glanced over to her right and passed her gaze over the picture on the wall of her father, who was a proud Asian-Indian man while alive. He had insisted that she follow tradition, and he had selected a suitor for her. Back then, she had zero say in who he was. She wasn’t even allowed to meet him until a few weeks before the wedding.
Her mother had remained mute about it all. It hadn’t mattered how much she had protested to the woman and begged her to help her father come to his senses. After all, they were in London, not back in India.
Manisha would have done anything to have had the freedom to choose who she spent the rest of her life with. It never worked, her mother remained a coward and pushed her into the marriage just like her father had done to her. She remained bitter towards both her parents for this, and the relationship she had with them over the years was never the same.
Her and her father, well, that was a whole other story. The two had never been that close. She put this down to the fact that while alive, he never saw her as a priority compared to her bothers. As the only female child, she had little freedom or say about anything.
With narrowed eyes, Manisha got up from the table, walked over to the wall, and then pulled down the framed picture of her father. She raised it above her head, and then, with force, she smashed it against the tiled floor.
The glass cracked and scattered around the room.
Careful to not cut herself, she fished out the picture of her father from between the shards of glass, then brought it close to her face. Without a word, she tore it in half and casually tossed it into the bin beside the sink.
She and Tony had their ups and downs like any couple. She reflected, moving her mind back over the years.
I never imagined he’d want to separate, she thought, he was sixty. And I’m not far behind him at fifty-five. She sighed. I gave that man some of the best years of my life.
After all, she’d sacrificed as a stay-at-home mum and a ‘good little Indian wife’ as everyone encouraged her to be while he built his empire. She tried to be happy as his cheerleader in life, but she was, and still is, full of resentment.
“I deserved better—a lot better.”
Manisha stepped over the glass, headed back to the kitchen table, then took a seat. She turned her nose up at the shattered glass on the floor and rolled her eyes.
Everyone thought he was the perfect husband. She picked up the newspaper cutting with Tony’s picture. Behind closed doors, he was often violent, both her and the children, felt his wrath over the years. As the kids grew older, he toned it down somewhat.
Manisha rubbed her temples, then picked up her teaspoon. Close to tears, she tried to hold them back.
How old was I then? In my twenties? The thought swirled around in her mind like the tea in her cup she stirred slowly in contemplation.
A vision her being beaten badly on one occasion came to her mind’s eye. She had stayed through it all, never caused a fuss, never wanted to embarrass anyone by divorcing him.
“Everyone would just see it as I was the problem.”
She dropped the spoon on the table beside her cup and took a sip. “Why can’t you keep your husband happy, like a good wife?” She mimicked the harsh sound of her mother’s Indian accent, then chuckled.
At times, her culture and family tradition sucked. The double standard she felt and was obligated to put up with her whole life—that had forced her to put up with it and shut up—now drove her mad.
She longed for more excitement and ultimately to retire somewhere in the sun.
A new environment may have made it easier to tolerate Tony. Or so she had thought when he was alive. That was her motivation to stay with him, nothing else.
<
br /> How could I love him? After all the beatings and not being able to make something of myself? She rationalised her growing anger.
And now that their son and daughter were grown with families of their own, she wanted to experience something new. Tony wasn’t interested in leaving London, so she was stuck, and continued to be a bored housewife.
Over time, she became bitter about it, and resented both Tony and her father for placing her in such a horrible life from the time she was a young woman until now. She had considered having an affair, but what good would that do? Where would she find a man with as much wealth as Tony. No, that would never have been an easy task.
Manisha sighed, then set her tea down. Her gaze moved over to the window, and she looked out at the back garden.
“How could you betray me like this?”
The question hung in the air, thick and heavy.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
The phone pulled her back to the moment at hand. Manisha attempted to bring her anger to a simmer. Reaching for the phone, she prepared herself for whoever was on the other line and got into character.
Reluctantly, she picked up the cordless device off the kitchen table next to her.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Manisha, how are you?”
Manisha rolled her eyes at the sound of her best friend’s voice. She only ever called to be nosey or see what the latest gossip was ever since Tony’s death had made the headlines.
“Hi, Susan. I’m okay.”
“Good, how are the children?”
“Oh, you know, the usual. They’re working and dealing with their little ones. They’re okay.”
“Glad to hear it, and what about you? After the failed will contest, how are you managing with everything?”
“How do you think? It’s not been easy. He cut me and the kids out of an inheritance and left everything to that floosy. It’s been tough, but I’m okay.”
“I can imagine, if you need anything, I’m here, okay.”
The sympathy in Susan’s voice this time was genuine, but she could hardly ask her friend for financial support.
“Yeah, okay. Thanks. Listen, I better run. I have a few errands to carry out. We’ll catch up later.”
“Okay, sure.”
Manisha placed the phone down and looked around the kitchen. Everything in the house reminded her of Tony. As her eyes rested on the smashed glass on the tiled floor, her mind went back over the decades to one of the most serious beatings Tony had given her.
Right here, in this kitchen, he had kicked and punched her within an inch of her life, then told her to get up, clean herself up and make his dinner.
The phone rang again. She was tempted to ignore but picked it up.
“Hello.” Manisha sighed into the phone.
“Mrs. Patel, it’s Detective Dunne.”
“Oh, hi, what a surprise.” Manisha frowned and pouted her lips. “What can I do for you, Detective?”
“We’ve had some information come our way. And we’re looking into the death of your husband again. I just wanted to inform you, and ask if we can drop by later this evening?”
Manisha covered her mouth to stem a gasp. “Okay, around what time? What’s happened?”
“Nothing to worry about for now. We’re just carrying out some enquiries. Around six if that’s okay with you?”
“Fine, we’ll see you then.”
Manisha placed the phone on the table. She picked her bag up off the chair, then headed out to her car, double checking she had the keys to one of the houses that Tony owned. It had been empty since the tenant moved out just before her husband was murdered. She’d organised to collect a few things they had left there. His floosy, the one who he had left his entire estate to, had welcomed her to take whatever she wanted from the house.
Before she and Tony had separated and long before he was found dead, they were in the process of preparing to sell it. That would’ve been money Manisha would have welcomed in their bank account if his side piece hadn’t gotten there first.
She unlocked the car and sat behind the steering wheel. She glanced at the rear view mirror, staring at herself.
“How could he,” she said again, “you betrayed me Tony! In the worst way.”
Manisha slammed her hand against the wheel. The couple were still legally married, it hurt that not only had he started seeing Chelsea a younger woman, but he had also placed her as the beneficiary of his estate. No, our estate She thought. When her, and the children found out her mouth hit the ground. She was aware of the affair but made out she had no clue about Chelsea. The real bombshell was that her and the kids were cut out of his will, this sparked fury all around.
Pushing the bitter thoughts to the back of her mind, she started the car’s engine, put the car in gear and made her way over to the empty house.
One hour later, Manisha turned the key in the lock. She took a deep breath, not sure how to handle how she felt about entering what should’ve been her property.
The door jammed slightly with all the uncollected mail.
Bending down to retrieve it, she flicked through each piece. Pizza flyers, grocery store advertisements, and offers on local services, nothing really of importance. She placed the mail on the table in the hallway, then made her way into the main living area.
Everything’s untouched, just as I remember it, she thought to herself, and glanced around the room.
She ran her finger over one of the tables, dust an inch thick lifted off and stuck to the tip. Her skin crawled because she was never one to like an untidy home. She removed her jacket, then searched for some cleaning products.
After an hour, Manisha took off her rubber gloves and looked around pleased.
The few boxes of items she had packed up, sat on the table. She picked them up, loaded them into her car, and then set off, keen to see what news Detective Dunne had for her.
Back at home Manisha left the box of items in the boot of her car and hurried inside.
Shit. I’ve got to get rid of everything before they arrive, she thought to herself.
She fumbled around with key in the lock. Once inside, she firmly closed the door behind her, then locked it from the inside.
The last thing I need is Sandip walking in, the thought set her on edge.
Sandip was her eldest child. Sanita, her daughter, had immigrated to Australia with her husband, shortly after she had married.
Manisha headed straight into the kitchen and pulled out a pair of rubber gloves from under the sink. Paranoia set in, weighing heavy on her shoulders.
If they’re carrying out more enquiries, they may want to look around the house, she reasoned with the logic she had made up in her head and decided it was a possibility.
She pulled the latex over her hands.
Better safe than sorry, a sigh escaped her lips. I can’t afford any mess ups.
Quickly, she unlocked the door to the back garden, then dragged the ladder into the house. With a struggle, she secured it, so she could climb up to the attic.
With a flashlight in hand, she slid the door to one side, then pulled herself in.
Manisha knew exactly what she was looking for. She flashed the light around the small space, then headed over to the trunk pushed back into the far corner. Inside, she pulled out a large envelope, and a small bottle of arsenic.
“Hmm . . . she got to you before me. It’s a shame you changed that bloody will.” She placed the envelope and poison in a bag.
Balancing the items as best she could, she headed down the ladder and secured the latch to the attic behind her.
In the kitchen she, slid out the contents of an envelope.
Pictures of Tony and his floosy, who she refused to refer to as Chelsea, fell out along with the business card of the private investigator she had hired.
Yes, she had played the role of the innocent wife who knew nothing of her husband’s extra marital affair. The whole family and police fell f
or it. The truth was, her suspicions were confirmed by the investigator she had hired to follow Tony.
The affair had enraged her. It was at that point, she decided her only interest in Tony was his money, and the new life she could create with it. The problem was he didn’t want to immigrate from London and enjoy the later years of their golden years.
Once Chelsea appeared, she hoped to finish off what she had started—Tony’s slow death with arsenic, which of course, would appear to be ‘natural causes’ due to his cancer that had already developed.
Maybe I was greedy, she thought. Perhaps, I should have just been satisfied that he had cancer and was due to die anyway . . . rather than speed it up.
She ran her gaze over a picture of Tony and Chelsea hand in hand. One thing she never expected was for Tony to get so pussy-whipped, he’d cut her and the kids out of his will.
Something didn’t seem right, and for that, she blamed Chelsea.
Tony had loved their son and daughter as much as she did, and he loved her too, she was sure of it, deep down, even if at times, he had beat her.
She flicked her eyes to the clock on the wall. With an hour to go, she packed away the arsenic and paperwork in the envelope, grabbed her coat, bag, and keys, and then headed out the door to deposit everything in the private mailbox she had rented. It was where the investigator had mailed her the result of his investigation.
12
Role Play
Chelsea
Back at her flat later that afternoon, after returning from her interview with Dunne and McDonald, Chelsea paced the living room floor. Every now and then, she stopped to dial Lance’s number. It went to voicemail straight away each time.
“What the hell is he playing at?”
She threw her phone on the sofa and yelled. She moved over to window and cast her eyes over the view of the River Thames, facing the building. Following Tony’s death, she decided to stay put in the home that she mainly shared with him during the two-month affair. And it was where she had cared for him at the end stage of his cancer.