McDonald shook his head. “Looks like the family were right about Chelsea. She was careful not to leave prints.”
Dunne considered the possibility, based on the events of the last seventy-two hours so far.
“She couldn’t have acted alone. Someone knew what she was up to, for sure—even lead us to the murder weapon.” He paused a moment to think. “She’s a small girl. There’s no way she could’ve dumped his body on the common single handily. Then there’s Lance’s story.”
“Sounds about right. We better get over to her place and see what’s up.” McDonald rose to his feet. “We might want to secure another warrant just so we’re covered and can enter.”
“Right,” Dunne agreed, then snatched up the phone.
21
Bitter Feelings
Sandip
Later that evening, Sandip let himself into his childhood home.
“Mum, Mum are you home?”
“I’m here, love, in the kitchen,” Manisha called out.
Sandip made his way down the hallway following his mother’s voice. “There you are, what ya up to?” He entered the kitchen.
Manisha turned toward him, covered in flour. “Just baking some bread. Nothing special.”
“Oh, nice, good timing then.” Sandip chuckled, then bent down to kiss Manisha’s cheek.
He adored his mother’s cooking. The traditional Indian-Asian dishes he grew up on were his favourite.
“How are you? How’s things goin’?” He took a seat at the kitchen table.
“Same as usual, love. Just trying to survive,” Manisha called over a shoulder. She looked her son, took in his slender frame, dark eyes, coffee-coloured skin, full beard, and his rounded, trendy glasses.
“Detective Dunne and McDonald called around yesterday,” Manisha announced.
Sandip’s gaze moved over to his mother, kneading the bread dough. “Oh, yeah, what did they want?”
“Apparently, they have suspicions about that floosy your father was seeing. They’ve reopened his case.”
Sandip smiled from ear to ear, then quickly fixed his face when Manisha turned to face him.
“Seriously?” He asked.
“Yes, love.”
She set the dough in a baking pan, placed it in the oven to bake, and then wiped her hands on a kitchen towel.
“Tea?” She made her way over to the kettle, filled it with water, then flicked the switch.
“Sure.” He watched his mother closely. “Well, that’s good news, I guess . . . about the investigation, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so, son. We just have to wait and see what happens.”
Sandip reflected on the news. He watched his mother fuss around in the kitchen. Gazing off, he noticed the wall clock was missing.
“Where’s the clock gone, Mum?”
“Hmm, what clock?”
“The one Dad got you as a wedding gift.” he pointed to the vacant space on the wall where it was and has always been. “You hung it over there.”
“Oh, that. It fell off the wall. Smashed to pieces.”
Sandip nodded his head and side-eyed his mother. “Hmm, that’s strange.”
His thoughts returned to the news he had just learned about Chelsea.
He had literally erupted once he found out his father cut everyone out of the will. For a second, he couldn’t believe he’d do that. Not after his dad knew how much debt he had hanging over his head.
His business start-up was suffering. And he had told his dad that much when he asked him for money. He almost got it too until the old man discovered his little habit—cocaine, which he hadn’t told his mother about. Instead, he flatly refused to invest further in his business or help him clear his debts that were secured to the house he shared with his wife and kids.
Sandip was livid with him and upset that his dad could watch him suffer like that, especially when Tony was a wealthy man with properties he rented in London and Spain, not to mention the restaurants turning over high profits, and then there was the cash in the bank.
The more Sandip struggled to meet his bills, pay his family’s mortgage, and feed his cocaine habit, the greater the rage built up within him.
As his son, he should have helped me, he pouted to himself, rather than paying for a massive wedding for my sister. To make matters worse, he had gifted her a large sum of money, so she and new husband could immigrate to Australia last year.
Sandip sat through the wedding day calculating the cost of everything from the food, dress, entertainment, and gifts his father had showered the couple with. He brought his mind back from the past and to his mother.
“Did they say anything else?” Sandip asked.
“Nope.” Manisha brewed the tea by hand. “Just that she’s a suspect, and they’d be in contact.”
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
“Answer that for me will you, love?”
Sandip made his way over to the kitchen counter and picked up the cordless phone.
“Hello.”
“Hi, this is Detective Dunne. Is Mrs. Patel around?”
“Detective.” Sandip’s heart leapt into his throat. “Mum told me you’ve reopened the case. What’s the latest?”
“Yeah, that’s what I wanted to discuss with your mother. Is she there?”
“One second.” Sandip headed over to the sink, then handed Manisha the phone. “It’s Detective Dunne, Mum.”
Manisha took the phone. “Detective is everything okay?”
“So far, just a call to see if Detective McDonald and I can pass by this evening. We have some questions?”
“What’s happened?”
“Nothing for you to worry about at this point. What time can we call around?”
“Anytime you wish, I’ll be in. I don’t have any plans.”
“Okay, we’ll be there sometime this evening once we’ve wrapped a few things up.”
“Fine, see you then.”
Manisha ended the call, then slowly placed the phone on the table.
“What’s up, Mum?” Sandip asked. “If that little bitch had never got her hands on everything, we’d be okay now. Why are the police interested in talking to you and not Chelsea?”
“I don’t know, son.” Manisha responded casually.
“I’ll hang around and wait until they show up.”
Manisha remained silent and headed back over to her second bread dough.
Sandip watched her kneaded it with excessive force through gritted teeth. Something wasn’t right about his mother’s change in demeanour. The energy in the room shifted with it. He sensed she was worried about thing. He thought back to
