A Change of Heart Page 6

  Restlessness flapped around him like the T-shirt fluttering around his too-lean body. “Tell me what she said about the baby. How did she feel about becoming a mother?” If she had thought he looked like he was in pain before, this question sucked the life out of him.

  It was the one thing about Jen she would never understand. How could anyone not want to be a mother? Her Joy had put her back together. Without Joy she would’ve been dead years ago. Before him, it was almost as if she hadn’t existed. His smile, the devotion in his gray eyes, it gave her existence substance. He filled her in, the way he filled in the black-and-white characters in his coloring books with color, his little tongue pinched between his lips, his soft brow furrowed in concentration.

  “She knew how happy you were about the baby.”

  “I know how I felt,” he snapped. “I asked how she felt.”

  Despite how well he thought he knew his wife, despite the fact that Jen had been perfectly honest with him about not being ready for motherhood, he looked desperate for someone to rewrite that part of the story for him. “She’s gone,” she should’ve said. “The baby’s gone.” She needed him to snap out of this, to get him working on what she needed from him. But she couldn’t.

  “Did she move away because she needed to distance herself from me? From how I was being about the baby?”

  “Nikhil, you know why she moved. You know she had always wanted to work in Dharavi because of your family’s connection to India.”

  “I begged her to wait until my rotation was done.”

  “She would have lost the position. She didn’t have the time to wait.”

  “Because of the baby. She was going to have to take a break and stop doing what she wanted to do because of the baby.”

  “She just wanted to fit it in before it was time.” That wasn’t entirely untrue, and Nikhil didn’t need to know how terrified Jen had been of losing everything she loved to motherhood.

  “The baby wouldn’t have changed anything. We could have gone on doing what we wanted to do. A lot of couples manage to do what they love and raise their children just fine.”

  “Actually, a baby changes everything. But they would have been changes you wanted to make,” she said, and instantly regretted it when his sad eyes turned alert.

  “You’re a mother.”

  It was the last thing she had expected him to say. The very last thing she needed for him to know.

  But he spoke before she could deny it. “How old is she? He?” His entire attention was on her now and she didn’t know how to back away from it.

  “He’s seven. Joy’s seven.” Shit. She’d told him Joy’s real name. Panic unfurled inside her.

  “Joy?” he said. “That’s beautiful.” Of all the things that could have made his voice crack, it was her baby’s name that did it.

  She couldn’t give herself time to process that, to think about Joy. “They knew she was pregnant, Nikhil. They still did this.” She attacked his vulnerability instead.

  The sound that escaped him ripped through her skin.

  “You have to help me find them,” she said.

  “Yes.” He nodded. “Just tell me what she needs me to do.”

  It took all her strength to not collapse to the deck floor, her relief was so strong.

  Then she saw his face and there was no more relief.

  It was time to pull out the knife, or to at least stop twisting it. Jen’s Nikhil needed respite, and for Jen she’d let him have some.

  “Thanks,” she said quietly. “It can wait until tomorrow. I think this is enough for one day.”

  Is this how torturers felt? Weary from their victim’s pain. Unable to go on without a break. He wasn’t the only one who needed the respite. She needed to regroup. Needed to remind herself why cruelty like this was necessary. Jen would have torn her limb from limb for doing this to him. But she would have understood too. For some reason, Jess knew that no matter how much Jen would have hated her for doing this, she would have done the same thing in her place.

  Despite the alarm bells gonging in her head, warning her not to, she couldn’t stop herself from reaching out and touching his arm. “It will get better, you know. After a while your body adjusts to the pain and learns how to put it away.”

  It was true. Pain by its very nature couldn’t stay acute. Your threshold for pain grew as pain grew, like a body that kept expanding as you fed it and fed it. How could it not? Whoever decided it was okay to inflict the unthinkable on you had to make sure you lived to experience it. What better way to do that than to keep it right there on the edge of a blade, just bearable enough so you could go on around it?

  He pulled his arm away, but didn’t argue with her, although it was clear from the way he squeezed his eyes shut that in this moment he couldn’t perceive the pain ever lessening, let alone going away. Who knew, maybe he was the one man on earth who really could love one and only one woman until the end of time. People who believed in love did believe in that sort of thing.

  Watching him under the Caribbean sun, his body gaunt with pain, his hair shorn off, and eyes that switched from desolation to desperate hope and back again without his permission, all the things Jen had said about him rang true. Watching him like this it was impossible not to believe that he was the miracle Jen believed he was.

  Too bad she didn’t believe in miracles.

  He didn’t ask her any more questions. She knew he wanted to. God knew she had answers to them all. But right now she was too weary for questions, for anything more than what she had just done.

  He straightened, that alert focus back in his eyes again, and looked like he was going to ask another question after all. “I promise I’ll answer all your questions. But not right now. Tomorrow,” she said before he could open his mouth.

  He shook his head. “I was just going to ask if I could walk you to your room. You look exhausted.”

  She backed away from him, putting distance between them as fast as she could.

  “I’m fine,” she said, finding it hard to keep her voice even and kicking herself for it. “You should go get some rest. I’ll come find you at the clinic tomorrow.”

  She spun around and walked away without breaking into a run the way she wanted to.

  Once she was in the elevator by herself, she pulled the ultra-fancy phone out of her pocket and punched in the number from memory before typing out a text. I’m in. Everything on track.

  Then she deleted the text from the Sent folder and deleted the number from the list of calls.

  7

  I never thought I’d meet two men who threw them-selves on top of others when it rained bullets. It’s no secret what happened the first time I saw someone do that.

  —Dr. Jen Joshi

  Rahul Savant often forgot that he had topped the Indian Joint Civil Services Examination. For all the huge deal they made out of the exam, it was just a bunch of questions, and Rahul had never had trouble answering questions, especially the kind that came from books. The real skill, the one no one had found a way to test, was in finding the right questions to ask.

  He took a deep breath and raised his arm to knock on the teakwood door that smelled of fresh varnish. This was exactly the kind of moment when he needed to remind himself that he was indeed a top-ranker and that he deserved to be standing here inside the historical Sachivalaya—the South Mumbai office of the state home minister—wearing his Deputy Commissioner of Police uniform as the DCP and not as the minister’s protégé. He was well within his rights in asking for what he needed to bring Jen’s killers to justice.

  He rapped on the wood. But the sharp stab of pain on his always-bruised knuckles did nothing to distract from the shame of having failed Jen.

  “Come in.” The home minister’s unerringly calm voice invited him in, and Rahul opened the door and marched in with more bravado than he felt.

  “Exactly on time, as usual.” Kirit Patil’s kind eyes studied him with their usual generous approval. Instead of dissipating, R
ahul’s shame intensified.

  Kirit shut the leather-bound folder he’d been studying and indicated the chair in front of him. Rahul hadn’t opened his mouth yet, but he could tell that Kirit knew he came bearing bad news.

  “Still no sign of the diary, sir.” He still could not believe that he had allowed such a crucial piece of evidence to go missing. If not for the fact that Kirit had been his mentor ever since Rahul’s father took a bullet for Kirit twenty years ago, he might not be standing here addressing the minister at all. He might be opening doors as a security guard outside some fancy hotel.

  Kirit shrugged. “It’s a closed case, Rahul. If you stop bringing it up, it would be a non-issue. You have to let it go, son.”

  “Another disappearance was reported yesterday. That’s five that we know of this year. I have reason to believe this has to do with Dr. Joshi’s investigation.” Or what should have been his investigation. One he should never have let Jen get so involved in.

  “This is ridiculous and you know it. We don’t have bodies, no proof that these people exist. We don’t even have proof that Jennifer Joshi was even actually collecting any evidence. How do you expect me to sanction an investigation when there is no case? I’ve let slide the fact that the diary was stolen under your supervision. That’s as much as I can do.”

  Kirit had taken a huge risk keeping such a blunder secret, and he had possibly saved Rahul’s job. But Rahul knew better than to thank him again. Kirit didn’t need more sniveling gratitude. What he needed was a DCP who did his job.

  “I got a call from Dr. Joshi today.”

  Kirit sat up, raised one questioning brow, and reached for the stainless-steel tumbler sitting on a tray on his desk.

  Rahul poured water into the tumbler from the jug and handed it to Kirit. “It was completely out of the blue. Dr. Joshi has been unreachable for close to two years now.”

  Kirit took a sip and raised his chin, signaling Rahul to continue.

  “He wanted to know who had his wife’s heart. I tried to tell him about the diary and ask for his help with finding the evidence again. But he didn’t give me a chance.”

  The minister stood. Despite his lean build, the sun shining through the massive windows behind him turned him larger than life. He walked around the desk and put his hand on Rahul’s shoulder.

  His expression was innately familiar. Kirit’s kindness had helped Rahul survive his father’s death. Rahul would always carry the weight of Baba bleeding out on his lap after he had taken the bullet meant for the minister at the election rally. But he would never forget that Kirit had refused to flee the scene until the ambulance arrived.

  He’d stayed with Rahul through the ordeal at the hospital and held Rahul’s hand as he gave fire to his father’s pyre. Then he had helped Rahul channel his teenage anger and steered him toward the Civil Services Exam and the police force instead of the limited alternatives available to children like him, if the gangs in the neighborhood hadn’t gobbled him up first.

  “Rahul, we already have the perpetrators in the Jennifer Joshi murder case in custody. This case is not going to spoil your perfect record. You’ve already managed to send the black-market organ ring into hiding. These disappearances—you’re trying to find a connection where there is none.” He leaned his head forward and let his steady gaze calm Rahul. “It’s time to let this case go, son. I don’t want you to contact Dr. Joshi again. And you cannot let anyone know about the diary being stolen. If the media finds out that evidence has gone missing, I won’t be able to protect you any longer. There is only so much I can do.”

  First, the murderers they had in custody weren’t the real murderers, not the ones who orchestrated the organ stealing that Jen had unearthed. Not the ones who had threatened Jen and then had her throat snapped in an alley. Second, the deaths hadn’t stopped. The department just didn’t have the resources to go after disappearances of undocumented slum dwellers, not without Kirit’s approval. No, this was far from over.

  “Sir, I know that the evidence is still out there. I know Jen’s . . . Dr. Joshi’s husband has access to the evidence. I don’t think the diary being stolen is an accident. I just need a little time to get through to him. He’s coming up on the two-year mark. Even the most badly affected victims’ families are ready to get back to their lives after two years. I know if I can just talk to him that he can lead us to these monsters.”

  “You said that when we passed the one-year mark. So far the victim’s husband has shown us no sign that he wants to cooperate. We have no case and even if we did we don’t have jurisdiction. He’s taken himself and all her possessions back to the US. There is nothing more we can do.”

  “I need clearance to access the donor records.”

  “It’s out of the question.”

  “Please, sir. I’m begging.”

  Kirit squeezed his temples. “You know how hard it is for me to refuse you, son. I would give you anything you wanted if I thought it would get us anywhere. I’ll tell you what. I’ve recommended your name to head up the security team for the Commonwealth Games in New Delhi.”

  “You’re transferring me?”

  Kirit looked hurt. “No, I’m giving you a promotion and the kind of responsibility anyone else with your seniority would kill for.”

  “Then don’t. I don’t deserve it. I haven’t earned it.”

  Kirit patted Rahul’s shoulder again. “You deserve so much more. You just have to learn to keep your emotions out of it. If you get my meaning. This business is too dirty to let your heart get involved.” He held Rahul’s gaze, until he was sure his words had sunk in.

  This wasn’t about Jen, or how he felt about her. But he was not getting into that with Kirit. Based on Kirit’s set face, it seemed like Rahul wasn’t getting into anything more with him today.

  “Come on, son, let it go. It’s over.”

  But it wasn’t over. There were still five people who had disappeared. Jen’s donor registry database was still erased without a trace. The diary was still missing from police custody. Nikhil Joshi’s dead-man voice was still searching for connections to his wife, a woman Rahul would avenge if it was the last thing he did.

  But he had reached a dead end with Kirit and he’d just have to find another way.

  Kirit must have seen the resignation in Rahul’s face, because he sank into his chair, looking suddenly old and weary. “You’re coming home for dinner tonight. Kimi is cooking some fancy foreign food again.”

  Rahul groaned. “Come on, sir, do I really deserve that?”

  Kirit laughed, and Rahul knew that the minister had switched over to doting-father mode. “Why must I be the only one to suffer her experiments?”

  “I’ll be there.” It’s not like he could refuse the invitation, even though after his last encounter with Kimi he really needed to stay away from her. He gave Kirit a quick salute and left.

  The minister, of all people, should know how much damage the black market did to legitimate organ donor lists. Kimi had, after all, waited years for her heart. For Kimi and for Jen, Rahul couldn’t possibly rest until those bastards were off his streets.

  8

  Today Nic brought me flowers. No big deal. Except it’s minus fifteen outside and there are no florists here. His flowers were drawn by Nagma on his prescription pad. He lets her hold it when he examines her amputated leg. He brought me the flowers and pressed them into my hand. Then he cried into my lap. Because she has gangrene.

  —Dr. Jen Joshi

  Nikhil grabbed hungrily at the scent of freshly washed linen flooding his senses. The feel of long-fingered hands clutched at his skin. Soft strands of the darkest silk pressed into his face. He fought consciousness with everything he was worth. He knew at the other end lay horror—the absence of what wrapped him up right now.

  Sure enough, emptiness welcomed him as he broke through to wakefulness. Emptiness and the cold kiss of air against his skin. He had fallen asleep on top of the sheets. His shoes were still on his feet, his
overstarched uniform still on his body.

  For no reason at all, he thought of the night before when he’d awoken under the sheets. His shoes had been removed, his foul-smelling shirt had been pulled off, and he’d been so out of it he hadn’t even noticed.

  He turned to the note still sitting on his nightstand and picked it up. The look in Jess’s eyes when she’d admitted to coloring her hair flashed in his head. He folded over the piece of paper and slipped it into the drawer. He still couldn’t believe what he was choosing to believe.

  But he’d never judged a person wrong in his life. His gut had never let him down. Unless an excess of Jack had erased that ability, he knew he’d seen truth in Jess’s eyes. Not all of it, because the girl was a clam. How could he not follow this thread she’d handed him? Even though it threatened to unravel the very fabric of him.

  He was steady on his feet when he got out of bed. There was a dull ache in his temples. Quite possibly his body’s way of rebelling against his sudden forsaking of the Jack. Or maybe his body was thanking him by showing him how much better this was than the usual head pounding he woke up to. He scrubbed his fingers across his forehead. His ring hung loose around his finger. The day Jen had slid it on his finger had smelled of roses. The thick, sweet-smelling garlands hanging from their necks had entangled when he’d broken protocol and kissed her after the priest had finished chanting their vows.

  That sweet rose scent, the tang of her sweat, the purifying burn of sandalwood-scented fire—how did one forget a moment wrapped up in those smells? If happiness could fill you up, turn you from the wisp of a sketch into a fully formed sculpture, that moment had been it for him. He had become a life-sized version of who he had played at being. He had been set in stone. You couldn’t re-form stone into anything else. Not without crumbling it to dust first.

  His thumb found his ring and spun it. Dust. He wanted to be dust.