“What?”
I rifled through the accident photos looking for a clearer picture of the airbag. “Crystal always wore red lipstick, even in prison.” There were three different angles of the deployed airbag. Not a trace of red lipstick. Crystal wasn’t driving.
"Look, you know I can't say anything definitively, but I don't think your mother was driving that night. I do think the accident killed her. At the speeds indicated here, not even a seat belt could've helped her. The seat belt probably caused a fair amount of damage." Dev wasn't the warm and fuzzy type. He was direct, honest, and really fucking good at his job. "Look, I have a friend at the coroner's office, I can have her take a look at this—off the record—and I'll have a buddy at the NYPD take a glance at it too… If you want."
I nodded.
“Okay, it might take a while. I’m going to Mumbai for a couple of weeks for a wedding. Do you have any leads that might help?”
“Leads? I’m not the detective here.”
“Yeah, but you are a lawyer. Any ideas?”
“There is one.” I pulled out Detective Tan’s business card and handed it to Dev.
“Oh, shite.” He glanced at me. “That explains all the photos.”
“What do you mean?”
“Unless you make a request, you don’t usually get this many photos. It’s typically one of the deceased and one of the vehicles. If you even get that. There are almost a dozen pictures here. And with this…” He held up the card. “This Detective Tan wanted you to ask questions. You should ring him.”
I took the card back from Dev and slid it into my top drawer.
“I’ll wait to hear what your friends think. No sense in stirring shit unless I know there’s something to stir, right?”
"Sure, mate." Dev clapped me on the shoulder and began replacing the contents of the envelope. He knew I was deflecting, and I was glad he didn't call me on it. "So, I guess you won't be coming out for drinks tonight."
I barked out a surprised laugh. My nights would be filled with bath times, very hungry caterpillars, and ducky pajamas for the foreseeable future. That tiny sip of Hennessy I had a few nights ago almost took me out. "Nah. Not for a while."
We laughed.
“So, wedding, huh? Who’s getting married?”
“Me,” he said as if he was telling me the time.
“Congratulations, man. I didn’t know you were seeing anybody.”
“I wasn’t, not exactly. Our parents set us up about a year ago. We’ve been chatting online ever since. We’ll finally be in the same room this time next week.” His face spread in an excited grin.
“You’re gonna marry someone you’ve never met in person. That doesn’t seem crazy?”
“Mate, I’m an investigator at a law firm. I can tell you from experience, no one knows who they marry.”
“How did you get together?”
“Actually, we met once as kids in India. She beat me in a chess tournament when I was seven, but I haven’t seen her in person in over twenty years. Our parents are acquaintances.”
"So, you let your parents choose your wife?"
"Why not? My parents’ marriage was arranged. They had one five-minute phone call before they got married, and they've been together for forty-seven years. Things are done a little differently now, but it's still a good system." He chuckled.
“What do you know about her?”
"She still loves playing chess. She was accepted into a graduate program at NYU in the fall. She loves to eat and hates to cook. She thinks I'm handsome and that I have kind eyes. She laughs at most of my jokes." He smiled again, and his look was boyish.
“Do you have a picture?”
As if he'd been waiting for me to ask, Dev whipped out his phone and pulled up his screen saver. He turned the phone around to reveal a pretty, dark brown-skinned woman with long dark hair parted down the middle and flung over one shoulder. She'd been in the middle of laughing when this photo was taken. Dev was waiting for my assessment with his eyebrows raised.
