fifty thousand dollars. Then it just became easier for my father to give me money for birthday and Christmas gifts, and my mother would put money into it, too.” It had been a way to funnel funds away from my father’s eyes. “I had a hundred and fifty grand by the time she disappeared.”
Neri’s sudden stiffness gave away the truth; they hadn’t known that choice piece of information. She was young, Sefina Neri, hadn’t yet learned to wear the masks I switched out like shirts. Regan though . . . yes, he had masks of his own.
“Also,” I drawled with a cocky smile, “if I was going to kill a parent, I’d have killed my asshole father rather than my mother.”
When Neri nearly smiled, I had to fight not to clench my hand.
Did she see through the arrogance to the black fear?
I funneled my agitation into action, pushing back the sleeves of my fine forest-green sweater.
“We’re not accusing you of anything, Aarav.” Regan’s eyes were pure kindness now. “We’d just like to hear how the Ducati ended up damaged badly enough that your father bought Mr. Kent a new one.”
My mind raced, my pulse threatening to join in, but my brain had always been my biggest asset. “I was sixteen,” I pointed out. “I didn’t have a license.”
“But you did know how to ride. Didn’t Ariki Henare teach you the previous summer?”
“Don’t get taken in by my media hype, detective. I’m no James Bond. I wasn’t confident enough to go out into a storm.” I forced a languid appearance paired with a small smile of amusement. “The most I ever did with Riki’s bike was ride it up and down the Cul-de-Sac in clear weather.”
“Could your father have ridden the bike?”
That, I realized, was the question to which they wanted an answer. “My father?” I’d never given the idea a single thought; I should have. “Yes. He used to ride a bike when he was a university student.”
“You’ve said your memories of the time around your mother’s disappearance are intense,” Neri began.
“Hard thing to forget.”
“Can you go through what you did in the days immediately afterward?”
“Not much. I wasn’t very mobile with the stitches in my leg—especially after they got infected—so other than asking Diana if she’d heard from my mum, I stayed in and waited for her to come back home.”
The two officers exchanged a glance. They obviously thought they had something, but what it might be, I couldn’t guess. What the hell was suspicious in the idea of a teenage boy lying in bed while his leg pulsed with pain? I’d listened to the ongoing rain and hoped to hear the growl of a Jaguar engine.
Regan closed his notebook. “Is there anything else you’d like to add to your statement?”
“I’ve given you everything I can remember.” Laid bare this way, it wasn’t much. “What are the chances? Of catching the person who did this to her? The person who left her to rot in the forest?”
“It’s a cold case, and you can understand that the time window since the homicide does impact our investigation, but forensic techniques have come a long way in the past decade. It’s possible we’re in a better position to solve this than we would’ve been then.”
“That’s predicated on there being forensic evidence to analyze.” Time could do a lot of damage, erase a lot of things.
“Very true. Please be assured that we’re doing everything possible—the car is being examined inch by inch and we’ve brought a forensic anthropologist on board to ensure we hear everything your mother has to tell us.” He stared at me as if expecting me to be what—startled? surprised? scared?—at the revelation, but all that lived in me was steely resolve.
“You have our numbers,” Regan continued. “Don’t hesitate to call if you decide you want to share anything else.”
I saw Neri’s eyes linger on the scar on my right elbow as I let them out the door, found myself rubbing at the spot afterward. I’d fallen off my bicycle at some point in my teenage years, cut a great big gash in the flesh. It must’ve been after. Because I had no memories of a maternal kiss on the forehead as I was engulfed by a cloud of perfume.
“Ari, what’ve you done to yourself? Aao, let me see.”
My mother had been a terrible mother when judged against traditional markers, but she’d known how to love her son.
Throat thick, I made my way onto the balcony perched outside the living