Sara Shepard: Seven Minutes in Heaven

The girls fell silent. Across the lawn, Emma watched as the funeral officiant leaned over to talk to Dr. Banerjee, who hadn’t moved from his seat, a faraway look on his face. Emma had seen the doctor several weeks before, when he had treated her mother. He’d been patient and kind, even when Becky had been violent. Now his worst nightmare was coming true—and so soon on the heels of his wife’s death.

“Excuse me,” she told her friends, and walked around the now-empty chairs toward where he sat.

People nodded at her as she passed. Coach Maggie stood with a group of tennis players, looking shocked and heartbroken. Clara was with them, tears running down her cheeks.

The officiant hugged Dr. Banerjee one last time, then joined the crowd, leaving him alone. Emma hesitated. She wanted to tell him how sorry she was for his loss and that Nisha had become a good friend to her. But more than that, she wanted to find out what he thought about Nisha’s death—and where his daughter had been before she died.

Before she could decide what to say, someone else sat down next to Dr. Banerjee. Her body tensed as she recognized Detective Quinlan in ceremonial dress blues, his hat in his hands. Quinlan was hardly a fan of Sutton Mercer—he had a file three inches thick on Sutton’s Lying Game exploits, and he had arrested Emma for shoplifting two months earlier. She instinctively ducked behind a headstone a few feet away.

Quinlan’s voice was a low, sympathetic rumble. Leaning back against the cool marble, Emma strained her ears to hear what he was saying. She caught “so sorry” and “tragic” and was about to back away from the two men when the word “autopsy” drifted to her.

Dr. Banerjee shook his head violently at whatever Quinlan had just said.

“Look, Sanjay.” Quinlan’s voice was patient but firm. “There weren’t any signs of a struggle. No defensive wounds, no bruises, no handprints. It was just an accident.”

“No.” Dr. Banerjee’s hands remained folded neatly in his lap, but his muscles were tight across his face. “Nisha has been swimming since she was two. She would have had to have tripped and hit her head for it to be an accident. But no bruises? No concussion?” He paused, his mouth writhing for a moment before he could speak again. “My daughter was murdered.”

Quinlan hesitated, his lips downturned beneath his mustache. “There’s more,” he said softly. “I hate to tell you like this. But the examiner found extremely high amounts of diazepam in her bloodstream. That’s . . .”

“Valium. Yes, I am a doctor,” Nisha’s father snapped. His knuckles went white as he squeezed his fingers together harder. “She doesn’t have a prescription for Valium.”

Quinlan sighed, rubbing his stubbled jaw. “I know. We checked her records.”

“Then what are you . . .”

“I know it’s hard to hear. But Nisha had a very bad year.” Quinlan looked uncomfortable. He turned his hat over and over in his hands. “I don’t want to sound like I’m accusing her of anything. But Sanjay, teens try new things and don’t always know their limits.”

Dr. Banerjee’s voice was hard. “Her room was all torn up, Shane. Someone went through and ripped the place to bits. Someone was looking for something.”

Quinlan shrugged. “There was no sign of forced entry, and we didn’t find anybody’s fingerprints in there. Only yours and hers. Nisha must have done that herself. Sometimes people do strange things when they’re in an altered state.”

Dr. Banerjee sat very still for a long moment, looking down at his hands. His glasses were askew on his nose, and it gave him a slightly manic look. Quinlan looked awkwardly around. For a moment Emma almost felt sorry for him.

“Look,” he finally said in an undertone Emma had to strain to hear. “If there are any people you have a funny feeling about—strange people hanging around the house, boys who seemed too aggressive with her—if she had any enemies, give me their names. I’ll look into it. But right now, I have no evidence, no leads, no clues. Give me something to work with.”

Dr. Banerjee shook his head. “She didn’t have any enemies. None that I knew of.” His hands came free from each other and flew to cover his face. “I don’t know who would want to do something like this to my little girl,” he groaned, his back shuddering.

Behind the monument, a surge of guilt welled up in Emma. Should she tell them about the calls and frantic text from Nisha? Her stomach tightened with anxiety. Quinlan’s suspicions were always quick to rise when Sutton Mercer was involved. At best, he’d probably dismiss it as another attention-seeking prank. At worst, Emma would end up on a list of suspects, and her own story would crumble easily on inspection.

“I need a drink of water,” Dr. Banerjee finally said. His voice sounded tense, as if he was fighting for calm. His face had composed itself, except for his eyes. They were bloodshot and wild.

Quinlan nodded. “Come on, Sanjay.” With surprising gentleness he helped Dr. Banerjee to his feet, and the two men walked to the banquet table set up in the shade of a cedar.

Emma slumped against the tombstone, her heart hammering. So Nisha’s room had been ransacked. But what had the killer been looking for? And did they find it, or was it still there in Nisha’s bedroom?

Emma stared at Nisha’s coffin for a long moment, the deep brown wood shining in the sun. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Her gaze fell on the grave she’d been hiding behind. JESMINDER BANERJEE, it read. BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER. Nisha’s mom. She hadn’t even thought of that—of course they’d bury Nisha by her mother.

Emma pushed herself up and walked across the green. The crowd was starting to thin. In the distant parking lot she could hear cars starting and doors slamming.

She passed a cluster of Hollier students who were standing close together near a weather-beaten mausoleum with an urn of wilting lilies in front of it. Garrett Austin stood between his younger sister, Louisa, and Celeste, his current girlfriend. Garrett had been Sutton’s “official” boyfriend at the time of her death, although she’d been seeing Thayer secretly at the same time. When Emma had taken her place, he’d offered up his virginity to her as a birthday gift, and after she bolted in a panic, they’d broken up.

Garrett looked devastated. His eyes were red, his blond hair lusterless and unwashed. He’d dated Nisha for a few weeks, and even though they’d broken up, he was obviously not taking her death well. He glanced up and noticed Emma, staring at her blankly, as though he didn’t quite recognize her.

Caught, Emma took a tentative step toward him.

“How are you holding up?” Emma asked awkwardly, touching his shoulder.

Garrett blinked, and then all at once his face darkened into a scowl. He jerked away from her hand, his arms taut with anger. She instinctively took a step back. He looked for a moment like he wanted to take a swing at her.

“What do you care? You barely even knew her,” he hissed.

Behind him, Emma could see that Celeste looked shocked by his anger. Louisa glanced from Emma to Garrett, confused.

Emma felt frozen in place. Barely knew her? Sure, Emma had only known Nisha for a few months. But Sutton had grown up with Nisha.

“Garrett, I know you’re upset . . .” Celeste started, laying her hand on his arm. He whipped around violently so that his nose was inches from hers. Emma’s entire body tensed at the wild expression on his face. A nasty sneer twisted his lips.

“You don’t know anything,” he snarled. “Would you just shut up for five minutes? I’m starting to think Nisha was right about you.”

Emma’s jaw fell open. Celeste’s expression darkened. “Is that so?” she snapped, the airy quality gone from her voice. “When did you have this cozy little chat about me?”