“God, Saul, I’m so sorry.” Horrified, Isaac realized that he’d been so wrapped up in Sarah, he hadn’t even noticed that his brother looked exhausted. The weight of guilt pressed down on him.
“I’m sorry, I am. Look, it all changes now, I’m here, I’m present.”
For the next hour they talked business then Isaac sent his brother home to Maika and the kids. Jesus, how had his life turned into this?
He looked through a stack of notes that his assistant had given him. Invitations to social events. Maybe it would Sarah’s mind off things to go and schmooze with Seattle’s A-list. He smiled to himself. She would be the most beautiful woman in the room. He allowed himself to feel pride at that; the most beautiful woman in the world, at least to him, loved him.
He realized his cell phone was switched off and quickly fired it up.
Seventeen voicemails. The first one made his chest clench. Sarah’s voice, hard, angry.
Isaac. Call me back.
We need to talk.
Sarah felt drained. After Finn and Steve had left, Molly had stayed a little while longer but she’d desperately wanted to be alone: she needed time, time to process what they had told her, the implications and the insinuation in their voices.
She went upstairs and laid on her bed, pulling her knees up to her chest, plumping the pillow underneath her head to get comfortable.
“Okay,” she said out loud, “let’s go through this.” In her head, she recalled every part of the incident, the trailer park, the singing, the threats, the way he’d hissed at her. Had she imagined it? She tried to step back and look at it dispassionately but eventually shook her head. I know what I saw, what I heard. If it wasn’t Buddy threatening her, then it had been someone else. The person who had been stalking her. You know who it is… The thought made her stomach roil. In the distance, she could hear the discordant song of police sirens, a sound that made her mouth go dry, her heartbeat quicken. Mommy’s screams. Go spread your legs for the deputy, you fucking slut. I got the joy, joy, joy, joy, joy, down in my heart…
Sarah pulled the pillow over her head and began to sob so much so that when the front door bell rang, she didn’t hear it at first. When finally the sound got through to her, she stumbled down the stairs and yanked the door open. Finn was there, his face wan.
“Sweetheart, I need you to come found to the station. We need you to answer some questions.”
Isaac almost groaned when the first person he saw as he drew up to the coffee house was Caroline Jewell. She was standing outside, smoking, and when she saw him she pushed away from the wall and came over to him. Isaac didn’t greet her or smile; he had no time for this wretch of a human. Her smile was unpleasant, mocking as she walked toward him. He sighed and turned to leave.
“I just saw your girlfriend.”
Isaac’s shoulders tensed. “So?”
“On her way into the police station. Kind of seemed like she was under arrest.”
Isaac stared at her in disbelief. “Man, you have some imagination.” His talk with Saul had made him feel guilty and stressed out and, now, he could do without Caroline’s spite.
“It’s true. I could have sworn she was cuffed. You don’t believe me, go see for yourself.”
Isaac stopped, stared at her. Caroline grinned widely, knowing she had him.
“What you see in that slut is beyond me.”
Isaac’s lip curled in distaste. “You really are a nasty bitch, you know that?”
Caroline mocked curtsied. “Still, you get tired of Asian pussy, you come see me.”
“Yeah, hold your breath,” Isaac muttered as he walked away from the cackling redhead. He made a mental note to ask Finn again why the hell he’d married such an evil woman.
He walked the block to the station and into the office. The office was empty but he could one of the two interview rooms was occupied and he slipped into the adjoining room to look through the one-way glass. Sarah was facing him, sitting across the table from Finn and another detective he didn’t recognize. She looked calm but tired and stressed; her elbow was bandaged and he could see her ear was swollen and bloody. He watched as she wiped a tear from her cheek. Isaac cursed and went to bang on the interview room door.
“Jewell! Get out here!”
Finn came to the door immediately and shut it behind him. Isaac caught a glimpse of Sarah’s shocked face before the door closed. Finn pushed him into the other room.
“Keep it down, Isaac.”
“What the fuck is going on, Finn? Why is Sarah in there?”
Finn waited until Isaac had calmed down before speaking. “Buddy Harte was murdered. She was the last person to apparently talk to Buddy Harte. Although we don’t think it was Sarah who killed him, we still have questions for her. You know how it is, Isaac, I don’t need to tell you this.”
Isaac chewed his lip, rocked back on his heels a little. “Is she okay?” he said finally, his voice softer now. “Was she hurt?”
Finn nodded. “But just superficial wounds from falling and from having to break into her house. She’s fine. She’s helping us, answering everything she’s being asked. We’re waiting for a female doctor to come do some swabs.”
Isaac narrowed his eyes. “You cuff her?”
Finn put his hand on his deputy’s shoulder. “No, Isaac. She’s not under arrest, she’s just helping us out. She’s very co-operative, very open. Trust me, there’s nothing to worry about.”
Isaac shook his head. “You can’t honestly think she had anything to do with this? And who is that speaking with her?”
Finn hesitated for a moment. “I think you should go home, Isaac. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Isaac stood up. “I want to see her.”
“Wait. I’ll see what I can do but in the meantime, calm down.” Finn clapped Isaac on the shoulder. “Look, man, she’s fine, she’s good. Just hang on for a few, let us finish up.”
Cabot Marin, the detective from the city, studied her. “Sarah, we have reason to believe that Buddy was killed by the same person who is murdered young women in the city. The young Asian-American woman. I’m sorry to have to tell you that the victim resembled you to a undeniable degree.”
Realization dawned – then horror. “Oh God.” She felt sick.
Cabot nodded. “Obviously, we can’t be one hundred percent sure. We’ll have to wait on forensics but if we’re right… we need to take samples.”
A sense of dread, of inevitability, hung over her. “So I am a suspect.”
“It would be irresponsible of us to rule out anyone at this point, you understand? Whilst we’re pretty sure the killer is a male, and a lot taller than yourself, no offense, we can’t afford any missteps.” Cabot smiled kindly at her. “Sarah, do you want to stop for a while? You’re not under arrest, you’re free to go. We can start again in the morning.”
Sarah rubbed her eyes and shook her head. “I’d rather get it all done. Could I have some tea or water though please?”
“Of course.” Cabot got up to leave and Finn opened the door.
“Sarah, Isaac’s here, you want to see him?”
She nodded and smiled when Isaac came into the room. He hugged her and kissed her forehead.
“They treating you okay?”
“Of course. You don’t mind waiting? I might be a while, I don’t know.”
He tightened his arms and smiled down at her. “I’d wait all night.”
There was something in his expression she couldn’t read but the comfort of his arms was too soothing for her to consider it.
Cabot returned with a cup of tea, and Sarah saw now, the female doctor from the Medical Centre who smiled at her. Isaac winked at her as he went out of the room. Cabot waited while the doctor took her swabs and samples then saw the doctor out. Sarah took a sip of the hot tea, feeling the warmth spread through her body. Her hands felt icy cold, her chest tight. Cabot returned and took a seat across the table from her.
“Mr. Quinn seems like a nice gu
y. Finn tells me you’ve only just met him?”
Sarah nodded. “Just a few months ago.”
“When did your husband disappear?” Cabot asked as Finn returned. She told him and he exchanged a glance, a nod with Finn. Cabot cleared his throat.
“Sarah, I want to give you a couple of dates over the past couple of years and I’d like you to tell me where you were on the evenings of those dates. If you can’t remember, don’t worry, this is just to follow up a line of investigation.”
“Okay.” She frowned, looking between the two men. Finn passed Cabot a piece of paper, gave Sarah a reassuring smile. Cabot read through the list and nodded.
“Okay then. December thirtieth?”
She relaxed immediately, her shoulders slumping with the relief. “Oh, that’s easy. That’s my birthday, I was here, with Molly having a girl’s night. We started out at Hank’s bar. Nancy and George dropped by as well.” Her chest was loosening up now and she let out a shaky but grateful sigh. Finn smiled back at her.
“July third?”
A look of pain crossed her face. “I don’t remember.” She looked away from Finn’s gaze.
“Sarah? What is it?”
There was a long silence. “July third is the anniversary of my mom’s death.”
Cabot cleared his throat. Finn leaned across the table and put his hand over Sarah’s. “One more then I’ll let Isaac take you home.” He looked at Cabot who nodded.
“Okay, Sarah, last one. May sixteenth.”
Sarah shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “I don’t understand, what are these dates?”
Finn reached over and took her hand. “Sarah, honey. There have been other murders of women across the country, starting within the last two years. Sweetheart, they all look like you – not just because they were of Asian background but they actually could almost be your siblings. They were all gutted. Sorry,” he said as Sarah flinched.
Cabot cleared his throat. “Sarah? May sixteenth? Please?”
Hot tears dropped down her cheeks. “May sixteenth, eight years ago. I wore a little white dress and Dan wore jeans with a bowtie over a blue button down. May sixteenth was our wedding anniversary.”
“So what did the bitch do? Did she cut Buddy up? It does run in the family, after all. Slicey dicey Sarah Bailey.”
Finn finally had enough and whirled around. Ever since he’d gotten home, Caroline had been at him to tell her what happened, not bothering to conceal her enjoyment of Sarah’s pain. He stared now at the redhead in front of him.
“You know what, Caroline? Go fuck yourself. You’ve lived a life of hatred, and spite and malevolence and now all that ugliness has written itself all over your face. You know why your parents rarely come to see you? Because they hate you. Your own parents. I know this because I talk to them all the time, on the phone, via email. You broke their hearts a long time ago. Now, I’m going to sleep – on the couch. Then I’m moving out as soon as I can find somewhere else. We are done.”
And he walked out of the room, leaving a dumbstruck Caroline to stare after him.
Isaac greeted Stan as he arrived at the small diner. Stan, a tall, broad African American smiled at him. “Hey, Mr. Quinn, good to see you.”
Isaac shook his hand. “You too, Stan. You ordered yet?”
“Just coffee.”
As Isaac removed his jacket, a punk waitress came over. Her name tag said “Yo”. Isaac grinned at her.
“Seriously?”
She grinned showing very even white teeth – except for one gold incisor. “Nah. It’s just what everyone calls me – the nickname kinda stuck. What can I get you handsome fellas?”
After they ordered, Stan gave him a knowing smile and pulled a file from his briefcase. “You wanted me to check out who Dan Bailey was screwing. Well, I got it and it’s a doozy. I’ll let the photos speak for themselves.”
Yo was back with their coffee and for a moment, they chatted easily with her, the file burning a hole in Isaac’s hand.
When, finally, they were alone, Isaac opened the file. He looked through the photos in silence then looked up at an expectant Stan.
“Is it possible to be both astonished and not at all surprised at the same time?”
Stan nodded. “Yep.”
The woman in the pictures, the woman who was sleeping with Daniel Bailey, was Caroline Jewell.
The week since Buddy’s body had been found had been a nightmare. She’d gone over and over and over her story with Finn and Isaac, then with Cabot Marin, had been so kind to her. As far as she knew she was in the clear, but there were the stares, the whispers, the secretive nudges. Word had spread across the island and she knew people were looking at her and in her reasonable mind, she knew it was ridiculous, nothing new to her. She’d had that all her life. The daughter with the murderous mother - who’d blame her if she flipped out?
But she could feel her peace of mind slipping, her trust and her stability. Everything she’d ever fought for, worked for. Paranoia was creeping in and she didn’t know how to stop it. The dates that corresponded to the murders of the girls in the city. Cabot and Mike had reassured her she wasn’t a suspect, her swabs and prints had come back clean but still a sense of dread remained.
Perhaps, they’d suggested, the killer had returned to the scene of the crime and had verbally abused her to evade detection. She’d wanted to believe that, wanted to so much.
I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart…
Her mommy singing in broken English. So sleepy, seeing her mommy’s tears, feeling the sharp, quick pain in her wrists, her mommy screaming…and the awful sudden silence.
Sarah stopped, trying to not to throw up. No, she thought, I am not insane. I heard the song. Whoever it was in that trailer knew me.
She waited for the nausea to pass, forcing her mind to focus on something else. It wasn’t just that. Isaac had been working later and later at the office and she wondered if he’d finally reached his limit of her drama. Sarah didn’t feel worthy of him; she wouldn’t blame him if he walked away.
God. She stopped, almost bent double with the pain of the idea of losing Isaac. Whatever happened, she would not let that happen.
But every day, her paranoia had increased, the sense that somehow something malevolent was coming and she couldn’t stop it.
Even here, at home, she didn’t feel safe. Anger raced through her. No. This was her home, her island. Suddenly she remembered something. Scampering up the stairs, she pulled down the ladder from the attic room and climbed up into the dusty room.
She flicked on the overhead light, the bare bulb swinging, disorientating her. So many shadows. She ignored the dark corners; instead, she went to the huge trunks of Dan’s stuff that George had packed up for her when Dan went missing. She opened the first one. It had Dan’s old books, yearbooks and she flicked through them.
That was weird. Dan had the yearbook for his senior year in high school – but he was nowhere in it. Sarah frowned. Why would he keep a yearbook like that? She poked deeper in the box and found a few more. All the yearbooks were from the same year but from schools all over the country.
The envelope was at the bottom of the pile, her heart leaped as she read the address. “Mr. Raymond Petersen”…It was their home address. She frowned. Who the hell was Raymond Petersen?
She pulled out the letter and unfolded it. It was a thick, heavy, cream paper, good quality and at the top, the header was in an elaborate cursive: William Corcoran & Associates, Family Attorneys. New Orleans, she noted as she read the note.
Raymond,
I have tried to contact you numerous times since we last met. If you don’t call me by Friday, I shall be forced to come to Seattle to see you. I will also place a hold on your father’s estate until such time as you inform that you have contacted me and your brother.
I hope these measures will not necessary.
William
Raymond Petersen? Brother? All the breath was knocked from her
lungs, her legs trembled and she gripped the wall to steady herself. Surely Dan hadn’t lied about who he was, on top of everything else…no, no, please.
She moaned then shook herself. Think. A lawyer. A connection to Danny’s past. Sarah dug in the trunk and found a pen, scribbling the lawyer’s name and number down on her palm. She would call him, get this straightened out.
She opened another trunk. More yearbooks and as she pulled them out, a stack of photographs fell into her lap. She looked through them. At first, they seemed to be normal family photos then she realized that Dan wasn’t in any of them. They were all of her – and most of them had obviously been taken without her knowledge.
Sarah felt her skin start to prickle. “You fucking creep, Raymond.” At that moment any residual love for Dan left her; all that was left now was a burning hatred. Who the hell was this man that she’d lived and loved and slept with all those years?
The last photo was hidden inside a notebook. The notebook was blank except for two words: Sarah – when? She frowned at that then turned her attention to the photo. She was wearing an old t-shirt, jeans, hair was down, flying around her face and she was laughing at something just out of the picture but her face looked a lot younger, fuller. An innocuous shot. Another photo she hadn’t known was being taken. She squinted at it, trying to remember where she had been that day. It wasn’t on the island, she could see that but she shook her head. She squinted at the background. Something so familiar and yet… she sighed in frustration, shoved the picture into her pocket. She didn’t know how long she studied the photos – moments of her life stolen.
Then, a thump from downstairs. She froze. Another thump. Her stomach lurched. It could be a branch, it could be a branch hitting the outside of the house. She steadied her breath, trying to remain calm. She went to the window, peering out into the gloom of the early evening, expecting to see the trees bending and swaying. But the evening was still. Nothing. A door slammed and the house shook with the impact. The fear was a stabbing knife in her gut. She crept to the top of the stairs and paused, listening.
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