by Simon Wood
“They’re still not answering,” Olivia said. “Should I call the house number?”
“No. There can’t be any link between us.”
“But what if they can’t call?”
“We’ll deal with it when we get there. Whatever has happened . . .” Andrew didn’t finish his sentence, seemingly losing faith in his words.
“Finish what you were going to say.”
“Olivia.”
“Finish it.”
“Whatever has happened has happened.” He looked over at her. “Roy’s done whatever he’s set out to do.”
It was early evening by the time they drove up to the beach house. The gate was ajar.
Andrew stopped the Audi short of the gate. Olivia glanced over at him. The color had drained from his face.
“This could be a trap,” she said.
“It is,” he said. “No doubt about it.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t go in.”
“The problem is that we don’t know what kind of trap it is. It might be worse for us if we don’t go in. What do you want to do?”
“We go in.”
Andrew climbed from the car and pushed the gate open using the back of his hand to avoid leaving fingerprints. After a short trip down the driveway, he parked the Audi next to Heather’s Porsche in front of the garage. As they climbed from the car, he looked around to see if they were being watched.
Like the gate, the front door was partly open. This was definitely a trap. Roy was tossing down bread crumbs, and they were gobbling them up. Olivia reached for the door handle.
Andrew grabbed her hand. “No fingerprints, remember? There can be no trace of us ever being here, because we’ve never met these people.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a handkerchief, which he used to push open the door.
From the doorway, the house was still. Nothing came back at them. No noise or movement. Neither were good signs.
Andrew sniffed the air. Olivia did the same, but smelled nothing beyond air freshener. She didn’t remember the scent from their last visit.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He frowned and shook his head.
“Heather . . . Amy, are you there? It’s Olivia.”
No one answered.
“Stay behind me,” Andrew said.
He moved down the long corridor with efficient grace, stopping where it connected with the bedroom hallway to check all the angles for a potential intruder. He obviously hadn’t forgotten his army training. When they reached the threshold to the living room, he stopped.
“Stay there. Don’t come any farther.”
Olivia ignored him and charged past him. He grabbed her before she could get too far. The sight in the living room was as she’d feared. Heather and Amy were both dead.
At the center of the sunken living room, Heather lay on her back, slumped against the sofa, blood covering her from a wound in her chest. Her head was tipped back, her gaze pointed up at the ceiling. Across from her, Amy lay sprawled on her side on the floor, with a halo of blood surrounding her head where her throat had been cut.
Olivia’s legs went out from under her, and Andrew guided both of them to the floor. She sucked in a breath to scream or cry; she wasn’t sure which, but her throat closed up on her and nothing came out.
It was easy to see what had happened. They’d been forced to face each other before they were killed. Olivia wondered who’d been attacked first. Who got to see who die? It was so cruel. It was so Infidelity Limited.
She’d been saved this sight with Richard, but now she saw Roy’s vindictive might. Her fear of Roy turned into hatred.
She closed her eyes to shut out the sight, but it was etched into her mind already. Andrew pulled her close.
“This is my fault.”
“No, it’s not.” His words were hard and unflinching.
“More people are dead because of me. I should have come clean to Finz. At least Heather and Amy would be alive.”
She’d tried to save Amy’s life and prevent Heather from suffering the same fate she had at the hands of Infidelity Limited. Instead, both women were dead. She couldn’t help feeling Roy’s killing spree had more to do with her betrayal than Heather’s. She knew he’d continue to make her suffer at his hands until he tired of toying with her.
“Hey, cut that out right now.” He stood, pulling her to her feet. “Heather got herself into this, dragging Amy into it with her. They knew the risk they were running. There were no guarantees. We told them what they could do to protect themselves, and either they didn’t listen or something went wrong. They got caught, and it cost them their lives. Turning yourself in would have changed nothing. You aren’t responsible for this. Say it.”
“I’m not responsible for this . . . but I am responsible for anything that happens to you.”
“Jesus, Olivia.”
“Now, you listen to me. Roy knows I betrayed him, and he’s coming for me. If he finds out about you, then you’re going to end up the same way, and I can’t have that on my conscience.”
Andrew was silent for a long moment. “If you’re thinking about falling on your sword and turning yourself in to Finz, don’t. Roy wants to destroy you. If you sacrifice yourself, he wins.”
“Serving up Roy might change things.”
“You’re risking a lot. Infidelity Limited is bigger than the Concord PD. Finz doesn’t have the clout to handle this. Roy knows that. He’s going to drop the hammer on you before you can cut a deal.”
“Then what do we do?”
“We go. There’s nothing to be gained by being here.”
She nodded.
“First, we have to cover our tracks.”
She followed Andrew over to the bodies. She had to fight the urge to vomit at the sight of the two corpses. She dropped to a crouch at Heather’s side. She wanted so much to hold her hand and tell her she was sorry. Instead, she clasped her own hands together and gripped them until they hurt. A sob leaked from her.
“Don’t touch them. Don’t step on anything. We can’t leave a mark.”
“I know.” Olivia hated the indignity of just leaving their bodies for someone else to find. How long would they have to wait? It was so sad.
“We were never here, and we have to make sure of it. Did you touch anything when we were here last time?”
“I don’t know.”
Andrew took her back to the front door and walked her through their previous visit. He told her to talk him through everything she’d said and done. She hadn’t touched the door, Heather had held it open for her, but she had touched the “Call” button on the squawk box. Andrew went back outside and wiped it clean. They’d both handled wineglasses when they’d talked, and not knowing which ones, they loaded the dishwasher with all the glasses and switched it on.
Andrew repeated the exercise for himself. The only thing of note he’d touched was the glass door on the deck, the sculpture, and the hardwood floors.
“Do you think Roy did this, or did he have someone like me do it?”
Andrew appraised the carnage. “He did this. It’s too ruthless to be a client.”
“What do we do about the burner phones?”
“We take them.”
Olivia dialed Heather’s number. The phone burst into song in the kitchen. It was coming from her purse. Andrew removed it using his handkerchief. She called Amy’s number, and the plain ringtone came from Amy herself. It took her a moment to realize the phone was in the back pocket of her jeans. Andrew made a move to get it.
“No, I’ll do it.”
She took Andrew’s handkerchief from him and went to Amy. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from Amy’s face. Slack and unmoving, it was frozen in her final moment. If Olivia wasn’t careful, this was how she would end up. That potential had to be the fuel that kept her going. Carefully, she reached inside Amy’s jeans pocket. No body heat radiated from the dead woman. They’d been dead some time. Whatever Roy had planned was in motion. She remo
ved the cell phone and pocketed it.
Something occurred to her. She stared at the carnage again. Heather and Amy had been stabbed, but where was the knife? Andrew had said this was a trap. Planting the knife on her would be the perfect way for Roy to get his revenge.
“The knife is missing.”
“Shit,” Andrew said. “We need to find it.”
They searched the house. Every knife appeared to be accounted for. Roy must have taken it with him.
“We’ve been here too long,” Andrew said.
She nodded. They left, leaving the house as they’d found it, with the door ajar. She hoped the women would be found soon. As Andrew reversed her car back onto the street, an image of the women filled her head. “I’m sorry,” she said to them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
One break was all it took to make a case, and Finz had just gotten his. He was in the process of getting a warrant for Olivia’s cell phones when he received the call from Madeleine Lyon.
“I think we’ve got a break in the Richard Shaw case. You need to come see something,” she said.
“Where?”
Twenty minutes later, Finz pulled up on Atlantic Street across from the Concord BART station. The scene was less than a mile from where Shaw had been murdered. Lyon was marshaling two uniforms and a crime tech in a cordoned-off area over a storm drain. She turned around at Finz’s arrival and broke away from the group.
“What have we got?” he asked.
“A tire iron with blood and tissue on it found in the storm drain.”
Lyon didn’t have to say anymore. They both thought the same thing—this could be the weapon used to kill Richard Shaw.
They ducked under the crime scene tape.
Henry Freitas, the crime tech, removed the last bolt holding the storm-drain grate in place and lifted it out of the way. The tire iron lay on a bed of silt and trash. Freitas took shots of the iron in situ before removing it and placing it on a sheet of paper he’d laid out on the ground.
“I can’t believe someone tossed this down a storm drain,” Lyon said.
“Maybe they thought the rains would wash it away,” one of the uniforms suggested.
“In late May, they’d be waiting a long time,” Finz said.
“One killer’s screwup is our good fortune,” Lyon said.
But Finz knew they were getting ahead of themselves. The tire iron still had to be fingerprinted and matched to the wounds on Richard Shaw’s head, as did the tissue found on it.
“Henry, tell me you’ve got something good for me to work with,” he said.
Freitas peered at the tire iron, keeping his hands off the evidence. “We’ve got tissue and lots of it. I should be able to match blood and DNA if it is the murder weapon.”
Lyon whooped. Finz reserved his whooping until the science was in.
“Henry, I want this booked in, and I want to know whether this is the murder weapon as soon as possible,” Finz said. “How did we come across this good fortune anyway?”
One of the uniforms pointed at a dejected-looking man leaning against the hood of a blue Ford Explorer. “Mr. Carrington dropped his keys down the storm drain, saw the tire iron, and called it in.”
Freitas reached down into the storm drain, plucked out the keys, and waggled them.
Finz ducked under the crime scene tape and walked up to Carrington. He straightened at Finz’s arrival. The detective put out his hand, and the two men shook.
“Thanks for calling this in, sir. Could you tell me how you came to find the tire iron?” Finz purposefully didn’t mention evidence or a murder weapon. He could do without any premature excitement being attached to the find.
“Like I told your other guys, I parked my car here. I was on my phone, walking back up the street. I locked my car, went to pocket my keys, and dropped the damn things. Murphy’s law being what it is, they bounced straight down the storm drain. Of course I’ve got my house keys and everything on there, so I wasn’t just going to leave them. I tried to see if I could hook them out, and that’s when I saw the tire iron with the blood on it. I know there was that guy killed around here recently, so I called you guys. I mean, I wasn’t touching anything, just in case.”
“Why’d you happen to park here? Did you have business here?”
Carrington looked down at his shoes. “No, not really.”
This wasn’t the reaction Finz was expecting. “You want to explain that?”
“Look, I know you’ll think I’m cheap, but I didn’t want to pay for BART parking, so I parked on the streets for free. But hey, me being a cheapskate has kicked up something good, right?”
“Speculation is a dangerous trait in my business. Thank you for your time.”
Carrington shrugged. “Can I get my keys back?”
“I’ll have an officer take a statement and get your contact details, then we’ll give you your keys, and you’ll be free to go. Thank you for your time.”
Finz crossed back to the scene. He told one of the officers to get a statement.
“Henry’s got some interesting information for you,” Lyon said with a grin.
“What’s that?” Finz said.
“I just called Audi and asked them to send me a picture of the tire iron that comes with an Audi A4.” Freitas held up his phone. “It’s a match.”
Finz felt the buzz around him. He quelled his own excitement. He couldn’t get carried away. Olivia Shaw was proving to be tricky. She’d run out on him during the interview, and he didn’t want to leave any gaps for her to escape through again.
He compared the tire iron in the evidence bag to the image on Freitas’s phone. It was a match, but it wasn’t distinctive. It looked like any other tire iron he’d ever seen.
“Is this tire iron proprietary to Audi or something they buy from the ACME Tire Iron Company of Timbuktu?”
“I have no idea, but I’ll check,” Freitas said.
“Does it matter?” Lyon said. “It’s the same type, and we’re not looking for any other bloody tire irons at the moment.”
“Okay, then,” Finz said. “Get me a warrant to search Olivia Shaw’s car. I think we’ve got her.”
Olivia’s stomach dropped when she turned onto her street. Four police cruisers and an unmarked police car lined the street. Finz and Lyon were among the officers milling around in front of her house. Neighbors stood on their porches, watching the police presence.
“Oh shit,” Andrew said.
Olivia didn’t have the energy to go another twelve rounds with Finz. The last eighteen hours, driving to Morro Bay and back and erasing their existence from the beach house, had drained her. Two women were dead because she’d tried to save them. The emotional toll was just as consuming as the physical. They’d tried driving through the night, but the fatigue and shock were too much, and they’d slept in the car, not risking a record of a hotel stay.
Olivia looked over at Andrew. “I don’t like the look of this.”
He shifted in his seat. “Just be cool.”
That was easier said than done. The question was: Why was Finz here? Was it connected to Richard’s murder? Or was it because of Heather’s and Amy’s murders? Of course, it didn’t really matter which one if Finz was here to arrest her.
The uniformed cops standing on the driveway parted as Olivia guided her Audi into the garage. Finz and Lyon strode toward her the moment she stopped the car. The first time they’d come, they’d had bad news. Olivia guessed this occasion would be no different, except the bad news would mean even more trouble for her.
Finz opened her door for her. She didn’t get any sense of chivalry from him.
Climbing from the car, she became aware of the sour-smelling panic sweat radiating from her body and day-old clothes. She was a bad advertisement for innocence.
“Hello, Mrs. Shaw,” Finz said. “Nice to see that you’re home.”
Something had happened with Finz. He was being too formal with her after his “let me call you Olivia” routin
e during her interrogation.
“Looks like you’ve had a long night.” He turned to Andrew. “Good seeing you again, Mr. Macready. You always seem to be around Mrs. Shaw these days.”
“Is that a crime?” Andrew said. Finz really had a knack of getting under the skin.
Finz took in her appearance. “Where have you been? I was hoping to find you home. We’ve been waiting quite a while for you.”
She wasn’t about to answer that question. “Detective Finz, what’s going on?”
“I have a warrant to search your car,” he said and handed her the paperwork.
Olivia stared at the legalese written on the paper and didn’t understand a word of it. “What are you looking for?”
Finz held out his hand. “Your car keys, please?”
Olivia handed them over.
Finz tossed them to Lyon, who caught them in her latex-gloved hands. She went to the Audi and popped the trunk. When Olivia tried to follow the female detective, Finz blocked her path.
“You need to stay out of our way. We can’t have you hampering our efforts. I promise you we won’t damage anything.”
She hated the arrogance in Finz’s tone. It was the tone the police used when they thought they had something.
“What have you got, Maddy?”
Lyon was shoulders deep in the Audi’s trunk. She reemerged with nothing. She held up her hands and waggled her fingers and smiled. “It’s not here.”
“What’s not here?” Olivia asked.
“Mrs. Shaw, where’s your tire iron?” Finz asked.
“I don’t know. It should be in there. I’ve never used it.”
“That’s not a satisfactory answer,” Lyon said.
“It’s the only one I’ve got. I’ve never had a reason to use it, so I’ve never checked for it.”
Lyon smirked.
Olivia scanned the expressions of all the cops in attendance and read their attitude. There was definitely no benefit of the doubt in their minds. They were convinced that she was involved.
“How many times have you used your tire iron, Detective?” Andrew asked. “Twice? Once? Never?”
Lyon didn’t answer.
