“I found it!” Reid bounded in like a boy on a scavenger hunt, holding his find up high.
Olivia forced herself to stay calm. But underneath skin and bone, the muscle of her heart had begun to pump wildly.
“This was my father’s Navy jacket.” The emblem on the shoulder appeared just as Jason had described. An eagle perched atop a Flying Fortress aircraft.
“The patch is quite unique.” Only a few hundred names had been entered onto the squadron list.
“It’s the symbol of the 228th Bombardment Squadron.” Reid slipped the jacket on, craning his neck to see the marking on the shoulder. “Cool, right? I used to wear this thing all the time. It was a real hit with the ladies.”
“We’ll have to take a photo of you wearing it at the exhibition for the newspaper.”
Reid paused, frowned. Olivia felt her whole world freeze on its axis. She’d gone too far, said too much.
“As long as you get me from my good side.”
Seventy-Four
“Oh, good. There’s my mother now.” Jacqueline pointed out the large picture window on to the street, as a Range Rover glided past like a black swan. “Was she expecting you?”
Will shook his head, trying to think, to plot the right angle. Suddenly, it all felt precarious. Like a tightrope walk above a canyon. “Does your mother work?”
“Her official title is Public Relations Manager for Ratcliffe. But between you and me, she has a lot of lunches at The Rotunda.”
Will had never dined there himself but he knew the place. When he still worked patrol in San Francisco, he’d responded to a snatch-and-grab there once. The airy restaurant—a place to see and be seen—inside Neiman Marcus, where a salad cost the same as three large pizzas from Sal’s downtown.
“What about travel?”
Jacqueline hesitated. “Um, should I be telling you all this? Is she a suspect?”
“Is who a suspect in what?” Reid Vance bore little resemblance to the scrawny, long-haired stoner in his mug shot. And his booming voice sounded nothing like the placating city councilman they’d spoken to on the phone.
But Will barely registered his presence. Because the someone from the Veterans Memorial Commission Jacqueline had mentioned looked a hell of a lot like Olivia. In her hand, a gun belt. Draped across her arm, a jacket. She looked at it, then back at him.
“It’s okay, Dad. They’re here to talk to Mom about that girl they found in a barrel.”
“Oh, really.” Reid shifted his steely gaze to the two detectives. “Have you two been out here interrogating my daughter? Victoria and I have been more than cooperative with your investigation, but coming into my home and nosing around? That’s crossing the line. If you have any other questions, I’m afraid I will have to refer you to our attorney.”
JB stood up and took a step toward the staircase. “Well, why don’t we wait and see what your wife has to say for herself? If she’s like any of my exes, you don’t speak for her.”
“I’ll just be going then.” Olivia tried to sneak down the staircase past Reid, but he turned toward her, blocking her exit route. If she panicked, she didn’t show it. “It was a pleasure meeting you. Thank you for donating these items to the exhibit, especially this jacket.”
Olivia raised her eyes to Will’s. “It’s truly photo-worthy.”
Will fumbled with his phone, quickly scrolling through until he’d found the image he’d saved there. That blurry spot in Shelby’s last photograph, a match for the sleeve which rested on her forearm.
Seventy-Five
With Reid blocking the narrow staircase, Olivia felt trapped. Especially now that she saw the fire in Deck’s eyes.
“May I take a look at that jacket?” Deck walked across the plush carpet, each quiet step reverberating through her like the banging of a gong.
Reid held out his arms now, so she couldn’t get past, and answered the question for her. “No. You may not. I allowed Ms. Dell to take the jacket for a Veterans Memorial. Not to be examined by your grubby hands.”
Reid reached for the jacket, grabbing onto the sleeve. But Olivia stepped back. She wrestled it free from him and held it close to her chest. She glanced behind her, wondering where she’d run. Where she’d hide. By the time she looked back, Victoria had appeared at the bottom of the staircase, alongside her husband and daughter.
“Oh my goodness. Jacqueline, honey, what is going—? Reid?” Victoria’s face didn’t move, per se. But Olivia could read the unadulterated shock in her voice. “Who are all these people?”
JB gestured toward the dueling sofas. “I think we should all take a seat and get acquainted, unless you’d rather take a ride down to the station. Except for you, Miss—uh—Dell. You’re free to go.”
But Olivia couldn’t bring herself to move past the top step. Not with Reid standing there, fuming.
“And I’m not?” Jacqueline asked.
“Detective Decker and I need to talk to your parents. You’re welcome to stay if you’d like.”
Jacqueline looked to her mother, who gave a small shake of her head. “Go on. It’s okay. We’ll be fine.”
“Should I call Mr. Waverly?”
“Yes, right away.” Reid’s face reddened as he barked his orders. “Tell him we’re being harassed by these two-bit cops and will be filing a formal complaint with the department.”
As Jacqueline shuffled toward the front door, with her cell already pressed to her ear, Victoria raised her hands to settle her husband. “Relax, Reid. We’re not criminals. We don’t have anything to hide. You’re on the city council, for crying out loud.”
With JB waiting at the landing, Deck started up the steps, keeping one hand on his service weapon. “You were wearing that jacket when you bludgeoned Shelby Mayfield to death. She took your picture, even though you didn’t want her to. Is that why you killed her? Because she was running away to tell on you? Because she changed her mind about giving you her baby?”
“Her baby? What are they talking about, Reid?” Each word more strident than the last, Victoria’s neck strained as she spoke. The tension between them felt as threatening as a lit fuse. The kind of couple who dig in their heels, both accustomed to getting their way. Olivia wondered how many breakable objects had met their end against these white walls.
“Does Grimaldi know?” Deck kept prodding, intent on cracking Reid like an egg. “Is that why you put him up in that fancy nursing home? To buy his silence?”
JB took a different tack, moving Victoria aside and beckoning to Reid the way you’d coax a frightened animal. “C’mon down, Reid. I’ll handle my partner. Then we can figure this out together. I’m sure there’s an explanation for the jacket, right? Just let us take it to the lab for analysis. Clear your name.”
“Or I can leave Detective Benson here and come back with a search warrant. Either way, we know you’re guilty. And we’re going to prove it.”
The logical choice would’ve been to call Deck’s bluff. But Olivia could sense Reid’s panic.
“I didn’t even know that girl!”
His denial exploded down the staircase and thrummed through the living room, leaving everyone stunned in its wake. Everyone except Reid himself.
He reached into his sportscoat and lunged for Olivia, ripping the jacket from her arms and pinning her face down against the banister. Something hard and vicious pressed into the soft spot at the base of her skull, and she understood now why he’d hung back, letting her go ahead when they’d heard the voices downstairs.
She opened her mouth to scream, but Deck’s urgent voice eclipsed her panic.
“Gun!”
Seventy-Six
Instinct took over.
Will grabbed for his Glock. Raised it, aimed. Then froze. Reid’s murderous eyes and the barrel of a handgun were trained on Olivia.
“I’ll blow her head off.” Reid had her flush against the railing, folded over the wooden banister. The jacket had fallen to the ground in the struggle, pooling around their feet.
Down a step, the gun belt hung halfway off the staircase. “I swear to God I’ll do it.”
“Reid! No!” Behind Will, Victoria wailed, her breathing frantic. Without turning his focus from the stairs, Will slipped a pair of cuffs from his back pocket. He’d been unprepared once before and paid for it with a fist to his face. He’d never make that mistake again.
“Detain her,” Will said, tossing the cuffs behind him to JB.
“I love a good old-fashioned standoff.” JB’s laugh clunked out, hollow, as he secured Victoria to a spindle on the staircase and pointed his own weapon at Reid. “Especially when the guns on my side outnumber the guns on yours. What do you think is going to happen here, buddy?”
“I’m not going to the station.”
“You don’t have to.” Will tried to walk it back, realizing he’d grossly overestimated Reid’s self-control. Which was the only thing keeping Olivia alive right now. “We can talk down here. We’ll wait for your lawyer, if you’d like. Just put down the gun.”
Will couldn’t look at Olivia’s terrified face. It made him think of the horrible dream he’d had. Of his childhood basement. Of her eyes, lifeless but still somehow looking back at him with blame.
“I’m not talking to you here either. I’m not talking at all.”
“Okay. Fair enough. That’s your right.”
“I didn’t kill anybody. And I’d never take a baby from a loving mother. My own daughter is adopted, for Christ’s sake.”
Will watched as Olivia’s mouth moved, whispering to Reid. His finger still poised to end her. He leaned in closer to catch every word, his face pale as a ghost.
Seventy-Seven
“And her mother’s name was Brenda Samson.” With her life at stake, Olivia made a bluff of her own. She couldn’t be certain, of course, but Jacqueline had Brenda’s face and those haunting green eyes.
As soon as she felt Reid tense behind her at the revelation, she spun around and stepped under his arm, grabbing for the muzzle of the gun. His strength surprised her. Muscling the gun from her grip, he regained control of the weapon and latched his forearm beneath her chin, dragging her backward. Her body, his shield.
She clawed at him, tried to kick herself free, but he kept moving, even as Will and JB advanced up the stairs toward her. When he’d reached the landing, he stopped, positioning the gun at the side of her head. “Don’t come any further.”
“Reid, put the gun down.” Deck’s measured voice came as a comfort, even if she heard the fear beneath it. “You don’t have to do this. It’s not too late to do the right thing.”
With a sudden push, Reid launched Olivia toward them. She stumbled against Deck. He fell back, steadying himself against the wall and held her upright. “Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’ll call for help.”
But Deck had already bounded up the staircase, with JB huffing behind him. They headed into the hallway, where Reid had disappeared.
As Olivia dialed the police, Victoria stared at her handcuffed wrist. Her gaze, blank. “What did you say to my husband?”
“That Jacqueline’s mother was Brenda Samson. She and her one-year-old daughter disappeared in the spring of 1986.”
“He told me it was an accidental overdose.”
Olivia struggled to make sense of it all. “Shelby, you mean?”
Victoria breathed a single word. No.
A hail of bullets weakened Olivia’s knees. Though it came from upstairs, she dropped to a crouch anyway and scurried to duck behind the sofa. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears, until the operator finally picked up.
“9-1-1. What is your emergency?”
Seventy-Eight
A bullet pierced the wall over Will’s shoulder, and he returned fire. Two quick shots. Retreat and repeat. Until the smell of the guns’ propellant bit at his nose.
Reid had sought cover at the end of the L-shaped hallway, firing at them in a flurry. Another bullet zipped past and ricocheted, striking the chandelier that hung above the living room. Pieces of the ornate glass shattered and rained to the carpet below.
Will counted the shots, noted the aim. Reid was no amateur.
When it had been quiet for too long, Will waved JB forward. He crept down the hallway at JB’s six, making his footsteps as soft as he could manage against the hardwood. Every intake of breath, every creak of the floorboards, made him curse himself and the entire goddamned day.
He should’ve called Amy. Then, the entire Vance-Ratcliffe compound would be crawling with cops, instead of just him and JB sneaking around like rebellious teenagers through a sprawling maze of rooms. He felt like a contestant in a twisted game show. A cold-blooded killer lurking behind any one of the cherrywood doors.
At the L, they stopped, waited. His gun at the ready, JB peered around the corner and gave the all-clear.
Will approached the first door. Sliding his back against the wall, he twisted the knob and thrust it open. JB swept his gun across the guest bedroom.
They moved in tandem toward the closet, where Will nudged the sliding door with his foot. A few winter coats swayed, disembodied in the darkness, until JB pushed them to the side, revealing nothing. After they checked beneath the bed, they inched back into the exposed hallway.
Two rooms to go.
In Reid’s office, they searched another closet and the crawl space under his desk and came up empty. That left door number three.
Careful to stay out of the line of fire, Will tried the knob. Locked. He felt certain now. Certain and desperate.
“Cover me.”
JB nodded, and Will drove his heel into the weakest part of the door, near the keyhole. The impact juddered his teeth. But after three solid kicks, the wood began to splinter, and the lock gave way.
Finally, it bent to his will, revealing a floor-to-ceiling library. Two oversized reading chairs stood guard in each corner. He found the gun discarded on the shelf of a bookcase. And beyond it, a single, opened window.
Seventy-Nine
By the time Olivia heard the wood splinter from the floor above, she’d already begun to run. She’d spotted Reid Vance clinging to the drainpipe, working his way down until he’d dropped onto the lawn. She’d watched it all from her position behind the sofa, where she’d had a clear view of the yard through the picture window.
Victoria whimpered as Olivia hurried past, dodging the shards of glass that littered the floor. “Don’t let them hurt him. He’s not a bad person, I swear.”
In Olivia’s ear, the operator droned on. “Are you still there, ma’am? Please stay on the line.” She tucked the phone into her pocket and burst out the front door, leaving Victoria alone in the house.
Sirens keened in the distance, yet the picturesque street remained quiet and deserted. Not one neighbor peeked out from behind a curtain. Not a single cloud marred the sky. The bent grass beneath the drainpipe the only tangible sign of trouble. Unnerved by it all, Olivia stood on the sidewalk, watching Deck crane his head out the window.
“Did you see where he went?”
“He was right there.” Olivia pointed to the spot in the manicured lawn, alongside the spiral-shaped topiaries.
Behind her, the sirens grew louder, more insistent. Deck hoisted himself onto the window ledge and shimmied partway down the pipe, before jumping to the ground below.
JB looked out after him, shaking his head. “Hell no. I don’t do fences. And I definitely don’t do drainpipes.”
“Go check on Victoria. Make sure she’s secure. I’ll meet you around back.”
Olivia flagged down the first cop car as it sped down Lake Street. A second followed close behind. Then, a third. The officers spread out, combing the property with their weapons drawn.
From behind the blue lights, Jacqueline ran toward the yard. A stocky, mustached man tailed behind her, barely keeping up.
Between heavy breaths, he wrangled the attention of the nearest officer. “I’m Gerald Waverly, the attorney for Ratcliffe Chemicals. I represent
Mr. Vance, and I demand to talk to the sergeant.”
Just then, Deck yelled from the back of the house. “Reid! Stop!”
Eighty
Reid Vance stood on the edge of the cliffside. Beneath him, a sheer drop down the bluffs to the bay. He balanced precariously, while he sidled out farther onto the rock face, sending a small stone skittering. It tumbled through the shrubs and down to the rocky shore hundreds of feet below.
Will stopped on the landing, beneath the massive balcony, and returned his gun to his side holster. He didn’t fear much but he sure as hell didn’t like high places. Acrophobia. That’s what Olivia would’ve called it. Will just called it common sense. “Reid, let’s talk. You don’t want to do that.”
But Reid inched forward, putting out his hands to steady himself. Patrolling in the Tenderloin, Will had seen his share of suicide attempts. Overdoses, mostly. An occasional blade to the wrist. But once, he’d been called to a jumper. A woman who’d planted herself on the razor-thin ledge of a twenty-story condo building after her husband had filed for divorce. The acidic burn of fear in his throat felt the same as it had then.
A group of cops rounded the side of the house, ready for a gunfight. Will held up his hands, easing them back.
“C’mon, Reid. Whatever it is, we can work it out.”
Like the scream of a gull, Reid’s laugh caught on the wind and disappeared. “You don’t understand. A man like me won’t last a day in prison.”
Her Perfect Bones Page 27
