The Betrayal

by Terry Lynn Thomas

  “Okay,” Ellie said, serious now that Sharon was going to give her some independence.

  They didn’t talk as they drove down Geary towards Ocean Beach. The sun started to slip out of the sky, leaving vibrant streaks of pink and purple in its wake. They turned onto 48th Avenue, slowing down as they reached a cluster of black-and-white police cars along with the ME’s van. Sharon was relieved when Ellie parked in a proper spot. Before they got out of the car, Ellie spoke.

  “I wanted to apologize. My attitude hasn’t been the best.”

  “Apology accepted,” Sharon said.

  A crowd had gathered outside the building and two uniforms had constructed a barricade. Ellie and Sharon flashed their badges. As they approached the building, Sharon grabbed Ellie’s arm and pulled her to a stop. “Listen. Your job here – your obligation, if you will – is to the decedent. I know you’re ambitious, and I know you’re thinking this could well be an opportunity for you to shine. I hope that’s true. But your career isn’t important right now. The person who is lying up there dead is the most important thing, okay?”

  “Understood,” Ellie said. And for the first time Sharon saw humility and a tinge of fear in the young officer’s eyes.

  Sharon tipped her head back and stared up at the gray two-story building, with its bay windows. A curtain flickering in one of the first-floor windows indicated they were being watched.

  “I saw that, boss,” Ellie said.

  “Good. We’ll want to talk to everyone in that house.”

  The body was located in the second-story flat. Sharon and Ellie took the stairs to the front door and were greeted by two uniforms. The older man was short and thick through the middle. He had piercing brown eyes and a no-nonsense manner.

  “Inspector Bailey,” he said.

  “Officer Watkins,” Sharon said, surreptitiously glancing at the senior officer’s name tag.

  “The crime scene tech people are just about finished. You can go in, if you want. The ME’s here, too. This is Officer Finn. He found the body. Go ahead, Finn, give your report.”

  Officer Finn wobbled on his feet a bit. His face and lips were pale. Sharon gave him a warm smile, trying her best to put the poor kid at ease. “Take a breath and tell me what happened.”

  “Sorry, ma’am. It’s not my first body, but you never get used to it. I responded to a disturbance call made by the downstairs neighbors. They were bothered by the smell. This particular unit is one of those furnished holiday rentals. The owner lives off site, but after the neighbors called her, she came to find out what was going on, and that’s when the body was discovered.”

  “Where’s the owner?”

  “She left. I asked for information about whoever rented the flat, but she said she had to ask her lawyer before she handed that information over to the police.” Officer Finn reached in his pocket and handed Olivia a business card. “But she gave me her card. She’ll be expecting a call. After that, I secured the scene and called it in.”

  “Did you notice anything about the body or the scene? Anything out of place or missing?” Sharon asked.

  Officer Finn nodded. “Her dress is covered in red liquid. It smelled like wine. A rope’s been tied around her neck, but I don’t think it killed her. She’s lying on the bed, with her hands clasped over her heart. It looks staged to me.” He shrugged. “That’s not much. I’m sorry.”

  “You did very well, Officer Finn.” Sharon turned to Officer Watkins. “We’ll need help with canvassing and CCTV. Can you give me a minute and I’ll have Officer Standish back with marching orders?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Officer Watkins said.

  Sharon turned to Ellie. “Ready?”

  Ellie nodded.

  They opened the door and were assaulted by the smell of death, a mixture of rotten meat, feces, eggs and foul pungent garlic. A thick, viscous smell that stuck to the back of the throat.

  “Nothing prepares you for this, but you’ll get used to it,” Sharon said. Ellie’s face had turned a frightening shade of pale, all eagerness gone. “Are you going to be sick?”

  Ellie shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”

  They walked into the living room, where Sharon paused for a moment, taking in the surroundings, her eyes roving the scene and memorizing the details. It was a comfortably furnished flat, the decorations impersonal and generic, typical of a furnished rental. Conveniently situated, whoever rented this flat could walk across the street to the beach, and just up the hill to the Cliff House and other restaurants. Two sofas faced the bay window, which overlooked the ocean. A dining table with seating for eight people was arranged in a nook off the kitchen. The orange and red tones of the furniture, coupled with the warm oak of the hardwood floors, made the place warm and inviting.

  Two officers dressed in the protective coveralls worn by techs stood near the window, looking at photographs on an iPad. They nodded at Ellie and Olivia. The man holding the iPad said, “There’s no wallet or cell phone.”

  “No ID?” Sharon asked.

  “No. She’ll be processed as a Jane Doe.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Body’s in the bedroom,” the man said before he turned his back on them and focused once again on the iPad.

  Sharon glanced back at Ellie, who had become subdued since they entered the house. Nothing like a dead body to shock the humility into a sassy young cop. Sharon stepped into the room just as Dr. Kristen Ward stood and turned off the tape recorder.

  “Sharon. Been a while,” Dr. Ward said. She stepped away from the body and pulled her hood off. “She’s been here for at least a week. Looks like she’s been strangled, but I’ll know more when I get her on the table. You can step close. Crime scene techs are finished, and so am I. Let me know when you’re ready and we’ll take her.”

  “What’s up with the rope?”

  “Not sure. It certainly didn’t kill her. Staged maybe? I’ve taken photos of it.”

  Sharon breathed through her mouth as she stepped close to the body. The decedent was young and blond. In life she had been attractive. Now her eyes bulged and her tongue protruded. Sharon felt the familiar clench of sadness. All murders were difficult, but this young woman appeared at first glance to be an innocent, dressed in a conservative business suit, with hair the natural shade of gold that couldn’t be obtained from a bottle. She wore little makeup, but Sharon was sure she had been wholesomely pretty in life.

  Unable to cope with the noxious odor anymore, Sharon led Ellie into the living room. “Get busy with the canvassing. Get the uniforms after all the neighbors, okay? Tell them to make note of those who aren’t available so we can follow up. I’d like you to take the statements of the neighbors tonight, especially the downstairs neighbors who called it in. Be gentle, don’t tell them anything, just ask them questions. Explain that we’ll need to speak to them again. Be kind. Be tactful. Do this by the book, okay? After you do that, see if there is any CCTV in the neighborhood, check businesses in the surrounding areas. Maybe we can get a glimpse of this girl en route. See if you can track her movements.”

  Sharon turned to Dr. Ward. “Since there’s no ID, can you run her fingerprints?”

  “Will do.”

  “Okay, boss,” Ellie said. “Do you want to take the car?”

  “No,” Sharon said. “I’ll grab a cab. Do not discuss this case with anyone from the media. I’ll make sure an order comes from on high, but don’t be shy about telling the uniforms to keep it under wraps. Got it?”

  “Yes,” Ellie said.

  “Keep me posted.” Sharon waited until the body was taken from the building before she walked along the sidewalk that ran parallel to the shore towards the Cliff House, situated at the westernmost part of San Francisco and overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The restaurant was known for its panoramic views. A queue of taxis waited along the street. Sharon grabbed one and asked to be taken to 850 Bryant. She needed to see if anyone matching the dead girl’s description had been reported missing.

&nbs
p; Chapter 7

  Tuesday, October 14

  Olivia woke up at seven o’clock feeling as though she had walked across the desert on her knees. Her eyelids felt like sandpaper, and she couldn’t stop crying. Richard had been cheating on her for years. Everyone seemed to know it but her. She was a cuckold. She had spent twenty-eight years of her life being faithful to Richard, believing they had beaten the odds and had loved each other fully and completely. She laughed out loud. What a joke. What a fool she had been.

  Her bedside phone rang. Without thinking she answered.

  “Olivia? How did it go? Did I wake you up?”

  Olivia sat up. “He had a surprise party for me. Can you believe that? I walked into this house and all of his friends were here.”

  “Oh my God,” Lauren said. “What did you do?”

  Olivia thought back to the fake smiles and phony bonhomie of the evening. “I suffered through it. Poor Denny. She did a beautiful job putting everything together.” Olivia ran her hand through her hair.

  “What are you going to do? What can I do to help?”

  Olivia sat for a moment, grateful for Lauren who was comfortable in the silence. What am I going to do?

  “I guess my question is really what could you do right now to make yourself feel better about things?”

  “I’m going to get to know my husband,” Olivia said. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

  She hung up without waiting for Lauren to answer.

  If Richard had any secrets, they would be hidden in his study. Olivia stood at the bottom of the stairs, unable to remember the last time she had been in this room. This was Richard’s domain, and out of respect and by some unspoken agreement, she had stayed out. She had trusted Richard and never felt compelled to check on his whereabouts or invade his personal space.

  The room was dark due to lack of sunlight and the color of the décor. A forest green leather couch and club chair that had belonged to Richard’s father, along with a dark mahogany desk, left a distinctly masculine stamp on the room. The blackout shades took away any threat of sunlight. Olivia always wondered why Richard liked this room to feel like a cave. She shivered. It was a good five degrees colder down here.

  Stepping close to his desk, she ran her fingers over the leather blotter and an old Cross pen stand. Although the gold pens still rested in their place, they had never been used and the ink had dried up years ago. A credenza took up the opposite wall and it was covered with pictures of Richard. Some of them held pictures of their family, Denny as a young girl, Olivia’s wedding portrait, but the photos of Richard with famous people – Dwight Clark, Ronald Reagan, Willie Mays, and Joe Montana to name a few – held pride of place. Olivia thought of Richard and Sandy Watson, of Richard and heaven knew who else, and a fresh wave of anger washed over her.

  Taking a deep breath, she sat down at the desk and opened the drawers one by one. There was nothing unusual there. All the folders had typewritten labels, which held bank statements, credit card statements, IRS receipts, and the like. When Olivia stumbled across a folder whose handwritten label said TIFFANY’S, she took it out and laid it on the desk.

  Opening the folder, Olivia saw a stack of receipts, current date on top, of all the jewelry Richard had purchased from Tiffany’s since their marriage. Although she had never asked, the Tiffany boxes at Christmas and birthdays had become something of a tradition in their marriage. She had accepted and worn the jewelry to make Richard happy. Richard had grown up poor, had put himself through law school, and had made a success of himself by hard work and perseverance. Being able to buy fine jewelry for his wife was a matter of pride for him. As she scanned through the receipts, she recognized the pieces that he had purchased for her – this year’s diamond pendant, the earrings from last year’s Christmas – the invoices an historical timeline of Richard’s gifts.

  Olivia thumbed back to the top invoice, noticing another piece of jewelry was purchased on the same day as her diamond necklace. She thumbed through the invoices and saw that each time Richard bought Olivia jewelry, he also purchased a second piece of jewelry, a silver cuff bracelet. Thumbing through the invoices she saw that the second purchase was always the same; the only thing that was different was the name of the engraving. One year it was Nancy, and then Rachel, BethAnn, Louise, Holly, Bambi – the list went on and on. Olivia didn’t need to do any investigating to know what she had discovered. When Richard had purchased a gift for her, he had also purchased a trinket for his current love interest.

  That son of a bitch. Walking over to the credenza, Olivia stared at all the family photos. Seen through the lens of her embarrassment and shame, she was disgusted by the false tale they told. For the first time in her life, Olivia didn’t hold her emotions in check. She opened her mouth and let out a blood-curdling scream that would have brought the neighbors running if they could hear. In one motion she swept her arm along the top of the credenza, sending all the photographs launching into the air before they crashed to the floor, in a cacophony of shattering glass.

  Breathing heavily, she stepped over the photo of Richard with Dwight Clark and headed back upstairs.

  Chapter 8

  Tuesday, October 14

  The morning after the murder was a busy one. Ellie attended the autopsy, while Sharon followed up on missing persons reports in surrounding jurisdictions. She had hoped her efforts would be fruitful, but by ten o’clock hadn’t discovered anything. Two hours later, Ellie returned from the coroner’s office, plopping down on Sharon’s couch, exhaustion etched on her face.

  “How did the autopsy go?”

  “I didn’t throw up or pass out, if that’s what you’re wondering. Honestly, the smell from the crime scene was much worse. Our dead girl was strangled. Whoever killed her left clear handprints. She had a broken hyoid bone. The rope was just for show. And Dr. Ward ran the decedent’s fingerprints in the criminal database, but nothing came of it. She’s expanding the search to include civil servants who have fingerprints on file. She emailed you a preliminary report.”

  “We need to follow up with the neighborhood canvass and send the rope off for processing.”

  “There’s more,” Ellie said. “She was pregnant.”

  Sharon recognized the familiar wave of sorrow she experienced at the beginning of every homicide. Dealing with the emotional component of death was a necessary evil. There was no time for sentimentality during a murder investigation. Nevertheless, Sharon always felt a pang of sadness for each innocent whose life was taken too soon, even more so for children and babies.

  “I’m still waiting to hear from the owner of the vacation rental. If she doesn’t call me within an hour, I’m going to go looking for her. Keep me posted,” Sharon said.

  No sooner had Ellie left when a uniformed officer knocked twice on Sharon’s office door and stuck his head in. “There’s a Mrs. Milken to see you. It’s about the murder in the Avenues.”

  “That would be the owner of the vacation rental.” Sharon stood and put her jacket on. “Thanks.”

  “I put her in interrogation six. Oh, she’s a bit of a grouch. Just saying.”

  Just what I need.

  Mrs. Milken had bleached blond hair, diamond rings on all her fingers, and a snooty attitude that rankled Sharon from the outset. Forcing a smile, Sharon stuck out her hand. “Thanks for coming in, Mrs. Milken. I’ve been trying to reach out since yesterday.”

  “I don’t dance to the tune of the San Francisco PD, Officer Bailey.”

  “It’s inspector, and I didn’t expect you to, ma’am. We’ve found a dead woman inside your rental unit. I’m trying to find out all I can about her. Now, if you could just start by—”

  “Do you have any idea how difficult this is for me? It’s going to cost me a fortune to get the smell out of that place. I may have to repaint the walls and replace all the furniture. Not to mention I could get a bad review. This could be a disaster for my business.” As Mrs. Milken dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, Sharon wondered if t
his woman gave even a moment’s thought to the poor girl who had been murdered.

  “Can you tell me who rented the house? And when?”

  The woman reached into her purse and took out an envelope, which she set on the table and pushed towards Sharon. “A Marin County woman rented the unit. She paid with an American Express card three weeks ago when she made the reservation.” Sharon’s heart skipped a beat. Bingo. “I’ve printed out a copy of all the documents. They’re in that envelope.” Mrs. Milken stood. “When can I get a crew in to clean my unit? You realize this is my livelihood? I can’t wait forever.”

  “So noted, Mrs. Milken. I’ll see what I can do to hurry things along for you.”

  Mrs. Milken’s face softened. “Forgive me for sounding callous, Inspector. I just find the whole thing so shocking. I’ve always been a housewife. It took me five years to talk my husband into letting me buy a rental unit. And then this happened and he’s been rubbing my nose in it.”

  “Thank you for coming in, Mrs. Milken. One of the officers will escort you out.” Sharon hurried back to her office. Her stomach growled. Ellie was at her desk on the phone. When Sharon walked by, she flagged her down.

  “We’ve got a hit, boss. The dead girl – the decedent’s name is Sandy Watson. She was fingerprinted when she worked at a daycare. Now she works as a legal secretary for Richard Sinclair.”

  “The Richard Sinclair?”

  “Yes, the famous lawyer. The same Richard Sinclair who appears on the news all the time when there’s a sensational legal case.”

  “We need to inform next of kin. After that, let’s get a warrant for Sandy’s apartment. You handle that. Take a techie with you. I’d like to get a look at the decedent’s emails and text message history ASAP.”

  “Got it,” Ellie said.

  “Once the search is locked down, go eat a good dinner. We’ll meet back here and make a plan. Something tells me it’s going to be a long night.”