The Betrayal

by Terry Lynn Thomas

  “Well, I work for Stephen and you, so my marching orders will ultimately come from the two of you. My advice would be to start at the beginning,” Brian said. “Someone wanted that woman dead. My job is to find out who. And why. I’m not one to mince words, Mrs. Sinclair, so I’ll be straight up and tell you my first order of business will be a thorough background investigation of your husband and other members of Rincon Sinclair.”

  “Keep in mind, Liv, we need reasonable doubt. That’s the baseline,” Stephen said.

  Olivia shook her head. “No. We need to find out who killed her. I can’t have this hanging over my head.”

  “Even if the killer proves to be Richard?” Brian asked. And with the utterance of that one statement, Olivia knew he’d solve this case. Yet there was something else about Brian that nagged at her conscience. Could she trust him? She thought of Denny and how devastated she would be if Richard were accused of murder too, his name dragged through the mud, his face on the front page of every local newspaper. How much could her daughter take? Olivia reminded herself that Denny deserved the truth, just as much as Olivia did.

  “Yes. Even if the killer is Richard.”

  “Okay,” Stephen said. “So we’re on the same page.”

  “Do you mind if I speak to my attorney for a moment?” Olivia asked. “There’s a lovely view from the deck.”

  “I’ll go get the files from the car,” Brian said. Stephen tossed him the car keys, which he caught with ease.

  When they were alone, Olivia said, “What aren’t you telling me about Brian, Stephen? He’s smart and good at his job, but there’s something underneath. I need to know what it is. I am, after all, entrusting him with my future.”

  “I’ll never understand how you do that,” Stephen said.

  “How I do what? I’m serious—”

  “I’m serious, too. Otherwise I wouldn’t have brought Brian in. I was making reference to that uncanny knack you have for sizing people up. Brian’s wife died of cancer. He hasn’t been coping well, okay?”

  “Could you please clarify what you mean by ‘not coping well’?”

  “Not coping in that you’ll be helping him as much as he will be helping you. And, Liv, you should know that for the ten years before he retired from the SFPD, Inspector Bailey was his partner. That connection may give us some insight that we wouldn’t otherwise have.”

  Olivia scoffed, “Do you really think he’d take my side over his ex-partner’s?”

  “I think he’s the best investigator for the job. I’ll get you off of the murder charge. But if you want to find out who killed Sandy Watson, Brian Vickery is your man. Of that, I’m certain. He’s as much of a bulldog as you are.”

  Olivia knew she needed a bulldog, needed to let go and trust Stephen, give him room to do this job. “Okay. I’m in.”

  Brian and Stephen retrieved four banker’s boxes from Stephen’s car. When Brian came into the house and gave Olivia a shy smile, she realized the anxiety that plagued her an hour ago had diminished. Brian Vickery, with this quiet determination, had given her hope.

  “It looks like we’re going to be working together, Mr. Vickery,” Olivia said. Olivia sensed Stephen surveying the two of them as they negotiated their working relationship.

  Olivia observed the deliberate way in which Brian collected his thoughts. There’s not an impulsive bone in that man’s body.

  “I’m going to need your help, Mrs. Sinclair, but not in the way you may think. I’m sure Stephen will tell you it’s best not to broadcast the fact that I’m working for you. Eventually it will come out, especially in light of the journalists outside, but let’s not be so quick to show our hand. What we need to do – and what I would like you to get started on, provided it’s okay with your attorney – is to go through these boxes. I’d like you to be familiar with the Maycott case by the time the Watson discovery starts coming through. Our first priority will be to establish a connection, no matter how minuscule, between Sandy Watson and Janelle Maycott.”

  Stephen Vine spoke. “And after you’ve gone through the Janelle Maycott evidence, I’ll need to know who had access to your house, your office, your computer, and then we need to turn our attention to Richard and his law firm. That’s where Sandy worked, so it stands to reason that someone involved, even peripherally, with Rincon Sinclair could have had known Janelle Maycott.”

  Brian said, “I don’t need to tell you, Mrs. Sinclair, sometimes the most ridiculous detail could be the snag that unravels the truth. And there’s something else. You know a lot of the people we are investigating. Because you know them, you have preconceived ideas about who they are and what they are capable of. That insight will be very helpful.” He stared at the Janelle Maycott boxes and shook his head. “I’ve got every piece of paper in these boxes memorized, so if you need to move things into a different order, feel free.”

  “So while I’m looking through them, I should see if there’s anyone mentioned in Janelle’s case that could be in Sandy’s life now, like my husband? That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it? Seeing if we can tie Richard to Janelle and to Sandy?”

  “Maybe it’s not your husband, but it could very well be someone who knows him, or who has crossed paths with him,” Brian said. “Any connection, no matter how insignificant, could help.”

  She sat down and pulled one of the boxes towards her. “At least I can be productive.”

  Stephen looked at his watch. “I need to get back to my office.” He and Brian stood, ready to leave Olivia to her own devices.

  “One more thing before I go,” Brian said. “Where has your husband been for the last two weeks?”

  “He was in San Jose for depositions, and then he spent the weekend in Atherton with our friends the Pritchards. James and Madison host a house party every year. Outdoor activities during the day, elegant dinners at night.”

  “You didn’t go?” Brian asked.

  “Haven’t gone for the past three years,” Olivia said.

  “Why?” Brian asked.

  “Because I don’t particularly care for the Pritchards. If you want me to be totally honest, I find them phony and pretentious.”

  Olivia didn’t mention that the last time she and Richard had gone to the Pritchardses weekend party. Richard and Madison had gone on a long walk, not returning home until hours past lunch. When they had returned, Madison had given Olivia a satisfied smug grin. Looking back, the truth was so obvious that Oliva was embarrassed. They were having an affair. Are they still?

  “Do you know where I can reach the Pritchards?” Brian asked.

  “I’ll text you their contact info.”

  Brian told Olivia his number, and confirmed receipt of the text. “Thank you. That’s all I need for now.”

  “We’ll keep you posted,” Stephen said.

  “Thanks. And thank you, Brian, for agreeing to work with us. I appreciate it.”

  Olivia watched out her kitchen window as the two men walked back to Stephen’s car. She wondered what they were saying about her case, about her. As she contemplated the tasks that lay ahead of her, she wondered about the secrets Brian Vickery kept.

  Chapter 13

  Friday, October 17

  At 44 Montgomery, two security guards manned the desk and this time they asked Sharon to sign in. The younger of the two men gave her a curt nod and after waving her through to the elevators, went back to studying the array of monitors on his desk. His partner, however, wasn’t so easily dismissed. Mr. Becket – according to the name tag – was short and barrel-shaped, with a cropped haircut that spoke volumes about his psychological type. Alpha male, retired military. He picked up the phone and started to punch in numbers. Sharon was certain he was calling upstairs to Rincon Sinclair.

  “Put it down,” Sharon said, holding out her badge. The last thing she wanted was Richard Sinclair to know she was on her way up.

  He reached out his hand. “I’d like to examine your badge, officer.”

  So that’s how you w
ant to play it? “It’s inspector. Inspector Bailey.” She handed her badge over, waiting patiently while he examined it, checking her face against the picture in the leather wallet.

  “Is this about that dead girl I read about in the papers?”

  As if she’d tell him. One mention of Richard Sinclair and Sharon would bet the ranch that the overzealous Mr. Becket would hurry over to his desk and let everyone at Rincon Sinclair know there was a surly policewoman on her way up to speak to the firm’s golden boy.

  “I can’t tell you that, sir. Ongoing investigation. I’m sure you’ll understand.”

  He stared at her for a moment, his look a challenge. Sharon stared back. She hadn’t risen up the ranks at the San Francisco Police Department by kowtowing to bullies and she had no intention of doing so now. Instead, she forced a smile and said, “Thank you for your cooperation, sir.”

  The man nodded and waved Sharon through. While Sharon waited for the elevator, she watched out of the corner of her eye as grouchy pants leaned into his friend and whispered something. The other guard looked at Sharon, smiled, shook his head, and went back to his monitors.

  Stepping into the lobby at Rincon Sinclair, Sharon heard the murmur of voices, and instinctively moved towards them. She didn’t think twice about eavesdropping. This was, after all, a homicide investigation. It didn’t take long for her shameless snooping to bear fruit. Richard Sinclair, Wendy Betters, and another man were huddled together in the conference room. Sharon was going to announce herself, but instinctively stepped out of sight as the third man stormed out, retreating to another office tucked into the far corner of the suite. Ah, I’m betting that was Andrew Rincon.

  When Wendy Betters noticed Sharon standing outside Richard’s office, a look of troubled expectation washed over her face. She turned towards Richard Sinclair, and spoke to him as she moved toward the door.

  Sharon had only caught a glimpse of Richard Sinclair when they brought him to the police station. It was hard to believe that he was even more good-looking in person. Thick salt and pepper hair, over a perfectly chiseled face, had rendered him even more handsome by the passage of time. Handsome is as handsome does. She reminded herself of this age-old credo.

  From all accounts, when Richard was brought in for questioning about Sandy’s murder, he had seemed genuinely shocked and disturbed by her death. But when Ellie had started to question him about his activities and whereabouts at the time of Sandy’s murder, he had refused to answer and advised her in no uncertain terms that if she wasn’t going to charge him with a crime, he was leaving. And he had done so.

  By some fortuitous sense of coincidence, he managed to storm out of the interrogation room just as Olivia and Sharon arrived. The sparks that flew between Richard and Olivia Sinclair were telling. And Sharon couldn’t help but notice that while Olivia Sinclair looked scared and seemed to be in a perpetual state of shock, Richard Sinclair had been all bluster and bravado.

  Now she met Mr. Sinclair’s penetrating gaze with what she hoped was a disarming smile. “I just have a few questions, Mr. Sinclair. If you don’t mind?” Before he could refuse to speak with Sharon and throw her out on her ear, she said, “Sorry to barge in, but there was no receptionist—” She let her words hang in the air, unsure of how Mr. Sinclair would receive her.

  He stood, smiled, and walked over to her, his hand extended. His grip was firm, brief, and perfectly appropriate.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Richard said. “We’re a bit short-staffed at the moment. And I apologize for my behavior at the police station. We’re all a little shaken about Sandy’s death. Of course, I want to cooperate.”

  Wendy came into the office with a carafe of ice water topped with thin slices of lemon. She poured it into two crystal glasses, and placed them on coasters before Richard and Sharon. “I’ll just leave you both to it,” Wendy said.

  Richard ignored Wendy as he sipped his water, giving Sharon a few seconds to study him. Pictures of Richard Sinclair with Joe Montana and Dwight Clark, Will Clark, Jerry Brown, Mayor Moscone, and other notable San Francisco Bay Area personalities, were a testament to his social status and reminded Sharon to tread carefully.

  “This is an awful business, Sandy’s murder, my wife’s arrest – I just can’t believe it.” He puffed his cheeks full of air and slowly exhaled. “How can I help?”

  Sharon took out her notebook, wishing for a second that she had brought Ellie with her to take notes. “Where were you between Saturday, October 4 and Monday, October 6?”

  Richard Sinclair pulled a luxurious leather diary toward him, opened it and pushed it to Sharon. A legal pad rested on his desk. While he spoke, he wrote on the pad. “I spent the workweek in San Jose attending depositions and spent the weekend at a friend’s house in Atherton.”

  “When did you hear of Sandy’s death?”

  “After you spoke to Wendy. She told me right away. I was shocked. Sandy was a wonderful girl. I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t.”

  “Did your wife know about you and Sandy?”

  “I’m sure she suspected. We’ve been married since college. I don’t think either one of us has been faithful.”

  Bullshit, Sharon thought. Olivia Sinclair didn’t look like the sort of woman who would tolerate infidelity.

  “Did you know Sandy was pregnant?”

  At this news, Richard Sinclair squirmed. A look of surprise flashed in his eyes.

  Gotcha. “I take it you didn’t know?”

  Richard shook his head. “No idea.”

  “Would you have married her? I’m assuming the baby is yours.”

  Richard gave Sharon a penetrating glance, the kind she imagined he gave to a witness who hesitated to answer a question. She met his gaze and didn’t look away. “I would have taken care of the child, of that you can be sure. But marriage? I can’t say. Don’t be so surprised, Inspector. Sandy was a modern woman; marriage and domestic things were not on her mind. She wanted to go to law school.”

  “The baby may have changed her mind.”

  “I would have done whatever she wanted,” Richard said.

  “Help me out here, Mr. Sinclair. Can you think of anyone who might want to murder Sandy Watson? An old boyfriend, anyone? Other than your wife, of course.”

  “Olivia didn’t kill Sandy. And I have no idea about Sandy’s old boyfriends.”

  Richard scribbled on a sheet of paper before he folded it in two and handed it to Sharon. “Here’s the name of the law firm who hosted the depositions last week, as well as the contact information for James and Madison Pritchard. I think James is in Paris, but Madison should be reachable.”

  “Thank you,” Sharon said. She handed Richard Sinclair her card. “Please call me if you think of anything. It’s early days yet, Mr. Sinclair. I’ll probably need to speak to you again.”

  “Whatever you need.”

  Sharon left Richard Sinclair standing with his back to her, gazing at the spectacular view of San Francisco Bay.

  As she waited for the elevator, Sharon thought of going home to her studio in the Marina, ordering in Italian food from the restaurant down the street, and pouring a very large glass of Chianti. The elevator arrived, but just as the doors whooshed open, Andrew Rincon stormed down the hall.

  “Wait one second.” Andrew Rincon charged her like a bull, snorting with anger and full of fury.

  Oh, hell. Tired, hungry, and desperately in need of a break, Sharon had no desire to deal with an angry attorney. She let the elevator go, but pushed the down button again, determined to get on the next car that stopped on her floor. She braced for a confrontation. Despite Andrew Rincon’s power or political clout, Sharon would cuff him and take him to jail if he so much as laid a finger on her.

  When he came to a stop in front of her, Sharon didn’t back away. “I’ve had a long day, Mr. Rincon. I’m in the middle of a homicide investigation. What can I help you with? And I suggest you move away from me, sir. I don’t appreciate being crowded.”

&n
bsp; Despite his red-faced fury, Andrew Rincon stepped away.

  “Thank you. Now, how can I help you?”

  “You stay the hell away from this firm unless you call and make an appointment, do you understand? You are not to speak to any of my employees or my partner, without my permission. Got it?”

  “No, thank you, Mr. Rincon. That’s not our procedure, and I’ll be conducting my investigation as I see fit. Now if you want me to come unannounced and bring your employees to the police station so they can be interrogated in an interview room, I can do that. Otherwise, I suggest you leave me to it.” Sharon pulled her cell phone out of her purse and pretended to make a call. “Will there be anything else?”

  “I suggest you watch your step, Inspector.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “No, just speaking a truth.”

  Sharon let Andrew Rincon have the last word. She maintained her calm as she left the building and hailed a taxi. It wasn’t until she gave her address to the driver that she realized there would be hell to pay for that confrontation.

  Chapter 14

  Saturday, October 18

  Sharon woke up on Saturday morning at 6:30 a.m. sharp, even though she had vowed to sleep in. Peeking out the window from her third-floor apartment onto the Marina Green, she saw a crisp clear morning, devoid of fog. Die-hard runners and dog walkers were already out for their morning exercise. A senior police officer who was leading a murder investigation didn’t have the luxury of weekends off. Last night she had sent her team home for a good night’s sleep, and had scheduled a meeting with Ellie at 10:00 a.m.

  Rather than make coffee and scavenge her fridge for a makeshift breakfast, she showered and set out into the cold October morning towards her favorite diner on Lombard Street. The coffee shop across the street, which advertised morning happy hour from 5:00 to 7:00 a.m., was crowded already. A line of physically fit young people dressed in leggings and puffer coats queued outside the building, waiting for their fancy coffee drinks.