The Betrayal

by Terry Lynn Thomas

  After Maureen died, Mrs. Winkle had cooked and had tried to do some cleaning for Brian, a valiant effort to stave off the chaotic downward spiral that had taken over Brian’s spiritual life and physical space. By some miracle, Mrs. Winkle had helped Brian while respecting his need for space and privacy, always circling in the background should she be needed.

  “Hello, Brian!”

  “Let me help you with those.” Brian took the casserole dishes, using one hand to unlock the front door and let them both in.

  “You’ve been busy,” she said, unable to keep the amazement out of her voice. She followed him into the kitchen. Her eyes wandered over the clean counters, the sink, and polished dining room table, a lovely antique that had belonged to Maureen’s great-aunt. “I can’t believe it! Well, I can believe it, but I wasn’t expecting it.”

  “Have you eaten? I’d share my casserole.”

  She looked at her watch. “I can sit for a minute. I’m waiting on the cable repairman.” She sat across from him, in Maureen’s place. “What possessed you to do all this?”

  “For some reason, I was able to see how I had let things slip, saw the house with an objective eye. And then I thought of Maureen and what she would think if she saw me living this way. So I cleaned and cleared. The physical work was cathartic. For the first time since Maureen’s death, I slept through the night without taking any pills.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve had all week.” She looked at her watch. “I should go. You know where I am if you need me, okay?”

  “You’re a good friend. I wouldn’t have survived these past few months without you.”

  She squeezed his shoulder. “You’d have done the same for me. Talk to you later.”

  The house, although clean and organized, still felt empty without Maureen in it. A yawning chasm remained where Maureen’s life force had been. The ache in Brian’s heart was still there, a familiar thing he was learning to live with. But it was more bearable today. The grief wasn’t going anywhere. Not now, maybe not ever. It was on him to learn to live with it.

  He didn’t rush his meal. When he finished eating, he sat at the kitchen table for a long time, allowing himself to feel the pain of his loss, as though the suffering would honor it in some way. “I’ll always love you, Maureen.” He spoke into the void, wondering if somewhere in some other dimension, his wife heard him.

  Chapter 20

  Wednesday, October 22

  It had been nine days since Ellie and Sharon had been called to the scene of Sandy Watson’s murder. When Stephen Vine had called yesterday to ask about reprinting Olivia’s house, Sharon’s initial reaction had been a resounding no, followed with a request that Stephen go through the appropriate channels. But he had convinced her.

  “When I put you on the witness stand, I’m going to ask why you didn’t print the areas of ingress and egress. I’m going to play it like you were a bit eager to charge Ms. Sinclair. If she had killed Sandy Watson, she wouldn’t have brought evidence to her house. Someone planted it there. It’s your job – or it was your job – to find out who that person was. I’m sure Jonas Greensboro was eager for a speedy arrest, but you have to admit fingerprinting the exterior windows and doors should have happened without my requesting it.”

  He was right. And when Sharon was silent, Stephen Vine knew he had her backed into a corner.

  “You’re the lead cop. Order a reprint of the scene. Let them think you’re just being thorough.” He didn’t bother to say goodbye before he hung up the phone.

  Sharon had been too pressed for time to run the idea by Captain Wasniki, but she was certain he would support her. In the spirit of full disclosure, she would tell him that Stephen Vine had suggested the scene reprint. As she filled her to-go cup with coffee and headed out the door, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something vital, something elusive thing that her subconscious mind would reveal when it was ready.

  Ellie was waiting with a worried expression on her face when Sharon stepped off the elevator.

  “What’s happened?”

  “Jonas Greensboro came looking for you. He’s furious. You’re to go right up to Wasniki’s office.”

  Sharon sighed and pressed the call button for the elevator. “Did he say what was the matter?”

  “Just that he wanted to speak to you immediately.” Ellie looked around to make sure no one was listening. When she spoke her voice was soft. “Has anything happened?”

  “Not that I know of. But I’ve got doubts about this case, Ellie. I don’t think Olivia Sinclair did it.”

  “Of course she did. She rented the murder scene. We found the decedent’s property in her home. And if that’s not enough, we have the emails and the video of Sandy having sex with her husband. I know it’s hard to picture someone like Olivia Sinclair, with her poise and polish and good works, to commit murder. I get it. But she was jealous. And she’s smart, so she planned it.”

  “If she’s so smart, why was it so easy for us to find the evidence needed to convict her?”

  Ellie met Sharon’s eyes and shook her head. “Because she wanted you to do exactly what you’re doing. It’s not in character, right? Olivia Sinclair is too smart to leave evidence in her bedroom closet … That’s her game. She’s playing us, playing you. We’re tired, boss. We’ve been pushing hard. That’s why you’re second-guessing yourself.”

  “What about Janelle?” Sharon asked.

  “Don’t know yet. Janelle Maycott’s murder doesn’t change the evidence we have on Olivia Sinclair. I’m sure we’ll figure out how Janelle plays into this.”

  Sharon stepped into the elevator, wishing it were that easy.

  Megan Warner, Captain Wasniki’s secretary, typed away at her computer. When Sharon approached, her eyes became wary and she gave Sharon an apologetic look that made Sharon’s stomach cramp. The wall between Captain Wasniki’s office was glass, but today the blinds were shut and Sharon couldn’t see in.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Jonas Greensboro is out for blood,” Megan whispered. “Something about reprinting the Sinclair house? You better get in there. And good luck.”

  Sharon steeled herself for a confrontation with Jonas, making a vow to herself that if he became verbally abusive, she would get up and walk out. She didn’t care if she got written up for insubordination. She’d quit before she would be abused for doing her job. Pushing open the door, Sharon stepped into the snake pit.

  “You’re late,” Jonas said. He was seated in one of the guest chairs in front of Captain Wasniki’s desk. Captain Wasniki sat still and quiet and wore a look that Sharon had come to recognize as anger.

  “I’m not actually. And I didn’t know we had an appointment.” She turned her gaze to Captain Wasniki. “Sir? What’s going on?”

  “Did you speak to Stephen Vine about running new fingerprints at Olivia Sinclair’s house?” Captain Wasniki asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “See.” Jonas rose from his chair and pointed at Sharon. “She’s gone rogue. Do all your officers make decisions of this magnitude without your clearance? Her carelessness could cost me this case.”

  Sharon had closed the door behind her and now stood with her back to it. When Jonas Greensboro moved close to her, she met him head on. “Back away, counselor,” Sharon said. “Don’t force me to subdue you.”

  A small vessel popped out on Jonas’s forehead. Sharon watched as it throbbed with Jonas’s pumping blood.

  “I will not tolerate insubordination,” Jonas said. “You have no authority to make decisions about this case.”

  “Get over yourself, Jonas. You don’t get to speak to me that way,” Sharon said, no longer caring if she had an insubordination ticket in her file. As far as she was concerned, Jonas Greensboro could go to hell.

  “If I lose this case because of your shoddy police work—”

  “My shoddy police work? If you hadn’t pushed me to make an arrest—”

  “Enough. Both of
you stop. Right now,” Captain Wasniki said. “Jonas. You will not speak to Inspector Bailey in that tone. And she does have authority to make decisions about this case.” He turned to Sharon. “Let’s hear your side of the story, Inspector. Sit down and tell us why you agreed to reprint the Sinclair house.”

  Jonas glared at Sharon before he returned to his chair.

  Sharon pulled the empty guest chair as far away from Jonas as she could before she sat down. She felt Jonas giving her the stink eye as she took a deep breath and forced herself to be calm.

  “We brought Olivia Sinclair in for questioning and served her with a search warrant. My team was specifically instructed – per the two of you, I might add – to find evidence linking Olivia Sinclair to the Sandy Watson murder, so we could make a speedy arrest. We found evidence and we arrested her. Although the interior of the house was searched in its entirety, once we found Sandy’s iPhone and identification in Olivia’s closet, no one considered printing areas of ingress and egress.” Sharon met Captain Wasniki’s eyes. “It was a mistake. I’ll take responsibility for it, if you need me to.”

  “And what about Stephen Vine?” Captain Wasniki asked.

  “He didn’t want to go to Jonas because he knew Jonas would say no.”

  Jonas opened his mouth as if to say something, but Captain Wasniki held up his hand. “Wait. Let her finish.”

  “He told me he would be obligated to put me on the stand and ask me why we didn’t print the areas around the windows and doors. I would have owned the error, thereby opening the door for his argument that someone planted the evidence in Olivia’s house, and if we had checked the windows and doors, we could be chasing down fingerprints, if there are any.”

  “That’s bullshit. We’ve got the emails sent from her computer and the American Express card,” Jonas said. “I’ll get a conviction.”

  “Then why do you care if they reprint the house?” Sharon asked.

  “I care about police officers who don’t know their place.” Jonas turned to Captain Wasniki. “I want her written up for insubordination.”

  “Not going to happen,” Captain Wasniki said.

  Sharon stood.

  “I’ll have her badge, Captain,” Jonas said.

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort. Let me give you a little lesson about the way things work around here, counselor. You don’t tell my officers how do to their jobs, got it? You do not want to make an enemy out of me.” Captain Wasniki looked at Sharon and nodded at the door. “You’re excused, Sharon. Please close the door behind you.”

  Sharon closed the door behind her, listening as Captain Wasniki and Jonas Greensboro’s voices got louder and louder.

  “Are you okay?” Megan asked. She got up and came to stand near Sharon, her eyes filled with worry.

  “I’m fine. Thank you,” she lied.

  “You look a little pale. Why don’t you sit down for a minute.”

  “I’ll be all right. I need to get out of here.” Sharon hurried back to her office. Once there, she shut the door behind her, closings the blinds so no one in the bullpen could see her, as she sat in the dark, waiting for her hands to stop shaking and her breath to return to normal.

  She had stood up to Jonas Greensboro. Although it had felt very righteous at the time, she knew deep down that she had just made a powerful enemy. Jonas had a reputation as a holder of grudges and exacter of revenge. It would only be a matter of time before he came after her. When he did, Sharon knew her time at SFPD and the job she truly loved would be over.

  Chapter 21

  Wednesday, October 22

  When Stephen Vine showed up at Olivia’s door at 8:00 a.m., she expected good news. But one look at Stephen’s face put those hopes to rest.

  “We need to talk,” Stephen said. He followed Olivia into the living room. Once they were seated, he leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “I’ve come across an obstacle that I’m not quite sure how to overcome and am hoping you can help me.”

  “Of course. Just tell me what you’d like me to do.”

  “I’ve had two computer experts try to track down the bogus American Express card in your name. All trails lead back to you, Liv. Whoever got that card applied for it using the Wi-Fi in this house.”

  “But that’s not possible. I never use the computer downstairs for the Internet.”

  “What about your laptop?” Stephen asked.

  “I rarely bring it home.” She thought back. “Haven’t done so in months.”

  “Okay. Do you use a password when you log on to the Internet at home?”

  “I do.”

  “Okay. We’re still waiting to get your laptop from the police. I’ll work on that. No worries.”

  Olivia said, “I realize the picture of Richard and Janelle Maycott could be construed as a motive for me. I’m sure Jonas Greensboro is going to paint me as a jealous wife who murdered Richard’s lovers.” She stood and walked into the dining room, coming to stop at the glass window with its dramatic view. Gazing out at King Mountain and her neglected garden, the realization that she was well on her way to spending the rest of her life in prison nearly took her breath away. When she sensed Stephen behind her, she turned to face him. “I should prepare myself for the eventuality that I could wind up in prison and get my affairs in order, shouldn’t I?”

  “Don’t think that way. We’re not there yet. I admit to being a little concerned, as I thought getting evidence to prove your innocence would be a slam dunk.” He gave Olivia a sheepish smile. “That’ll teach me to be too sure of myself. But, again, all we need is reasonable doubt. And I do have some news that could potentially help us.”

  Stephen took her hand and led her into the living room, back to the couch. “I’m operating under the theory that someone – other than Richard – got into this house and used your computer to obtain an American Express card in your name. That same someone came in after he murdered Sandy Watson and planted evidence. This person had to have access to this house. We know they didn’t smash a window and there’s no evidence that any lock had been picked, right? You’d notice that.”

  “Right.” Olivia thought about her surprise party and wondered how long the guests had been mingling before she arrived home. “And what about my party? It’s just possible that one of my guests—” Olivia couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “I’ve made arrangements for the police to bring their fingerprint team out again and specifically look for fingerprints at all places of ingress and egress. In their eagerness to find evidence that you killed Sandy Watson, they neglected to dust for prints on windows and doors. When the person who planted evidence entered the house, it’s very possible they left a print.”

  “If they weren’t wearing gloves,” Olivia said.

  “True. But not printing the windows and doors was an oversight. It speaks to a quick investigation, cutting corners to make an arrest. We’re going to remedy that. And maybe we’ll find a fingerprint that shouldn’t be there.”

  “That helps?” Olivia asked.

  “Reasonable doubt. That’s all I need.” When there was a knock at the door, Stephen patted Olivia’s knee. “That’s probably Brian. I need to talk to him. The police fingerprint team will be here in half an hour. Are you up for continuing to look through evidence? We have a couple more boxes from Alana Maycott, if you’re up to it. And I’ll understand if it’s too much.”

  “No, I’ll do it. I need to keep busy. Just bring the boxes in when you can.”

  After Stephen left, Olivia found she was too restless to concentrate, so she moved all the boxes of evidence pertaining to Janelle’s case into the dining room, putting the boxes she had yet to look through on the top of the stack. After that, she busied herself arranging the photos, police reports, pleadings, and witness statements in such a fashion that she could look at her handwritten index and retrieve anything listed there within seconds. She showered, drank too much coffee, and sat down once again to the box of pictures received from Janelle Maycott’s mo
ther, only to be interrupted by the ringing of her doorbell. Peering through the peephole, she saw Wendy Betters standing outside.

  “Wendy, come in.”

  “Have those reporters been there long?” Wendy asked.

  “Since the day I was released from jail. There used to be five times that many.”

  Wendy was dressed in yoga pants and a Cal Bears hoodie. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and, for the first time that Olivia could recall, Wendy’s face was devoid of makeup. “I am actually going to a yoga retreat in West Marin. That’s why I’m dressed like this.”

  “It’s good to see you. I’m surprised Rincon Sinclair can function without you,” Olivia said.

  “I am taking a much-needed day off.” Wendy set her purse on the counter and pulled out a sealed manila envelope, which she handed to Olivia. “There’s a list of every contractor, repairman, computer salesman, phone repairman, and electrician who has set foot in Rincon Sinclair since Sandy started working there. I erred on the side of caution and listed absolutely everyone. Many are a long shot, but you never know. Is there any news about your case?”

  “No. The police are coming back to take new fingerprints,” Olivia said.

  “Did they get a warrant?” Wendy asked.

  “No. This is being done at our suggestion.”

  Wendy moved into the dining room, drawn to the evidence that was spread over the table like a moth to a flame. “Is this your evidence?”

  “Yes. And my investigator has more boxes for me. I’m trying to find a connection between Sandy Watson and another woman who was murdered fourteen years ago in a similar fashion. Her mother sent us boxes of old photos, and I’ve been charged with the task of going through them looking for a connection between the two cases.”

  “You only need reasonable doubt, Liv.”

  “I need to find out who did it, Wen. If the jury convicts me, I’ll keep looking.”

  “The jury won’t convict you,” Wendy said. “Stephen Vine is a good lawyer. You didn’t kill anyone. Do you have anyone in mind as a suspect?”