“Richard,” Olivia said not bothering to hide the sarcasm. “But I don’t think he did it, plus he has an alibi.” A fresh thread of anger at Richard and his infidelity threatened to invade Olivia’s psyche. She pushed it back.
“I need to go. Do you want me to come and stay with you for a couple days? If you don’t want to be alone …”
Olivia thought for a moment how nice it would be to have Wendy around, a trusted friend to talk to, someone to cook for. “Thanks. I’ll be fine for now. But maybe you’d come stay with me when the trial starts?”
“Of course,” Wendy said.
“The trick is to not turn on the news,” Olivia said.
“I’d say that’s good advice. Hope the fingerprint people find something to help you. Call me, okay? Anytime.”
“Thanks, Wen.”
The fingerprint people arrived just as Wendy drove away. Olivia watched while Stephen led them around the side of the house. Once they were out of sight, she spent the rest of the morning trying to ignore them as she trudged through the rest of the photos of Janelle Maycott. The photos were similar to the others, a chronological depiction of a vivacious woman before her life was cut short. A picture of Janelle at Fisherman’s Wharf holding a live crab made Olivia smile before she felt the sting of tears. She liked Janelle and wished she’d known her.
“Is that a picture of Janelle?”
Olivia jumped. She hadn’t heard Stephen come into the house.
“Didn’t mean to startle you. I knocked, but I guess you didn’t hear.”
“It’s all right.” She tossed the photo down on the dining table. “That’s Janelle. So sad. Her poor mother.”
Stephen walked the length of the dining table, pausing now and again to thumb through the piles of evidence Olivia had arranged there. “There’s a lot to go through here. I like the way your mind works.”
Olivia handed Stephen the envelope that Wendy had dropped off.
“What’s this?”
“Wendy Betters brought me a list of all the people who had access to Rincon Sinclair since Sandy Watson started working there. Maybe we could cross-check the names with Janelle Maycott’s case.”
“Let me get my paralegal on this. You’ve plenty to keep you busy here.”
Olivia hesitated, not trusting a paralegal when she could do it herself. Her life was in jeopardy, she should do the sleuthing. Turning her back on Stephen, Olivia felt an unexpected wave of panic. She wasn’t accustomed to depending on others to fix her problems. Lauren was right. Olivia needed to be in control. “But we’re no closer to finding out who really killed those poor girls, are we?” she asked.
“Olivia, we’re going to find out who killed Sandy,” Stephen said, his voice full of certainty. “It might not be until after your trial, but there’s nothing to be done about that. You want to find out what really happened. Brian Vickery will help you do that. My only concern is keeping you out of jail.
“We’ll dig into the connection between Janelle and Sandy. That’s the key, I’m sure of it. Whoever killed these poor girls is feeling very sure of himself right now. He thinks he got away with murder. Twice. I am going to find that person.” Stephen put his hands on Olivia’s shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Liv, that’s a promise.”
Olivia nodded, wishing she had Stephen’s confidence.
Brian Vickery stepped into the dining room. “Sorry to barge in. The front door was open. Stephen, a word?”
Stephen and Brian stepped into the hallway, leaving Olivia to pretend she wasn’t straining to hear their murmured voices as they whispered. Outside, Inspector Bailey and three more men in blue windbreakers with SFPD emblazoned across the back walked through Olivia’s garden and under her back deck. She craned her neck to see what they were up to.
“Olivia,” Stephen said. “They’ve found a handprint on the wall near the window under the deck. It seems as though someone leaned against it, using their hand to prop them up. It’s a clean print and it’s very fresh.”
Brian nodded at both of them and slipped out the front door.
“What does that mean?” Olivia asked.
“Well, have you leaned against the downstairs wall within the last six or eight weeks?”
Olivia cast her mind back to the many times she had spent her day in the garden, often not coming indoors until after the sun set in the summer sky. Although the downstairs basement had windows, Olivia had never landscaped the area under the deck. Every couple years she would have someone throw some bark over the dirt to keep the weeds at bay, but that was it. Her garden shed was tucked under the eaves on the side of the house, and as far as she could remember, she had never put her hand on the wall. “No. Not that I recall.”
“Your husband?”
“No idea,” Olivia said.
“I need to go down there and talk to them. They’d like to see if they can find a matching print on the interior.”
“Dare I hope?”
“Hope is good, Liv. Always hope. This could be a good thing. I’ll let them in. Brian and I will stay with them the entire time, okay?”
“Of course. You can see yourselves out and lock up behind you. I’ll continue to go through this lot.” She nodded at the stacks of papers and boxes of photographs on the dining room table. Once Stephen left her alone, Olivia went into her bedroom. Kicking off her shoes, she sat on her bed, took out her cell phone and dialed Denny’s number.
Denny answered right away, but Olivia could tell from her tone of voice, that David was in the room. She envisioned him hovering nearby, listening to their conversation.
“Hi, Mom.” Denny’s voice of devoid of emotion.
Olivia said, “David told me not to call you, but I thought you should know what’s been going on.”
“I know what’s going on. I’ve spoken to Dad.” Olivia heard David murmuring in the background. “David told me what you did, how you hired a private investigator to follow him. How dare you!”
“I wasn’t trying to meddle, Den. I just wanted you to see—”
“No,” Denny snapped. “You don’t get to talk your way out of this. Why do you always need to push yourself into situations where you’re not wanted? You have no business involving yourself in my marriage. David says you’ve been trying to drive a wedge between us since the beginning. I didn’t want to believe it, but now I can see he’s right.”
“That’s not true and you know it. He’s not good for you, Den. He’s a liar—”
“Don’t you dare speak about my husband that way. You can’t control me anymore, Mom. That’s your problem. You need to be in control of everything and everyone. And when you’re not, you can’t cope.”
The sound of crashing waves filled Olivia’s ears. She held the phone away from her, staring at it, a look of disbelief on her face.
“I’m tired of your abusive husband and tired of your disrespect. You know what, Den. I love you, but I won’t be spoken to this way. I’ve tried to help you because I love you and I think you made a huge mistake. You owe me an apology.”
“I owe you nothing,” Denny said. “You’ve been meddling in my marriage since the beginning. It’s unhealthy, Mom. It’s like you have this relentless obsession with breaking us up. We’d be happy if it weren’t for you. Stay away from me. I don’t want to hear from you and you need to butt out of my business and my marriage. It’s no concern of yours.” Denny hung up the phone.
Damn it. Olivia threw down her phone. She was tired of acting strong, tired of feigning confidence in Stephen Vine’s ability to prove her innocence. She had lost her job, had lost her sham of a marriage, and now she had lost her daughter. Someone had done a very thorough job of framing her for murder, and if they didn’t get a break, Olivia could very well spend the rest of her life in prison.
Olivia glanced at the clock. Six-thirty. Another day gone. She could hear the murmur of Stephen and Brian’s voices as the fingerprint techs packed up. Soon they came upstairs.
“I’ll see you soon,”
Brian said. His eyes caught hers and lingered there. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she lied.
“No you’re not,” he said.
I’ve nothing to live for. These words popped in her mind. The reality of them took her aback.
“Seriously. You look a little pale. Do you have someone who could come and stay with you?”
Olivia forced a smile. “I’m okay, really. Just tired.”
“Try and get some rest. I’ll text you once I know something.”
Once he and Stephen were gone, she turned the deadbolt, walked into her bedroom, pulled the curtains and lay down on her bed. Her grief erupted in sobs that came from someplace dark and deep. Helpless to do anything else, she cried until she soaked her pillow and used piles of Kleenex to sop up the tears. An hour later, her mind and body limp with emotional exhaustion, Olivia slept.
Chapter 22
Wednesday, October 22
Brian headed back home after the fingerprint team left Olivia’s house. The days were getting shorter and the air held a noticeable chill. Brian had been surprised when they had found a fresh fingerprint that might indeed help Olivia prove her innocence. The evidence against Olivia was rock solid, and even though he never said it, Brian sensed Stephen Vine was growing more concerned each day. Brian and Stephen had both been surprised when the computer expert hadn’t been able to say definitively that someone else had opened the American Express card in Olivia’s name.
Yet the morning session with the fingerprint team had given them a solid lead. Even though the results weren’t ready yet, there was no denying that someone had entered Olivia’s house through the study window. And they had found five matching prints on the interior of the window, indicating by their position that someone had climbed inside. Unfortunately, no unusual fingerprints were found in Olivia’s closet – where the cell phone and purse were recovered – but that simply meant that their perpetrator had put gloves on or had remembered to wipe them away.
It didn’t take a psychology degree to see that Olivia was two steps away from a complete and utter breakdown. When Brian had first met Olivia, he was surprised at the calm way she viewed her situation. Most people accused of murder would be distraught, overwhelmed, and completely unable to function. Olivia Sinclair had rallied with a steely determination that Brian had found impressive. He hadn’t doubted for a second that she wouldn’t give up until she had found out who killed Sandy Watson and cleared her name.
Today he had come to the realization that Olivia’s sangfroid was an act, a fragile protective shield held in place by an ever-weakening thread. Today that thread had snapped. Today he had understood her struggle. She reminded him of a wild bird in a cage, helpless and at the whim of something over which she had no control.
Stephen Vine had been dismissive when Brian mentioned his concerns.
“She’ll be okay, Brian. Once we get a handle on the evidence and I tell her my plan, she’ll rest easy. She didn’t do it. I’m going to get her off.” He patted Brian’s shoulder, one of those hail-fellow-well-met gestures that was so out of character Brian nearly laughed out loud. When Stephen noticed the skepticism on Brian’s face, he said, “I’m going to get an acquittal. Don’t you doubt that for one minute.”
Brian pointed his car towards home. All he wanted to do was sit in his newly organized kitchen, eat a bologna and cheese sandwich, and think about Maureen.
Distracted by his thoughts, Brian didn’t notice the furls of black smoke climbing into the air near his house until a fire truck with its sirens blaring roared up behind him. He pulled over to let it go by, surprised when it turned onto his street. He followed the fire truck, only to be held up by barricades and a gaggle of onlookers standing by. Two young police officers – they all looked young to Brian nowadays – walked up to his car.
“What’s going on?”
One of the officers, a kid with blond hair and intelligent blue eyes, leaned toward him. The young man’s mouth moved, but Brian couldn’t hear the words. In his mind’s eye, he calculated the relationship between the curling tower of smoke and his house. He pulled his car over in front of the barricade, got out, and started to walk around it. The officers approached him. One of them grabbed his arm.
“You need to wait here, sir,” the officer said.
Brian shook loose from his grasp and stepped away holding his hands up, as if in surrender. “My house is number 642. Where’s the fire?”
The two officers looked at each other. The taller one once again stepped close to Brian.
“Is the fire at 642?” Brian shouted.
“It is, sir. Let me call the chief …”
Brian reached into his pocket and tossed his keys to the officer who had moved close to him. “Here are my keys in case you need to move the car.” As the officer caught the keys, Brian jumped over the barricade and took off at a run, towards the smoke and the sirens and the chaos. Ignoring the officers shouting for him to come back and the biting cramp in his side, he sprinted and didn’t stop running until he reached the crowd that had gathered near his house. He pushed through the wall of people until he had a clear view of the inferno that raged inside. Unable to do anything, he stood, numb, as the hot hungry monster hell-bent on destruction ravaged Maureen’s house.
A crew of firemen watered down the roofs of the houses on either side in an effort to prevent the fire from spreading. His neighbors had gathered around, mostly people who had moved into the neighborhood within the last ten years or so. He didn’t know any of them. Not a single soul. Brian stood helpless as the windows in the front of the house exploded in rapid succession raining shards of glass. The noise of the fire was deafening. Unable to do anything else, Brian watched, helpless, as his life with Maureen went up in flames.
He must have stood for a good hour, his fists clenched so tight that his fingernails dug into his palms, impervious to the dark clouds that had formed. When they opened and the sky delivered a torrent of rain, Brian wondered if Maureen had seen the fire, if her ghost had had made the heavens open. Soon the fire was under control and Justin Branson, the fire marshal, made his way over to Brian. Justin was three years younger than Brian. He had gone to Redwood High and had been an all-star water polo player. Now he looked wary.
“Justin.” They shook hands. He thought maybe he should say something, ask a question, but he couldn’t. Try as he might, Brian couldn’t string a sentence together if he had to. “I don’t know – Maureen – I need to get inside. See if there’s anything left.”
He must have walked toward the house because Justin put a strong hand on his arm, holding him back. “You know I can’t let you go in there. Come sit in my car with me, okay? We can talk.”
Brian followed Justin to his car. Where was Mrs. Winkle? Visiting her grandkids? He felt wet tears run down his cheeks and was so surprised that he touched them, examining his fingers.
“I’m right here,” Justin said, pointing to a red SUV.
Once they were in the car, Justin turned on the ignition and blasted the heater. Brian realized that his hands were numb and his ears tingled from the cold. Justin pulled a dented Thermos from the back seat. He reached into his glove box and took out an extra plastic cup, which he filled with coffee and handed to Brian. “Drink that.”
Brian sipped the coffee. All he tasted was smoke.
“This fire was no accident, Brian.” Justin looked straight ahead as he broke this news, as if he wanted to give Brian his privacy.
“My life with Maureen—” Brian’s voice caught as he bit back the tears.
“Hey, buddy, it’s okay,” Justin put his hand out, as if to pat Brian on the shoulder, but pulled it back at the last minute, clearly uncomfortable with the display of emotion. After a few minutes Justin said, “Do you know anyone who would want to burn your house down?”
“I’m working with Stephen Vine’s office defending a woman – Olivia Sinclair – who’s been accused of murder. I have a feeling this arson is tied to our case. S
omeone framed Olivia for murder and she is hell-bent on finding out who. We’ve discovered that the murder Olivia is charged with is tied to a cold case that I worked on before I retired. But I don’t know why someone would burn my house down.” Unless they thought I had evidence about the Janelle Maycott case inside. Overcome with a desire to get out of this car and away from the smoking wreckage of his house, Brian wiped his eyes and opened the door. “You have my cell. Call me if you need me.”
Brian walked towards his car, not sure where to go or what to do with himself. He knew one thing for certain. He would find the person who had destroyed his memories of Maureen, and he would make that person pay.
Chapter 23
Wednesday, October 22
Olivia awoke from her nap to the sound of rain pelting on the roof and a car pulling up in front of her house, her pillow still damp from her tears. Through the approaching darkness she saw the last of the journos encamped across the street had left, either to flee the cold rain or to follow the forensic team, ever searching for something new and sensational about the case. Good riddance. Between bouts of reviewing evidence she had taken to wandering aimlessly around the house, not quite sure what to do with herself. She went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water.
Through the pounding rain she saw Brian Vickery sitting in his car, his forehead resting on the steering wheel. From the safety of her dark kitchen, she continued to watch until he finally got out of the car and headed towards the front door. He hurried through the rain, but his gait was clumsy, as though his back hurt. Pulling the shades down, Olivia turned on the kitchen lights and hurried to let him in. Something was wrong. When she opened the door, Brian Vickery stood before her, smelling of smoke and ashes.
“Brian?”
When he met Olivia’s eyes, she saw a devastation there that twisted in her heart.
“Somebody burned my house down. I didn’t have anywhere else to go …”
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