The Betrayal

by Terry Lynn Thomas

  “Come in.” Olivia stepped aside and once Brian entered she locked the door and threw the deadbolt. “I’ve got plenty of room. Richard’s study downstairs has a fold-out sofa. You’ll have privacy down there.”

  “Thank you, Olivia. I smell of smoke. Any chance of a quick shower?”

  “Of course. Everything you need is downstairs. And you can borrow some of Richard’s clothes until you get something new.”

  “I feel a little awkward borrowing your husband’s clothes.”

  “Okay. You can borrow my bathrobe while you wash your clothes,” Olivia countered. “It’s pink and fluffy and might just fit.” The idea of Brian Vickery in her pink fluffy bathrobe made Olivia smile.

  “Point taken. I’ll borrow some sweat pants, if that’s okay, just until mine are clean.”

  Olivia led Brian downstairs, showed him the washer and dryer, and got him situated with a pair Richard’s old sweats and fresh linens for the fold-out sofa. She left him to shower, with the promise of leftover spaghetti and a glass of red wine. Was it a coincidence that someone burned down Brian’s house after he started investigating Sandy Watson’s murder? These thoughts distracted her to such an extent that she almost didn’t notice the dining room lights were on. Certain she had turned them off before her nap, Olivia stood still, trying to quiet her breath. She sensed another heartbeat.

  Over the sound of the rain and her hammering heartbeat, she could just make out the sound of footsteps and the shuffle of papers. Someone was in the house, and they were rifling through the documents she had spread out on the dining room table. Grabbing the fire poker, she rushed into the room, poker raised, ready to strike.

  When she saw Richard, she skidded to a stop, nearly falling backwards. He turned to face her, throwing his hands in the air. When he saw the poker in her hand, his face went from surprise to irritation.

  “Put that thing down. It’s me for crying out loud.” He smirked and nodded at the poker. “You think you could overcome a full-grown man with that?”

  “How did you get in here?”

  “Since I could no longer use my key? I wriggled the bedroom window loose. I told you to fix it, Olivia.”

  “What do you want, Richard?” Olivia didn’t drop the poker.

  “I want my things. This is my house, too. There are documents in my study that I need. And I’ve come for my clothes.”

  Olivia swung the poker up over her shoulder. “Now isn’t a good time. You need to leave. Call me tomorrow and we can make arrangements for you to come back.”

  Richard laughed. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. You don’t tell me when I can come into my own house.”

  “Richard, you need to go. If you don’t, I’ll call the cops.”

  “And tell them what? I’ve come to my own house to get my personal property? You’ve ruined my career and my reputation. You realize that, don’t you?”

  His words should have triggered a torrent of rage. Richard had not shown her a scintilla of consideration at the embarrassment of being arrested and the difficulties of being a prisoner in her own home, never mind that she had been accused – and may well be convicted – of a crime she didn’t commit, not to mentioned the cheating … But the rage didn’t come. Olivia didn’t have the energy for any more emotion.

  “I want you to leave.”

  “Too bad. My God, when did you become so selfish?”

  “I know about you and Janelle Maycott,” she replied. “So do the police. I found a picture of you together. Did you kill those girls, Richard? Tell me, you son of a bitch, did you kill those girls? Did they get in your way, threaten to ruin your reputation? Inconvenience you?”

  For the first time Olivia saw behind Richard’s mask. Gone was the charm and soulful earnest concern that had been her husband’s trademark. If the eyes were the window to the soul, Olivia realized – for the first time in her decades-long marriage – her husband didn’t have one. All Olivia saw was emptiness and anger. In one step Richard overpowered her and took the poker out of her hand. She tried to move away from him, but he grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her against his body, rendering her helpless.

  “You’re hurting me,” she cried out, surprised at Richard’s violence.

  “I’m going to get my things. Do you understand?” He wrenched her tighter against him. A sharp shooting pain shot up her arm into her shoulder.

  She nodded, helpless to do anything else. When he let go, he gave her a push, which sent her sprawling just as Brian Vickery, hair wet from his shower and dressed in Richard’s sweatpants, stepped into the room.

  “Did you just push her?” he asked incredulously, his voice tinged with surprised indignation. “Did he push you, Olivia?”

  Olivia’s heart pounded as she stared up at Brian, surprised at the quiet menace in his tone. Richard stood with his hands clenched into fists. Olivia wondered at the violence she saw there.

  Brian held out his hand and pulled Olivia to her feet. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded.

  “This is my house too, Olivia. You know as well as I do that California is a community property state,” Richard said. He chuckled, a low throaty sound that infuriated her. He crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head at Olivia, a condescending smile on his face. “You really want to fight me?” Richard turned to face Brian, as if seeing him for the first time. “Who the hell are you?”

  “You should go.” Brian positioned himself between Olivia and Richard.

  Richard gave Brian the same self-righteous smirk he gave Olivia. “You know those are my clothes, right? You’re in my house. How about I strip you naked and throw you out on your ass?”

  Olivia watched, goggle-eyed, as Richard stepped towards Brian and tried to push him. In one fluid motion, Brian had Richard pinned against the wall, his arm twisted behind his back at an angle that had to be painful. When Brian spoke, his voice had an edge to it that gave Olivia pause. “I’m going to walk you out the door now. You’re going to get in your car and drive away. Understand? Because here’s the thing. Someone burned my house down today. I’m not in a very good mood. If you so much as look at your wife, I’m going to enjoy beating the shit out of you. Got it?”

  Richard nodded. Brian let his arm go.

  Richard turned to Olivia and said, “I’ll be back for my clothes and my wine.”

  “No,” Olivia said. “You’re not to come back here. Not ever. I’ll send your things to you at the studio.”

  Richard started to respond, but Brian interrupted. “Goodbye, Mr. Sinclair.”

  The minute Brian was back inside, Olivia locked the front door.

  “Do you think he’ll come back?” Brian asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “My shoulder hurts where he wrenched it.” Adrenaline coursed through Olivia’s body, fueling her anger at Richard. “He’s never been violent before.”

  “He’s desperate,” Brian said.

  Olivia sat on the couch, more upset than she cared to let on, while Brian fiddled around in the kitchen. With a shaking hand, she took the glass of wine Brian handed her.

  When Brian sat next to her, Olivia felt the connection between them. She wondered if he felt it too. How easy it would be to lean into Brian now, let her body rest against his. But she didn’t want to burden him with her emotional baggage, not after he had suffered such a loss. She sat back on the couch, relieved that the necessary confrontation with Richard was behind her now. She’d draw up divorce papers. All she wanted was her house. Of course, he’d hedge and try to intimidate her, but in the end, he would sign. “I’m going to put his belongings in garbage bags, and drink his wine cellar.”

  “And I’m not going to lecture you about vengeance,” Brian said.

  “I’m so sorry about your house, Brian. Do you think it has to do with my case?”

  “It could very well,” Brian said.

  “That confrontation needed to happen. I needed to stand up to Richard
, let him know he doesn’t control me. I’ve never seen him so violent, so without feeling. Maybe he’s always been that way, and I was too blind to see it.” She closed her eyes, hoping to stave off the headache that threatened. “I think of all the things I didn’t do because I was waiting to do them with Richard. I’ve wasted most of my adult life on that man.”

  “Best not think that way.”

  Overcome with a sudden wave of longing, Olivia thought of Denny, the one good thing in her life. She missed her daughter so much it hurt.

  “When this is behind you, you can start over. Do the things you’ve wanted to do.” Brian refilled their glasses. “I didn’t plan on losing Maureen. Twenty-five years of my life were spent working when I could have been with her. We were so happy, you know? We scrimped and saved so I could retire. We were going to travel …” He shook his head.

  “She was really strong, spiritually I mean. So tough during the chemo. I think I knew somewhere deep inside that I was going to lose her. I took early retirement when the treatments didn’t work as well as we hoped. I wanted to be with her, to take care of her.” Brian set his fork down. He didn’t meet Olivia’s eyes and he continued with his sad tale. “I nursed her myself. I bathed her and fed her and gave her medicine. She had a port on her chest for chemo, and I took care of that. She called it my tragic labor of love.”

  “Oh, Brian, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Olivia said. She couldn’t help but compare Brian to Richard, realizing for the first time the kindness that had been missing in her own marriage.

  Brian’s involvement with her case had brought about the destruction of the home he had shared with the wife he loved. The burden for his latest loss lay with Olivia. She would somehow have to find a way to make things right with him.

  Olivia woke up on the morning after her confrontation with Richard despondent and feeling sorry for herself. She tried to shake off the dark cloud that seemed to follow her. She knew she needed to get back to the tedium of reviewing documents so she could find the link between Janelle Maycott and Sandy Watson. As she showered and dressed, she thought about the boxes received from Alana Maycott that she had yet to go through and found she had little motivation to do anything.

  Brian had already left the house, but he had left her a carafe of coffee. Olivia had just poured a cup for herself when Lauren came walking up the path, dressed in hiking boots, looking like Medusa with her hair in a mass of tangled curls. When Olivia opened the door, Lauren stared for a moment.

  “Something’s different. What happened?”

  Olivia poured Lauren coffee. “I had it out with Richard yesterday. He came by the house unannounced to get his things. I told him to call first. He didn’t like it.”

  Lauren sipped her coffee. “So the rose-colored glasses are off at last?”

  “You should have seen him, Lauren. He was violent. I hardly recognized him.” Olivia sipped her coffee. “I need to talk to you about something.”

  Lauren watched Olivia over the rim of her glass. “Your tone of voice is making me nervous.”

  “I need to make plans in case I wind up in prison.”

  “Oh, God, Olivia. Please don’t say that. You’re not going to prison.”

  Olivia shook her head. “Juries can be fickle. I’m going to plan for the worst-case scenario. I am asking you, as my best friend, to manage my assets in the event I am unable to do so. I’ll set everything up to make it easy, but I need to protect Denny. I don’t want that husband of hers commandeering everything I’ve worked for. Denny and David aren’t doing well. They’re going to wind up divorced. I can feel it my bones. I want her to have a place to go when that happens. And if I wind up in prison, I’ll probably need money … I don’t know. But when I find out, I’d like you to help me.”

  Lauren’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Worry lines tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I can’t believe we are having this conversation.”

  “Hopefully it won’t be an issue. But I would be remiss if I didn’t make some sort of plan.” Lauren listened raptly while Olivia told her about Brian Vickery, the Janelle Maycott murder, and how they were hedging their defense on finding a connection between the two women. “The evidence against me is damning. Stephen’s experts can’t find any evidence that I’m being set up. Whoever framed me for this murder did a very expert and thorough job. And Brian’s house. Burned to the ground. It’s all my fault.”

  “Are you telling me that fire yesterday was your investigator’s house burning down? And that the arson could be connected to your case?”

  “It’s a possibility,” Olivia said.

  “You could write a book about this,” Lauren said. “I’m serious, Liv. I couldn’t make up a story like this if I tried. Aren’t you frightened? Do you think whoever burned down this guy’s house could come after you?”

  “I can’t think like that, especially since I’m trapped at the moment. Richard’s at the root of this, I can feel it in my bones.”

  “Richard’s a self-absorbed ass, but I don’t think he’d kill someone. Do you think he’s capable of murder?”

  “I don’t know. You should have seen him yesterday.”

  “Olivia, listen to me. I know you’re scared. God knows, I would be too. But you need to pull yourself together. You’re innocent. You need to prove it. Figure out what you need to do and get your lawyer and your investigator to do their jobs. You are not going to prison. And that’s final.”

  Olivia looked at the boxes stacked in the corner of the room. Her mind flashed on Richard, and the smirk on his face when she picked up the poker. She had lost everything she treasured, her husband, her daughter, her job, and potentially her freedom. The only thing Olivia knew for certain was that she was innocent. Lauren was right.

  “I know you like to be in control, Olivia. You like things to go according to plan, to fit into their box. Life isn’t like that. Your relationship with Richard has proven that you can’t control those around you. Once you find out the truth, you can repair the relationships that you care about. I understand you feel defeated, but you need to get out of this maudlin state of mind and get back to work.”

  They walked to the door. “Thanks, Lauren.”

  “Go find your evidence, Liv. Save yourself,” Lauren said before she turned and walked away.

  Chapter 24

  Thursday, October 23

  After the previous day’s confrontation with Jonas Greensboro, Sharon had spent her workday locked in her office, sending a message to all and sundry that she did not want to be disturbed. The rope analysis had come back with confirmation that the rope found at the scene of the Sandy Watson murder was an exact match to the rope from the Janelle Maycott murder. Sharon sighed, trying to ignore that frisson of doubt in the back of her mind, that feeling that something important was right under her nose but she was too stupid to see it. She picked up the dossier Ellie had prepared on Olivia Sinclair and read it for the second time.

  Olivia had been born into a fourth-generation Marin family. Her father taught political science at College of Marin until he died suddenly of a heart attack at age sixty-three. Her mother was an accountant and had passed away four years ago.

  Young Olivia had an aptitude for math and science and did well in school. Her parents expected her to become a doctor, but Olivia surprised everyone and opted for law school instead. She played piano and was enthusiastic about the arts. Over the years, Olivia had been interviewed by various newspapers, had won awards, and had been honored by her peers for her outstanding work. She donated selflessly to the local abused women’s shelter, and had hosted her share of fundraisers for its benefit. Her law practice was small, her client list exclusive. A handful of discreet phone calls to Sharon’s attorney friends revealed Olivia’s reputation as a hardworking litigator, who often represented the underdog spouse and worked to get them their equitable distribution of the marital assets.

  If Olivia Sinclair had committed a murder, she’d toss the evidence, hide it so no one wou
ld find it. The woman wasn’t stupid. If she put her mind to murdering someone, she’d cover her tracks. Sharon’s gut instinct had reared its head and wouldn’t leave her alone. This wasn’t the first time Sharon had experienced a sensation like this. Under normal circumstances, she would try not to overthink and let her subconscious mind do its thing. But time was of the essence now. Once Sharon was off the Sinclair case, she would be hard pressed to do any follow-up work, but she knew this unresolved issue would bug her until she figured out what it was.

  When her phone rang, Sharon reached for it, welcoming the distraction. “Inspector Bailey.”

  “Boss, I didn’t want to barge in there, but Wendy Betters is here. She wants to speak with you.”

  Sharon sighed and looked at her watch. It was three-thirty and she had skipped lunch. “Okay. I’ll be out in a minute. Can you put her in one of the interrogation rooms?”

  “Okay. Should I record?”

  “May as well. And I wouldn’t mind you listening in, maybe standing behind the glass. Pay attention to her body language.”

  “Will do.”

  Sharon found Wendy Betters seated at a table, a manila envelope on the table in front of her. When Sharon walked into the room she gave her a smile that seemed genuine. “I feel like I’m about to be interrogated.”

  “Sorry about that.” Sharon sat down opposite Wendy. “We really don’t have any place else to meet.”

  “I understand.” Wendy pushed the envelope towards Sharon. “I found something that I think you should know. Neither Andrew nor Richard know I’m here, so I’d appreciate it if you could not tell them how you came across this information.”

  Sharon’s heartbeat quickened as she reached for the envelope. Inside were computer printouts of statements from the Bank of the Caymans. The name on the account was Rincon Sinclair Investments. At first glance Sharon saw the account had a whopping $3 million on deposit.

  “What are these printouts?”

  “Our firm doesn’t have a traditional 401(k) retirement account. Instead, Andrew and Richard agreed to fund this investment account when they first opened Rincon Sinclair. Each year the firm puts $150,000 into a stock account, which I manage. I have an eye for new companies and my strategy has been to invest short-term and cash out when I hit a certain percentage on return. When I cash out, the funds are transferred to this account in the Caymans. It’s an unorthodox way of playing the market, but it’s worked for us.”