Sharon said. “Are you aware of what’s been happening here in San Francisco? The murdered girl? A Marin County attorney arrested for the crime?”
“I only know what I’ve seen in the news.”
“Mr. Buford, I think Wendy Betters committed the murder. Anything you can tell me about her would be appreciated. And, of course, held in the strictest confidence.”
“How much time you got, ma’am? Because I think the best way to tell this story is to start at the beginning.”
Sharon leaned back and put her feet on her desk. “I’ve got all the time you need, Mr. Buford.”
“Wendy and her family lived in a small cottage on Puget Sound. This was before the real estate boom, mind you. The Betters didn’t have a lot of money. Bob was a welder. He did all right. When Seattle real estate started to skyrocket, the Betters got offers to sell their cottage every day. But Bob and Milly dug their heels in. Bob and his friends built that house themselves right after he and Milly married. They had memories there, and they weren’t selling.
“When Bob died, things became difficult for Milly. Taxes went up, and she had a daughter to raise. But she still refused to sell. She managed to put food on the table and Wendy always had nice clothes. But the car eventually broke down and couldn’t be replaced, and it looked like Wendy would have to attend community college in Seattle. She was a good student and had her heart set on going to college in California. Her mom couldn’t afford out-of-state tuition, but Wendy was determined.
“Something changed in Wendy when her father died. My son went to school with her and he used to come home with stories. Said she got mean. Bullied other kids. Became withdrawn. We wrote it off as grief. My wife and I reached out to the family, took a basket over with cakes, muffins, coffee, things like that. When we arrived at the house Milly wasn’t home. Wendy opened the door, told us in no uncertain terms that they didn’t want nor need charity. When she told us to get off her property and never come back, that’s when I saw that emptiness in her eyes. You’re a cop, so you’ll know what I’m talking about. An empty soul, remorseless. My wife just thought the child was suffering due to her circumstances, but I saw something different in Wendy’s eyes, a cruelty that shook me. I admit when we left there, I was very worried.
“Bob Betters had a small sailboat. He and Wendy were both big sailors. Milly didn’t go with them. She couldn’t swim and had no interest in learning. Imagine how surprised we all were when Wendy called in a mayday when her mom went overboard. Somehow she had managed to get Milly out on the boat. How Wendy managed that is a mystery because Milly Betters was scared of the water. Wendy said she was down below and when she came up her mother was gone. The circumstances were made even more suspicious because the day was fine, sunny and clear with calm water. Poor Milly’s body didn’t wash up until a week later.”
“And you think Wendy killed her mother?”
“I am sure of it. Could never prove it. My captain was furious at me for suggesting that Wendy, a young woman who had suffered mightily, could murder anyone. She was just a kid, after all. The coroner ruled the death accidental, but I never believed it. Milly Betters was a good woman. She didn’t deserve to die. I defied orders and investigated Wendy anyways. Nearly lost my job over it.”
“I imagine there wasn’t any evidence to prove Wendy pushed her mom,” Sharon said.
“Her story didn’t make sense. She said that Milly had on a life jacket, but when Milly’s body was found, no life jacket.”
“Could that be a result of time in the water?”
“Maybe, but her clothing and shoes were intact. I can tell you this with certainty, Wendy Betters is a sociopath. Always has been. If you pay attention when you’re near her, that mask will slip off and you’ll see what’s underneath. There’s that look in the eyes … I’m betting you know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re a homicide investigator. Wendy Betters is an empty soul. Didn’t show a lick of grief when her mom died. She walked around town, not speaking to anyone, with a surly attitude. Most of the folks around here felt sorry for her. Not me. I was glad when she sold up and got out of here. But I had a feeling she’d hurt someone along the road.”
“Did you continue to follow Wendy over the years?”
“Tried to. I was hell-bent on finding out the truth. Felt like I owed it to Milly. But I had a heart attack. My doc gave me a choice: walk away from stress or die. I’ve got grandkids, so I chose to walk away.”
“I’m going to get Wendy Betters. That’s a promise. I may need to call again, if that’s okay? Maybe we could get Milly Betters’s case reopened.”
“Anything I can do to help, young lady,” Willis Buford said. “About time Milly got some justice.”
Sharon hung up just in time to intercept Ellie’s text.
Wendy not at Rincon Sinclair. Instructions?
Sharon texted back: Does Wendy still have a sailboat?
Ellie called, rather than texting. “Thought it would be easier to call. Yes, she does. You think maybe she’s there?”
“Not sure.”
“It’s berthed in Sausalito. Want me to check it out?”
“You go to her apartment, if she’s not there, come to Sausalito. I’ll go to the boat. She did it, Ellie. Be careful. If you see her, don’t approach her without backup, understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sharon went back to Captain Wasniki’s office and filled him in on her conversation with Willis Buford. “I’m going to Sausalito to see if she’s at her boat. Can you inform the Sausalito PD and get me some backup? Don’t want to step on toes.”
Captain Wasniki reached for the phone. “Report in when you get there, okay? Don’t do anything by yourself.”
Sharon hurried out of the office, that familiar thrum of excitement pulsing through her veins.
Chapter 30
Saturday, October 25
Brian Vickery’s stolen kiss was the first thing Olivia thought of when she awoke.
The jolt of pleasure at his touch had surprised her, but the comfort she felt took her aback. The few seconds she let herself go, surrendered to the feeling of being kissed, being safe, had been lovely. But they had caught themselves and had laughed away the awkwardness and carried on as if nothing happened. There had been a lot of stolen glances during the evening, and Olivia admitted to a little regret that they had laughed off the connection. When the phone rang, Olivia was pleased like a teenager with a crush to see that it was Brian who called.
“Hey, Brian.”
“Good morning. I just wanted to check in and see what you were up to.”
“I’m going to look into Wendy’s background. Don’t worry. I won’t do anything foolish, but I am going to see what I can find out about her.”
Brian was silent on the other end. Finally he said, “Call me or Stephen and let us know what you find out.”
“What’s Stephen doing?”
“He’s calling Jonas Greensboro. We’re going to turn the picture over to him, so the police can investigate.”
“Why didn’t you just give it to Sharon? She was your partner.”
“Not my call. Stephen has his reasons.”
“Fair enough.”
Glad for something to do, Olivia set off down the research rabbit hole. She knew that Wendy grew up in Seattle, near Puget Sound. Other than that, Wendy had always been tacit about her childhood and personal life. Olivia assumed it was painful, so she had never pushed for details. Backtracking, Olivia reckoned Wendy graduated from high school in 1995. Looking online, she discovered the Seattle Intelligencer had digital archives going back to 1992, which were available with a digital subscription. Olivia subscribed and began searching by entering Wendy’s name. No luck. She was about to move on and figure out another way to look into Wendy’s childhood when a headline caught her eye. Unsolved Murder Rocks Sleepy Community.
The article gave little information, other than Millicent Betters fell overboard in a boating accident while out sailing with h
er daughter. In 1995 a final article appeared about the lead investigator on the Millicent Betters’s drowning who was on paid leave pending an investigation. Scanning the article, Olivia made a note of the policeman’s name. It took her another minute to discover his telephone number.
“Mr. Buford? I’m calling from San Francisco. My name is Olivia Sinclair. I know this may sound a little odd, but I’m looking for information about Wendy Betters and came across a newspaper article mentioning you.”
“Are you with the police?”
In a split second, Olivia decided the best course of action would be to tell Mr. Buford the truth.
“No. I’m currently awaiting trial for the murder of my husband’s mistress. I didn’t kill her, Mr. Buford. But I think Wendy Betters did.” Olivia heard Mr. Buford’s breath, in and out, while her words hung in the air. “I’m fighting for my freedom, Mr. Buford. Anything you can tell me will be appreciated.”
Olivia half expected the man to hang up on her. After all, she wasn’t a police officer and he was under no obligation to speak to her. When he started talking, she took notes on the computer, but was soon so captivated by his story, and Wendy’s history, that she stopped writing altogether.
“What I’ve just told you is basically the same thing I told that police officer from San Francisco. Wendy Betters was a dangerous child. I’d bet my pension she’s grown into a dangerous woman. You be careful, young lady. Take an old man’s advice and let the police handle this.”
“Which police officer did you speak with?”
“A woman. An Inspector Sharon Bailey. I spoke to her not thirty minutes ago. I’ll repeat my story, if you want to hear?”
“I do, please,” Olivia said.
Thirty minutes later, head reeling from Mr. Buford’s story, Olivia hung up the phone. She paced her house, chastising herself for being such an idiot. Not only had Richard completely bamboozled Olivia, but Wendy had betrayed her in the most horrific way, capitalizing on their friendship to get close to Richard. Olivia thought of the Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners Wendy had spent with them, how close Olivia thought they were. She had always prided herself on her understanding of people, the way she intuitively knew how to care for her clients, but here she was, a fool in her own marriage.
And Wendy. Wendy had been Olivia’s confidante. She thought of the intimate details she had shared with Wendy over the years, recalling how Wendy had been interested in Richard’s quirks, what he did and didn’t like. Olivia wondered if Wendy had made a play for Richard. Had he rejected her and pushed her over the edge?
A plan to trap Wendy formed in the back of Olivia’s mind. She did laps in her house, playing the scenario over and over in her head, taking it apart to look for flaws. After using the bathroom and splashing cold water on her face, she took her cell phone into the living room and made herself comfortable on the couch. She had an app on her phone that recorded phone conversations. Taking a deep breath, she hit record and dialed Wendy’s cell phone number.
“Hello, Olivia,” Wendy answered. “I reckoned you’d be the first one to figure everything out. You always were the brightest of the bunch.”
“What are you talking about? I just called to thank you—”
“Liar. You know what I did. I can hear it in your voice. You’re sitting up there, locked in your castle, your mind busy trying to save yourself. Well, darling, you’re too late.”
“I talked to Willis Buford.” Switching her strategy, Olivia plowed on, not giving Wendy a chance to interrupt. “He is convinced you killed your mother.”
“Willis Buford is a stupid man. I needed to sell our house to pay my way through college. She didn’t want me to go. Wanted me to go to community college and get a job at the local bank, if you can believe that. A bank.”
Wendy’s voice had a manic quality to it. I’m talking to a sociopath. The reality of the situation hit Olivia hard.
“Ah, you’re surprised. Well, how were you to know? So yes, I killed my mother. I killed Janelle Maycott – she nearly took Richard away from me, you know. And then Sandy Watson. He was falling in love with her. Can you believe that? Janelle was a beauty, so I could see the attraction, but Sandy? She was a simpleton. Richard told me he appreciated her gentle nature.” Wendy laughed. “He would have grown tired of Sandy eventually. But the little bitch got pregnant. That would have tied her to Richard forever, so she had to go. Anyway, in case you’re wondering, I also burned your investigator’s house down – a miscalculation on my part. I figured eventually that picture of Richard, Janelle, and me would surface. Thought it was at Mr. Vickery’s.”
“What are you after, Wendy? Richard and I are getting a divorce. I don’t want him. You can have him.”
Silence. For a second Olivia was sure Wendy had hung up on her.
“What am I after? All I’m wanting is credit for all I’ve done for Richard, a little acknowledgment for the sacrifices I’ve made for him. Without me he’d be a two-bit personal injury attorney, chasing ambulances and scrambling for his next DUI case. I made Richard Sinclair what he is. I got him the television appearances, I covered for him all these years.”
“I know,” Olivia said. “I know what you’ve done for Richard over the years, Wendy. He took advantage of you. Meet me, so we can talk about it in person.”
Wendy laughed. “Nice try, Olivia, but I’m not falling for it. You’re not my friend. I’ve always hated you. Did you know that? You were so stupid, so blind to what Richard was up to. Everyone knew he cheated on you. He’d buy you jewelry from Tiffany’s – which I picked out, by the way – and at the same time, he’d have me pick out something for his current mistress. What a joke. I would have paid dearly to watch you open that video of Richard and Sandy going at it like rabbits. I was Richard’s true partner. You don’t even know who Richard really is.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Leave, of course. I’m not going to jail. I’ve got the money and the man. I don’t like it when people get in my way, Olivia. Don’t make that mistake and I won’t come for you.”
“You put the camera in Richard’s studio?”
Wendy laughed. “I did. Admittedly, it was difficult to watch Sandy in bed with him, but I needed to set you up for the murder. You’re an old woman now, Olivia, a shriveled old spinster. It must be horrible to realize your marriage was a lie and the chance for you to find love has passed. And I can hear your little brain trying to figure out what to do. My advice is to back off. I have Richard. He’s sleeping now, thanks to a magic cocktail of drugs. We’re sailing away from here.”
“So you’re going to hold him hostage?”
“He’ll come around to my way of thinking,” Wendy said. “I’ve got the $3 million from the Rincon Sinclair investment fund. Richard’s got some cash stashed away. We’ll be very happy on some tropical island.”
“Wendy—”
“Shut up, Olivia. I don’t want to hear what you have to say about Richard. You don’t know him. Not like I do.”
“Let me speak to him.”
“Tell your wife goodbye,” Wendy said.
“Liv. Help.” Richard’s voice slurred.
Wendy came back on the line.
“Don’t worry, Olivia. Richard is safe and sound. I’ll take good care of him.”
“Wendy, wait. Think about what you’re doing.”
“It’s a little late for that, Liv. Call the cops and I’ll dose Richard with propofol and dump him in the bay. His death will be on you. Got it? Goodbye, Olivia.” Wendy hung up.
Olivia dialed Brian’s number. He answered on the first ring. “I was just getting ready to call you. I’m at Stephen’s office now. You’re on speaker phone.”
“Wendy is at her sailboat. It’s in Sausalito.”
“How do you know this?”
“I called her. Listen to me. She confessed to everything, Janelle’s murder, Sandy’s murder, the fire, everything. I recorded the conversation. And she’s got Richard.”
“I�
��ll call the police right now,” Stephen said.
“I’m going there,” Olivia said. “That’ll draw the police as well.”
“Olivia, damn it, don’t you dare,” Brian said.
Olivia ignored Brian’s warning. “I’m sending you the recording of the confession right now. Send it to Sharon Bailey, please. Wendy’s boat is at Schoonmaker Point. Hurry up.”
Olivia sent a copy of the audio recording of Wendy’s confession to Stephen and Brian, along with a backup copy to herself. She stepped into a pair of slip-on shoes and hurried out the door, car keys in hand. When the alarm started beeping, she moved even faster, ignoring the sound of her ringing phone as she jumped in her car and hurried to Sausalito.
Chapter 31
Impatient with the Saturday traffic, Sharon pulled into Schoonmaker Point, heading to the parking lot reserved for boat owners. She had the slip number for Wendy’s boat. Now all she had to do was find it and manage to take Wendy by surprise. Her cell phone rang. Ellie. Sharon answered the call and turned the ringer on silent.
“Boss, Olivia Sinclair has violated her house arrest. Her GPS tracker says she’s on her way to Sausalito.”
“Okay. She’s probably headed here. Can you get someone to intercept her? I don’t need Olivia Sinclair in the middle of things.”
“Sure. I’ll be with you as soon as I can. Captain Wasniki is on the phone with Sausalito PD. You should have backup soon.”
Sharon had the feeling she was stepping onto a pile of kindling doused in gas. Olivia Sinclair’s presence in this situation was the ignition required to blow the whole thing sky high. Removing her Glock from the glove compartment, she tucked it into its holster before she set off to find Wendy’s boat.
Wendy’s boat, Easy Money, was berthed at the very end of a long dock, far out into the water. Convenient for a quick getaway, Sharon thought. Grateful there weren’t many people around, she approached the boat, the dock swaying under her feet. She crouched low, in an attempt to remain unseen. The boat was uncovered; the door leading below deck was open. Sharon waited awhile but didn’t hear anyone moving about. Creeping up to the side of the boat, she raised her eyes and peered into one of the portholes.
The Betrayal Page 20
