Like the scream of a gull, Reid’s laugh caught on the wind and disappeared. “You don’t understand. A man like me won’t last a day in prison.”
Standing in the shadow of his multimillion-dollar mansion, Will couldn’t disagree. “And nobody is saying you’ll end up there. We haven’t even arrested you yet. And if we do, you’re innocent until proven guilty, right? You’ve got a damn good lawyer.”
“He’s right, Reid. Don’t say anything. Just come on down from there. We both know they’ve got no evidence.” Will recognized the face of Chief Counsel Gerald Waverly from the Ratcliffe Chemicals website. “But even if they do, the judge will set bail, and you’ll pay it. Let’s take it one step at a time.”
Reid’s face crumpled, and he began to cry. His loafered feet dangerously close to the brink. His daughter’s voice brought him back.
“What’re you doing out there, Dad?” Jacqueline pushed through the crowd of cops, JB clearing the way.
“Jackie, honey, I want you to leave. You shouldn’t be here right now.”
Jacqueline slipped out of JB’s grasp and joined Will on the deck, pacing to the edge and back. “I’m not leaving until you come down from there. Until you tell me what’s going on. You said you didn’t have anything to do with any of it. You and Mom both.”
Reid turned, slipping a little, and Will heard Jacqueline gasp, his own breath caught in his throat. “That girl, Shelby, she wanted to get rid of her baby. I saw her outside the clinic and told her she didn’t have to go through with it. That me and your mother were desperate for a child and couldn’t have one. I told her I’d put her up at Grimmy’s cabin in Fog Harbor and nobody had to know. But then, it all went wrong. She would’ve doomed that poor baby to a life of struggle and suffering.”
Waverly groaned. “Reid, think about what you’re saying. Do not incriminate yourself.”
“It’s too late for that, Gerry.” A sob racked his body, and he took another shaky step. Beyond him, the world was a magnificent shade of blue. All sky and ocean. “I didn’t mean to kill her, Detective. It was an accident.”
“Of course.” Will swallowed his disbelief. “How did she die?”
“She wanted to leave, but I wouldn’t let her. I had to keep her there. I only wanted what was best for her and the baby, but she couldn’t see that. She told me if I didn’t let her go, she’d send my picture to the paper and tell them what I’d done. It sounds silly, I know. But I panicked and smacked the camera from her hand. We struggled, and she hit her head on the andiron. After I… well, once she was gone, I tried to—I thought I could get the baby out of her. I thought I could save it, but…” His shoulders hunched limply, the weight of it all too much to bear. “But it was too late. I couldn’t go through with it. I put her in the barrel ”
Like most confessions, Will figured it contained a kernel of truth and a whole lot of bullshit. Blunt objects don’t wield themselves.
“And what about my mother?” Jacqueline cried out. “That story you always told?”
“A lie.”
Waverly threw up his hands. “Reid, please. For the love of God, stop talking.”
“Your birth mother’s name was Brenda Samson. She couldn’t take care of you. Your mom and I found her overdosed on heroin. What were we supposed to do? The state would’ve taken you. Placed you in foster care or worse—with her good-for-nothing family. We saved you, Jackie. We saved you.”
“What happened to her? Where is she?”
Again, Reid turned to look at her, tears streaming. “Buried in Fog Harbor.”
“You killed all these people to cover up your lies? How could you?”
“No, no, no. When Shelby’s friend was shot in the cabin, I was in the middle of a city council meeting. I swear it.” Reid offered his vow to the sea, to the wind. Will thought of the jumper in the Tenderloin. That split second, when she’d launched herself into the air. Will couldn’t be certain but he suspected she’d regretted it. Because her arms had flailed wildly as she’d hurtled to the sidewalk below. “After what I’d done all those years ago, I made a vow to myself. I knew I had to do better, be better. For you.”
“Dad?” Suddenly, Jacqueline rushed forward, her hand outstretched and reaching. Her plaintive wail sent Will running. A step behind, he tried to hold her back.
“I’m sorry.” Reid took the final step into thin air. In a blink, he’d disappeared from view.
Jacqueline stumbled and fell forward in desperation. Fear be damned, Will flung himself after her.
Eighty-One
Olivia stared in horror. She willed her legs to move but her feet stayed rooted. A scream had lodged itself in the back of her throat, demanding release.
At the cliff’s edge, Deck lay on his stomach, straining. Though Olivia couldn’t see down below, she could hear Jacqueline’s shrieking and Deck’s breathing, labored with the effort of holding her. Pieces of the soil gave way, crumbling into the ocean below.
“A little help here,” Deck said, through gritted teeth.
As JB hurried across the landing with a few officers behind him, Olivia finally found the courage to move. But the cop nearest her grabbed her, held her back.
One quick glance down, and she felt sick. Like she’d stepped from a spinning merry-go-round.
Jacqueline clasped Deck’s arm, her fingers slipping. Her feet struggled to get ahold of the rock face. But each time she dug in, her toes scrabbled against the loose dirt, and she slid further down, pulling Deck with her. “Don’t let go. Please don’t let go.”
Olivia’s mind played tricks with her. Reid’s broken body lay on the rocks. The shallow water pooled around him. But when she looked again, it wasn’t Reid. It was Deck she saw.
Eighty-Two
Will marveled at how fast it could happen. One minute he’d been sure-footed on solid ground. The next, precariously positioned above the craggy shoreline, ready to meet his end.
Before he’d made it right with Ben. With his father.
Before he’d seen Olivia first thing in the morning, sleepy-eyed and wearing his T-shirt.
Before he’d found Drake Devere again and finally watched him fry.
But most of all, before he’d solved the one case that stuck to him like his own shadow. His mother’s disappearance.
The burning in his forearm felt unbearable, but he couldn’t let go. His muscles, stretched like cord to the breaking point. Every time he tried to reach for Jacqueline with his free hand, she panicked, kicking her legs against the rock and soil below her and dooming them both.
He tried not to look at the body below them. The neck, turned at an unnatural angle, the head bobbing and lilting in the water, mocking him. Reid had taken most of his secrets to the grave.
Will felt the cliffside shift beneath him, giving way. Bits of loose soil and rocks tumbled down, sending Jacqueline into a panic. His grip loosened, and for the first time, he considered letting go. He imagined her face, the dark cave of her mouth, getting smaller and smaller as she fell until—
“I got you, partner.”
Overcome by fatigue and relief, Will let out a hysterical laugh, as JB grabbed onto Jacqueline. He didn’t do fences. Or drainpipes. But apparently, he did cliffs.
Eighty-Three
Olivia’s knees weakened with the shock of it all. She released a grateful sigh.
JB had lowered himself to his belly, joining Deck at the cliff’s edge. The other officers formed a chain behind them, securing them both to the ground. After a few solid efforts, Jacqueline’s head appeared. Two more pulls, and she collapsed onto the ground, sobbing.
Deck sat on his haunches, unmoving. His eyes, a million miles away. After he stood, finally, Olivia ran to him, to reassure herself more than anything. But when she reached him, he collapsed into her arms, knocking them both breathless. She wished they were alone.
“Did JB just save my life?” he whispered against her ear.
Jacqueline lifted her head, interrupting Olivia’s relieved laughter. She
wiped her face, searched the crowd. “Where’s my mother?”
“Hey, you. Torres, was it?” JB pointed to an officer in the back, talking with his buddies. His mirrored sunglasses and slicked-back hair, his frat boy high fives and devil-may-care attitude made Olivia sick with worry again. “I told you to stay with the lady in the house, remember?”
“Easy, Pops. She’s cuffed to the staircase. And I heard a big commotion out here, so…”
JB’s face paled, and he took off running. Olivia followed.
Eighty-Four
Another surge of adrenaline pushed Will to his feet and drove him forward. He caught up to JB and Olivia at the front door.
It stood wide open. As inviting as a vampire’s smile.
JB cursed under his breath and breached the threshold.
Will trailed him, his weapon drawn.
The wooden spindle had been splintered, more than likely cracked by a solid kick. Its pieces, scattered on the steps.
In the absolute quiet, chandelier glass crunched beneath their feet. The jacket had fallen from the staircase in the commotion to the floor below. An innocent witness, it lay there, spotlighted in the sun that streamed through the window.
They’d need to search the house, the garage. The whole damn compound. But Will already knew the outcome.
They wouldn’t find her. Victoria was gone.
“You two sure do know how to make a scene.” Amy gave them that look. The look of a woman accustomed to wearing a badge and barking orders at very bad men. To moving them with her bare hands if the situation required it.
“We’re also pretty good at finding murderers.” Will passed her the Colt 1911—registered to Victoria Ratcliffe—they’d uncovered hidden in a hatbox in her closet. Though they’d have to wait for the ballistics, Will felt certain it would be a match for the gun that killed Drea and Chuck.
“And losing them.”
Will looked around for JB, but his partner had ducked off to talk to Olivia. He caught her eye and flashed a tired smile. “I think we can both agree your guy, Torres, is to blame for that.”
“Torres is an idiot, that’s true. But who cuffs a suspect to a staircase?”
Will shrugged hopelessly. “We were in the middle of a gun battle.”
“Sure, you were.”
“And she wasn’t a suspect… then.”
An SFPD officer approached from the house, interrupting them. “Hey, Inspector Bishop, check this out. We downloaded video from the doorbell cam.”
He displayed a few still images that he’d captured from the screen with his cell phone. The black and white view from the exterior camera.
The first showed Victoria exiting the house, a bag slung over her shoulder. In the next shot, she’d advanced past the empty police cars, leaving the chaos behind her. Cool as a cucumber.
“It confirmed what the attorney told us.” The officer pointed to the last still, Victoria climbing inside a Mercedes sedan parked behind the blockade, where Waverly claimed he’d left his keys behind in the excitement. “She stole his car.”
Eighty-Five
Olivia only half listened while JB recounted his heroic rescue of his partner, and not for the first time. Her gaze drifted to the periphery. To Jacqueline. She sat on the back of the ambulance, an oxygen mask affixed to her nose and mouth. Shortly after they’d discovered Victoria missing and sent a team down to the shore to retrieve Reid’s body, Jacqueline had fainted, dropping to the ground like a felled tree, overcome with shock. Olivia could relate. A father is a father, no matter how flawed.
“It’s a damn good thing for you Tammy’s got me on a strict regimen.” JB flexed his biceps at Will. “This body is a finely tuned machine.”
“Yeah.” Deck rolled his eyes. “Like a carburetor. Obsolete.”
“Throw your insults, City Boy. But we both know who just pulled ahead in the race for Detective of the Year.”
“If you wanted to win that race, you should’ve let me fall.”
JB snorted, prompting a laugh from Inspector Amy Bishop.
Purely in the name of scientific research, Olivia studied Amy—the infamous engagement ring thrower. A petite brunette. Undeniably pretty, with a low tolerance for BS. Olivia had no doubt that ring had gone flying. The only surprise, she hadn’t chucked it right at Deck’s head.
Deck gestured to Olivia with a mischievous glint in his eyes that made her blush. “To be fair, I think we may have a dark horse here.”
“Technically, I’m not a detective.”
“Oh. Finally, you admit it. Can I get that in writing?”
Olivia shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, acutely aware of the flirtatious tone of Deck’s voice and her own stupid need to encourage him. Blame it on the adrenaline. Thankfully, his cell phone interrupted, drawing his attention.
“It’s Chief Flack calling.” Deck walked away with JB, leaving her alone with Amy.
Amy cleared her throat with purpose, examining Olivia with curious amusement. Like she’d stumbled across a clue that didn’t quite fit. “Frankly, I’m surprised Deck let you anywhere near his case. He doesn’t trust shrinks. As a general rule.”
“Well, I don’t trust cops, so…”
Amy smirked. “Okay. I get it now.”
Confused, Olivia waited for an explanation. But Amy kept her cards close, daring Olivia to ask. “What do you mean?”
“He’s got a thing for you.”
“No. I don’t think so. It’s not like that at all. Our relationship is completely professional.” Olivia stopped herself, already knowing she’d protested too much.
Amy’s smile widened. Like she could read the truth on Olivia’s face. “I hate to break it to you, girl. You have a thing for him too.”
Script: Good Morning, San Francisco
Cue Heather
Good morning, San Francisco. I’m Heather Hoffman. It’s 5 a.m. on Monday, March sixteenth. Time to rise and shine.
Roll intro music
Today, we have a very special episode for you. Our segment, Murder in the Bay, has been expanded to a full hour to bring you the latest coverage on the shocking case that began with the discovery of the body of a young pregnant girl in a barrel. As you can see behind me, the Fog Harbor Police Department has been working diligently for the last twenty-four hours, excavating the wooded area surrounding the cabin on Wolver Hollow Road, where, just eleven days ago, a man accidentally uncovered the mummified remains of Shelby Mayfield and her unborn child. Speaking exclusively to Good Morning, San Francisco, Detective Will Decker shared the details of the investigation, confirming suspicion that police and canine units are indeed searching for the remains of a second female victim. According to Decker, early this morning, forensic archaeologists unearthed an intact femur and lower mandible which have been transported to the crime lab for further testing.
Cue Will Decker snippet
This shocking news comes on the heels of the Thursday evening arrest of prominent San Francisco resident, Victoria Ratcliffe. Ratcliffe was apprehended at the Buchanan Field Airport, attempting to board a Ratcliffe Chemicals private jet. She is believed to have shot and killed victims Drea Marsh and Chuck Winters, in an effort to conceal her husband’s involvement in the 1986 deaths of Mayfield and the yet unnamed woman. A weapon registered to Ratcliffe was recovered from the family home, and sources close to the investigation confirmed that cell phone data put Ratcliffe in the areas where Marsh and Winters were fatally shot. Ratcliffe’s husband, City Councilman Reid Vance, committed suicide on Thursday, after providing police with information implicating himself and his wife in the crimes. Vance jumped to his death from the cliffs surrounding the family’s extravagant home in Sea Cliff.
Roll Sea Cliff video
Detectives believe that the couple acted out of their desperation for a child, after they had been turned down by several adoption agencies due to Vance’s criminal record. Sources close to the investigation have suggested that Mayfield may have initially agreed to give up
her child to Vance and then changed her mind, prompting Vance to hold her captive in the cabin’s basement, where she was found dead thirty-five years later.
In the wake of the murders, the Ratcliffe Chemicals stock price plummeted with investors questioning the stability of the company’s future. Rumors have begun to circulate that long-time rival, Zenigenic Corporation, may initiate a hostile takeover of the failing company. As Reid Vance himself said in a speech to the Board of Supervisors last year, during which he criticized corruption in the government at the highest levels: The higher you climb, the harder you fall.
Cut to commercial
Eighty-Six
Will plucked a stray cat hair from his button-down. Damn, Cy. But he only had himself to blame. When he’d lugged the overpriced cat bed from the garage to the living room, he’d made the surly one-eyed tabby his unofficial roommate. This morning, he’d found Cy curled in the corner of his closet, atop his dress shoes. The cat even had the nerve to hiss at him when he shooed him out.
Pink box in hand, Will pushed through the station doors and headed for JB’s cubicle.
“About damn time, City Boy. We’ve still got a few loose ends to tie up.”
“For saving my ass.” He offered the box to his partner with a grin, the sweet smell of Myrtle’s blueberry scones wafting even with the lid closed. “But don’t tell Tammy. I can’t have her thinking I’m corrupting you.”
JB peeked inside and released a frustrated sigh. “I can’t do it, man. I’m back on the wagon. I pinkie-promised.”
“Oh, well. In that case—” Will opened the box and reached for the biggest scone. JB snapped the lid shut, held it tight to his chest.
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