“Sit down, Mrs. Sinclair.”
Olivia sat.
“Where were you on the fifth and sixth of October?”
Olivia realized that Inspector Bailey thought Olivia had killed Sandy Watson. Olivia knew the emails and the bogus American Express charges were enough probable cause for the search warrant that was being executed at her house. She glanced at the two-way mirror and wondered who stood behind it, watching her. Had Richard killed Sandy and framed Olivia? If so, Olivia felt sure he would have planted incriminating evidence at the house. The gravity of her situation hit her.
“Someone’s setting me up,” Olivia said. “You have to believe me. I swear, I didn’t kill Sandy Watson.”
“Where were you on the fifth and sixth of October?”
“That’s last Sunday and Monday? I spent the weekend at home by myself. I took a drive out to Stinson Beach on Sunday. I went for a walk and had lunch at the Sand Dollar. Other than that I worked on Monday and spent Monday evening at home.”
“Anyone with you?”
“No.”
Olivia swallowed the hard lump that had formed in the back of her throat. She was hot and thirsty. Her head pounded and she wanted to go home. “Can I have some water please?”
“In a minute,” Sharon said. “Now, have you—”
The door to the interrogation room opened. For a moment, Olivia thought it might be Stephen, coming to rescue her at last. But it was another policewoman, younger than Sharon Bailey. Olivia guessed the woman to be in her early thirties. She had broad shoulders and a lean athletic body that spoke of hours at the gym. Her green eyes stood out against her brown skin, but there was no warmth in them. Her heart pounding in her chest, Olivia watched while the woman reached into the bag and one by one set a cheap knock-off Coach purse and an iPhone with a tawdry rhinestone cover on the table.
“Have you ever seen these, Mrs. Sinclair?”
“No, I have not,” Olivia said.
“Are you sure? We found them in your bedroom closet,” the young officer said.
“But I’ve never seen those in my life.” Everything moved in slow motion as it dawned on Olivia that not only was she the prime suspect in the murder of her husband’s lover, the evidence proving that she had committed the crime was quickly mounting.
When the door opened and this time Stephen Vine came into the room, red-faced with fury, Olivia nearly wept with relief.
“Don’t say another word, Liv,” Stephen said. He turned to Sharon. “If you’ve got something, charge her. Otherwise we’re leaving.”
Another man followed Stephen into the office. Olivia recognized him as Jonas Greensboro, an ADA with a reputation for being small-minded, media-savvy, and quick to prosecute cases without doing the most thorough investigation.
“You’ve got the wrong person, Jonas,” Stephen Vine said. “She’s being framed. I’m going to have a field day with this one.”
“Do what you need to do, Stephen. Your client murdered her husband’s lover.” The man turned toward Olivia. “I’ve reviewed these charges against you, and as an Assistant District Attorney of the City and County of San Francisco, I’m charging you, Olivia Sinclair, pursuant to California Penal Code Section 187, with the murder of Sandy Watson. For the record, I’m reminding you that anything you say—”
Jonas Greensboro’s mouth moved, and Olivia felt certain noise was coming out, but the ringing in her ears was so loud she couldn’t hear him. White dots flashed before her eyes. When the floor started to move she felt a strong arm around her shoulder and heard Stephen Vine’s voice in her ear. “Just sit here for a second, Liv.” She allowed herself to be led back to a chair amid the murmuring susurration of voices.
When the voices stopped, Stephen said, “Everyone out. Now.”
Once Olivia and Stephen were alone, Olivia said, “My God. This isn’t happening.” She grabbed Stephen’s arm and said, “Someone went to a lot of trouble, and not inconsiderable risk in planting that evidence in my home. I’m being set up.”
Stephen sat next to her. He put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him. When she was close, he whispered in her ear. “They’re going to take you upstairs and process you. You’ll have to spend the night here. The good thing is, since Jonas already charged you, you can be arraigned first thing tomorrow. I’ll get you out of here. We’ll get you home and make a plan.”
“I didn’t kill her,” Olivia whispered. “I didn’t kill her.” The words ran like a ticker tape through her mind’s eye.
“I know. Don’t worry, Liv. We’ll get this sorted out.”
Sharon Bailey had the courtesy to knock before she entered the room. “They need to take her now.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” With a reluctant look, Stephen left Olivia to spend the night in jail for a crime she didn’t commit.
Chapter 10
Thursday, October 16
Olivia had never been in jail before. Although her best friend Lauren had actively protested against many a cause back in the day and had been arrested for her efforts more than once, Olivia had been the friend who posted bail and provided emotional support. She never dreamed she’d spend a moment of her life behind bars. At 10:00 p.m. the lights had been turned out. Olivia had tried to make herself comfortable on the thin mattress in her cell, but it did little to provide insulation against the hard slab it lay on. The standard-issue orange jumpsuit felt rough against her skin. Olivia was cold and hungry. She had no expectation of sleep. Not tonight.
Around her, other prisoners coughed, belched, and bemoaned their current situation. One woman kept saying, “I’m innocent. I’m innocent.” Her proclamations were interspersed with pathetic tears.
This went on for hours, until finally someone said, “We’re all innocent. Now shut the fuck up.”
At some point – Olivia had no idea what time it was – the prison settled and the nocturnal noises took over.
The next morning, with her eyes tired from lack of sleep, Olivia was allowed to use the restroom and brush her teeth with a disposable toothbrush, after which she was taken in an elevator to arraignment court, her orange jumpsuit hanging from her body, like a flag of shame.
Olivia stood next to Stephen, taking strength from him. He leaned in and whispered, “Jonas is going to try to get you remanded until trial. I’m going to ask for house arrest with electronic detention. It’s expensive, but—”
“I don’t care. Get me out of here.”
Olivia, who practiced before the San Francisco Superior Court family law judges, had never appeared before Judge Dwight Helman. But she knew him by reputation. He was older, nearly ready to retire, stern, unpredictable, and had become well known for his rather unorthodox rulings. Olivia had read somewhere that Judge Helman had sentenced a man who had been arrested for dog fighting to ten years’ community service at the Humane Society. The irony of someone who made a fortune running dog fights spending ten years cleaning kennels caught the media’s attention and put Judge Helman in the spotlight.
He gave Olivia a look that said What the hell are you doing here before he cleared his throat and spoke. “Plea, Mrs. Sinclair.”
“Not guilty.” Her voice came out weak and trembly.
“Mr. Greensboro on bail?”
“This is a homicide, Your Honor. A search of the defendant’s house revealed the decedent’s property. Mrs. Sinclair’s credit card was used to rent the apartment where the murder was committed. Mrs. Sinclair not only has means, she and her husband have friends with boats and airplanes. As such, she is a flight risk. We request remand.”
Oh, no. White stars darted in front of Olivia’s eyes. The floor tipped underneath her. She grabbed onto the table.
“Mr. Vine?”
“Mrs. Sinclair is a respected attorney who is eager to prove her innocence. Mrs. Sinclair is being framed for a murder she didn’t commit. We shouldn’t even be here, Your Honor. Mrs. Sinclair—”
“Mrs. Sinclair’s guilt or innocence is for a jury to
decide, Mr. Vine. I am going to—”
“Wait, Your Honor,” Stephen Vine interrupted. “How about house arrest with electronic monitoring? I know it’s unorthodox in pre-trial detention. But as you know, Mrs. Sinclair is an attorney. I need her to assist in her defense. Mrs. Sinclair will assume all costs, thus saving the taxpayers the money it would cost to detain her.”
“Mr. Greensboro?”
“I still request remand, Your Honor. Mrs. Sinclair is accused of premeditated homicide. Letting clients with means to pay have house arrest sets an unjust precedent. Moreover, the egregious nature of the crime—”
“Which Mrs. Sinclair most certainly did not commit,” Stephen interrupted.
Jonas kept talking. “Given the egregious nature of Mrs. Sinclair’s crime, remand is required. She shouldn’t be allowed to enjoy the comforts of home. I’m also concerned that she’s a flight risk—”
Stephen turned on Jonas. “You think she’s going to slip the bracelet, get on an airplane, and be out of the country before the police can show up? Really, Jonas?”
“Enough.” Judge Helman banged his gavel. “I cling firmly to the notion that everyone who passes before me in this courtroom is innocent until proven guilty. Mrs. Sinclair, electronic detention isn’t cheap. You realize the financial burden of this will rest on your shoulders?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“You will not be allowed to leave your house under any circumstances. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“I’m ordering Mrs. Sinclair be detained in her home under electronic surveillance until trial. She will not be allowed to leave the home for any circumstances whatsoever. In addition to home detention, Mrs. Sinclair will post a $1 million bond and surrender her passport. I’m assuming you have Mrs. Sinclair’s passport, Mr. Vine?”
“I do, Your Honor.”
Judge Helman faced Olivia. “If you disobey this order, you’ll be taken to jail. And I give you my personal guarantee that you’ll stay there until your case is tried. I don’t give second chances, Mrs. Sinclair.”
Olivia was shuffled back to a holding cell. An hour later she was allowed to change into the clothes she had been wearing the previous day under the watchful eye of a female officer. After that, she was placed once again in handcuffs and escorted to the back seat of a sheriff’s car, where she was transported home.
Olivia wasn’t expecting the flocks of cameras and journalists that waited in front of her house. As they rolled to a stop, they swarmed the car.
The deputy met her eyes in the rearview mirror. Olivia sensed his curiosity, as though he wanted to ask her if she did it. “Is there another entrance to the house?”
“No. You’re going to have to park in front.”
Olivia almost cried with relief when Stephen Vine and Mary stepped out the front door. Mary carried the afghan from the living room sofa, the blanket she had knitted for Olivia when she was pregnant with Denny. The sheriff tooted his horn, sending the reporters scattering as he pulled up as close to Olivia’s door as he could manage.
Olivia nodded and watched as the deputy, who towered over Stephen, walked up to the crowd of reporters. He said something and pointed to the patch of dirt across the street. One lone reporter tried to defy the deputy’s orders. Olivia watched as he stepped close to the deputy, saying something she couldn’t hear and pointing. When the deputy took his handcuffs off his belt, the man hurried across the street, where he joined his colleagues, an indignant expression on his face.
Mary opened the back door of the car and unfolded the blanket. “He’s making them stay off your property.” Mary’s Irish brogue was back in full force, as was usual in times of stress. “Let me cover you up and I’ll lead you inside.”
They made quick work of getting Olivia inside the house. Mary held the blanket over Olivia, successfully hiding her face from the clicking cameras and the questions. “Mrs. Sinclair, did you kill Sandy Watson? Mrs. Sinclair, was Sandy Watson your husband’s mistress?” Once they were in the house, the sheriff asked where the landline was located.
“Kitchen,” Olivia managed to say.
“Are those handcuffs necessary?” Mary followed Olivia and the deputy into the kitchen, where Olivia was instructed to sit in a chair.
“She has to keep them on until the bracelet is on her ankle and we confirm it’s working.” The deputy set a canvas duffel bag onto the floor. Olivia watched while he installed an electronic box to the wall, hooked it up to the landline, and fiddled with it until it beeped. Then he placed the ankle bracelet around Olivia’s ankle.
“You are to wear this all the time, even in the shower. You’re allowed in your house and out on the back deck. If you mess with the bracelet, an alarm will sound. If you step outside the designated area, the alarm will sound. If and when the alarm does sound, you will receive a call on this landline.” The deputy pointed to the phone. “You’ll have ten rings to answer. If you don’t answer, I’ll come and haul you back to jail. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Olivia said.
“Good.” The deputy removed Olivia’s handcuffs, packed the tools back in his bag and left.
Stephen came into the room, along with Lauren.
“What are you doing here?” Olivia asked, embarrassed to have her friend see her like this.
“Mary called,” Lauren said. “We’re going to straighten up your house.”
Olivia turned to Stephen. “What made you think to bring my passport?”
“Given the severity of the charges, I knew the judge would require surrender if you were going to get bail. Good thing it was at your office. Mary was able to get it for me.”
Olivia stood up. “Let’s go in the living room—”
“I took the liberty of having Mary and Lauren go to your house and start putting things away. The police did a number while they searched. They didn’t break anything, but they were rather thorough.”
“Oh, no,” Olivia said.
Stephen turned to Mary and Lauren. “Would you ladies give us a minute?” When they were alone, he said, “We’re going to prove your innocence, Liv. But first we need to discuss the elephant in the room.”
“That would be Richard,” Olivia said.
“Yep. He’s the common denominator. He’s got motive, means, and opportunity. Who else could have planted all the dead girl’s personal items in your house?”
“Why didn’t they arrest him?”
“Jonas Greensboro is a stupid man. There’s no concrete evidence against Richard. On the other hand, the emails allegedly sent from you are pretty damning.” Stephen moved to the window and stood with his back to Olivia for a good minute. When he turned, his eyes were steely and hard. “You and I are good friends, Liv. But I’m your lawyer now. My singular focus is keeping you out of jail.”
“I know,” Olivia’s voice was but a whisper.
“So there’s no misunderstanding between us, I want you to know that I’m going after Richard,” Stephen said.
Olivia felt the air whirl around her. Richard. He had lied, connived, manipulated, and betrayed Olivia. Was he capable of murder? Had he strangled that innocent young girl and set Olivia up to take the fall? Was the man she had loved for most of her adult life capable of letting her to go to prison for a crime he committed? Emotions swirled around her, threatening to drive her over the brink. Her heart had grown numb, but she knew at some point, that protective lack of feeling would fade. When that happened Olivia would have to deal with her heartache and the loss of her marriage. Either that or go mad. But what of Denny?
As if reading her mind, Stephen said, “You should tell Denny. Be honest with her. Best she hear it from you rather than the media.”
They talked for a few minutes, making plans. Olivia nodded and said yes when required, but the words didn’t quite sink in. I’m in shock, she realized.
After Stephen left, Olivia stood before her kitchen window, watching as he walked up to the reporters. They swarmed him when he came to a s
top. He spoke for a few seconds. When he was finished, the crowd parted for him like the Red Sea.
By the time Olivia had showered and put on comfortable clothes, Lauren and Mary had put the living room back in order. During the search, the police had taken down all the pictures, taken every single book off the shelf, taken the covers off the pillows and cushions on the sofa, and had left everything they touched in a heap on the floor. Mary left for a doctor’s appointment, promising to come back with groceries tomorrow.
When Olivia started to place the books back on the shelves, Lauren stopped her. “Let me do that, Liv. You need to sleep. No offense, but you look like hell.” They moved to the kitchen, where Lauren put the kettle on. As she waited for the water to boil, she leaned against the counter and stared at Olivia. “Are you going to be all right?”
“I think so,” Olivia said, still oddly numb. “It’s the blond in the video. She’s been murdered, strangled. The poor woman was found in a vacation rental in the Avenues, which was paid for by an American Express card taken out in my name.” Olivia thought of the dead girl’s lifeless face, her protruding tongue, and the ligature marks around her neck. She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “They found her purse and iPad in my closet, along with a pile of threatening emails from a fake email address in my name. Someone’s setting me up.”
“Someone’s got it in for you, Liv. This is like some Lifetime movie.” Lauren put a bag of chamomile tea in Olivia’s mug and poured water over it.
“I know.”
“Do you think it’s Richard? You should change the locks.”
“I did that already after my surprise party when I kicked him out.” She met Lauren’s gaze. At last the numbness was wearing off. “I’m scared, Lauren.”
“I would be too,” Lauren said.
“Sleep deprivation is affecting my courage.” The effort of pushing away from the counter so she could drag herself to bed proved difficult. “I’m going to bed. You don’t have to stay.”
“I’ll chip away at the mess in the living room before I go. Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you?”
The Betrayal Page 7