“Hello,” he said.
She looked up startled, and took her headphones off.
“Sorry to bother you, but is there an office manager or someone I could speak to?”
Brian no sooner got the words out than the door opened and the woman in the business suit came out, a curious look on her face.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“He was asking for an office manager,” the woman said.
“That’s me.” The woman extended her hand. “Wendy Betters. You are?”
“Brian Vickery. I’m an investigator hired by Olivia Sinclair.” Out of the corner of his eyes, Brian saw the woman put on her headphones, but she didn’t hit the play button on the machine that rested by her elbow, and her hands were not on her keyboard. He noticed a trail of blood-red roses inked into the girl’s arm. They crept out from under the sleeve of her white shirt, beautiful art, but something that could never be erased. He didn’t understand kids these days.
“Kit, would you mind doing a coffee run? I’ll buy you one.”
“Sure,” Kit said.
“Follow me, Mr. Vickery.” After Kit was dispatched on her errand – obviously a ruse to get her out of earshot – Brian followed Wendy into her office. Once the door was closed and they were comfortably seated, Wendy spoke. “I didn’t want her to hear us talk. My receptionist is out with a cold. We’re in the middle of trial prep and we’re also short-staffed. But never mind that. What can I do to help Olivia?”
“You don’t think she killed Sandy Watson?”
“God no. Olivia’s not a murderer. And just so we’re clear, I can’t talk to you about Sandy’s personnel issues, not without a subpoena.”
“Personnel issues?”
“You know what I mean. Sandy was a good employee, but I have to protect her privacy.”
“I understand. I’m more after your thoughts, if you don’t mind. If I ask a question you don’t like, you don’t have to answer it. Fair enough?”
Wendy nodded her agreement.
“Did you know Sandy and Richard were having an affair?”
“Of course. Everyone did. It wasn’t the first time Richard had slept with his secretary, or his court reporter, or the opposing counsel’s paralegal. He likes women. Women like him.”
“What about Olivia? How did she feel about Richard’s liaisons?”
Wendy shrugged. “She had to have known. I don’t think he’s ever been faithful. I’ve known the Sinclairs since 2000 when I started working here as a secretary. I worked here through college and through law school. Richard offered me a job when I graduated, and the firm has been really good to me. I’m on my own here in the Bay Area and the Sinclairs treated me like family. I spent holidays with them. Olivia and I have taken a couple of trips together. I can honestly say that I am certain that neither Richard nor Olivia had anything to do with Sandy’s death. It’s a shame because the real murderer is out there, probably on his way to Mexico or Canada by now.”
“Is it possible that Sandy thought the relationship with Richard was more serious than he did?”
Wendy thought for a moment. “I suppose that’s a possibility, but she didn’t change her ways. Sandy was a down-to-earth woman. She didn’t put on airs, if you get my meaning.”
“Do you know if Sandy had any boyfriends prior to Richard? Was there anyone who might have been jealous? Any past boyfriends with a history of abuse?”
Wendy shook her head. “Not to my knowledge. I’m sorry. I know that’s not very helpful.”
“How did Richard Sinclair react to Sandy’s death?”
“He was devastated, of course. But he’s also in the middle of a very intense case, and Richard has a tendency to keep his head in the game. He’s a master at not letting his personal issues affect him. That’s why he is so successful.” Wendy pulled a folded piece of paper out from under her blotter. She handed it to Brian, a sheepish expression on her face. “He thought Olivia would send someone here to ask him about his alibi, so he wrote it down and gave me permission to pass it on. He also put his cell phone number down, so you could call him. He doesn’t want you to think he’s avoiding you. The timing of this couldn’t be worse.”
Brian organized his thoughts, knowing that he had to be careful with this initial round of questioning. Wendy Betters wasn’t obligated to speak to him, and he wanted to leave on good terms. He stood. “I can’t think of anything else that isn’t privileged. When Stephen Vine subpoenas Sandy’s records, we may have questions. Would you mind speaking to me then?”
“I have to get permission from Andrew and Richard, but I’m sure they’ll want to cooperate. We want you to find out who really killed Sandy.”
“Thank you. Oh, one more thing.” Brian pulled the picture of Janelle Maycott out of his pocket. “Have you ever seen this woman?”
Wendy stared at Janelle’s picture. She shook her head as she handed it back. “She’s pretty. I don’t know her. Who is she?”
“A woman who was murdered long ago. Thanks for your help.”
The phone on Wendy Betters’s desk rang. Brian waved and let himself out. In the lobby, he bumped into Kit, who carried two coffee drinks in a biodegradable tray.
“I can’t be seen talking to you. Meet me at Mid-City Diner in fifteen minutes.” She said the words as she passed by. Before she opened the door into the office, she called to Brian, “Fifteen minutes. Don’t be late. I only get an hour.”
Mid-City Diner catered to the nine-to-five worker who by necessity or design grabbed their breakfast and lunch on the go. A salad bar, a sushi bar, a soup station, a sandwich station, and an all-day breakfast station provided anything a hungry person on the go could want. In addition to the self-serve cafeteria-style menu, efficient-looking waitresses were ready to serve those who wanted to eat from the grill. Brian chose a corner table, sat down, and ordered coffee. He’d offer to buy Kit lunch, figuring it was the least he could do. It seemed that the kid was taking a risk talking to him, and Brian believed in cultivating connections. Having a friend at Rincon Sinclair could serve him well as the investigation unfolded.
Kit arrived promptly at 11:29. She stood outside the restaurant, took a final drag off her cigarette and ground it into the ashtray before coming inside. Nodding when she saw Brian, she wove between the tables towards him.
He stood and extended his hand. Her grip was warm and strong. She met his eyes with a direct and forthright gaze.
“Kit Madsen.” She sat down across the table from Brian and asked the waitress for coffee.
“I thought I’d buy you lunch,” Brian said. When Kit smiled, Brian saw the child in her and was easily able to imagine what she would look like sans blue hair and nose piercing. His initial impression found Kit to be intelligent and hardworking.
“Thanks. I’d like a burger, please. Medium well with fries.”
Brian ordered the same. Once the waitress was out of earshot Kit leaned into him.
“I wanted to tell you about Sandy, the things that they won’t tell you at Rincon Sinclair,” Kit said. “She was really good at her job. Got hired as a receptionist. I was working as secretary for both attorneys, but it was just too much. Richard and Andrew are both workaholics, and each really requires their own support staff. Sandy got promoted and did a really good job. She never made mistakes, okay? I’m not lying. She double-checked her work and was very thorough. We have to be. It’s a busy litigation firm. There’s no room for errors.”
The waitress brought two waters and their coffees. Brian waited while Kit added cream and sugar to hers.
“I knew Richard would make a move on Sandy when they went away for that deposition in Sacramento. When they came back, it was obvious they were sleeping together. About six months after that, things started going wrong for Sandy.”
“Going wrong?”
“Documents would be misfiled or go missing after Sandy worked on them. She would add footnotes to a document, and the next day they were deleted. The wrong files wound up in
Richard’s trial bag, stupid stuff that I know Sandy didn’t do.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because the same thing happened when Richard chased after me.”
Brian felt a thrum of excitement, the gossamer glow of a thread that needed pulling.
“I was pretty grossed out when he hit on me, to tell you the truth. But what could I do? I sure as hell wasn’t going to sleep with him. So I went to Wendy and asked to be reassigned. She knew why I was asking. I could tell by the way she reacted.” Kit shivered and grimaced. “Once I started working for Andrew, everything went back to normal.”
“Did you ever tell Andrew what Richard did?”
The waitress arrived with their food. Brian cut his hamburger in half and took a bite, surprised at how delicious it was, while Kit doused her fries in ketchup.
“I didn’t have to. He knew – or suspected. Once I started working for him, he bought me a new computer, moved my desk outside his office. I’ve been getting raises and bonuses ever since.” They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. “About two months after Sandy was promoted, Andrew congratulated me on avoiding a crappy situation. He didn’t like Richard sleeping with his secretaries. He also never liked Sandy. He wanted to fire her, but Richard would have been furious.”
While Kit devoured her hamburger, Brian thought about office dynamics and hot-headed lawyers. He wondered what if anything these strange events had to do with Sandy’s murder. If Rincon Sinclair were a bigger firm, he could understand office jealousy, especially amongst support staff. But Rincon Sinclair had five employees, three of them senior management.
“How about Richard and Andrew? Do they get along?”
“They would have killed each other years ago if it weren’t for Wendy Betters. She acts as a buffer between the two of them. She’s brilliant, an excellent lawyer, a savvy businesswoman, and a master at client relations. I’ll miss her when I leave.” Kit covered her mouth, eyes wide. “Oops.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Giving my two-week notice this afternoon. I’m not comfortable there anymore. And since I worked for Andrew, I had no trouble finding a job. Going to one of the big firms, working for a senior partner. More money. Fewer hours.”
“Good for you,” Brian said.
“I almost forgot. Richard renewed his passport. I saw the application on his desk. He did it on a rush basis. Thought that was interesting.”
The instinct that had served Brian so well during his career as a cop went on full alert.
“Do you have any idea where he might be going?”
“Richard likes warm weather. He always talked about Belize.” Kit shrugged. “Richard’s smart, cunning, and an expert liar. He could have a plan to go somewhere completely different.”
“Sounds like you don’t like him.”
“I don’t. I can’t get away from that place fast enough.” She pushed her empty plate away and looked at her phone. “Thanks for lunch.”
“Hey, before you go, would you mind giving me your number? I may have another question.”
“Sure.” Kit pulled out her phone. “What’s your number, and I’ll text you?”
Brian gave her the number.
“There,” Kit said. “I just sent you a text.”
“Thanks for talking to me, Kit. I appreciate it.”
“Have a good one.” She waved and was gone.
He sat for a long time after Kit left, thinking about the passport renewal. Was Richard Sinclair planning to go on the run because of Sandy Watson’s murder? Andrew Rincon had a temper. Could he have killed Sandy? But why? Because she slept with Richard or because of the video? No, Brian reasoned. Sandy’s murder wasn’t committed by someone who had lost his or her temper. Her killer was cold and calculating, someone who took the time to plan what he was going to do.
And there was the mystery of the rope and the signature left-handed bowline knot. And Janelle. He must never forget about Janelle.
After trying without success to reach the Pritchards at the number Wendy Betters gave him, Brian left a message and drove down to the Marina. Despite the brisk October temperature, runners, skaters, and dog walkers populated the path along the Marina Green. Eager to digest the hamburger and French fries that sat like a lump, threatening a ripping case of indigestion, Brian locked his car and took a leisurely stroll, embracing the wind on his cheeks and the sun on his back.
He and Maureen used to take long walks all the time, spontaneously packing a lunch and heading outdoors. Paying attention to the familiar pang of grief as it slowly shuddered through his body, he was surprised that it didn’t bring him to his knees. Not this time.
He continued to walk until he reached Celeste Watson’s house, surprised that Sandy, who by all accounts lived so frugally, had grown up in one of the most sought-after neighborhoods in the city. He walked up the narrow walkway, up the porch stairs, and was met at the front door by a woman near his own age. Her blond hair, now streaked with gray, was tucked into a bun on top of her head and held in place with two pencils. She hadn’t taken the chain off the front door, opting to open it and peer through the crack, a surly look on her face. For a minute, Brian worried that Mrs. Watson wouldn’t want to speak to him. He put on his most charming smile.
“Mrs. Watson? My name is Brian Vickery. I’m hoping you’ll talk to me about Sandy.”
“Are you the police?”
“No, ma’am. I’m a private detective.”
“Are you representing the woman who was arrested?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Let me see your identification.”
Brian handed her the flimsy license that he had laminated.
“This doesn’t have a picture on it. May I see your driver’s license?”
Brian took his license out of his wallet and handed it to Mrs. Watson. He didn’t blame her for being suspicious.
She handed him back his driver’s license. “I’m just going to call this phone number on the license and make sure you’re who you really say you are.” She slammed the door in his face.
Ten minutes later, she opened the door. “Please come in, Mr. Vickery. I apologize for being overzealous, but the press …”
“Thank you, ma’am. I understand your caution. They are still camped out at Mrs. Sinclair’s house.” Brian tucked his license back into his wallet and followed Mrs. Watson into a sunny kitchen. Mrs. Watson pointed to a kitchen table tucked under a window, which looked out over a small flagstone garden lined with terracotta pots.
“Call me Celeste. Have a seat. Tea? I always like ginger tea after lunch. It soothes the stomach and aids in digestion. My daughter used to say …” She leaned against the counter, her back towards Brian. After a few seconds she recovered herself and got busy with the kettle. By the time she set a pot of tea and a plate of cookies down, she had regained her composure. Brian couldn’t help but notice her sad eyes and air of exhaustion, the telltale signs of grief. “I still can’t believe she’s gone. Now, what can I do for you, Mr. Vickery?”
“What can you tell me about Sandy and Richard Sinclair?”
“I think my daughter would still be alive if it weren’t for that man,” Celeste said. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if he set his wife up to take the fall.”
“Do you think he murdered your daughter?”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say he actually did the killing, but he’s an unscrupulous man, uses people to get what he wants without any regard for their well-being. Of course, I saw him on television before Sandy started dating him. At least Sandy thought they were dating. To my mind they were having a tawdry affair. He struck me as a little too fond of himself, if you get my meaning.” Celeste picked up her teacup. When her hand shook she set it down. “Can’t keep a steady hand anymore. Since Sandy’s death I haven’t been myself.
“She told me she was dating someone wonderful and wanted me to meet him. I could tell by the tone of her voice over the phone that she was completely captiva
ted by this man. When they showed up at my door, I nearly fell over. Richard Sinclair is my age. Given his notoriety, I knew he was married. She had fallen for him, and I knew nothing good would come of it. When she called on the phone to ask what I thought of him, I said she was headed for trouble. As if she would listen.
“About a month after that happened, I ordered take-out from Luigi’s, just around the corner. Do you know it?”
Brian nodded, not wanting to interrupt her flow.
“It’s a dark, hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant, red and white checked tablecloths, candles in the chianti bottles – that type of place. But they have the best Italian food in town. I stopped cooking when Sandy left home. In any event, I was having a glass of wine, waiting for my to-go order when I happened to see Richard Sinclair and a woman who was most definitely not Sandy tucked into the corner. Let me assure you, it wasn’t a harmless business meeting. Those two were lovers.” In an angry burst of energy, Celeste pushed away from the table and stood, once again, with her back towards Brian, staring out the window, her shoulders tight with anger. When she turned to face him, the grief that she had managed to control haunted her eyes. Brian’s heart broke for her.
“I could have murdered him. Would have done anything to wipe that smug, arrogant look off his face.” She sighed and sat back down. “But I didn’t. I quietly paid for my meal and scurried away, while my heart broke for my daughter.”
“Did you recognize the woman?”
“It was too dark, but she was young, like Sandy.”
“Did you tell your daughter what you saw?”
Celeste shook her head. A lone tear slid down her cheek. “I couldn’t bring myself to break her heart. She was so certain Richard was going to leave his wife and marry her.” She looked up at Brian, her eyes filled with a heart-wrenching sadness that broke Brian’s heart. “Do you think she’d still be alive if I had said something?”
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