“And why are you telling me this?” Sharon asked.
“Because someone – I think it was Andrew – helped themselves to $1 million out of the fund.” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Andrew and Richard each own forty percent of this account. Twenty percent belongs to me. All the paperwork is there.” She tapped the envelope. “I don’t know if it has anything to do with the murders, but I thought you should know. I have an interest here.”
“Okay. Is there anything else you can share?”
Wendy stood. “No, that’s it.”
Sharon stood too. “Can I keep these statements?”
“Yes. Again, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Andrew and Richard you got this information from me.”
“I can’t make any promises about that, but I’ll try.”
“Thanks,” Wendy said.
Sharon followed Wendy outside the interrogation room. She called to one of the uniformed officers and said, “Would you please show Miss Betters out?” Once Wendy was gone, Ellie joined Sharon. They watched as Wendy Betters walked away.
“Well, Ellie, what do you think?”
“I don’t think Andrew Rincon murdered that girl,” Ellie said. “It’s just my gut. I could be wrong. Richard Sinclair is the one who renewed the passport. Richard Sinclair is one sleeps with every woman who crosses his path.”
“Have someone put eyes on Richard Sinclair.”
With a nod to Sharon, she hurried off.
Sharon tucked the bank statements under her arm and made her way to Captain Wasniki’s office. She took the elevator to the executive floor. Megan was away from her desk, so she let herself in. “Boss? A word?”
“Have a seat. One second.” Captain Wasniki didn’t look up. He had a spreadsheet open on his computer and was copying down figures on the latest budget. Once he was finished, he turned the paperwork over and gave Sharon his full attention.
“You’ve got that look on your face. What’s happened?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The look that says your intuition is telling you we’ve screwed something up, someone else screwed something up, or we’ve arrested the wrong person. Go ahead, tell me. After dealing with budgets all afternoon, I can take it.”
“I don’t think Olivia Sinclair killed Janelle Maycott or Sandy Watson,” Sharon blurted.
Captain Wasniki threw his pen down. “Jonas Greensboro has this case locked down. He has enough evidence for a conviction, and I’m pretty sure at this point he has zero interest in your intuition. Admit it, Sharon, the evidence against Olivia is pretty damning.”
“Something’s wrong. And Olivia wouldn’t be so stupid as to keep Sandy’s phone and purse in her closet. Nor would she rent the place she intended to murder someone with her own credit card. Another thing that bothers me, there’s no doubt that Olivia received the video after the murder. So she didn’t have a motive at the time the murder was committed. Wendy Betters just stopped in to tell me that the Rincon Sinclair bank account has been looted. She thinks Andrew did it and he’s going to run.”
“Andrew Rincon?” Captain Wasniki stared at her. Sharon tossed the envelope on his desk and sat down across from him. “Everything’s in there. I have to follow this up. Can I just have another week?”
“What about Richard Sinclair’s alibi?”
“I know. But something’s not right.”
“You have until Monday. After that, we’ll turn this evidence over to Jonas. He has a team of investigators who can deal with it and you and Ellie are going back into the rota. There are other cases that need your attention. Understand?” Wasniki said.
“Thank you.” Sharon stood.
Sharon was just about to leave when Megan knocked and entered. “Boss, the Larkspur Fire Marshall just called. There’s been a fire connected to the Sinclair case.” Megan looked at the message. “Someone torched the house belonging to Stephen Vine’s investigator.”
Chapter 25
Friday, October 24
Richard drove down California Street, thinking that today would be the last day he would venture into the office space that had been his home for the past twenty-five years. He expected to sign his name, receive his share of the investment account, and be on his way. Inspector Bailey’s warning not to leave town bothered him. So did the picture of Janelle Maycott and him that he saw on Olivia’s dining table. Did the police have that picture? The last thing Richard needed was more attention from the police. In an abundance of caution, he thought he’d hire a lawyer so he could at least have someone on standby, someone ready to sort out any messes without too much bother to Richard.
As he pulled into the parking lot under his building, he allowed himself a momentary reflection of pride. He had plenty of money socked away. After today, he could do anything he wanted.
Sitting in his car, Richard called Frank Johnson, one of the best criminal defense attorneys in the city. Frank took his call, of course, and after Richard explained the situation about the two murdered girls, his relationship with Sandy Watson, and the photo that could connect him to Janelle Maycott, Frank agreed to meet with Richard at eleven o’clock. If he played his cards right, he’d be on the road by noon.
“You’re smart to be cautious,” Frank had said.
“Thanks, Frank. See you in a couple of hours.”
As he rode the elevator to his office, Richard congratulated himself on hiring Frank. Feeling once again like he owned the world, he stepped into the office of Rincon Sinclair for the last time. Soon he would be done with Andrew and his unpredictable tirades. He was even tired of doe-eyed, loyal Wendy.
To Richard’s surprise, everyone was waiting for him in the conference room. Boxes were stacked into neat piles, waiting for the microfilm people to come. Wendy gave him a startled look. Something’s wrong. Damn it. Andrew sat with his back towards Richard, but there was something about the set of his shoulders that gave Richard pause. For the briefest moment, he thought about turning around and leaving, blowing off the meeting entirely, but his ego put that thought aside. Richard Sinclair didn’t run away from anyone, especially Andrew Rincon.
“Good morning.” Richard forced a smile as he stepped into the conference room.
Andrew whipped around and flashed Richard a look so full of violent hatred that Richard recoiled and stepped back without thinking. Andrew stood, his hands clamped into two meaty fists. He rushed toward Richard, who in turn hurried around to the far side of the conference table and wheeled one of the high-backed chairs between them, effectuating a barrier. Andrew took a breath, shook his head, and stepped away.
“What the hell did you do with it?”
“It?” Richard had no idea what Andrew was talking about.
“I’ve called the police. They’re on their way. If you put the money back, I won’t press charges. I’m giving you an out. I suggest you take it.”
“What are you talking about? What money?” Richard asked.
“Don’t you play me for a fool.” Wendy, eyes wide and face noticeably pale, flinched as Andrew roared at Richard. “You cleaned out the investment account and transferred the proceeds to an account in the Cayman Islands. I was able to trace it, you stupid ass.” Andrew paced back and forth, while Wendy looked down at her hands, an uncomfortable witness in this drama.
“You’re being ridiculous, Andrew. You know damn well I didn’t steal money from this firm. I would never do that.”
Andrew tore open a manila envelope that had sat on the table. With shaking hands he pulled out a stack of papers and threw them at Richard, who caught them before they went flying. “Your signature is right there in black and white, you son of a bitch.” Richard was surprised to see unshed tears shimmering in Andrew’s eyes. “I’ve trusted you all these years, Richard. Did you take other money too?” Andrew shook his head. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” He took out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. “What is your intention? Are you going to make me press charges?”
“I don’t have any money to give back,” Richard said, managing somehow to keep his voice calm and steady. “As God is my witness, Andrew, I swear I didn’t steal from our firm. I came here to sign documents and get money.”
Richard thumbed through the documents. Andrew was right. There in black and white was his signature agreeing to the transfer of the entire proceeds of the Rincon Sinclair investment account to an account on Grand Cayman. The first transfer was made several days earlier, but the account had been cleaned out as of this morning at 5:30 a.m. Richard tossed the sheets of paper down on the table.
Knowing there was no reaching Andrew through his fury, he spoke to Wendy. “I swear to God, I didn’t do this. Can you help me find out who did?”
“No, she can’t,” Andrew said. “She is an employee of this firm and I am going to forbid her to be involved with you. The police will be here any minute. We’ll let them sort this out.”
With one fell swoop, Andrew knocked the coffee pot, the cups, and the food onto the conference room floor. He stormed out of the room, slamming the door to his office. Richard turned to Wendy. “I swear to God, I didn’t do this. Do you believe me?” A hint of disbelief washed over Wendy. Gone in an instant. “You think I’m capable of stealing from Andrew?”
“Of course, I don’t. But the evidence is pretty damning,” Wendy said, not meeting Richard’s eyes.
Richard knew how these things worked. Once the police were involved he would likely be arrested. He needed to lay low until he met with Frank. Without a word, Richard hurried to the elevator, Wendy on his heels.
“Where are you going?”
“To meet my lawyer. After that, I’m going to find out what the hell is going on around here,” Richard said. Wendy got on the elevator with him and followed him to his car. Just as he opened his car door, Wendy grabbed his arm and looked at him with pleading eyes.
“Wait. Think about what you’re doing. If you go on the run, the police will start looking for you. Andrew has called them. He’s going to file a report. You need to be careful right now.”
“I wish I could say thank you for believing in me, Wendy.” He didn’t give voice to the insults that would have reduced her to tears.
“Richard, stop it. It’s not that I don’t believe you. You have to admit the evidence is pretty damning.” Wendy stepped close to Richard. “Look at me, Richard. Look at me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t make that wire transfer. Make me believe you.”
Richard sighed. He met Wendy’s eyes and said, “You know damn well I didn’t steal from this firm.”
Wendy nodded. “Okay. The bank has to have phone records or some proof of who did this. Let me call them and speak to one of my contacts. I’ve made a few friends there over the years.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
Richard had had enough of Wendy. He jumped in his car and pulled out of the parking garage just as two police cars stopped in front of the building. Through his rearview mirror, Richard watched the officers get out and head into the lobby.
Close call.
Chapter 26
Friday, October 24
The smell of smoke and destruction hung in the cool October morning as Brian walked down the driveway towards the burnt-out shell of rubble that was once his home. His eyes roamed the property, taking in the wasted and bedraggled garden and the ruined house. One lone five-gallon bucket Maureen had used to water their tomatoes had survived the inferno. Other than that, utter destruction reigned. Everything that Brian held dear was gone.
“Morning, Brian,” Justin said. “I figured I’d find you here. I wanted to let you know that we’ve shared our information about the fire with your old partner at the SFPD.”
“Have you found out anything?”
“It was started with an accelerant – no surprise there. A witness has come forward with a promising lead. She saw a young man – juvenile delinquent, were the words she used to describe him – lurking around your house with a can of gas.”
“I need to speak to this witness,” Brian said. “Please, Justin. I’m asking as a friend.”
Justin looked at Brian with sad eyes. “You need to step away. I can’t let you get involved. Surely you can see that.”
In the old days, Brian’s neighbor would have come straight to him with that nugget of information. In the old days he and Maureen had known all of their neighbors. But the old families had cashed in, sold their houses for incomprehensible sums of money, and moved someplace without high taxes and commuter traffic.
“Okay. Well, that’s all I wanted to tell you. You know where to find me if you need my help with your insurance claim. I should have a report ready in a couple of days. Do you have a place to stay?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Brian said. The two shook hands and soon Brian was once again alone, among the ashes and his memories of Maureen.
After Justin’s car pulled away, Brian grabbed the bucket, turned it over and sat on it, eager to be alone with his thoughts. He heard the crunching of footsteps behind him and turned to see Sharon Bailey approaching.
“Brian?” Her voice was tentative. “I was hoping I’d find you here. I’m not supposed to share this, but you should know that we are operating on the assumption that this fire is tied into the Sandy Watson and Janelle Maycott murders. We’ll find out who did this. Maybe we’ll even be able to solve the murder because of it.”
“I didn’t realize there was so much inter-departmental cooperation these days,” Brian said.
Sharon flashed him a look.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Brian stood and kicked the bucket he was sitting on away. “She didn’t kill anyone.”
“I know.”
Surprised at her response, Brian met Sharon’s eyes and saw the fatigue there.
Sharon added, “I’m starting to think that way too. I shared my feelings with Captain Wasniki, and he’s given me four more days.”
“What made you change your mind?”
Sharon shook her head. “I can’t, Brian. I’m sorry. I’ve told you too much already.” She waited a beat before she said, “Why didn’t you take my calls after Maureen died? I wasn’t trying to pester you. Just thought you could use a friend.”
“You should go,” he said.
“I’m not going anywhere, Brian. You never called me back. I’m not sure why, but that doesn’t matter. You and I have too much history. We were partners for over ten years. I thought we were friends. Maureen was my friend, too. She shouldn’t have died. You’ve every right to feel cheated, and I’ve no idea what hell her death must have been for you. That doesn’t explain why you shut me out.”
Brian wanted to shout at Sharon, but he realized the anger he felt wasn’t directed at her. He was angry at the world, at God, at the universe. In an instant he knew there was nothing to be done about it. His wife was gone. His house was gone. But that didn’t mean he would forget Maureen. He’d never forget her. If he closed his eyes, he could remember how she smelled, he could conjure the feel of her arms around him. That was something he could keep.
He looked at Sharon. “You’re a pain in the ass, Bailey. You know that?”
“Yes, sir, I do.” Sharon was focused on her cell phone.
Brian’s cell phone vibrated as the pictures started coming from Sharon. The first one was taken when Maureen and Sharon had won the three-legged race at the policeman’s picnic. The Maureen in Sharon’s pictures was young and healthy and full of life. His heart swelled. Brian stared at the picture for a long time, remembering the day as though it had just happened. Another picture popped in, this one of Brian and Maureen, with Maureen standing on her tiptoes kissing Brian’s cheek.
“Shit,” he said as he wiped at his eyes.
“I need to go. I’ve got tons of these and will get them all to you, okay? We won’t forget her, Brian.” Sharon squeezed Brian’s arm before she turned to head back up the driveway.
“Thank you.” Brian’s voice was thick with
emotion. And gratitude.
Chapter 27
Friday, October 24
Richard left Frank Johnson’s office at 1:00 p.m. on the nose. The attorney had gladly taken Richard’s retainer, but other than that, nothing had gone as planned. When Richard had asked if he could leave town, Frank hadn’t minced words.
“You’ll look guilty of stealing the funds from the Cayman account, especially in light of the evidence that Andrew has. We need to find out what happened to that money. If you didn’t take it, someone did. I’ll find out who, don’t worry about that. The photos with you and Janelle Maycott and your relationship with Sandy Watson could be an issue. Let me put out some feelers at the SFPD and see what they’ve got. Once I know what we’re dealing with, we can make a plan.”
Richard waited while Frank finished handwriting his notes. When he put his pen down, Frank said, “It’s strange being on that side of the table, isn’t it? All I can tell you is not to worry. Don’t mean to sound like I’m bragging, but I am rather good at my job. Keep your cell phone with you. When I know something, I’ll call, okay?”
The two men stood and shook hands. Richard stepped outside of Frank’s office onto California Street. He tipped his head back at the skyscrapers, this part of San Francisco that he considered his kingdom, his territory. He longed to slip into one of the obscure bars in the financial district for a burger and a stiff drink. But didn’t want to drink alone. Did he?
“Andrew Rincon can go to hell,” Richard said out loud. If Andrew wanted to throw around false accusations, Richard would reciprocate in kind. There would be war. A clash of the Titans. Richard would make it his singular obsession to win. Andrew didn’t stand a chance. Feeling better now, Richard spotted a bar across the street.
The Betrayal Page 18