The Maid's Diary(71)
A sly smile curves the officer’s mouth. “That, my friends, is another vehicle. The third one. A Mercedes-Maybach. And while the Subaru disappeared over the edge of the dock, that Mercedes Maybach was still parked in the shadows under the bridge. There is no way out other than the way it drove in.” He hits PLAY. “And there it goes again. Leaving.”
They watch the Mercedes-Maybach exiting from under the bridge. It drives through the fog and rain back along the track that parallels the water. It disappears out of camera range before it reaches the dock.
“After we picked up the Mercedes,” the officer says, “we searched farther back in the ADMAC cam footage. The Mercedes enters the ADMAC site eleven minutes before the Audi and Subaru arrive.” He points to the footage. “You can see there—looks like two people inside the Mercedes. One in the driver seat, one in the passenger seat. The driver looks to be female because of the long hair. The Mercedes then exits the ADMAC site seven minutes after the Audi leaves the area. Still two people inside.”
“Did you get the registration on that Maybach?” Benoit asks. “Because whatever went down off camera at those old docks, the occupants of the Mercedes-Maybach had to have witnessed it.”
The officer pulls up an enhanced close-up of the Mercedes plate. He meets each of their gazes in turn and grins. “You’re never going to guess who the sedan is registered to.”
“Oh, go on, spill,” says Lula in a mocking voice.
“Tamara Adler. Of Kane, Adler, Singh, and Salinger. The top city law firm handling that big case that’s been in the news involving a member of the Legislative Assembly for Vancouver–Point Grey, the Honorable Frank Horvath?”
“Adler is our witness?” Gavin asks.
“Whoever those two people are inside Adler’s car—they are our potential witnesses,” Mal says quietly. “And whoever they are, if they did see what went down, they did not call this in, and they did not come forward. I want to talk to Tamara Adler.” She surges to her feet. “Lula, loop the North Van RCMP in on this. Have them cordon off that entire ADMAC construction site. Jack, contact ADMAC—all work on their site stops right now. Gavin, get the paperwork rolling on the warrant for Rittenberg’s Audi and a search of Rose Cottage. I want Jon Rittenberg brought in. I want a DNA sample from him, scrapings from his nails, photographs documenting his injuries, the works. I want DNA samples from Daisy Rittenberg, too. And we need a dive team and support craft out to that dockyard stat.”
DAISY
October 29, 2019. Tuesday.
Two days before the murder.
Daisy helps her husband into bed after picking him up at the VGH ER. Her emotions are a churning quagmire of relief and anxiety. She’d been so worried when Jon was not home by 1:00 a.m. that she phoned one of the colleagues Jon was supposed to have been out with, entertaining the Chinese clients. But the colleague said they all left the supper club around 10:00 p.m. He thought Jon was headed straight home.
Daisy was about to call the police when her phone rang. It was Jon. He was at VGH. He’d experienced a blackout on his way back to his car after dinner. Someone found him passed out on the sidewalk and called for an ambulance. Jon said the ER doctor believed he’d experienced a minor stroke. He was okay, but he needed to return for a follow-up, and he should make an appointment to see a specialist.
“Thank God for the Good Samaritan who found you,” Daisy whispers as she seats herself on the side of the bed, holding his hand. “This could have ended up so differently.”
He closes his eyes, nods. She strokes his hair. He looks awful. Pale as a ghost. His eyes are dark hollows. He smells of vomit.
“We can clean you up in the morning,” she whispers and kisses his cheek. “I am so thankful to have you home.”
He nods again with his eyes closed and squeezes her hand.
Daisy turns the lights way down, but not off completely. And she goes downstairs to make some tea.
As she puts the kettle on, she says a silent thank-you to whoever runs the universe. When it comes right down to the wire, as with this close call tonight, Daisy realizes she doesn’t want to be a single mother. Ever. She wants her husband at her side when their son is born. She needs Jon. She needs him to be a good and faithful man in sickness and in health until death do them part. Tears fill her eyes. She’s always needed that. From the day she met him at school. It’s why she was so damaged when he made stupid mistakes. It’s why she tried desperately to clean up after him. Daisy needs to believe she married the right man. She needs to believe he is good. And that he will be a wonderful father. And that he loves her. Because what is the alternative?
Daisy refuses to accept the alternative.
People might call it cognitive dissonance. Psychologists might point out to her that humans are perfectly capable of believing two opposing ideas at the same time, or engaging in behaviors that contradict their core beliefs. They might tell her that humans are highly adept at inventing thoughts and narratives to support the dissonance within. Daisy knows this is true. She’s able to bury dark things deep in her subconscious and to look the other way. It’s a survival tool. All she wants is to survive.
Daisy wipes her tears. She hopes her son will grow up good. There’s so much pressure on guys to “man up,” to “be a man,” to “take it like a man.” Jon had that pressure but no male mentor to help him navigate this world. His own father abandoned him. He was raised by a single mom. He was a lost boy who constantly sought to prove himself. Perhaps it was always about winning the attention of his absent dad. Perhaps little Jon was permanently struggling to make his missing father proud, to make him come home. Perhaps Jon blamed his little self for his dad’s leaving. And then teenage Jon got lost.