The Maid's Diary(76)

“In hand. Lula’s got the guys combing through Darling’s financials and phone records. And our surveillance detail outside Rose Cottage reports that Jon Rittenberg has not left his residence since we paid him a visit. They’re on standby to bring him in—just waiting for the tow truck to arrive so they can impound his Audi and transport it to the lab. We’re working with West Van police to bring Daisy Wentworth in for fingerprinting, a DNA sample, and additional questioning.”

“I want the Rittenberg samples and digital prints sent to the private lab for expediting as well,” Mal says. “If we can link the Rittenbergs directly to the crime scene, we can bring them in front of a judge and charge and hold them.”

Mal signs off, exits her car, and enters the bistro doors. The scent of freshly baked bread triggers her hunger instantly. She eyes the pastries while she waits for Ty Binty to come out of his office at the rear of the bakery.

“Hey, Sergeant. Good to see you again. What can I get for you?”

Mal smiles. “This is business. But I’m not going to say no to one of those danishes and a large cappuccino, dry, with an extra shot.”

He grins broadly. “Better than doughnuts, eh?”

“Infinitely.”

While he puts her order through, Mal brings up her photo of Vanessa North. She shows Binty.

“Do you know this woman?” she asks. “Has she been in here?”

Ty Binty leans forward and carefully studies the photo. He purses his lips. “No. I can’t say that I do. She might well have been in here, but she’s not someone I immediately recognize.”

“But you would recognize Daisy Rittenberg’s friend, Vanessa North?”

“Oh yeah. For sure. Attractive woman. Big hazel eyes.”

“Did Vanessa North pay for her meals here? Or did her friend Daisy Rittenberg usually pay?”

“Vanessa paid often. They seemed to switch it up on a regular basis.”

“Credit card?”

“Cash. Vanessa always paid cash. She seemed to like to pay with cash.”





JON


October 31, 2019. Thursday.

Thirteen and a half hours to the murder.

Briefcase in hand, Jon strides past his colleagues watching him from behind their desks in their glass cubicles. Darrian Walton’s door at the end of the corridor is slightly ajar. Jon knocks once and enters the big boss’s expansive corner office.

Darrian, tall and tanned with a gray buzz cut, stands stony faced behind his monstrous black desk. Jon’s pulse kicks up another notch when he sees a manila envelope on the desk in front of Darrian. As Jon stares at the envelope, he becomes aware of a presence in his peripheral vision. He turns to see Henry sitting like a silent toad in a wingback near a bookshelf.

“Darrian,” Jon says. “You wanted to see me.”

Jon expects to be asked to take a seat. But he is not. Darrian remains standing. He tents the fingertips of his right hand atop the manila envelope on the desk.

“This was hand-delivered to the office today,” Darrian says in a monotone. His ice-blue eyes laser Jon’s.

Jon moistens his lips.

“Do you know what’s in here, Jon?”

Broken shards of memory cut through his brain. Mia’s red mouth. Handcuffs. Several shot glasses. The burn around his asshole. The puncture mark in the crook of his arm. His sticky penis. Dread rises from the pit of his stomach.

“No,” he says.

Darrian lifts the envelope and spills the contents onto the desk. Glossy photos slide over the surface.

Shock rams through Jon. His breath snares in his throat. He steps forward involuntarily. The images show Mia kissing him outside the Hunter and Hound on the first night he met her. They show him and Mia in the booth after Henry left. Him with his hands in his pockets as he watches Mia walk down the street. Him and Mia kissing as they back into her Airbnb suite. Him and Mia touching hands in the piano lounge downstairs. Him stumbling out of the condo tower into the dark street, right before the cab arrived to take him to VGH.

Darrian spreads the photos out, exposing others that lie beneath. Horror swamps Jon as he sees himself naked on the bed. Mia, half-dressed, straddling him. The other photos show two different men. On top of him. Next to him. Their naked bodies entwined with his. Bile rises in Jon’s throat. He can’t breathe. He’s going into anaphylactic shock. Henry remains dead silent in his corner. Air seems to suck right out of the room.

Darrian moves the photos again, and Jon sees yet more—his Audi parked at the Jericho Beach lot with the passenger door open, Jake Preston climbing out with an envelope in his hand. Another image shows a plaque next to a door that says PRESTON PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS.

“I feel sorry for Daisy, Jon,” Darrian says. “I feel bad for Labden and Annabelle. But while your sex life is one thing, this”—he lifts a document—“this is unacceptable. Do you know what this is, Jon?”

Cold drops like a stone through his bowels. He says nothing.

“This, Jon, is a contract with a notorious private investigator hired by you to dig up dirt on a TerraWest colleague. Using race and religious affiliation. Dirt on a competitor for a TerraWest job. And this”—he picks up a copy of another printed document—“is a list of personal details stolen from confidential TerraWest HR files and given to this PI.”