Mal’s heart tightens.
“Her diary,” Benoit says softly. “We’ve got her diary.”
The tech says, “The ziplock is sealed, but the plastic has been punctured. We’ll need to separate the pages and dry them out carefully.”
The tech with the camera leans into the open Subaru window and shoots.
“It appears the gas pedal was wedged down with a block of wood,” he calls to Mal.
Mal’s phone rings again. She checks caller ID.
“It’s the lab,” she tells Benoit. Mal steps away from the noise to answer. “Van Alst.”
“Hi, Mal, this is Emma Chang, from the lab. We have some prelim results. DNA samples from Kit Darling’s hair and toothbrushes are a match to blood DNA from the crime scene.”
Mal sucks in a slow, deep breath. As thrilling as it is when the pieces start slotting together, it still guts her that a young woman’s body is likely to be the next thing the divers will pull out of that dark, cold inlet.
“Thanks, Emma.”
“There’s other DNA in the crime scene blood samples, though,” Emma says.
“Run it against the fresh DNA samples coming your way.”
Mal signs off and goes up to Benoit. “It’s Darling’s blood in the Glass House. But not hers alone. Someone else did some bleeding.”
“Rittenberg? His injuries?”
She nods slowly, biting her lip, thinking as they watch the techs in their boiler suits moving around the yellow vehicle on the big flatbed trailer. Fog has started to blow in. “Can you hold the fort here? I want to have a go at Rittenberg before his legal team gets up to speed.”
DAISY
November 2, 2019. Saturday.
Daisy sits in her parents’ living room, watching the television news with her feet propped on a pillow. Her legs are really swelling up. She’s retaining water in her face, too. She feels ill. Exhausted. Her hands rest on her belly, where she can feel her unborn son moving. Emotion fills her eyes. She’s waiting for her mom to get ready. Her mother will drive her to the doctor. Her parents fear for her health, given all the recent stress.
A breaking-news chyron flares across the TV screen.
Police divers find car of missing maid
Daisy sucks in a sharp breath. Her body goes still. She watches footage coming in from a construction site at the water in North Vancouver. Where the old silos stand—the place being developed for luxury condos. It’s all taped off with yellow police tape. Police cars with flashing lights and barricades block the streets to the site. Aerial footage from a helicopter shows people gathering along the bridge to watch. The chopper footage pans across police cars near the water. Vans. A truck with a crane. A flatbed truck with a yellow car on top. There are police boats in the water.
A reporter with a mike stands in front of one of the road barricades near the construction site. It’s raining. Someone holds an umbrella over his head.
“We have breaking news coming to you live from the ADMAC construction site in North Vancouver, where police divers have located the yellow Subaru Crosstrek owned by Kit Darling, a missing maid who works for Holly’s Help cleaning services. The vehicle has been brought to the surface and will be transported to a crime lab. Divers continue to search for more evidence underwater. This case is said to be linked to a crime scene at a luxury waterfront home in West Vancouver, where Kit Darling and her car were apparently last seen on Halloween night.”
A photo of Kit Darling appears on-screen.
The news feed then segues to a female reporter outside the Glass House. “The home behind me is where neighbors reported seeing the Holly’s Help Subaru along with a dark-gray Audi parked on Halloween night. It is now the scene of a violent crime. So far police are saying little.”
Daisy thinks she’s going to throw up. But she also can’t move. She’s riveted by the reporter’s words and the unfolding scene.
“Kit Darling has been cleaning this house—owned by a Vanessa and Haruto North—for the last six months or so, according to another cleaner from Holly’s Help. A neighbor reports seeing Darling herself at the house that night, as well as another mystery couple who arrived in the Audi. The as-yet-to-be-identified woman is described as a heavily pregnant brunette. The man is tall, well built, with sandy-brown hair. One witness claims to have seen upturned furniture and copious amounts of blood through the living room windows.”
The camera flashes to a pale-faced male with thinning brown hair.
“Next door neighbor Horton Brown says it was his elderly mother who placed the initial 911 call.”
The camera zooms in on Horton. He stands in the street outside the Glass House. Crime scene tape flaps behind him. Rain falls steadily.
“Did you see the mystery couple who arrived in the Audi?” the reporter asks Horton before sticking the mike in front of his mouth.
“My mother saw them both. My mom is confined to her upstairs bedroom. She’s in palliative care. But she got a good look from her window up there.” He points. The camera pans to the brick house, then back to Horton. “She says the pregnant woman is the same woman who also visited the Glass House a week ago. The woman had lunch with Vanessa North by the pool.”
“But we understand Vanessa North is presently in Singapore and has been for several months,” the reporter says.
“Well, I only saw the back of her, and it looked like Vanessa. The other woman was sitting facing our house, so my mother got a good look at her. She arrived in a small white BMW that day.”
Daisy’s hand covers her mouth. She can’t seem to blink.
“Where is Jon?”
Daisy jumps, whips her head around. Her mother is standing there. She saw the whole thing?
“Where’s Jon—did Jon do this?” Her mother looks weird. Intense.
Daisy can’t seem to speak. Fear has claws in her throat.
Her mother enters the living room, pulls up a chair. She sits, leans forward, takes Daisy’s hands in hers.
“Daisy, honey, you need to talk. You need to tell me what happened. Was that man talking about you and Jon? That’s the house of your friend, isn’t it? You told me she lived in the Glass House. Is that where you went for dinner? What happened?”
Tears fill Daisy’s eyes. “I didn’t do anything. We didn’t do—” Her voice stalls as a notion strikes her. She gathers herself quickly. “Jon and I arrived at the house. I got cramps at the door. We left right away.”
“Was the missing maid there? Did you see the maid? What happened to her?”
“I didn’t see her.”
“And what do they mean about your friend, Vanessa, being out of the country? If she invited you for dinner—”
“Daisy!” Her father storms in through the french doors. “There are police cars coming up our drive.”
As he speaks, red and blue lights pulse into the living room. Daisy pushes herself clumsily up from the chair and hurries to the window.
Three black-and-white West Vancouver PD vehicles with flashing bar lights come up the curved Wentworth driveway. Two pull in beside her BMW. One parks at a sharp angle behind Daisy’s car, blocking her exit.
Her mind shoots back to that night at the Glass House.
“I need a lawyer,” she says quietly to her mom. “I need a really good lawyer. Will you find me one?”