Daisy glances up at the camera outside, and a chill trickles down her spine. She and Jon are lab rats in a petri dish of a glass and marble house.
“You’re lying,” Jon says.
“Try me,” the devil answers. “Oh, and if you two choose to walk away instead, Daisy’s insurance goes directly to the police and to a prearranged list of top media outlets.” She pauses, eyeing Jon. “It will send you to prison, JonJon. Mark my words. There is no statute of limitations for what is contained in that ‘insurance.’ It will destroy you. The Wentworths, too.”
Daisy says quietly, “Jon, let’s go inside. We need to go inside.”
MAL
November 2, 2019. Saturday.
Mal returns to the station to question Jon Rittenberg. Things are coming to a head. Media is closing in fast.
As she walks into the major crimes bullpen and shrugs out of her wet coat, Lu summons Mal over to her desk. An urgency tightens Lula’s features.
“We’ve got Jon Rittenberg in interview room twelve, and Daisy Rittenberg in six,” she says. “Daisy is claiming medical discomfort, and her counsel is with her, so you might want to do her first. She’s apparently thirty-six weeks pregnant now. But before you go, you need to see something.” Lu pulls up on her screen a series of newspaper articles. “We were searching online for background on the Rittenbergs and Darling, plus the ski town Darling grew up in. Take a look at this.”
Black font blares across the top of a digitized newspaper page:
“It Never Happened”
World-class skier “JonJon” Rittenberg says claims of sexual assault are “all lies” and “it never happened.”
Slowly, Mal draws up a chair and seats herself in front of Lula’s monitor as she reads:
A young woman who has not been identified by Whistler law enforcement alleges she was drugged and sexually assaulted by Olympic hopeful Jon Rittenberg and fellow members of his ski team at a wild ski lodge party last Saturday night.
Mal’s pulse quickens. She leans closer, reads further.
Police brought Rittenberg and others in for questioning, but so far no charges have been laid . . .
Mal reaches for the mouse and clicks open the next link. Another news article fills the screen, this one from a tabloid with a salacious reputation.
Sex Assault Allegations Dropped
Rittenberg Free to Ski
Mal scans the text.
. . . the unidentified young woman has dropped all allegations against Jon Rittenberg and other unnamed ski team members. She retracted her claims after no witnesses at the well-attended lodge party came forward to corroborate her version of events. Party attendees say the “girl” was lying and that if she did in fact engage in sexual relations with the Olympic hopeful, it was consensual. They added she was very drunk and infatuated with the famous young racer.
Mal scrolls down, then clicks open another article.
Whistler police say they are not at this time pursuing the issue. The accuser has completely withdrawn her charges.
“It was all lies,” says Max Dugoyne, a downhill skier who was at the party. “I know who the accuser is. She basically threw herself at Jon. She has a poster of him inside her locker. She arrived drunk and crashed the party expressly trying to meet him. If anything happened between her and JonJon, this is her way of retaliating—her feelings were probably hurt when she learned it was nothing but a one-night stand for him.”
Another partygoer, Allesandra Harrison, says she also knows the accuser. She claims the young woman learned she was pregnant and was trying to pin it on Rittenberg. “Either that or she was crying ‘rape’ so her parents wouldn’t think she was promiscuous or something.”
“Wow,” Mal says softly after scanning several more news stories in this vein. She glances at Lu. “If she had a locker with ‘JonJon’s’ poster, she was likely a high school student. How old was Rittenberg at this time?”
“Nineteen,” says Lula. “I’ve located the initial investigating officer mentioned in the articles—Corporal Anna Bamfield. I just got off the phone with her. She’s still with the RCMP but is now a staff sergeant stationed up at Williams Lake. Bamfield said she remembers the case well. She told me that she believed the victim’s version of events. The complainant was only sixteen years old. She was medically examined, and there was evidence of aggressive sex—vaginal tears, multiple semen samples. But not one person from that party would come forward and talk. And no one claimed to know when the victim left the lodge party or how she got home. The kids Bamfield interviewed either said it was a lie, nothing happened, or they said there was a consensual interaction between the girl and Rittenberg. Some claimed she was a ‘whore’ and slept around. Bamfield said there were rumors that someone with a phone might have recorded the events, but she was not able to verify this. The victim then suddenly withdrew charges and went away.”
“Went away?” Mal asks.
“Left town. Left school. Dropped out. Parents declined to pursue anything.”
Mal regards Lula. “Her name?”
“Katarina Popovich.”
Quietly, Mal says, “I think we just found our motive.”
JON
October 31, 2019. Thursday.
Five hours and three minutes before the murder.
Jon grabs his wife’s arm as she tries to enter the Glass House.
“Don’t. She—”
“We must.” Daisy jerks free and steps over the threshold. Jon’s body is electric. With shock. With outrage. With fear. This woman who posed as Mia Reiter—who seduced and set him up to be sexually abused—is Katarina Popovich? It’s a name he hoped never to hear again in his life. He thought she was gone. He never dreamed she would rise from the past and cross his path again.
Not like this.
Not in a wig and red lips, all slender and seductive and sultry with beautiful false green eyes and an accent and walk that made him weak at the knees. The sixteen-year-old Katarina who reported him to the Whistler police, who accused him and his friends of gang rape, was a fat-ass, pimply-faced, desperate little slut of a schoolgirl. A fangirl who, according to other students at her school, had a poster of him on the inside of her locker.
She wanted to spread her legs for him. And for half the ski team.
Jon’s cauldron of emotions sharpens to a white-hot rage. She did this. She spiked his drink, lured him up into that high-rise apartment, cuffed him, brought other men into the apartment, took compromising photos that she delivered to TerraWest.
How did she know about the PI?
I told her. When she was Mia. In the piano lounge—I told her I’d hired a PI to find dirt on a colleague named Ahmed Waheed.
Where had she gotten the contract he signed with Jake Preston?
I am your maid. And it strikes Jon hard—he has a copy of the contract in his home computer. Did Katarina get into that? She’s been inside their house for months. Snooping around. What else has she gotten into? She’s been Daisy’s fake friend since July. What secrets has Daisy let slip?
I’m betting Daisy has not told you about the “insurance” she keeps.
It will send you to prison, JonJon. Mark my words. There is no statute of limitations for what is contained in that “insurance.” It will destroy you. The Wentworths, too.