MAL
November 2, 2019. Saturday.
As Mal makes her way down the sterile corridor to interview Daisy Rittenberg, she replays Boon-mee Saelim’s words in her mind. I think something bad—really bad—happened when she was at school. And that’s why she dropped out and left town.
If the sexual assault allegations were all over the news, and Saelim was a kid at the only high school in town, how is it that he didn’t know what the “bad” thing was? Mal had a feeling Saelim was lying, or hiding something. She is more certain now. As she reaches the room where Daisy Rittenberg is being held, she calls Lula.
“Hey, Lu. Did Saelim come in to make an official statement and give a DNA sample?”
“Negative. We’re looking for him. He seems to have gone AWOL from both his residence and place of employment. Not answering his phone. Friends don’t know where he is. His vehicle is not at his home.”
“Let me know as soon as you find him.” She ends the call and opens the door to interview room six.
She enters to find a puffy and flushed Daisy Rittenberg seated beside an impeccably attired, hawkish-faced man with a swarthy complexion and piercing black eyes. Mal recognizes him instantly. Emilio Rossi. A top criminal defense bulldog of a lawyer who has a reputation for taking high-profile organized crime and murder cases.
“Emilio,” Mal says.
The guy doesn’t waste a beat. Before Mal can even take a seat, he says, “My client is in need of immediate medical attention. She’s suffering from increasing edema and elevated blood pressure. We have concerns about possible preeclampsia, deep-vein thrombosis, a heart disorder, cellulitis—all these things need to be medically ruled out. She needs to see her doctor. She needs bed rest and to minimize stress.”
Worry threads through Mal. She must work fast.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Rittenberg, or is it evening? Time is flying today. Can I call you Daisy?”
The woman refuses to meet Mal’s gaze. She does not respond to the question.
Mal places her notebook and file folder on the table in front of her. “I’m afraid it’s not looking good for you, Daisy. We have witnesses and evidence that place you at the scene of—”
“My client doesn’t deny being at the house, Sergeant,” Rossi says crisply. “She doesn’t deny using the same maid service. My client will admit she was invited for dinner at Northview. She arrived with her husband in their Audi around six fourteen p.m. But as they were ringing the doorbell, my client experienced painful cramps. In shock, she dropped a bouquet and dessert she had brought with her. Mrs. Rittenberg and her husband left immediately.”
“Did you go seek immediate medical attention, Daisy? Is there a record of—”
“The cramps resolved on the way home,” Rossi says. “The Rittenbergs decided bed rest was the solution, and at the time they intended to visit the doctor the following day. Once home, my client had an argument with her husband. She packed a bag and drove to her mother’s house.”
“With the severe cramps?” Mal asks.
“Cramps had resolved to a degree at that point,” says Rossi. “Once my client arrived at her mother’s, she took to bed rest. She has not left the Wentworth residence until now. She says her husband was very angry when she departed her home. He threatened her physically. He’d already had a fair bit to drink, and she suspects he began drinking again heavily after she left. She cannot vouch for his whereabouts or say whether he returned later to the Northview residence.”
Mal sits back, crooks up her brow, and studies Daisy. “And why might you think your husband would return to the Glass House without you? To finish dinner?”
Rossi says, “My client is simply relaying the fact that she has an alibi—her parents. But she is unaware if her husband has one.”
Mal moistens her lips, her gaze still locked on Daisy. “Why did you and your husband have an argument, Daisy? Why did he threaten you?”
“My client confronted her husband about an affair.”
“An affair with who?”
“A woman named Mia,” Rossi says. “That’s all she knows.”
“So now you’re throwing Jon under the bus?” Mal asks.
“She’s doing nothing of the sort.”
Mal leans forward. “And how do you explain the carving knife that the West Van PD found in your car?”
“Like I said, her husband threatened her at Rose Cottage. My client grabbed the knife from the kitchen counter to stop him from following her.”
“Did you go directly to your parents’， Daisy, or did you perhaps go back to the Glass House first?”
“Look, if this is a fishing expedition—”
“Daisy, we have sent in your DNA sample and prints, and we’ll have expedited results very shortly from a private lab. We will then run your DNA against DNA evidence found at the crime scene. If—”
“If you do find her DNA inside, it’s because she went to lunch at Northview last Friday. She drank from glasses and handled a carving knife to cut sausage.”
Mal inhales slowly. She opens her folder and slides a photo toward Daisy.
“Do you recognize this pendant?”
Daisy glances at the photo but says nothing.
“How about these images?” Mal shows Daisy several photos copied from @JustDaisyDaily’s Instagram account. Selfies that all show the diamond necklace hanging at the hollow of her throat.
“This pendant,” Mal says, tapping a photo, “was found between sofa cushions at the Glass House.”
Rossi sighs impatiently. He checks his watch. “Like I said, my client doesn’t dispute she was ever inside the house. She could have lost the pendant last Friday. Or her maid might have stolen it. The same maid worked at the Glass House. The maid could have dropped it there. None of this will hold up in court, and you know it.”
Mal runs her tongue over her teeth. “Daisy, why did Kit Darling recently ask to be excused from cleaning your home?”
Rossi says, “My client inquired about the change because she felt her maid was doing a good job. She was informed by Holly’s Help that it was the maid herself who requested a transfer due to a scheduling conflict. Now if you’re done here, Sergeant, we need to get my client to see a doctor.”
“Two more questions. Daisy, did you know that your maid, Kit Darling, was the sixteen-year-old schoolgirl who accused your husband of aggravated sexual assault eighteen years ago?”
Daisy’s face goes deep red. She wipes her mouth with a trembling hand and says to her lawyer, “I’m not feeling well. I’m going to faint.”
Emilio Rossi surges to his feet. He reaches for Daisy’s arm to help her up from her chair. “We’re done here.”
“One more,” Mal says firmly. “Do you recognize these people?” She slides two photos across the table and turns them to face Daisy.
She glances at them. “No.”
Mal taps one photo. “This here is Vanessa North. And this here”—she taps the other—“is Haruto North. These are your friends.”
The redness deepens in Daisy’s face. She refuses to look up. “That’s not them.”