Look Closer

That should help remind her what a great deal she’ll be getting down the road, after she’s done with little Simon.

—

She’s nice and loose afterward, wearing my shirt and nothing else while sitting on the couch with a bottle of water.

“Halloween? That’s . . . that’s brilliant,” she says after I lay it out for her. “Oh, and Grace Village—you know that town goes dark at seven o’clock.”

I didn’t. But now I do, as she explains the ritual.

“Everyone goes lights-out at seven,” she says. “So maybe you could show up right before that. She might open the door for one last person.”

Maybe. I still can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m going to shoot someone. Kill someone. I repeat those seven syllables in my head.

Twenty-one million dollars.

Okay. That part was easy. The next part might not be. Gavin and I debated it, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized he was right.

Here goes.

“Listen, one other thing,” I say. “I’m thinking about the police. What they’ll think when they find Lauren . . .”

“Dead. Fucking dead.”

A little more zeal in her than I expected. But I like the anger. The anger is good. She’s all in.

“Yeah,” I say. “What you said is right, Vicky. How hard will it be for them to figure out that Simon was having an affair with her? Probably not very. He has history with her, even if it goes pretty far back. And he’s going to her swanky downtown condo building for afternoon love sessions? That building has staff, they have security and doormen and—”

“I’m sure it won’t be hard for the police to figure that out,” she says. “That’s what worries me. When they look at Simon, they’ll look at me, his wife.”

“So that’s where this thought comes in,” I say. “If they’re already going to be looking at him, and therefore at you . . . maybe we could help keep the focus on Simon?”

She sits up, snapping to attention. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying . . . Maybe there’s a way we can help nudge the police in Simon’s—”

“Are you saying we frame Simon?”

I raise my hands. “I’m just trying to protect you, Vicky,” I say. “That’s all—”

“Hm.” Vicky gets up and starts pacing.

That isn’t a no. Seems like she’s thinking about it, strolling slowly, looking far off, picturing it.

“I know you care about him, but—”

“That was before I knew he was fucking Lauren,” she snaps. “And fucking me out of my money.”

I’ll have to keep that reaction in mind when I steal all of Vicky’s money. I better fly somewhere far away.

I let the idea marinate with her. I put on some coffee and drink a cup while Vicky strolls around, mumbling to herself, occasionally shaking her head, still in disbelief at this turn of events. Wavering between anger at Simon, anger at herself for letting it happen, and deciding how far she’s willing to go to correct the situation.

Halfway through the living room for the twentieth time, she stops, pivots, hands on her naked hips, nodding her head. “Let’s do it. Let’s make sure the cops’ eyes never wander past Simon to me. Let’s set that cheating fucker up.” She wags her finger. “And I know exactly how to do it.”

THE DAY AFTER HALLOWEEN

59 Jane

Jane Burke drives back to the Betancourt house at the end of the longest day of her career on the force, memories from high school occupying her thoughts.

“Rob,” she says into her cell phone, her AirPods tucked in her ear.

“Hey, Jane,” says Sergeant Robert Dalillo of their sister department, Grace Park Police. “I hear you guys actually had a real crime committed over there.”

“And guess who caught it?”

“Yeah? Good for you. What do you need?”

“You remember Simon Dobias from high school?”

“Um . . . no. Should I? Was he my grade or yours?”

“Mine,” says Jane. “Real smart kid. Valedictorian. Spoke at graduation.”

“Didn’t know that many kids younger than me.”

“Okay, well, anyway, your records people pulled a complaint filed by Simon Dobias back in ’04.”

“This is related to your homicide?”

“Well, who knows, but I was wondering if you could give me everything you guys have on him. Simon Dobias. D-O-B-I-A-S.”

“Okay, sure, Jane. First thing in the morning. You think a kid from your class did this woman?”

“Way too early to know,” says Jane as she curbs her car on Lathrow by the Betancourt house. “Talk to you tomorrow. Gotta run.”

—

“Tell me you haven’t been here all day,” Jane says to Ria Peraino from Major Crimes forensics, who greets Jane at the front door of the Betancourt home.

“No, I went home, put the kids to bed, and came back. I knew you’d be busy with other things awhile. Besides, this is easier to do at night. There’s so much sunlight streaming into this house during the day, with all these windows.”