Point of Betrayal (22 page)

His documents folder included a list of names and addresses from around the United States. All were men, save one. About half were in prison, a fact which gave her confidence that her theory was correct.

She found another file of disturbing messages and journal entries where he claimed that the government was conspiring against the people. She quickly closed it, unwilling to spend her last few minutes reading his rants. The other folders contained gaming information, none of which was useful.

She clicked on his picture folder and scrolled through rows of folders with disgusting names such as Naked Tweens and Tubby Photos. She didn’t open any of them since she was certain what she’d find. The last one was titled simply “HER.” She took a deep breath, supposing that he had devoted an entire file to Michaela but uncertain enough to know she needed to check.

Images of Nina appeared. He’d obviously followed her during her evening run on multiple occasions. Judging from the people in the background, it was summer and Laguna was filled with tourists. Nina wore her cute jogging attire and he’d made a point of taking photos when she bent over to stretch. It was evident she had no idea she was being photographed. Biz’s heart skipped a beat when she saw that the last photos were taken at the murder site.

At the end of the pictures was another subfolder—untitled. Her eyes grew wide at the images she found. Nina’s head from the previous candid pictures had been PhotoShopped onto the bodies of several naked women in pornographic poses.

She closed the screens and inserted her thumb drive into the computer to begin the copying process. As the files transferred she pulled the Macy’s bag from her duffel.

“You’re going down,” she whispered.

Ari unclenched her teeth as she chugged up the Garritsons’ long driveway. It was after three and she’d lost nearly an hour to an accident on the freeway that closed two lanes of traffic. Sam was home alone, and she’d decided to confront him about the baby and ask him about the journal entry.

He answered the door wearing his familiar button-down shirt and khakis, as well as a pained expression. “Let’s go out to the veranda. Lately it’s the only place I like to be.”

“Could I ask a favor? I was wondering if you’d give me a little tour of this amazing house.”

“Sure,” he said, unenthused.

He wasn’t in the mood to be much of a tour guide, but she learned the general floor plan, making mental notes of where she wanted to snoop while he pointed and stated the obvious like, “Kitchen.”

He also off-handedly mentioned they were alone, as it was the housekeeper’s day off.

“Where’s your mother?” she asked, wondering if there was any possibility Paisley would meet up with Georgie.

“She’s making her bi-monthly trip to San Diego today. She won’t be home until tomorrow.” He pointed down a hallway to a door in a glass atrium. “That leads to Mom’s studio.” He turned and faced her. “That’s it.”

She nodded and they returned to the veranda. After he served them both a glass of lemonade, she took a deep breath. “Sam, I came here today to tell you something that I think you have a right to know. Nina was pregnant when she was killed.”

“What?” he asked, as if he hadn’t heard her correctly. “Say that again?”

“Nina was pregnant,” she said gently.

He shook his head in disbelief. “That can’t be. She would’ve told me. She
should’ve
told me.”

“I don’t think she knew for very long before she died, and you two had broken up. She might have been waiting for the right time.”

“How do you know about this?”

“The detective assigned to the case told me,” she lied. “I happened to meet him and we were comparing notes.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“I’m not sure. Nina may have told someone in confidence just because she needed a friend,” she said slowly.

He closed his eyes. “Evan. I’ll bet she told him.”

“Why would you say that?”

His shoulders sagged, and she sensed his growing anger. “Because she told him
everything.
He wanted her, but she only wanted to be friends.
Best
friends.” He licked his lips and stared at her. “If I find out that son of a bitch knew about my child before me…”

“Sam, you need to calm down—”

“Calm? You expect me to be calm?”

He jumped up and accidentally knocked over his glass, which shattered on the Mexican tile. He stomped through the gate that led to the beach. She watched him trudge along the shoreline, his head hung low and his hands stuffed in his pockets. When he was merely a dot on the sand, she darted into the house, determined to search Steve’s office and Georgie’s studio while she had the chance.

Steve’s large office included a wet bar and a fifty-five-inch TV mounted on a wall facing a leather sofa that smelled expensive. All of the cabinetry was a rich, dark oak, and most of his awards were clustered together on a display shelf near the door. Visitors would be instantly greeted by his accomplishments, particularly his large framed diploma from Yale.
It’s almost like he’s got something to prove
, she thought.

She grinned when she saw the PEZ dispenser collection arrayed along a window frame. It included some cartoon characters like Mickey Mouse and some vintage designs such as a green Easter bunny without much form or definition. She’d never seen a PEZ dispenser with feet.

Rows of books about history, business and public speaking lined the wall behind his desk, which also included a large bay window that faced the ocean. She imagined him working on a speech and turning his chair to face the sea for inspiration.

Two of the drawers were locked, and a key was nowhere to be found. The other four drawers contained knickknacks and office supplies and a few files of projects and notes for his work on the city council. On his desk was a file labeled“Child Abuse Prevention Task Force.” She flipped through the pages, which included an overview of the child abuse problem as well as recommendations from experts. He’d made notes in the margins and underlined key facts and statistics. He’d also circled the summary at the end.

As they’d discussed at dinner, if the governor were successful, there would be stiffer penalties for spouses who didn’t report domestic abuse in homes where children were present. In other words, women who were victims of continued domestic abuse could be guilty of child abuse if their children continually witnessed acts of violence. Ari could only imagine how Nina would have felt about turning abused women into criminals. What if Steve had been threatened by her potential vocal opposition? Once the baby came she’d be part of the family. Would he be forced to step aside?

She looked for a day planner and realized it was probably with him or he kept it on his laptop, which was also missing, the cords abandoned on the desk. She picked up a family photo taken when the boys were teenagers. She was struck anew by the twins’ handsomeness as they smiled at the camera in matching red sweaters.

She glanced out the window at the empty veranda. Sam was apparently still walking. She went to the hallway, momentarily lost in the maze of square footage. She made two wrong turns before she found the atrium. Through a window she could see the inside of Georgie’s studio, a glass room overlooking the sea. An easel with a canvas sat in a corner, and art supplies were stacked haphazardly everywhere.

Finding the door unlocked, she entered. The studio reminded her of the solarium at home. It was well organized with wall-to-wall shelving and drawers, all of which were labeled. She opened several cabinet doors and found more canvases, some lighting equipment and photography supplies, suggesting that Georgie had dabbled as a photographer and given it up.

A sliding glass door led to a balcony. It was easy to picture Georgie sitting on a stool there, sketching ideas while she listened to the ocean beneath her. She went back inside and checked the hallway. Still no Sam.

Behind a naked mannequin in the corner sat a small closet: it was filled with aprons, smocks and a few of what appeared to be Steve’s old dress shirts that Georgie had claimed as painter’s smocks. She searched the room, unsure of what she expected to find. Nina had written in her journal about exposing a Garritson secret. Ari was certain it had something to do with her pregnancy. It was just too coincidental.

The desk was a cluttered mess. She sifted through the bills, receipts and notes that covered the desktop, but none of it seemed personal. Frustrated, she gazed about the room and pulled open all the drawers and cabinets once more. She dug through the cabinet full of photography supplies and found a wooden box buried underneath a camera case and a tripod. Inside were two photo albums, one clearly much older than the other.

The first was full of black-and-white pictures from the forties and fifties, judging from the attire of the subjects and the cars in the pictures. She recognized a few people who looked like Georgie and guessed these were photos of her rich relatives. She imagined at least one of the children in the photos was Georgie herself. Many depicted old buildings in Laguna and some showed men and women in their swimming “costumes” enjoying the ocean. In one picture, Crescent Point, the site of Nina’s murder, sat off in the distance.

The second album was more recent. All of the photos were color and taken during the seventies and eighties. Included were candids of Steve and Georgie’s hippie-like wedding, with Steve sporting thick sideburns and wild hair and Georgie decked out in a lacy gown that reminded Ari of Stevie Nicks. The photos of them as a couple morphed into family photos that included baby pictures of Sam and Evan. Most were taken at events, such as birthdays and barbeques by the pool, and the Garritsons were surrounded by friends.

Other than the four Garritsons, the only other person she recognized was Scott Kramer, the teenager who cleaned their pool and became a family friend. He frolicked in the pool with the twins and apparently even took them out trick-or-treating one year. She couldn’t imagine he would’ve enjoyed spending the evening with two little kids, but he wore his gigantic smile, the one she’d seen at the funeral. He was definitely a handsome man.

She flipped through the rest of the pages and sighed. There was nothing else to see. It was time to get back to the resort. Sam couldn’t walk forever. She replaced the photo albums in the box and arranged the equipment as it had been. When she went to close the door, she glanced at the shoe rack hung on the inside. Instead of shoes in the rows of pockets, Georgie had stowed lenses.
Very creative
, she thought. Each expensive lens had its own lined pocket and was enclosed in a plastic bag. A small photo album was tucked behind one of the lenses. It only contained four photos, but the subject in them was the same—a young Scott Kramer.

The first was most likely a studio picture, perhaps his senior photo. The second was somewhat blurry and depicted Scott and Georgie, who couldn’t have been more than twenty-two, putting hamburgers on the grill at one of the barbeques. Ari blinked at the third photo, which was much different, much more sexual. Scott stood poolside with the skimmer in his hand, his bleach-blond hair falling over his eyes and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He wore only cutoffs, the top button undone. She guessed he was fifteen or sixteen.

“Interesting,” she whispered.

But her breath caught at the last photo of Scott in the pool between Sam and Evan. In it all three of them smiling for the camera, their wet hair slicked back.

“Holy shit,” she whispered.

Her phone vibrated. Biz had sent a text to her, Rory and Jane. “Get back to the resort. I’ve caught the murderer.”

Jack knew a killer when he saw one. Bennett Mason, the security guard who sat across from him in Interview Room Two, was relaxed and affable—too much so. He’d willingly agreed to stop by on his day off after he finished his errands, which Jack knew had included a quick stop at the mall and the food court for a sandwich and a drink at The Miracle Mile Deli. He’d tailed him for most of the morning after re-interviewing Dean Horn, who’d broken into sobs when he’d seen Jack crossing the resort lawn to speak with him again. He’d known he was in trouble for falsifying his witness statement. What he hadn’t known was how devastating his lie had been to the investigation.

After Horn had confirmed he hadn’t been at his assigned post near the restaurant on the night Margarita was killed and Ian Patton reaffirmed he was positive he’d seen a security guard in the shadows, Jack had returned to his desk at four in the morning and reread all of the statements. Then he’d seen the answer. A whirlwind day had ensued as he returned to the resort and then followed Mason.

He hadn’t slept in nearly thirty-six hours, and he was ragged, unshaven and disheveled, but he was running on the adrenaline of a cop with an answer, one that he was waiting to confirm by talking to the clean-cut American boy sitting across from him. Mason was twenty-four and a senior chemistry student at ASU.

Jack knew that Andre, Chief Phillips and David Ruskin were in the control room ready to watch the interrogation, which was also being recorded. He was grateful he wasn’t in the same room with Ruskin, because he suspected by the end of the interview he’d be ready to throttle the lazy captain.

He cleared his throat and took a sip of water. “Mr. Mason, I appreciate you coming down here on your day off. I inherited this case just yesterday and I’m interviewing the key players.”

Mason smiled congenially and folded his hands in his lap. “More than happy to help any way I can. Margarita was a great gal.”

He picked up his pen. “So, you knew her?”

He nodded. “Uh-huh. The end of my shift coincided with the beginning of hers. I got off at three, and she would be going into work.”

“She worked nights.”

“Yeah, she got the money shift.”

“The money shift? What’s that?”

“Happy hour and the dinner rush,” he explained. “Waiters and waitresses who work nights make the best tips. The money shift.”