November 2, 2019. Saturday.
Mal and Benoit stand in the rain, watching as the tenders on the dive boat feed crane cables to the divers in the water. The divers will go down and hook the cables to the Subaru. A flatbed awaits at the dock edge to receive the submerged vehicle. Ident vans are parked nearby, ready to receive evidence. A tent has been set up as a command center.
A second dive team continues searching beneath the bridge area for the rug and a body. Rigid hull inflatables with tenders guide the divers below, using lines. It’s dangerous work. Poor visibility, a strong tidal current, and underwater urban detritus hampers progress. The entire construction site is cordoned off, but pedestrian onlookers have begun to gather on the bridge high above, watching the scene unfolding below. A helicopter thuds overhead in the low clouds.
Benoit glances up at the chopper. “News chopper. The story is breaking.”
“Just wait until they catch wind an ex-Olympic skier is involved, never mind the married MLA humping a hotshot city lawyer in her Mercedes on Halloween night near the abandoned silos,” Mal says.
Her phone rings just as the dive boat operator signals to the crane operator to start winching the submerged vehicle up.
“Sergeant Van Alst,” she says as she answers.
“It’s me, Lula. I’m using someone else’s phone. Jon Rittenberg has been brought in. His Audi has been impounded and is en route to the crime lab. We’ve got a team searching Rose Cottage as we speak. We’ve taken Rittenberg’s fingerprints, DNA, and scrapings. We’ve taken his clothing into evidence as well, and we’ve documented his injuries. The samples and prints have been sent to the private lab as requested. We’ll hold him until you’re ready. But just so you know, he’s lawyered up with a big gun.”
“And what’s the status with Daisy Rittenberg?” Mal asks.
“West Van PD is en route to pick her up.”
The winch starts.
“Thanks, Lu. I’m on my way.”
She kills the call. In silence she and Benoit watch as the cables move. The yellow car breaks the surface. Seawater gushes out of an open window and pours out from beneath the doors as the Subaru is swung out over the waiting flatbed. Slowly, it’s lowered down. The Holly’s Help logo looks heartbreakingly innocent. The flatbed dips slightly under the weight of its new burden as the tires settle onto the bed.
Two crime scene techs in white boiler suits climb up onto the flatbed and begin photographing and checking the car before it’s prepped for transport to the lab.
“Sergeant, Corporal.” One of the techs on the flatbed calls Mal and Benoit over. With a gloved hand he holds up a ziplock bag. Water drips from the bag. Inside, awash in seawater, is a fuchsia-pink book with purple polka dots. “Found it in the glove compartment,” says the tech. “Glove compartment was open. Also got a women’s purse on the passenger seat. The contents have spilled out on the passenger side. So far we can see a Subaru key fob, wallet, mobile phone.”
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.”
