“Possibly going home to Point Grey,” Benoit says.
“What about the Subaru—any footage of the Subaru exiting the site?” Lula asks.
“Negative. The Subaru never came out. We sent officers to the site. We just got a call from them. There are three fairly fresh sets of tire tracks. Tracks matching standard-issue Subaru tires go straight to the dock. There are signs the vehicle went right over into the water. Two sets of footprints around the area. Also drag marks through mud. As though something heavy was pulled to the edge of the dock.”
“I think we found our dump site,” Mal says quietly.
The mood in the room shifts.
Benoit says, “The Audi is the same S6 model as the sedan parked outside Rose Cottage.”
Mal clicks the back of her pen, in out, in out. “We need samples of the mud on Rittenberg’s tires. Can you zoom in on the Subaru and Audi registrations as they enter the ADMAC site?”
“We managed to enhance the Subaru plates. It’s registered to Katarina Darling. But mud obscures the Audi plates.”
“You said three sets of tire tracks,” Mal says.
He smiles and pulls up different footage. “This is shot from the cam up on the bridge—the so-called jumpers cam. It captures some of the area below the bridge. Watch this—it occurs eleven minutes before we see the Audi and Subaru arrive at the ADMAC site.” He hits PLAY.
They watch in silence as a large luxury sedan drives along the water, approaching the bridge, then disappears under it.
A sly smile curves the officer’s mouth. “That, my friends, is another vehicle. The third one. A Mercedes-Maybach. And while the Subaru disappeared over the edge of the dock, that Mercedes Maybach was still parked in the shadows under the bridge. There is no way out other than the way it drove in.” He hits PLAY. “And there it goes again. Leaving.”
They watch the Mercedes-Maybach exiting from under the bridge. It drives through the fog and rain back along the track that parallels the water. It disappears out of camera range before it reaches the dock.
“After we picked up the Mercedes,” the officer says, “we searched farther back in the ADMAC cam footage. The Mercedes enters the ADMAC site eleven minutes before the Audi and Subaru arrive.” He points to the footage. “You can see there—looks like two people inside the Mercedes. One in the driver seat, one in the passenger seat. The driver looks to be female because of the long hair. The Mercedes then exits the ADMAC site seven minutes after the Audi leaves the area. Still two people inside.”
“Did you get the registration on that Maybach?” Benoit asks. “Because whatever went down off camera at those old docks, the occupants of the Mercedes-Maybach had to have witnessed it.”
The officer pulls up an enhanced close-up of the Mercedes plate. He meets each of their gazes in turn and grins. “You’re never going to guess who the sedan is registered to.”
“Oh, go on, spill,” says Lula in a mocking voice.
“Tamara Adler. Of Kane, Adler, Singh, and Salinger. The top city law firm handling that big case that’s been in the news involving a member of the Legislative Assembly for Vancouver–Point Grey, the Honorable Frank Horvath?”
“Adleris our witness?” Gavin asks.
“Whoever those two people are inside Adler’s car—they are our potential witnesses,” Mal says quietly. “And whoever they are, if they did see what went down, they did not call this in, and they did not come forward. I want to talk to Tamara Adler.” She surges to her feet. “Lula, loop the North Van RCMP in on this. Have them cordon off that entire ADMAC construction site. Jack, contact ADMAC—all work on their site stops right now. Gavin, get the paperwork rolling on the warrant for Rittenberg’s Audi and a search of Rose Cottage. I want Jon Rittenberg brought in. I want a DNA sample from him, scrapings from his nails, photographs documenting his injuries, the works. I want DNA samples from Daisy Rittenberg, too. And we need a dive team and support craft out to that dockyard stat.”
DAISY
October 29, 2019. Tuesday.
Two days before the murder.
Daisy helps her husband into bed after picking him up at the VGH ER. Her emotions are a churning quagmire of relief and anxiety. She’d been so worried when Jon was not home by 1:00 a.m. that she phoned one of the colleagues Jon was supposed to have been out with, entertaining the Chinese clients. But the colleague said they all left the supper club around 10:00 p.m. He thought Jon was headed straight home.
Daisy was about to call the police when her phone rang. It was Jon. He was at VGH. He’d experienced a blackout on his way back to his car after dinner. Someone found him passed out on the sidewalk and called for an ambulance. Jon said the ER doctor believed he’d experienced a minor stroke. He was okay, but he needed to return for a follow-up, and he should make an appointment to see a specialist.
“Thank God for the Good Samaritan who found you,” Daisy whispers as she seats herself on the side of the bed, holding his hand. “This could have ended up so differently.”
He closes his eyes, nods. She strokes his hair. He looks awful. Pale as a ghost. His eyes are dark hollows. He smells of vomit.
“We can clean you up in the morning,” she whispers and kisses his cheek. “I am so thankful to have you home.”
He nods again with his eyes closed and squeezes her hand.
Daisy turns the lights way down, but not off completely. And she goes downstairs to make some tea.
