You Think You Know Me Pretty Well Read online

  “Yes?”

  “She had a computer that she was always working at – an old laptop. She used to spend hours in front of it, either online or just writing.”

  “Writing what?”

  “I don’t know, but she treated it like an old friend.”

  “You think she might have confided in her computer?”

  “I don’t know. She never let me see it.”

  “Do you still have it?”

  “Yes. But why do you think this will help?”

  “I just think that if I can unravel what was going on between Clayton— my client and your daughter, I might be able to make some progress.”

  He didn’t add that he was also still mindful of the possibility that his client might actually be telling the truth, despite the long odds.

  “I still have the computer. I haven’t switched it on since the day she vanished. I don’t even know if it works. But I still have it.”

  “Look, Mrs. Olsen, I know this might sound like real chutzpah, but would it be possible for me to borrow the laptop? To take a look at what she’s got on it? Just in case I can find anything that might help.”

  “We haven’t got much time.”

  “I know. I’ll send a courier round right now … if it’s all right with you?”

  There was a short pause and the sound of a sigh.

  “It’s all right, Mr. Sedaka. You can send a courier as soon as possible. Just please … bring my daughter home for me.”

  11:09 PDT

  “Slow down a bit! My fingers keep missing the goddamn keys!”

  “You told me to make it fast.”

  The TV van was winding its way through the mid-morning traffic, following the same route that Nat and Alex were taking. Martine was sitting at the front with the driver. The cameraman and soundman sat in the middle row of seats, while the spark and boom operator sat in the back, holding onto the equipment every time the van swerved.

  But Martine was trying to make a call on her cell phone at the same time, and the constant swerving wasn’t helping.

  “Governor’s office,” the friendly female voice came through her Bluetooth earpiece when she finally keyed in the right number.

  “Hi my name is Martine Yin from Eyewitness News. I’d like to interview the governor regarding the Clayton Burrow execution.”

  “I’m sorry. Governor Dusenbury won’t be making any comments on this matter.”

  The friendly, sunny voice had become somewhat clipped.

  “Okay, well, can you just tell me, is there any truth in the rumor that the governor has offered Clayton Burrow clemency in return for Burrow revealing where he buried the body of Dorothy Olsen?”

  “Just a minute please.”

  She was put on hold and noted with wry amusement that the music they were playing was “California, Here I Come”. After what seemed like well over a minute, the clipped voice came back on the line.

  “I’m sorry, but the governor is unable to comment on such rumors.”

  “So you’re not denying it?” persisted Martine.

  “The governor is neither admitting nor denying it. As I have said, we do not comment on rumors. If and when there is anything to announce it will be announced in the usual way, Miss…”

  “Thank you very much,” said Martine. She pressed the red button and smiled.

  “No go, huh?” said the driver.

  “He doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  “If it’s true, he’ll have to talk sooner or later.”

  “Maybe he’s waiting for Burrow’s answer.”

  “He must have an answer by now. We saw Sedaka driving into the pen.” Her voice became irritable. “I just wish we’d followed the shyster when he left the building!”

  “You weren’t to know,” the driver replied. “All the signs said the action was at the pen.”

  “Yeah, well it looks like it’s still that way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well Sedaka didn’t make any statements to the press.”

  “Maybe he has to report back to the governor first. I mean, they’re going to have to check out whatever his client tells them. If he told them where the body is, they’re still going to have to dig it up and test it to make sure.”

  Martine’s eyes lit up.

  “And wouldn’t it be nice to be there when they do?”

  11:17 PDT (19:17 BST)

  Susan White had been agonizing over the report on Eyewitness News. It was all too much. It couldn’t just be a coincidence. She thought that the face looked familiar. But it was the name that made it impossible to ignore.

  Dorothy Olsen.

  Dorothy had been a sensitive girl but not too talkative. She had never made it clear why she came to England for a procedure that could be done just as easily in America. It wasn’t as if she was a health shopper, seeking free medical treatment under Britain’s National Health Service. This was a private clinic and she had paid a lot.

  Susan had asked her about it once, but she had just clammed up. It wasn’t that she was shy or secretive, it was just that she had made it clear that she found it too painful to talk. Of course she may have told the doctors, but Susan doubted that she told them more than she had had to.

  The nurse speculated that it might have something to do with opposition from within her own family. And also, Nurse White speculated, there might be some very complicated background to the whole case.

  But none of this was what was troubling her now. It was the timing. The news report hadn’t specified the exact date but the reporter had said nine years. Could it be the same person? The reporter had also said something about Dorothy disappearing on the night of her “high school prom.” According to the records, Dorothy had first approached them in May. Was that when high school proms took place? Susan White didn’t know.

  Maybe it’s someone else with the same name … or maybe someone deliberately took her name.

  The trouble was, there were just too many things in common: the name, the date. It was too much to dismiss as a coincidence.

  Her mind was racing into unfamiliar territory. Maybe there was another explanation. Like what? Twins? An identical twin using her sister’s name? Not very plausible. There was nothing in the Eyewitness News report about a twin sister – something they would surely have mentioned if it had been the case, if only for the human interest angle.

  There was no getting away from it. Susan knew that she had to act. Time was of the essence. She found a set of master keys and used them to open one of the offices. She wanted to use the phone without anyone else overhearing. The person she called was Stuart Lloyd, the Chief Administrator who had gone home for the day.

  “Hallo.” She recognized the voice of Elizabeth, Stuart’s wife.

  “Oh hallo, Mrs. Lloyd. It’s Susan White from the clinic. Is Stuart – Mr. Lloyd – there?”

  “He’s eating dinner.”

  “Oh I’m sorry.” Susan didn’t know how to play it. “Look, I know this … I mean … would it be possible to have a quick word with him?”

  There was a tense silence.

  “Can he call you back?” The voice was sharp, showing the irritation even while trying to hide it.

  Susan White knew that this might mean in five minutes, two hours – or never. And she couldn’t take a chance on that.

  “It’s rather urgent.”

  “Just a minute,” said Elizabeth Lloyd, even more stiffly.

  In the silence that followed, the nurse strained to hear the voices in the background. But she didn’t need to strain for long. Through part of the brief exchange at least, the voices were somewhat raised. When silence returned, the nurse tensed up, anticipating a possible storm.

  “Yes, Nurse?”

  It was her boss.

  “Stuart, listen, I’m sorry to bother you at home like this. But I’ve just seen a report on one of the American news channels. It was about a murder over there.”

  “What on earth has that got to do wit
h us?”

  “The victim’s name was Dorothy Olsen.”

  “Good God!” Lloyd muttered under his breath.

  “We have to do something. We can’t just ignore it.”

  Stuart was silent for a few seconds. Then he spoke.

  “We have to be careful. We’re not just talking civil negligence or malpractice here, don’t forget. There’s also that small matter of fiddling the dates.”

  11:28 PDT

  “We’re bringing you this special report from outside the building that houses the state governor’s San Francisco office for a special, exclusive report about the latest developments in the Clayton Burrow case.”

  Martine Yin was delivering her usual smooth, polished performance. Not a strand of the glossy, jet-black hair out of place, the skin smoothed and softened by foundation, the eyelashes defined by just the right amount of mascara, the man’s waistcoat that made her look professional yet sexy – the whole picture perfectly crafted to tell the story and sell the story-teller.

  “This station has learned that Governor Dusenbury has offered clemency to Clayton Burrow on the condition that he reveals where he buried the body of eighteen-year-old Dorothy Olsen, whom Burrow murdered some nine years ago. The governor made the offer in a private meeting earlier today with Alex Sedaka, Clayton Burrow’s lawyer.

  “However, this station is now in a position to reveal that this meeting was not quite as private as it was supposed to be, because also present at the meeting was Dorothy Olsen’s mother, Esther. But the most surprising aspect of this whole new development is that it was Esther Olsen who convinced Governor Dusenbury to make this extraordinary offer. It is not entirely clear what motivated Mrs. Olsen to make such a generous request on behalf of the man who murdered her daughter. But there appears to be evidence that Mrs. Olsen is suffering from a serious, potentially life-threatening illness and she wants to be able to give her daughter a proper burial while there is still time.”

  Martine stopped and held the nation in her gaze.

  “What is also not clear is how Burrow responded to the offer. His lawyer visited him in San Quentin this morning immediately after his meeting with the governor. But Mr. Sedaka was tight-lipped when he left the penitentiary after relaying the offer to his client. Since then, neither Mr. Sedaka nor the governor’s office has been ready to answer questions.

  “Martine Yin, Eyewitness News, the state governor’s office, San Francisco.”

  11:33 PDT

  “How the fuck did she find out!”

  Alex had barely got through the front door of the office when Juanita told him about Martine’s broadcast. In the face of Alex’s explosive response, she didn’t so much as bat an eyelid, let alone flinch.

  Juanita was a dark-haired, super-fit Latina beauty, with penetrating eyes that would have made her a good interrogator. She had only known Alex Sedaka for a few months, but that was long enough for her to realize that on the rare occasions when he showed anger, it was not directed at her – even if it might seem that way to an outside observer.

  “I don’t know,” she replied coolly. “I called Eyewitness, but they weren’t saying … something about ‘protecting their sources.’ The usual press freedom bullshit.”

  Alex took a deep breath. He hadn’t meant to yell. When he could trust his voice to hold at an acceptable level of calm, Alex spoke again.

  “They probably don’t even know themselves.” Nat looked at him blankly. “Anonymous tip-off,” Alex added.

  “You look like you could use a cup of coffee, boss.”

  Juanita was already striding energetically to the kitchen, followed by Alex’s eyes, by the time he replied: “Thanks, Juanita.”

  Nat was looking awkward.

  “What next?”

  “Conference time. We need to work out a strategy.”

  Alex followed Juanita into the kitchen, leading Nat the same way. Juanita was putting fresh coffee beans into the DeLonghi Prima Donna, and pressing the button.

  “So what happened?” she asked over the rumble of the machine.

  Alex quickly filled Juanita in on the events at the penitentiary while the grinding in the background stopped and gave way to an orchestration of burping and frothing.

  “So what are we going to do?”

  “Well as long as Burrow insists he’s innocent there’s nothing much we can do regarding Dusenbury’s offer.”

  Juanita frowned.

  “Your throwing in the towel?”

  “You know I’m not a quitter – but I am changing lanes.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Did you find anything online?”

  “Not yet.”

  She sounded frustrated.

  “The thing is, as I was saying to Nat, we’ve all been assuming that he was guilty. But maybe we’ve been overlooking something.”

  “Like what?” asked Juanita.

  “Well maybe he’s protecting someone,” Alex ventured.

  Juanita screwed her nose up.

  “Like who?”

  “Or maybe he was framed.”

  This time it was Nat who made a dismissive gesture.

  “That ain’t changing lanes. That’s doing a bootleg one-eighty!”

  “I’m not saying he was right… just on the right track. Maybe it wasn’t Dorothy who framed him. Maybe someone else killed Dorothy and then framed Clayton.”

  But Nat wasn’t letting up.

  “And how did they put his fingerprints on the knife?”

  “He slept with a knife under his pillow,” said Alex. “Why shouldn’t it have his dabs?”

  “With her blood on the blade?”

  “If some one else killed her and framed him, they’d be able to get some of her blood and smear it on.”

  As they made their way to the reception area, Alex realized that his theory sounded desperate.

  “And presumably they also got hold of her blood-stained panties?” Juanita suggested.

  Nat chuckled, but didn’t join in.

  “It wouldn’t have been difficult. Why is it any harder to believe than that Clayton was the killer and took them himself?”

  “But what about Burrow’s semen?” asked Juanita.

  “That’s a new theory I’m working on.”

  Juanita raised her eyebrows quizzically.

  “Maybe they weren’t such enemies as everyone else assumed.”

  Juanita stared at him hard before bursting out laughing.

  “Ah come one boss! You don’t think they were screwing do you?”

  “Why not. Maybe they were in a secret relationship. Some one else had a thing for her. The other guy got jealous – or maybe the other girl – and the next thing you know, Dorothy gets killed and Burrow gets framed.”

  “Except that Burrow wasn’t even incriminated until over a year later,” said Juanita. “If the aim was to frame Burrow, they waited a long time.”

  “There’s also the small matter of breast tissue in Burrow’s freezer,” Nat chipped in.

  “Technically it was his mother’s freezer,” Juanita shot back.

  “Wait a minute, wasn’t there something about that DNA test they did on the tissue,” said Alex.

  “What do you mean boss.”

  “I just remember there was something unusual about the DNA. Nothing we could use in court, just something odd… I think.”

  Nat and Juanita looked at each other blankly.

  “I’ll get the file,” said Juanita, getting up and heading for the broom closet that doubled as the file and records room.

  File wasn’t exactly the word. It was several boxes full of files and ring binders. But Juanita’s filing system was so efficient and well-organized that she knew exactly where to look for it. It was the forensic evidence file, with the lab reports. There were several of these, but she found the right one almost immediately and brought it back to the office.

  They huddled round it as she flicked through the file.

  “Okay, here it is,” she said with deligh
t. “They did a standard nucleic STR DNA test on the breast tissue, comparing it to Esther Olsen and Jonathan Olsen.”

  “That would be Dorothy’s younger brother,” Alex said.

  Juanita was reading the summary of conclusions at the end of the report.

  “Yes. Now there’s a note here that says that the test concluded that the breast tissue came from a half-sibling of Jonathan Olsen.”

  “Yes that was it,” said Alex, perking up. “How did it compare to Esther Olsen?”

  Juanita flipped over a few pages.

  “They matched. But they couldn’t do a comparison with Dorothy’s father because he was dead… Ah wait a minute… it says here they also did separate test looking at mitochondrial DNA. That’s DNA that’s not from the cell nucleus, but rather from non-nucleic material in the mother’s ovum. And in that test, all three of them matched exactly: the breast tissue, Esther and Jonathan.”

  “But I thought mitochondrial DNA was only passed on to girls,” said Nat.

  “No, it’s passed on to boys too,” Juanita corrected, “but they can’t pass it on any further. That’s because it’s contained in the somatic cells and female germ cells, but not in the nucleus of either. Sons have their mother’s mitochondrial DNA in their somatic cells, but not in their sperm. So they can’t pass it on to the next generation.”

  “So if Jonathan, Dorothy and Esther all had the same mitochondrial DNA,” said Alex, “it means that Dorothy and Jonathan are blood siblings and that Esther Olsen was their mother.”

  “That’s right,” Juanita confirmed. “But the differences between Jonathan and Dorothy in the nucleic DNA test imply that they had different fathers.”

  11:39 PDT (19:39 BST)

  Stuart Lloyd was still frozen with indecision. He had told Susan White that he would look into the matter and get back to her. She had accepted it reluctantly and put the receiver down. But he was still unsure of where to go from here.

  It could just be a coincidence. The name was uncommon, but in a country of three hundred million people more than one person could have it. But Susan had said more than that. She had said that the picture they had shown on TV had looked like Dorothy. She hadn’t been sure, she admitted. It was, after all, nine years ago. But the similarity of the face plus the name? And the fact that this girl in America disappeared nine years ago.