"I know she didn't do anything wrong, but do you think the justice system will see that? The police and DA want convictions, not a messy death with no evidence to support self-defense. I'm not willing to take that chance."
"She has bruises."
"That they'll say were caused by JT merely defending himself," I say bitterly. "Again, not willing to take the chance they won't see it our way."
"There will be physical evidence at his house connecting her," Caroline says as she follows me down the hall to our bedroom. "Prints or some shit like that. That's always how they get the suspect. With forensics."
"Maybe, maybe not," I say as I head straight into the master bath. I hear Caroline close the door behind us, and I have to assume Ally is still happily occupied in front of the TV. Fuck if I want her to see Sela covered in blood. "But I plan to rectify that situation as soon as I get Sela taken care of."
"Beck," Caroline snaps at me in irritation. "Don't put her in that shower until we talk about this. This is Sela's decision, not yours."
"You're right," I say softly, and lower Sela to the tiled floor. Her feet touch solidly, but I keep my arm around her waist, because she looks like a delicate breeze would blow her away. One hand goes to her cheek and I get her attention by tilting her face up so she looks at me.
"Sela," I tell her with a mixture of authority and empathy. "I don't think it's a good idea to go to the police. You'd never be on their radar. They have no clue about your history with JT. I'm going to do everything in my power to ensure they don't find that he's dead."
"But she looks less guilty if she goes to them now," Caroline points outs.
Sela's eyes never leave mine. She never considers Caroline's words, but I feel the need to clarify. "Baby...if they come after you, you still have the truth of what occurred. That will always be there."
Caroline makes a frustrated noise but turns away from us, almost as if she's giving us privacy. She knows she's said her piece and she also knows that even though Sela has the truth of what happened on her side, the mere fact she didn't report it right away will be held against her.
But I can't risk it.
Sela has more motive for murder than anyone on this planet. She'll be a district attorney's wet dream as a murder suspect. Hell, until just weeks ago, Sela was planning to murder JT. Too many things could go wrong.
"The letter opener's in my car," Sela murmurs. "I wanted to get rid of it but didn't know what to do."
"I'll handle that," I tell her, my thumb stroking her cheek. I'm going to handle so much more than that, but she doesn't need the details.
"Then I'll do what you think's best," she says softly, her shoulders sagging as if she can't handle one more burden.
I lean in, give her a soft kiss on her lips. Chaste. Reassuring.
She can count on me.
"Take your clothes off," I instruct Sela as I stride over to the huge walk-in shower and turn the water on. She complies immediately and without any regard for Caroline, who now stands in the doorway, watching us both with a nervous bite to her lip.
I gather up the clothing...the gray hoodie that I have no clue where it came from, blood-soaked T-shirt that leaves her skin rusty brown when she peels it off from the sheer volume that leaked through and dried. Sela disrobes like a robot, eyes almost dead. I take each piece of clothing from her, balling them up tightly, and when she's completely naked, I put my free hand on her lower back and gently urge her into the shower. She complies with no hesitation, stepping under the hot spray, and I try not to notice the immediate swirl of blood around the tile flooring as the water hits the remnants of JT that are left on her body.
Turning to Caroline, I lean in and whisper, "When she's done, you get her dressed and into bed. Then you pour every bit of bleach I have in this condo down that drain, you hear me?"
Caroline's eyes widen in fright, and because she was so adamantly against this, I think she'll complain. Instead, she just nods her head, and I know that our course has been set, she's on board with me and Sela. She may not agree with the way I'm handling things, but she'll help to protect the secret we're slowly creating, one lie at a time.
I walk out of the bathroom, acutely aware of Caroline following me. When I hit the hallway, she murmurs so Ally can't hear us. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to JT's house and I'm wiping that place down so there's no trace of Sela. Then I'm going to make sure these clothes and the letter opener never are found."
"I'm scared, Beck," Caroline says in a quavering voice, and I immediately feel crushing guilt that she's been dragged into this.
"It'll be okay," I reassure her, pulling her into me for a tight hug. She clings to me desperately and I press my lips to the top of her head. "I promise it will be okay."
But right now, I feel an impending doom over us all.
--
The letter opener and bloody clothes can wait. Potential prints and DNA cannot.
I went down to Sela's car, using the extra key fob I kept secured with my Audi's key to gain entrance. She wasn't stupid...having apparently grabbed paper towels from JT's house to wrap the murder weapon in. This told me she had presence of mind after it was all said and done. It also told me she ventured into other parts of the house that would have to be cleaned up.
But it was late Monday afternoon, heading into early evening, and to my knowledge, JT wouldn't have any visitors. I should be able to slip in, wipe everything down as best I could, and leave without anyone being the wiser.
I briefly thought of disposing of the body, and while I haven't completely ruled it out, I'm not sure that's a good use of my time. More important, getting rid of bloody clothes and a small letter opener won't be hard. Disposing of a full-grown male body is another matter, and it only increases my chances of getting caught. I need a quick in and out, and hope to God I'm able to leave nothing but a cold body with no evidence that will point Sela's way.
I drive to Sausalito, my brain on overdrive trying to mentally walk through everything I'll need to do to clean his place up. Before I left, I had Sela go over everything in a bit more detail with me as she was drying off from the shower. Caroline was in the laundry room, in search of Clorox that I was pretty sure I had.
According to Sela, who seemed more in control of her emotions but spoke in a detached sort of way, everything happened in the den. I was sure I had her exact path and every potential item she could have touched. She confirmed she also went into the kitchen and grabbed paper towels to wrap the letter opener in so she wouldn't get any blood in her car, as well as snagged a gray hoodie sweatshirt of JT's from the coatrack in the foyer. It wouldn't take me long to wipe shit down, but I was not looking forward to the bloody scene.
Sela said there was a lot of blood.
I can't imagine how much is left behind, because it seemed she had all of it on her body.
The thought makes me shudder, but I'm resolved.
I can do this to protect Sela, and that's all that matters.
In fact, maybe wiping down the place isn't going to be good enough. Maybe I do need to suck it up and package JT's body in one of his expensive silk woven rugs, lug it to my trunk, drive him deep into Mount Tamalpais State Park, and leave him for the animals to pick apart.
I could do that.
For Sela.
The miles melt away under my heavy thoughts and before I know it, I'm crawling down JT's street. It's fairly dark and only illuminated by high-end landscape lighting of the houses that sit secluded by privacy plantings. The lots aren't big, but the neighborhood is well established and the bushes and other plants give each home a protected, enclosed feeling.
This bodes well for me.
It should help me get in and out without being seen.
The road takes a meandering turn east, where it starts running parallel to Richardson Bay, and as I come out of the curve, I immediately see the pulsing flare of blue lights. Before I can even see JT's house in the distance, I know those are the lights of
police cars.
I know they're at his house because they've been alerted to a murder that's occurred.
It means I'm too late.
I slow down as I observe three police cruisers sitting in front of JT's house about three hundred yards in the distance. A few neighbors stand out in the street, their bodies nothing more than black shadows against the lights of the Sausalito Police Department.
"Fuck," I mutter as I turn right into the nearest driveway, my heart thundering madly in my chest with newfound anxiety.
JT's been found and now the shit's going to hit the fan. I've officially lost all control over the situation.
I glance down to the console clock and I figure I'll be getting a phone call before too long. Perhaps even a visit from the police.
Of course, they'll contact his parents first, but I'll be next as a close family friend and business partner. It will probably be a visit. They're going to come see me because I'm one of the people who knows him the best, and I'm also going to be an automatic person of interest because I stand to get an entire multimillion-dollar company free and clear with his death.
I slam the Audi in reverse, and with my pulse pounding so hard I'm afraid I'll stroke out, I force myself to calmly ease off the brakes and coast slowly out of the driveway. I turn back and head the same way I came in, my eyes flicking constantly to my rearview mirror to see if anyone notices me turning away.
Will they recognize my car?
I'm too far away for anyone to see my license plate, but probably not too far to identify the car's color, make, and model. If just one cop happens to see me, notes my maneuver, and thinks it's suspicious in any way, they'll match the car up to me.
Then I'm fucked...because there's no sane reason I should be out for a drive on my partner's street, see police cars, and turn around. An innocent partner would speed up to the scene of the crime and demand to know what's going on.
But I don't do that. I continue to drive away, terrified a cruiser will start after me, but ultimately making it away safe and hopefully without notice.
I head back to The Millennium, my mind now racing with all the things I need to do to get ready to face the shitstorm that's coming.
"I made you some tea," Caroline says from the doorway of my bedroom. I sit up in the bed, brace my back against the pillows and headboard. I'd been lying here staring at the ceiling as the sky darkened, waiting for Beck to get back. Caroline hasn't said much to me since he left, and I watched her with a weird detachment as she cleaned out the shower and poured almost a full bottle of bleach down the drain. I think neither of us said anything because it seemed just terribly poor form to discuss disposing of murder evidence.
Caroline was washing a part of my sins away.
Beck was currently off wiping up the rest of them.
It was self-defense, I remind myself.
Murder, my guilty conscience says back.
My fingers involuntarily rub against the splotches of purple that rest at the base of my throat, compliments of JT's cast pressing down on me. I swallow and make myself take note of the slight pain that occurs as I do so.
I do this to remind myself that JT was choking me to death. I had no choice but to swing that letter opener. I hadn't planned it, but perhaps by the grace of God I found the strength to protect myself.
A repulsive half snicker, half sob explodes from my mouth and I immediately slap my hand over it. My eyes well up with tears even as a laugh bubbles up and tries to push its way out. So ironic that I killed him with a letter opener, since I had imagined using that exact implement when I visited his office to meet Karla for lunch all those months ago.
Caroline walks into the room, rounds the bed, and comes to my side, which sits closest to the window-wall. She looks at me without judgment for JT's murder and doesn't seem affronted that I'm trying hard not to laugh. She smells faintly of Clorox so she has no room to judge.
"What's so funny?" she asks carefully as she sets down the cup of tea on the night table beside me before sitting down on the edge of the bed near my hip.
I reach over for the tea, using the simple action to distract my rampant thoughts and get my bearings. I pick up the cup, bring it to my mouth, and blow on it before I take a tentative sip. It's hot and I don't even mind the slight scalding to my tongue and roof of my mouth, which also helps to distract me.
Peeking over the edge of the cup at Caroline, I say, "I once visited JT's office. He wasn't there but I looked inside and envisioned killing him in there with his own letter opener. It was a pipe dream then. It's just funny to me that little fantasy of mine came true."
Caroline smiles at me with understanding. "Nothing wrong with a little inappropriate laughter. Or those types of fantasies."
I smile back at her as best I can, but it's thin and without any genuine force behind it. She sees that. She knows it.
"It was more than fantasy," I tell her with brutal honesty. Caroline just helped clean up evidence of my crime so she needs to know the full truth of what I did. That my original intention was not a silly dream but an actual plan to kill the man who destroyed my innocence.
Tears well up in my eyes again and I blink hard against them, taking another sip of my tea to ward them off.
It was self-defense, I tell myself.
Murder, my subconscious sneers at me.
Caroline turns slightly from me while I get myself under control and stares out the window, which overlooks the Financial District. She looks just like Beck. Same eyes, nose, and perfectly shaped smile.
Same moral character.
Although she wanted me to go to the police, she never hesitated to jump on board with Beck to help protect me by trying to erase my crime. The image of Caroline bent over with yellow rubber gloves on, scrubbing down the shower and then pouring bleach down the drain, ensured she became complicit in my crime.
That will be forever burned in my brain.
She's just helped me try to get away with murder, and she did so because she loves Beck and Beck loves me. It's overwhelming to me that I feel extraordinarily close to this woman that I hardly know at all.
"I'm sorry about what JT did to you," Caroline says softly as she turns to face me.
I'm almost relieved by her statement and avoidance of the subject of blood and bleach, but it's still a sobering moment as I realize that I can't say those words back to her.
I don't think she should know what JT told me in those last moments before I killed him. I can't think of any good reason why I should visit that pain upon her, and I'm sorry...closure just isn't a good enough reason. She's better off not knowing who her rapist was than to know it was her half brother.
So while I can't divulge the horror of that knowledge to her, I can reach out and accept her offer of sisterhood that we now share.
"I'm sorry you went through the same thing," I murmur.
"Beck was my rock," she says as she leans a little closer to me, her blue eyes focused intently on mine. "I wouldn't have survived if it wasn't for him. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for him."
Her message is clear.
"Including helping him cover up the fact I murdered someone," I whisper the obvious.
She shakes her head. "Including helping him protect what's his. And JT got what he deserved. It was either kill or be killed, Sela, and you did what you had to do to survive. It's not the first time in your life you've endured something horrible, and it probably won't be the last."
I stare at her, my eyes threatening to fill with tears again, but I command them to stay at bay. It's time to move past what I did.
"We should have gone to the police," I say with a sigh, still struggling with my biggest doubt. It would have been risky, and yes, there was a good chance they wouldn't have believed me. But by staying silent, I ensured that Beck and Caroline just became my partners in crime, and I never wanted them at risk.
Caroline shrugs and stands up from the bed. She turns to me, slipping her hands into the back pockets of her jea
ns. Looking down at me, she says, "What's done is done. Beck's handling it now and we need to trust in what he's doing."
I nod in agreement but hating every minute we wait for him to return from what could be either a fool's or a hero's mission.
"Why don't you come into the kitchen," Caroline says. "I made some tuna fish salad. I'll fix you a sandwich."
My stomach rumbles, and it hits me I haven't eaten since breakfast. While you would think the fact I murdered someone in a grisly fashion not five hours ago would suppress my appetite, I find myself strangely famished.
I nod and roll off the bed. Grabbing a pair of jeans from the dresser, I slip them on and follow Caroline down the hall.
"Is Ally okay?" I ask hesitantly. When I came into the condo, she was too consumed with TV to do much more than give me a sideways glance and mumble, "Hey, Sela," before turning her eyes back to the flat screen. Luckily, the hoodie I stole from JT covered the blood, so even if she had paid more attention to me, it's unlikely she would have seen anything to traumatize her.
"She's fine," Caroline assures me in an undertone. "She's a smart kid and senses something, but she's also happily watching her favorite show. I fed her while you were in the shower and she'll probably fall asleep on the couch before too long."
I glance at the couch as we walk into the living room, and Ally is lying there with a soft chenille blanket, normally kept in the hall closet, tucked around her. Her eyes are drowsy looking as she stares at Sofia the First. I want to go over to her, stroke her soft hair and act as if nothing's wrong. I want to joke with her, see her dimples and bask in the joy of a little girl just hanging out at her Uncle Beck's for the night.
But I don't because I'm afraid I might crumble from just her sweet ordinary child ways, which would be too much goodness for me to comprehend right now. Ally is the one good thing that came out of all this family's horror.
So I walk past her and follow Caroline to the kitchen, but just as we cross in front of the foyer, I hear the key slipping into the dead bolt of the door and I pause to see Beck walking in.
My heart slams to almost a complete halt, my chest constricting and the breath going stale in my lungs. He looks scared and stressed, and while there's probably a million different possibilities that could cause that, my first thought is that JT isn't dead.