Mercy

‘Did she confide in anyone? A friend? A relative?’

‘Not really. I mean, she got on well with Jonathan, but—’

‘That’s her brother, yes?’

‘Yes. But he was younger—five years younger. She probably didn’t talk to him about it because he wouldn’t have understood—and also, she wouldn’t have wanted to put the burden of her problems on him.’

‘So you’re saying she kept her problems bottled up?’

‘That’s right.’

Alex’s mind was racing ahead. A girl with problems and no one to talk to? That was a perfect recipe for suicide. But there was no body. And how did all that incriminating evidence end up in the apartment where Burrow and his mother lived?

‘Could I ask you another thing, Mrs Olsen? About Dorothy liquidating her trust fund and buying that expensive jewelry. Do you have any idea why she might have done that?’

‘No.’

Esther Olsen sounded tired, as if she had been through all this many times before—which she probably had.

‘Was she the sort of girl who was interested in jewelry?’

‘No, not really.’

‘And you don’t have a clue where the jewelry is?’

‘I…I thought that maybe Burrow stole it…when he killed her.’

‘But now?’

He was prompting her, picking up on her hesitance.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Do you think she may have been planning to run away?’

‘She…might have been.’

‘Could she have been planning to run away with Clayton Burrow?’

‘Certainly not! She hated him! And he hated her!’

‘Are you sure it wasn’t just an act?’

‘No, Mr Sedaka, it definitely wasn’t an act!’

Alex had been speculating that maybe Burrow had tricked her into thinking he was going to run away with her and persuaded her to liquidate her trust fund and then killed her and stolen the jewelry. But Esther Olsen’s reaction had pretty much quashed that theory. She may have been estranged from her daughter, but a mother’s perceptions counted for something. And if Esther Olsen said that Dorothy wasn’t planning on running away with Clayton Burrow, then Dorothy Olsen was not planning on running away with Clayton Burrow.

‘Can you think of anyone at all that she might have spoken to? A friend that she might have confided in?’

He waited a while for an answer.

‘There was one thing,’ Esther Olsen’s voice came out of the silence.

‘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 midmorning 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 on to 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 for the procedure.

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 reflected, 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. That was about right. 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 face, 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 with 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.

‘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.

‘You just had me spend a lot of time online and now you’re just going to give up?’

‘Did you find anything?’

‘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.

‘That doesn’t make sense. If he was trying to protect someone then why not just confess to the murder and say that he doesn’t remember where he buried the body?’

‘Or maybe he’s telling the truth. Maybe he was framed.’

This time it was Nat who made a dismissive gesture.

‘Ah, come on. You’re not buying that, are you?’ He put on a redneck hillbilly tone, gesticulating at the same time. ‘“She faked her own death and framed me.” That’s just a crock of shit straight out of a comic book.’

‘Maybe it wasn’t Dorothy who framed him. Maybe someone else killed Dorothy and framed Clayton.’

‘How did they put his fingerprints on the knife?’ Nat wasn’t letting up.

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

‘With her blood on the blade?’

‘Maybe she got some of her own blood and wiped the knife on it—using gloves and being careful not to leave any fingerprints of her own.’

‘So we’re back to blaming Dorothy,’ Juanita chimed in, handing them their coffee mugs.

Alex realized that his theory didn’t stand up. As they made their way to Juanita’s office, he shifted back to his earlier line.

‘Well maybe it was her. Maybe Dorothy set him up for some kind of revenge.’

‘And presumably she also planted the blood-stained panties?’

Nat chuckled when Juanita said this. But Alex wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

‘She could have done.’

‘And Burrow’s semen?’ asked Juanita.

‘Maybe they slept together.’

Juanita was trying very hard not to roll her eyes.

‘So let’s see,’ she said. ‘Dorothy Olsen sleeps with Burrow, gets his semen, stains her panties with blood and his semen, plants them under the floorboards in his apartment, takes the knife from under his pillow, wipes her blood on it and plants that too, then calls the police using a voice changer device and tips them off.’

‘That’s the theory,’ said Alex, realizing how absurd it all sounded.

‘Now all we need is motive,’ Juanita suggested, echoing Alex’s own comment at his meeting with Burrow at San Quentin.

‘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.

‘Whatever,’ Nat replied.

Alex was shaking his head.

‘What sort of DNA comparison did they do at the time?’ he asked.

‘How do you mean?’ Nat replied.

‘There are different types of DNA test. Short Tandem Repeat? Low Copy Number?’

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 delight. ‘They did a standard nucleic DNA test on the breast tissue.’

‘Remind me who they compared it to,’ said Alex.

Juanita’s eyes skimmed the page.

‘They compared it to…ah, yes, here it is: both to Mrs Olsen and Jonathan.’

‘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.’

‘Wait a minute,’Alex perked up,‘what does that mean?’

Juanita flipped over a few pages and carried on looking.

‘It means that they share only one common parent? They decided to make sure by doing a separate test using 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.’

‘But I thought mitochondrial DNA was only passed on to girls,’ said Alex.

‘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 with the test using nucleic DNA 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.

It was too strong a coincidence to dismiss.

‘Is anything wrong, dear?’ his wife asked, entering the room.

‘Nothing,’ he replied. But he knew that his tone was unconvincing.

Elizabeth sidled up to him and put a comforting arm round him.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked gently.

He couldn’t tell her—not yet at any rate. Maybe when he was sure. But not yet.

‘Just a bit of trouble at the clinic.’

‘Complications?’

She meant medical complications. The worst thing that could happen to any private clinic was medical complications leading to death or serious damage. Even if it was covered by the insurance, a successful claim could massively push up the insurance premiums, as well as damaging the reputation of the clinic and decimating its future client base.

‘Not that sort. Just a bit of personnel wrangling.’

It was an intentional red herring but he regretted having said it. Firstly, he regretted lying to his wife on principle. Secondly, he could imagine her now having visions of a cat fight between the nurses.

He went back to the kitchen to finish his coq au vin, warming it up in the microwave. But he ate quickly, not savoring it as he had before. And as soon as he had finished, he went to the living room—a quasi space-age environment of white leather, glass and chrome. Flopping down on the couch, he switched on the 50-inch LCD TV using the remote and flipped through several news channels. At first he clicked on CNN, but then remembered that Susan White had named another channel.

His wife wasn’t a great one for TV and was quite happy to read a book while he surfed the digital channels. But his odd behavior could hardly be expected to pass without comment.

‘Why the sudden interest in American news?’ she asked.

Stuart kept his eyes glued to the screen.

‘I just need to check up on something.’

Then he sat there watching a report about basketball. This was rolling news. If what Nurse White had said was correct, it would come round again.

He had to see for himself.

11:55 PDT

‘No, Mr Governor, I swear I didn’t leak anything to the press…I don’t know…No, sir, I’m sure it wasn’t anyone in my office…There was a guard outside the cell, but he couldn’t have heard anyth…Well yes, I suppose he might have told the guard…Okay, I’ll check it out…Yes, sir, I will.’

After hearing of Martine’s report, Alex had expected the governor to give him hell. But even he hadn’t realized just how forceful Dusenbury could be. Crucially, though, the governor had not withdrawn the clemency offer.

Alex wondered who the source of the leak was. It could have been anyone. The governor was right. A careless word from Burrow to the cell guard. A bit of gossip through the prison grapevine…and then someone decided to put in a call to the TV station.

Alex tried to put it aside. He had to focus. Nat was in his office going through the school yearbooks and checking up online to see if he could find out any more about the conflict between Dorothy and Clayton Burrow. Alex had remained with Juanita to discuss the DNA evidence further. All the while, a thought had been nagging away at him.