Livia Lone

56-NOW

Livia arrived by taxi a block from the MacKinnons’ house at a little past noon after a nonstop from Seattle. She didn’t like Lyft and Uber. Whenever possible, she preferred not to leave a trail.

It was a postcard day in San Francisco-cool, clear, breezy, hard blue skies. She could smell star jasmine in the air, and it reminded her of college. She liked this city, and in fact had considered joining SFPD after graduating. But Seattle was her best route to Nason, and that had trumped everything.

She walked up Vallejo and stood for a moment in front of the house, the sun warm on her face. It was a relatively modest place for the neighborhood-on the small side, with a brown wood façade, and a shingle roof rather than the tile of some of the enormous dwellings nearby. Unlike the Lone mansion in Llewellyn, it felt real-designed to be lived in, not to make a statement. Still, the back faced north, and would command spectacular views of the Golden Gate Bridge and the bay. This was no starter home.

She went through the gate, stepped under the archway, and rang the bell. She looked up and saw a security camera. Well, so much for not leaving a trail. Not that it mattered. She was only here to talk.

A moment later, the door opened. The woman in the Facebook photo-no question, Becky Lone, a.k.a. Rebecca MacKinnon. An attractive woman, mid-sixties, fit-looking, prosperous, well preserved. She had short gray hair and a minimum of makeup, and was dressed in a smart navy pantsuit. A lady who lunched, Livia thought. And maybe lunch was in fact where she was heading.

Beside MacKinnon was a large German shepherd. The animal neither barked nor growled. It simply remained still and watched Livia. It was obviously well trained, and intimidating in its calm watchfulness. Livia had the sense that if it hadn’t been for the dog, MacKinnon wouldn’t have opened the door, even though it was only a petite Asian woman in the security camera feed.

“Can I help you?” MacKinnon said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Livia said, holding out her badge. “My name is Livia Lone. I’m a sex crimes detective with Seattle PD.”

At the mention of Livia’s name, MacKinnon’s pupils dilated and her face paled. The dog remained silent, but seemed to tense slightly. Livia realized it would take no more than a word from MacKinnon and the animal would launch itself. She didn’t think it would come to that, but she ran a mental play of stepping offline and bringing out the Vaari from the side pocket of her cargo pants. She could deploy the blade faster than she could the Glock. Traveling as a cop had its advantages, among them being you didn’t have to disarm to get on a plane.

“I’m not here in any kind of official capacity,” Livia said, “but I’d be grateful if you could help me understand a few things.”

“I don’t… really know what I could help you with,” MacKinnon said, taking what looked like an unconscious step backward, her hand gripping the door.

“Becky,” Livia said evenly, “I think you do.”

At that, the dog growled.

The woman pursed her lips and slowly shook her head. Her knuckles whitening on the door, she said, “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“No. I’m sure you don’t. I’m sure you don’t want to talk to anyone. But your refusal to talk? Your refusal to say anything? It’s why your brother Fred was able to do to me the same things that happened to you. So I think you owe me that talk. I think you owe me at least that much.”

She wasn’t positive she was right. But MacKinnon’s behavior so far had strengthened her suspicions, and emboldened her to bluff. If she was right, it would be a powerful gambit-when a suspect became convinced the detective already knew much of what the suspect might say, the suspect became significantly more inclined to confess. Because what was the harm, anyway?

For a long moment, Livia thought the woman was going to close the door in her face. Or maybe sic the dog on her. Then her body seemed to sag. She nodded and opened the door.

Livia stepped inside, the dog’s head swiveling to follow her as she passed. She had been right about the view. The windows in back were massive, and she could see everything-the bay, sparkling in the sun; the bridge spanning it; the green hills of Marin on the far side. She noticed MacKinnon’s bare feet, and that there were shoes lined up by the door. She took off her own. The tile was warm. It must have been heated.

MacKinnon closed the door. “Why don’t we sit in the kitchen,” she said. “Can I offer you something?”

Her tone was so chilly and begrudging, it reminded Livia of Mrs. Lone’s courtesies. Though the kitchen was encouraging. The living room was for putting people off. The kitchen was always where business got done.

“I don’t want anything from you,” Livia said. “Just the truth about your brothers.”

MacKinnon stared at her, then dropped her eyes. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“Becky. A minute ago you heard my name and it looked like your breakfast was going to come up. You knew. You learned your brother Fred had taken in a little Thai refugee girl. You knew why.” Her voice started to rise. “You knew what he was going to do to me. You knew what that was like.”

The dog growled again. MacKinnon did nothing to calm it. Livia looked in its eyes. You want to try me? she thought. Come on, then. Let’s see who’s faster. And who has sharper claws.

MacKinnon glanced at the dog. “Easy, girl,” she said. “Easy.”

Livia wasn’t sure which of them she was talking to. She didn’t care. After all she had endured at the hands of MacKinnon’s brother, the notion that the woman would feign ignorance was enraging. “So don’t tell me you don’t know what I mean,” she went on. “You know exactly what I mean. I want to know what happened to you. And to your sister, Ophelia.”

By the time she was done speaking, MacKinnon had lost so much color that Livia thought the woman might pass out. She seemed to wobble for a moment, then righted herself. “Won’t you please sit,” she said, gesturing to the kitchen. “I’ll make some tea. And we’ll… we’ll talk.”

Livia sat at a wooden table next to another enormous window overlooking the bay, making sure the handle of the Vaari protruded just slightly from her pocket so she could reach it instantly if she needed to. MacKinnon filled a kettle and put it on the restaurant-style stove. Livia glanced around, taking in the fine cabinets, the high-end appliances. It looked like law had been good to William MacKinnon. Or maybe his wife had built a career, too. Although somehow, Livia doubted it. She felt she was looking at someone who had built a home instead.

Or rather, rebuilt one.

“Green tea?” MacKinnon asked. “I drink jasmine myself, but we have several.”

“Jasmine’s fine. Thank you.”

“Honey?”

Livia wanted to shout, Enough with the stupid formalities, tell me what I want to know!

But she’d interrogated enough suspects, and cajoled enough reluctant witnesses, to understand the value of respect. And patience. This woman was about to discuss matters she had prayed for close to half a century would never catch up to her. She was collecting herself, bracing herself, and it would be foolish not to allow her time to do it.

“Honey would be lovely. Thank you.”

MacKinnon led the dog to another room and closed the door, and Livia had the strangest sense the woman didn’t want it to hear what she might say. Whatever the reason, she was glad it was gone for the time being.

Then the water had to be poured, the tea had to steep, the honey had to be stirred in. And Livia had to take a sip, and acknowledge that it was delicious, thank you. And then she waited again, letting the silence do its job.

MacKinnon took a sip of tea, then set the cup back on the saucer. Livia waited. It was so quiet she could hear the hum of the refrigerator.

MacKinnon put her hands on the table and looked at them. “My father was a monster,” she said quietly.

Livia didn’t speak, or even move. She did nothing except wait.

“He…” There was a pause. MacKinnon was still looking down, and Livia couldn’t see her face. But she sensed the woman was crying.

“He…” She exhaled sharply, then looked at Livia, her eyes glistening. “Please don’t make me talk about this. Please.”

The woman’s expression was so dignified, and her pain so poignant, that Livia might have felt compassion for her. And maybe she did feel something. But she pushed it away. This woman was the key to Nason. And that’s all that mattered.

“I had a sister,” Livia said evenly. “Her name was Nason. Sixteen years ago, she went missing. I’ve been searching for her ever since. What you know could help me find her. So please. Go on.”

MacKinnon took a deep breath and let it out. She adjusted herself in the chair. “My father. He believed… daughters belong to their fathers. Do you understand?”

Sometimes, euphemisms and other vague references could help a reluctant victim give a statement. This time, Livia sensed brutal truth would be the better tool. “Your father believed fathers should be able to fuck their daughters.”

MacKinnon winced. “He believed a daughter’s body was her father’s right. Until she was married, when her body would belong to her husband. And he believed… that brothers, also…”

“He believed brothers should be able to fuck their sisters.”

MacKinnon sobbed. “Please don’t make me talk about this,” she whispered.

“Your father. Your brothers. They were abusing Ophelia, weren’t they?”

MacKinnon got up and tore off a length of paper towels from a rack on the counter. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, wadded up the towel, and threw it into a garbage container under the sink. Then she grabbed another length and came back to the table.

“My father started abusing Ophelia when she was thirteen.”

She paused for a moment, as though collecting herself.

“Your mother?” Livia said, already knowing the answer from having worked too many cases of fathers raping their daughters and stepdaughters.

MacKinnon shook her head. “She was terrified of my father. And she blamed Ophelia for what was happening.”

She paused again, then said, “When Ezra turned thirteen, my father made Ophelia service him, too. And when Fred turned thirteen, it was the same. All three of them.” Her voice cracked. “Using her. Whenever they wanted. However they liked. Her father. And her brothers.”

She wiped her eyes. “Then, when I turned thirteen, it was my turn to be put to use. And…”

Her voice cracked again, and she broke down for a moment, her face downcast, her shoulders shaking. Then she took several deep breaths and wiped her eyes again. “And Ophelia… she wouldn’t let them.”

“Your sister tried to protect you,” Livia said, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure who she was referring to, herself or Ophelia. Both, maybe. Despite all the years of professional reserve, she felt her own eyes well up.

MacKinnon nodded. “She fought them,” she whispered.

Livia could imagine her little bird so clearly. The blood between her legs. Her thumb in her mouth. Her vacant eyes. Her unresponsive body as Livia held her and cried.

“But they did it anyway,” Livia said.

MacKinnon looked at her, her face twisted. “They made her watch,” she said, and her voice cracked again.

Livia made no attempt to hide her own tears. “I’m sorry, Becky.”

“And then they made me watch. My father said, ‘You see, boys? This is what we do to disobedient girls.’”

Livia remembered Fred Lone’s fixation on her own “disobedience.” She forced away her disgust.

MacKinnon wiped her eyes again. “So. Now you know about my family.”

There was a long pause while they both collected themselves. Then Livia said, “I think your brothers, at considerable risk and expense, arranged for my sister and me to be shipped to Llewellyn from our village in Thailand. Could what you’ve been telling me be why they wanted sisters? I was thirteen. Nason was eleven. Could your brothers have wanted to… I don’t know, recreate what they were doing to you and Ophelia when you were a similar age?”

MacKinnon looked like she might be sick. “Oh, my God,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

It made sense. It fit. And as horrible as it was, there was satisfaction in piecing it all together.

She thought of how she had felt after what Skull Face and his men had done to Nason. How she had wanted to die. How the only thing that had made her keep eating, made her keep herself alive, was that Nason might need her. Looking back, she was amazed she hadn’t succumbed to her longing for oblivion. For Ophelia Lone, it seemed, the sirens of oblivion had sung louder.

“Is that when Ophelia jumped from the window?” she said.

MacKinnon looked at her, her face slowly contorting. “That’s a lie,” she hissed.

Livia blinked. “What?”

“They told everyone she jumped. But she never would have. Never.”

Livia stared at her for a moment, feeling like she’d been hit by a throw she hadn’t seen coming and slammed into the tatami. She had been remembering her own despair, her own longing for death, and had projected it onto another tormented teenage girl. And the projection had blinded her to another, even more horrifying possibility.

She would never have made a mistake like that as a cop. But this, she realized… this was too close to her. It was interfering with her judgment.

She shook her head, as though doing so might clear it. “You think your father-”

“I think it was Ezra. But”-her voice cracked again-“she was the only one who loved me. She would never have left me alone to them. Not for anything.”

“Why do you think it was Ezra?”

“Because he was the most horrible. For my father and Fred, it was mostly about power. And sex, of course. But Ezra… he liked to hurt us. And… he told Ophelia he was going to do something to me. Something he liked to do to her. And she told him if he did that, she would tell. She would go to the police. He could do what he liked to her, but not to me. And you know what he told me after she died?”

Livia was afraid she did know. But she said nothing.

“He told me, ‘That’s what will happen to you if you ever say anything.’ And then he did the thing to me anyway. I begged him. I was screaming. I told him he was killing me. And he just laughed and did it harder. After that, I don’t even remember. I think I blacked out.”

A moment went by. Then MacKinnon said, “I knew better than to scream, but I couldn’t help it. Whatever made me scream became his favorite thing. So I learned not to. Just to be passive, and wait for it to be over. But really, that only made it worse. It frustrated him, and made him look for new ways to make me scream.”

Livia looked at her. “Why didn’t you ever tell anyone?”

MacKinnon returned her look. “Why didn’t you?”

Livia scrubbed the back of her hand across her wet cheeks. “Because no one would have believed me. I was just a little refugee girl. And your brother was the most revered man in Llewellyn.”

“Well then, you already know why.”

“But all these years… don’t you understand? Your brothers… they had my sister and me taken all the way from Thailand. And who knows how many other children they’ve raped, traumatized, destroyed, that we’ll never even know about? You could have stopped that. Maybe not when you were a child, but any time after.”

“Don’t you dare judge me. Look at you. What have you ever done to stop it?”

“I did stop it.”

She said it before she could think not to.

There was a long pause. MacKinnon looked at her, understanding slowly dawning in her eyes. Livia thought she was going to ask, and prepared a denial.

But the woman only nodded grimly. “Good,” she said, and her tone was as cold as the frozen grass over Fred Lone’s grave. Then she added in a whisper, “I hope you made him suffer.”

Livia said nothing.

MacKinnon blinked, then straightened. She took a sip of tea, then returned the cup to the saucer. “For what it’s worth, if I could go back, I would have said something. But in college, I was just overwhelmed to finally be free of them all. I didn’t want to do anything that could jeopardize that. And then I met Bill, my future husband. He didn’t know about any of it. And I didn’t want him to know. Didn’t want any connection between what they had done to me and the life I was trying to build. And then we had children, and I couldn’t bear to put them through all that. And Ezra… he always told me he would kill me if I ever told. And I believed him. I still believe him. You know what he did when our first child, David, was born?”

Livia looked at her and again said nothing.

“He sent me a baby outfit and a card, congratulating me on the birth of his nephew. And telling me David reminded him of Ophelia. No one else would know what that meant. But I did.”

They were both quiet for a moment. Then MacKinnon said, “Do you see? I hadn’t been in touch with Ezra since leaving Llewellyn. I never told any of them I was getting married. Or taking my husband’s name. Or moving to San Francisco. Or my home address. I did everything I could to keep all that hidden. Ezra was telling me none of my efforts mattered. He was watching. He could get to me. And he could get to my children.”

She took another sip of tea. “So. I am sorry. Truly sorry. For what you and your sister have gone through. And if there’s a way I can… redress that, I hope I’ll have that chance. But in the meantime, I hope you’ll at least understand. I’ve had my reasons.”

Livia nodded. “I do understand.”

MacKinnon looked at her, her face carefully set. “Thank you.”

There was a long pause. Then Livia said, “But if you’re serious about redress, I have an idea about how.”