Fatal Accusation (The Fatal Series)

by Marie Force

  Malone nodded. “There were also texts between Hernandez and Gallagher, and if that’s not enough, the deep dive on the Conklins’ phones uncovered cryptic texts between Hernandez and Conklin over the last few months that show a connection between the two of them. Taken in context, it’s clear that Hernandez knew about your dad’s shooting, and Conklin knew he knew. So today, I have to arrest yet another high-ranking member of our own department, as well as file new charges against Conklin for holding out on us on Hernandez’s involvement. Thus, I hate my life.”

  “I’m sorry.” Sam felt sick hearing another high-ranking officer had sat on the info for years. The betrayal cut her to the quick.

  “Not your fault.”

  “Everyone will make it my fault, I’m sure.” Any time a fellow officer was accused of wrongdoing as part of one of her investigations, they tried to make her the problem.

  Malone’s brows narrowed with displeasure. “Let them try. This is on Hernandez and his guilty conscience that had him sending that anonymous note during the investigation. He made his own bed, and now he can sleep in it.”

  “At least he wasn’t one of my dad’s good friends.”

  “There is that.”

  “What’s this going to mean for the chief?”

  “He’s making a statement expressing his profound disappointment in Captain Hernandez’s choices as well as his culpability in the Holland/Coyne murder investigation. He’s got a line in there that perfectly sums up how we both feel about the latest goings-on. He says he’ll go to any lengths necessary to ensure the officers working under his command are doing so with the highest ethical and moral values.”

  Sam’s stomach soured when she thought of Gonzo committing a crime to feed his addiction, and her orders to her team to dig for dirt on Ramsey.

  “Hopefully, that’ll keep the jackals off his ass after word about Hernandez gets out.” Malone took a deep breath and released it. “Where are we with the Weber investigation?”

  “I’ve got a lead on the site that first posted the news of the affair. Cruz and I are headed there to talk to the CEO-slash-editor in a few.”

  “Glad to hear the dating app came through with some useful info.”

  “They did, but we still need the phone data.”

  He stood to leave. “I’m working on that.”

  “Hey, Cap?”

  Turning back to her, he raised a brow.

  “What’s the thought on Gonzales?”

  “The chief and I discussed it and after he completes rehab, we’ll talk to him. Ramsey has been warned that spreading rumors about fellow officers won’t reflect well on him.”

  “So there’s a lid on it for now, then. That’s good.”

  “We might be able to spin it as an effect of the illness. I’m working that angle.”

  “I’m concerned that Ramsey is looking for dirt on my squad to get back at me for the real and perceived slights.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past him. This would be a great time to let your squad know that it’s never been more important to keep their noses clean, on and off the job.”

  “Will do. Keep me posted on what you hear about Gonzo’s situation?”

  “As much as I can.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Before you head out, can you please update the media about the Weber investigation?”

  “If I must.”

  “You must.”

  “All right.” Sam watched him go, noting the weight of his responsibilities in the rounding of his shoulders. He would want to protect his friend the chief from any more disasters, but he couldn’t protect him from the shit other officers stepped into on and off the job.

  In preparation for the media briefing, she went through the updates from the other detectives on her squad that had come in overnight and first thing this morning. They didn’t have much of anything new, so she’d have to wing it.

  When she was as ready as she ever got to face off with the press, she ran a brush through her hair, put on some lipstick and went to leave her office.

  She was blocked by a massive arrangement of multicolored roses. “Um, what the hell?”

  “For you, LT,” Jeannie McBride said from the other side of the roses.

  Sam’s annoyance was immediately replaced with giddiness. She stepped aside so Jeannie could put them on her desk. “I really hope those are from my husband.”

  Jeannie handed her a card. “This fell out of them.”

  Sam opened it and read the message.

  No matter what happens, we’ve got this. Don’t ever forget that. Love you. —N.

  She sighed with pleasure and happiness and love for him, a love so big it was too much for one heart to hold.

  Then she realized Jeannie was still there and felt slightly embarrassed.

  “They’re gorgeous,” Jeannie said. “Tell Nick I said well done.”

  “I will.” Sam tucked the card into her pocket and gestured for Jeannie to lead the way out of the office.

  Cameron Green looked up from his monitor. “Are they making you brief the press?”

  “What was the giveaway?”

  “Um, the lipstick?”

  Sam laughed. “I can’t look like a total troll. I’ve got an image to uphold. Anyone got anything new before I head out?”

  They didn’t, so she went on her way to the lobby where the chief and captain waited for her.

  “You don’t have to come out with me,” Sam said to the chief. “I’ve got it covered.”

  “I’m coming.” He gestured for her to lead the way, his expression closed off and seemingly resigned to whatever shit would be thrown his way.

  When they walked out together, the larger-than-usual group of reporters snapped to attention.

  Sam didn’t see Darren’s usually friendly face in the mix. “I don’t have a lot to say about the Weber investigation other than we’re continuing to follow the leads and work the case the way we always do. While we understand the greater-than-usual interest in this one due to her relationship with the president, we’re doing everything we always do for homicide victims. Our tip line is open and we urge the public to report anything they know that might be relevant.” She recited the number twice. “I can inform you at this time that President Nelson has most likely been ruled out as the father of Tara Weber’s newborn son. We’re trying to determine who else might’ve fathered her child, and anyone with information pertaining to the paternity of her child should reach out to us.” She again recited the phone number. “At this time, I’ll take a few questions.”

  They came at her in a barrage of shouted words that she ignored until they realized she wasn’t going to play that way. Hands shot up in the air.

  She pointed to one of the female TV reporters.

  “How do you know the baby isn’t Nelson’s?”

  “He had a vasectomy after the birth of his last child and has provided documentation to that effect.”

  Sam pointed to a male reporter from the Post.

  “The president is under tremendous pressure to resign in the wake of his affair with Tara Weber. Are you and the vice president prepared for that possibility?”

  “Next.” Sam pointed to a male TV reporter. It always amused her that the TV reporters were much better groomed than the print reporters, who tended to look like a bunch of hobos with notebooks.

  “We’re hearing that the first lady is moving back home to South Dakota. Can you confirm that?”

  “You’d have to check with the White House about anything having to do with the Nelsons and the vice president. If that’s it?”

  “Lieutenant, our viewers would like to know if you and the vice president are still planning to have children of your own.”

  The question came from a dark-haired TV reporter, a woman Sam didn’t recognize, not that it mattered. It too
k everything she had to hold back the urge to walk around the podium and throttle the woman. “We already have children of our own.”

  “You know what I mean,” the woman said, digging a deeper hole for herself.

  “No, I’m afraid I don’t.” The implication was so big, so overwhelmingly offensive, she could barely process it.

  “Biological children.”

  “Ah, I see. Real children, you mean.”

  Sam couldn’t believe when the woman actually nodded. “I hope you know how incredibly offensive and ignorant that question is. We have real children. Three of them, whom we love the same way you love your real children.” She shook her head in utter disgust. “I’m done.”

  Turning, she walked away, fueled by outrage.

  “That was so far out of line as to be unreal,” the chief said when they were inside. “I’m sorry you were subjected to that.”

  “People are stupid.” She looked up at him, noting the exhaustion etched into his face. “How’re you holding up?”

  “I’m fine. You heard about Hernandez, I understand?”

  “I did.”

  “I’m sorry, Sam. I hate that you were let down by colleagues who should’ve done better.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Isn’t it? They worked for me.”

  “I understand that the buck stops with you, but you can’t control what other people do. You set the best possible example for all of us to follow. People will make their own decisions when it comes to crossing lines. That’s not on you.”

  “I appreciate your support and Celia’s, but you know as well as I do that not everyone thinks the way you do.”

  “It’s a blip. This too shall pass. Something else will happen that’ll have everyone scrambling for the next big story. People are focused on the president at the moment.”

  “Plenty of reporters and city administrators are focused on this department too. I’ve even heard talk of an independent investigation by the FBI.”

  That shocked her to the core. “Seriously?”

  “Nothing definite, but the mayor has to do something in light of the scandals that’ve been revealed in recent months. The city council is after her to find out if it’s a symptom of a larger problem.”

  “Like the city council should talk! They had a murderer in their ranks for almost thirty years.”

  “Right? But you can’t tell them that. The way I see it, I have nothing to hide. If she wants to send the FBI in to investigate us, I’m not going to fight it.”

  “I really hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “You and me both. I’ll let you get back to work. An arrest in the Weber case would be helpful.”

  “I’m on it.” She took a heavy heart with her back to the pit. “Cruz, let’s go. Everyone else—stay on the Weber case. Leave no stone unturned.”

  She headed for the door, still fuming over the obscene question she’d been asked.

  “We were watching the briefing,” Freddie said as they navigated the winding corridors that led to the morgue exit. “I’m sorry that you were asked such a horrible question.”

  “People suck.”

  “Yes, they certainly do.” Her phone rang and she took a call from Nick. “Assume you saw the press briefing.”

  “I’m fucking furious.”

  “You and me both.”

  “I’m planning to issue a statement letting that reporter and anyone else know that our three real children are off-limits and that neither you nor I will ever answer questions about our plans or lack thereof in regard to our family.”

  “It’s very sexy when you use words like thereof.”

  “Sam! I’m serious. I’m bullshit pissed right now.”

  “I know,” she said, sighing. “I am too. How could anyone ask something like that?”

  “I have no idea, but I also plan to address it with the management at her network. She shouldn’t be allowed out until she gets some decorum.”

  “That’s a good idea. Thanks for taking care of it and thank you for the gorgeous flowers.”

  “Of course I’m taking care of it, and you’re welcome. No one is going to get away with coming at my family like that. Not while I’ve got a breath left in me.”

  “And you will have breath left in you for another sixty years.”

  “At least that long. If not longer.”

  “Longer would be good.”

  “Are you okay, babe?”

  “I’m better now. Thanks for calling and going to war for us.”

  “I’d say I’m happy to, but the fact that I have to even address something like this is infuriating, to say the least.”

  “Yes, it really is.” She got into the driver’s side of her car and tried to find the inner calm she needed to focus on her work. “I’m off to see the head of DailyPolitic about the origins of the Nelson affair story. Do you know Tim Finley?”

  “I know the name. He gained a reputation for hard-hitting coverage of the last campaign.”

  “Was he fair?”

  “For the most part.”

  “Well, that’s something. I’ll let you get back to work.”

  “Are you working late today?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I’ll hit you with a text when I do.”

  “Sounds good. Be careful out there.”

  “Always am.” She ended the call, and when she snapped the phone closed it came apart in her hand. “Oh shit!”

  “What?” Freddie asked.

  Sam showed him the two halves of her phone.

  “Uh-oh.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “WHAT DO I DO?” Sam tried not to panic over the demise of her beloved flip phone.

  “Get a new phone?”

  “I don’t want a new phone. I want this phone. I bet they can fix it.”

  “Um...”

  She could tell he was trying not to laugh. If he laughed, she’d stab him. “When am I going to deal with this?”

  “After we talk to Finley?”

  “This isn’t funny.”

  “I’m not laughing.”

  “You are too! I can hear it trying to come out of you.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “And this is news to you? Text Nick and tell him my phone broke and if he needs me, to text you.”

  “Anything else I can do for you, madame?”

  “Just that and hurry up about it.” Being without her phone only added to the edgy, anxious feeling she’d been contending with all day. The kids’ schools had Nick’s number and Shelby’s, so there was no chance of them being left sick or stranded or anything else, but being out of touch made her feel a little crazier than usual. And then it occurred to her—the number one reason why she’d needed to be reachable at all times was gone now that her dad had passed away.

  They’d lived in restless uncertainty for four long years after his near-fatal injury, always waiting for the next disaster to strike. It was, she realized, a relief to no longer have to fear the endgame for him. She no sooner had that thought than she felt guilty for being relieved that he was gone. It wasn’t that so much as she was glad his dreadful injury was out of her life. This grief business was complicated. The next time she saw Dr. Trulo, she’d ask him about the dueling emotions of relief and sorrow.

  Two blocks from the offices of DailyPolitic, Sam found a parking space and parallel parked.

  “You’re very good at that,” Freddie said.

  “Skip wouldn’t let us drive away in a car of his until we could parallel park.” She hadn’t thought of that in a long time. “We thought he was so mean making us learn that until we figured out how much we would need it living here.”

  “He was a smart man in more ways than one.”

  “Yeah.” It would take a lifetime to fully
catalog all the lessons he’d taught her and how almost all of them played into her daily life.

  “Nick texted back and said he hopes you can get another flip phone, and if you can’t he’s moving out.” Freddie lost it laughing. “And I’m asking for a reassignment.”

  “You two have your laughs. I will get another flip phone, and I will be slapping it shut with satisfaction before the end of the day.”

  “God, I hope so.”

  “What’d you find out about Finley?”

  “He’s a graduate of the Columbia School of Journalism and worked for most of his career as a DC-based reporter for the New York Times. He left the Times four years ago and started DailyPolitic three years ago. The site made its mark during the last presidential campaign and has been growing in influence and revenue ever since. I found an article that had it listed as one of the top five political news sites of the last year. He’s married with two kids in college and lives in Potomac.”

  “Good work.” The info painted a picture of a man who’d had a successful career in journalism that he’d parlayed into a new business that had found its niche during the campaign.

  They got out of the car and walked toward their destination, heads down against the bracing chill.

  “I hate the cold.”

  “Ugh, me too. Sucks.”

  The crappy weather made everything harder than it was the rest of the year, not to mention the DC area was paralyzed by the slightest bit of snow or ice. They approached the information desk, where a receptionist asked where they were heading.

  “DailyPolitic,” Sam said after showing her badge.

  The woman handed them visitor passes. “Third floor.”

  “Thank you. And may I say how much I appreciate your quick cooperation.”

  “No problem, Mrs. Cappuano.”

  Normally, Sam would correct her and say she was Lieutenant Holland on the job, but in light of the woman’s outstanding cooperation, she let it slide. “Maybe we can hire her to do a training for all city receptionists on the proper way to greet and handle cops when they show up at your place of business.”

  “That’s an excellent idea.”

  “Get on that, will you?”

  “No, I won’t, but it’s nice to dream.”