by Linda Howard
“I’m sorry I dragged you over here for nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing—” Her words got stuck in her throat when he ran a finger over her cheek. His touch was so light she would have missed it if she hadn’t been staring at him.
“You’re tired.”
She shrugged, her heart slamming around in her chest. “I haven’t been sleeping too well lately.”
“I read all the coverage of what happened. It wasn’t your fault, Sam.”
“Tell that to Quentin Johnson. It wasn’t his fault, either.”
“His father should’ve put his son’s safety ahead of saving his crack stash.”
“I was counting on the fact that he would. I should’ve known better. How someone could put their child in that kind of danger…I’ll just never understand it.”
“I’m sorry it happened to you. It broke my heart to read about it.”
Sam found it hard to look away. “I, um…I should go.”
“Before you do, there’s just one thing I really need to know.”
“What?” she whispered.
He released her hand, cupped her face and tilted it to receive his kiss.
As his lips moved softly over hers, Sam summoned every ounce of fortitude she possessed and broke the kiss. “I can’t, Nick. Not during the investigation.” But oh how she wanted to keep kissing him!
“I was dying to know if it would be like I remembered.”
Her eyes closed against the onslaught of emotions. “And was it?”
“Even better,” he said, going back for more.
“Wait. Nick. Wait.” She kept her hand on his chest to stop him from getting any closer. “We can’t do this. Not now. Not when I’m in the middle of a homicide investigation that involves you.”
“I didn’t do it.” He reached up to release the clip that held her hair and combed his fingers through the length as it tumbled free.
Unnerved by the intimate gesture, she stepped back from him. “I know you didn’t, but you’re still involved. I’ve got enough problems right now without adding an inappropriate fling with a witness to the list.”
“Is that what it would be?” His eyes were hot, intense and possibly furious as he stared at her. “An inappropriate fling?”
“No,” she said softly. “Which is another reason why it’s not a good idea to start something now.”
He moved closer to her. “It’s already started, Sam. It started six years ago, and we never got to finish it. This time, I intend to finish it. Maybe not right now, but eventually. I was a fool to let you slip through my fingers the first time. I won’t make that mistake again.”
Startled by his intensity, Sam took another step back. “I appreciate the warning, but it might be one of those things that’s better left unfinished. We both have a lot going on—”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, handing her the hair clip.
Sam felt his eyes on her back as she went to the door and let herself out. All the way home, her lips burned from the heat of his kiss.
CHAPTER 8
Early the next morning, as she stood over the lifeless, waxy remains of Senator John Thomas O’Connor, age thirty-six, it struck Sam that death was the great equalizer. We arrive with nothing, we leave with nothing, and in death what we’ve accomplished—or not accomplished—doesn’t much matter. Senator or bricklayer, millionaire or welfare mother, they all looked more or less the same laid out on the medical examiner’s table.
“I’d place time of death at around eleven p.m.,” Dr. Lindsey McNamara, the District’s chief medical examiner, said as she released her long red hair from the high ponytail she’d worn for the autopsy.
“That’s shortly after he got home. The killer might’ve been waiting for him.”
“Dinner consisted of filet mignon, potatoes, mixed greens and what looked like two beers.”
“Drugs?”
“I’m waiting on the tox report.”
“Cause of death?”
“Stab wound to the neck. The jugular was severed. He bled out very quickly.”
“Which came first? The cut to the neck or the privates?”
“The privates.”
Sam winced. “Tough way to go.”
“For a man, probably the toughest.”
“He was alert and aware that someone he knew had dismembered him,” Sam said, more to herself than to Lindsey.
“You’re sure it was someone he knew?”
“Nothing’s definite, but I’m leaning in that direction because there was no struggle and no forced entry.”
“There was also no skin under his nails or any defensive injuries to his hands.”
“He didn’t put up a fight.”
“It happened fast.” Lindsey gestured to O’Connor’s penis floating in some sort of liquid.
Sam fought back an unusual surge of nausea. This stuff didn’t usually bother her, but she had never seen a severed penis before.
“A clean, fast cut,” Lindsey said.
“Which is why the killer was able to get the knife through his neck while he was still sitting up in bed.”
“Right. He would’ve been reacting to the dismemberment. He might’ve even blacked out from the pain.”
“So he never saw the death blow coming.”
“Probably not.”
“Thanks, Doc. Send me your report when it’s ready?”
“You got it,” Lindsey said. “Sam?”
Sam, who had reached for her cell to check for messages, looked over at the other woman.
“I wanted you to know how terrible I felt about what happened with that kid,” Lindsey said, her green eyes soft with compassion. “What the press did to you…well, anyone who knows you knows the truth.”
“Thank you,” Sam said in a hushed tone. “I appreciate that.”
*
By seven o’clock, Sam was in her office wading through four sets of phone records drawn from the senator’s home, office and two cell phones. Her eyes blurry from the lack of sleep that she blamed on Nick’s kiss and the memories it had resurrected, she searched for patterns and nursed her second diet cola of the day. Most of the calls were to numbers in the District and Virginia, but she noticed several calls per week to Chicago that usually lasted an hour or more. She made a note to check the number.
A few other numbers popped up with enough regularity to warrant a follow-up. Sam made a list and turned it over to one of the other detectives who had been assigned to assist her.
Grabbing another soda and a stale bagel left over from yesterday, she stopped to brief Chief Farnsworth before heading out to meet Freddie on Capitol Hill. A crush of reporters waited for her outside the public safety building. When she saw how many there were, she briefly considered going back to ask a couple of uniforms to help her get through the crowd. Then she dismissed the idea as cowardly and stepped into the scrum.
“Sergeant, how close are you to naming a suspect?”
“How was the senator killed?”
“Who found him?”
“What do you think of the headlines in today’s paper?”
That last one made her stomach roil as she could only imagine what the papers were saying about the detective the department had chosen to lead the city’s highest profile murder investigation in years. She held up a hand to stop the barrage of questions.
“All I’ll say at this time is the investigation is proceeding, and as soon as we know anything more, we’ll hold a press conference. I’ll have no further comment until that time. Now, would you mind letting me through? I have work to do.”
They didn’t move but also didn’t stop her from pushing her way through.
Rattled and annoyed, Sam got into her unmarked department car and locked the doors. “Fucking vultures,” she muttered.
Outside the Hart Senate Office Building, she dropped two quarters into the Washington Post box and tugged out the morning’s issue where a banner headline announced the senator’s murder. In a smaller s
tory below the fold, a headline read, Disgraced Detective Tapped to Lead Murder Investigation. Sam released a frustrated growl when the words appeared jumbled on the page as they often did during times of stress or exhaustion. Goddamned dyslexia. Taking a deep calming breath, she tried again, taking the words one at a time the way she’d trained herself to do.
The story contained a recap of the raid that had led to the death of Quentin Johnson and stopped just short of questioning her competence—and the chief’s.
“Great,” she muttered. “That’s just great.” Tossing the paper into the trash, she took the elevator to the second floor where Freddie enjoyed a glazed donut while he waited for her.
“Did you see the paper?” he asked, wiping the sticky frosting from his mouth with the back of his hand.
She nodded brusquely, and before he could get into a further discussion about the article, she brought him up to speed on the possible breakin at Nick’s, the autopsy and the phone records. Gesturing to the door to Senator O’Connor’s suite of offices, she said, “Let’s get to it.”
*
After a thorough look through the remaining items in John’s office where they found nothing useful to the case, Sam and Freddie worked their way up from administrative assistants through legislative affairs people to the staff from the senator’s Richmond office to the communications director. They asked each of Senator O’Connor’s employees the same questions—where were you on the night of the murder, did you have a key to his apartment, what do you know about his personal life, and can you think of anyone who might’ve had a beef with him?
The answers were the same with few variations—I was here working (or at home in Richmond with my husband/wife/girlfriend), I didn’t have a key, he guarded his privacy, and everyone liked him, even political rivals who had good reason not to.
“Who’s next?” Sam asked, feeling like they were spinning their wheels.
“Christina Billings, deputy chief of staff,” Freddie said.
“Bring her in.”
“Ms. Billings,” Sam said, gesturing the pretty, petite blonde to a seat across the conference room table. Sam always felt like an Amazon next to tiny women like her. “Let me begin by saying how sorry we are for your loss.”
The sympathy brought tears to Christina’s blue eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Can you tell us where you were the night of the senator’s murder?”
“I was here. With the vote the next day we had so much to do to get ready for the aftermath—press conferences, appearances on talk shows, interviews…We were doing everything we could to ensure the senator got the attention he deserved.” Her shoulders sagged, almost as if life had lost its purpose. “He’d worked so hard.”
Intrigued by the gamut of emotions emanating from Christina, Sam said, “You were here in the office the entire night?”
“Except for when I left to get food for everyone.”
“What time?” Freddie asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe around eleven or eleven-thirty?”
Freddie and Sam exchanged glances.
“Where did you get the food?”
She named a Chinese restaurant on Capitol Hill, and Sam made a note to check it out later. “Did you go anywhere else?”
“No. I picked up the food and came right back. Everyone was hungry.”
“Do you have a key to the senator’s apartment?” Freddie asked.
Nodding, she said, “He gave it to me some time ago so I could pick up his mail and water the plants when he was in Richmond or Leesburg.”
“When was the last time you used it?”
Christina thought about that. “Maybe three months ago. He’s been in town for most of the session working on gathering the votes needed for the immigration bill.”
“What do you know about his personal life?” Freddie asked. “Was he dating anyone?”
Her expression immediately changed from grief-stricken to hostile. “I have no idea. I didn’t discuss his love life with him. He was my boss.”
Something in the tone, in the flash of the blue eyes, set off Sam’s radar. “Ms. Billings, were you romantically involved with the senator?”
Christina pushed back the chair and stood up. “I’m done.”
“The hell you are,” Sam snapped. “Sit down.”
Trembling with rage, her lips tight, Christina turned and met Sam’s steely stare with one of her own. “Or what?”
“Or we’ll do this downtown. Your choice.”
With great reluctance, Christina returned to her seat, her body rigid, and her hands clasped together.
“Before we continue, I’ll advise you of your right to have counsel present during this interview.”
Christina gasped. “Am I under arrest?”
“Not at this time, but you may request an attorney at any point. Do you wish to continue without counsel?”
Christina’s nod was small and uncertain. Her posture had lost some of its rigidity at the mention of lawyers.
“I’ll ask you again,” Sam said. “Were you romantically involved with the senator?”
“No,” Christina said softly.
“Did you have feelings of a romantic nature for him?”
Christina’s eyes flooded. “Yes.”
“And these feelings were unrequited?”
“I have no idea. We never discussed it.”
“How did you feel about him dating other women?” Freddie asked.
“How do you think I felt?” Christina shot back at him. “I loved him, but he didn’t see me that way. To him I was a trusted aide and a friend he could count on to pick up his mail.”
“What were your specific duties as his deputy chief of staff?” Sam asked.
“I oversaw his daily schedule, kept his appointment calendar, supervised the administrative assistants, and basically managed his time.”
“So you worked closely with him?” Freddie asked.
“Yes.”
“More closely than Mr. Cappuano?”
“On many days. Yes.”
“And in all this time you spent with him, he had no idea how you felt about him?” Sam asked.
“I went to great lengths to hide it from him and everyone else. He was my boss. I felt like a bad cliché.”
“So no one else knew?”
“Nick had figured it out, but I didn’t know that until after the senator was…killed,” she said, her voice trailing off.
“Why didn’t you leave?” Sam asked, working hard to contain her fury at Nick for keeping this from her.
“Because he needed me. He said he’d be lost without me.” Christina shrugged. “I know that sounds so pathetic, but it was better than nothing.”
“Was it?” Sam asked.
“If you’re implying I killed him because he didn’t notice me as a woman, you’re way off.”
“People have killed for less.”
“I didn’t. I loved him. Receiving that phone call from Nick was the single most devastating moment of my life.” After a long moment of silence, Christina started to push back her chair. “May I go?”
“Before you do,” Freddie said, “let me ask you this—you say you kept his schedule and managed his life. Did I get that right?”
“Yes.”
“So wouldn’t you know who he was seeing outside the office?”
Christina’s jaw clenched with tension.
“Is that a yes?” Freddie asked.
“There were several,” Christina finally said.
“We’ll need a list,” Sam said. “I’d also like a list of anyone else you know of who had a key to his apartment and his appointment calendar for the last six months—by the end of the day, please.”
With a curt nod, Christina got up.
“Stay available,” Sam said before the other woman could leave the room.
“What does that mean?”
“Exactly what you think it means.”
The moment the door slammed shut behind Christina
, Sam turned to Freddie.
“I know what you’re going to say.” He counted off on his fingers. “A break in the alibi at the same time as the murder, a key to the apartment, unrequited love…”
“It’s almost enough to arrest her,” Sam said.
“Except?”
Sam sighed. “I believed her when she said his death was the most devastating thing that’s ever happened to her.”
“Doesn’t mean she wasn’t responsible for it.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“I’ll do some digging around in Ms. Billings’s background.”
“Freddie, you read my mind. We also need to look into who would stand to gain financially from the senator’s death.”
“Would the chief of staff know that?”
“He might. He’s next. Do you want to go grab some lunch before we get to him?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Freddie stretched, rubbing his belly with glee. “Something for you?”
“A salad.” She slapped a ten-dollar bill into his hand. “Low-fat dressing.”
He made a disgusted face. “Coming right up.”
The moment he was gone, Sam marched into Nick’s office and slammed the door.
“Well, good afternoon to you, too, Sergeant,” he said with a small, private smile that let her know he’d been thinking of her since they’d kissed the night before.
“Save the charm for someone who’s interested.”
He raised a swarthy eyebrow in amusement. “Oh, you’re interested. But if you want to play hard to get, don’t let me stop you.”
“What happened last night can’t happen again.”
“It can, and it will.”
“Not until this case is closed, Nick. I mean that.” Deciding it was time to move past their personal debate, she planted her hands on her hips. “Were you planning to mention that your deputy was in love with the senator?”
Nick looked stricken. “She told you that?”
“I got it out of her. One of my special talents.”
“I’ll bet,” he said dryly.
“Why didn’t you think it was important enough to share with me?”
“It was personal, and I didn’t see how it was relevant.”
“Everything is relevant, Nick! This is a homicide investigation!”