by Linda Howard
“What’ve you got?” Sam asked.
“Nothing so far at the cabin, but I did that run you asked for on Robert O’Connor. Sixty-five years old, lives in Mechanicsville with his wife Sally, age sixty-three. They have three grown children—Sarah, forty, Thomas, thirty-six and Michael, thirty-four. Five grandchildren.”
“Son of a bitch,” Sam muttered. “They lied to me.”
“Do you want me to do some more digging?”
“No, that’s okay. Were you able to get pictures of the kids?”
“Yeah, I shot them to your e-mail.”
“Thanks, Gonzo. Let me know if you turn up anything at the cabin.”
“It’s slow going. I’ll call you when we’re done.”
“Who lied to you?” Freddie asked when she had ended the call.
“O’Connor’s parents.” She explained about the photo she had found at the cabin. “I think John had a son they swept under the rug. I’m going to Chicago tomorrow to find out.”
“Want me to tag along?”
“No, I can take this one alone. I need you to confirm the info we got from Davenport and Svendsen about the people they were with the night of the murder. I’d also like you to check security at both their buildings. See if you can catch them coming home that night—or more importantly, going back out.”
“Got it,” he said, making notes. “I would’ve done that run you had Gonzo do.”
“Don’t pout, Freddie. An investigation of this magnitude requires we make use of all available resources.”
After navigating building security and handing over their weapons—something that always left Sam feeling twitchy—she and Freddie were escorted to Jordan’s office. As special assistant attorney general, he sat right next door to the attorney general himself. Jordan was tall with an athletic build, short blond hair that looked like it would be wildly curly if left to grow and sharp blue eyes. He wore a dark pinstriped suit that had clearly been cut just for him. Nothing off-the-rack for this guy, Sam thought, as she noted his almost startling resemblance to John O’Connor. Apparently, the late senator wasn’t the only one who went for a “type.”
“Detectives,” he said, standing to shake their hands. He gestured for them to make use of the chairs in front of his desk. “What can I do for you?”
“You’re aware that your wife had a long-term relationship with Senator O’Connor?”
“I am.”
“Did she ever talk to you about him?”
“Occasionally, but nothing more than an off-hand comment or two. She respects me too much to throw him in my face. My wife and I are happily married, and none of our former relationships factor into our marriage.”
“Did you ever meet the senator?”
“A few times. I’m active in the Virginia Democratic Party, and obviously he was as well.”
“Did you like him?”
“I didn’t dislike him, but neither would I say we were anything more than casual acquaintances. So he dated my wife? Big deal. She’s a beautiful woman who had several relationships before me. I don’t expect that her life—or mine—began the day we met. Although,” he said, softening, “in many ways, mine did begin with her.”
“Can you confirm your whereabouts on the night of the murder? Tuesday between ten p.m. and seven a.m.?”
He consulted a brown leather book. “On Tuesday evening we attended the annual Christmas fundraiser/silent auction for the Capital Region Big Brothers and Big Sisters here in the city. We were home by ten, in bed by ten-thirty. We made love and went to sleep. Is that enough information?”
“Has your wife ever mentioned anything about her relationship with the senator that made her uncomfortable?”
For the first time, Jordan’s cool composure wavered. “Uncomfortable in what way?”
“Any way.”
“No, but like I said, we’ve never felt the need to share the intimate details of our past relationships.”
When Sam stood up, Freddie followed her lead. “I know you had plans to be out of town for the holidays,” she said, “but you’ll need to remain in the area.”
“I’m due to leave for Europe on the third of January. Work-related travel.”
“Hopefully by then we’ll have cleared this up. Until we do, you and your wife are required to stay local.”
*
“Thoughts?” she asked Freddie after they had reclaimed their weapons. Relieved to have her gun back, Sam slid hers into her hip harness.
“First, he knew we were coming. Had that appointment book nice and handy.”
“No doubt the wife tipped him. But guess what? He lied about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“The Big Brothers/Big Sisters thing?”
Freddie nodded.
“That was last Tuesday. I know because I was there.”
Freddie released a low whistle.
“It doesn’t mean one of them killed the senator, though. It only means there’s something he doesn’t want us to know or his date book is messed up. We still can’t place either of them at the Watergate.”
“So we file this tidbit away and continue to work the case?”
“Exactly. The thing between the senator and Natalie was over years ago. Where’s the motive?”
“True,” Freddie said.
“My take is that he’s crazy in love with her, still wonders how he ever managed to snag her and he’s glad O’Connor’s dead. He didn’t kill him, but he sees it as a favor that someone else did.”
“So you think he was threatened by the senator?”
“Big time,” Freddie said. “He knows he wasn’t the love of Natalie’s life.”
“Good. That’s good. Crazy how much he looks like O’Connor, huh?”
“I’d say creepy would be a better word.”
“Agreed. I want you to look into those ‘other relationships’ of hers that he referred to. Find out if any of the other men in her life met with an untimely demise, and while you’re at it, do a search for unsolved cases involving dismemberment. The senator might not have been the first.”
“Local or national?”
“Start local and see what pops. I’ll be authorizing overtime for both of us, so while you’re at it, get me everything you can find on the three women we met today. No detail is too big or too small. If they have a tattoo, I want to know what it is and where.”
“Tramp stamps,” he wrote as she snickered at the term. “Got it. You’re really sure it was a woman, aren’t you?”
“Every fiber of my being tells me this was a love affair gone very wrong.”
“Or someone wants us to think that.”
“We can’t rule that out,” she conceded.
“In light of what we’ve learned today, we also can’t rule out that it might’ve been a love affair with a man that went very wrong.”
“Right again,” she said. “Nothing is ever as cut and dried as we’d like it to be, is it?”
“Nope.”
“You’ve had a few girlfriends.”
“So?” he said warily.
“Don’t you compare notes on past relationships?”
His face flooded with color. “Depends on how serious it is with the new one and whether or not she asks.”
“Is it weird that Natalie Jordan never told her husband that things got kinky with the senator?”
“I don’t know, Sam. That falls into a serious gray area. What guy would want to know that his woman did it all with the ex?”
“Hmm. It just seems strange to me that she’s never even alluded to it. I mean, they’re married. And you saw his face. He had no idea what I was talking about.”
“Did you share that kind of stuff with Peter?”
“Bad example. We weren’t your typical married couple.”
“Sorry to dredge up the past, but I think you’d be in a better position to answer your own questions than I would be, having never been married myself.”
“Yeah, I guess, but I hardly
had the kind of marriage where major sharing factored in.”
“So what’s next?” he asked, seeming anxious to change the subject.
“I need to go back to HQ, write up what we have so far, and deal with the brass on this thing with the Johnson case.”
“What’ll you do if they put you under?”
“If they do, it’ll only be for a couple of days at most—one of those days I’ll be in Chicago, another one we’re taking off because we’ll need to recharge, and then Monday is the senator’s funeral. With all the local police and Secret Service who’ll be there, I can’t imagine they’ll stop me from going. I can pull the strings from the sidelines, but I’m not letting it go.”
“Even if they order you to?”
“Especially then.”
“Righteous.”
*
Back at her desk, Sam downed a soda, opened the e-mail Gonzo had sent, and discovered the real Thomas O’Connor was a thirty-six-year-old man with dark hair and eyes. She made a note to ask Nick whether John had ever mentioned having a cousin of the same age. Regardless, the man on her screen was not the boy in the picture, and she now had positive confirmation that Graham and Laine O’Connor had lied to her about the boy. But why? Why would they deny their own grandchild? Sam had no idea, but she intended to find out.
Her stomach clenched with pain as she read—and then re-read—an e-mail from the chief’s admin, confirming her four o’clock appointment. Checking her watch, she realized she had just a few minutes to get there on time. She stood up, but the pain had other ideas. Collapsing back into her chair, she put her head down and tried to breathe her way through it. A bead of sweat slid down her back.
This was a bad one, but it had been getting progressively worse over the last few months despite her best efforts to ignore it. Sooner or later, she was going to have to do something about this “nervous stomach” situation, possibly even give up diet cola as she’d been told to do. But not now. No time for that now. When the worst of the pain had passed, she tested her shaky legs, took another long deep breath and set out for the chief’s office.
She was waved right in but stopped short just inside the door. When Farnsworth called in the brass, he called in the brass. Seated in a wide half-circle in front of Farnsworth’s desk were Deputy Chief Conklin, Detective Captain Malone, Lieutenant Stahl and Assistant U.S. Attorney Miller. Sam glanced at Miller’s shoes, saw the stiletto heel, and confirmed it was Charity, one of the identical triplets who worked for the U.S. Attorney. Neither Faith nor Hope would be caught dead in stilettos.
“Well,” Sam said, as the pain resurfaced with an ugly vengeance. Determined to stay cool, she took shallow breaths and slipped into the remaining chair. “You didn’t tell me we were having a party, Chief. I would’ve brought snacks.”
“Sergeant,” Farnsworth said, his handsome face tight with stress that only added to Sam’s. “Before we get into the Johnson matter, go ahead and brief us on the status of the O’Connor investigation.”
Folding her hands tightly in her lap, she brought them up to speed, holding back the details about the senator’s peculiar sexual appetites. She had decided to do her best to keep that out of the official record in deference to his parents and family.
“So almost seventy-two hours out, we don’t have so much as a suspect?” Stahl said.
Sam made an effort not to show him what a jackass she thought him to be. “We have several individuals of interest we’re actively pursuing. In addition, I believe the senator had a son who was kept hidden from the public. I request permission to travel tomorrow to Chicago to further investigate this thread.”
“How’s it relevant?” Stahl snapped.
Repulsed by the roll of fat around his belly and the huge double chin that wiggled when he talked, Sam said, “If it’s true, the senator’s relationship with the mother could be very relevant.”
“I’ll authorize the travel,” Malone said, pulling rank on Stahl who fumed in silence.
“Thank you, Captain,” Sam said.
“The Feds are sniffing around,” Farnsworth said. “I’ve managed to hold them off thus far, but with every passing day, it’s getting harder.”
“Understood. We’re moving as fast as we can.”
“All available resources are at your disposal, Sergeant,” Farnsworth added. “Use whatever you need.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
“Now, on the other matter, we’ve got Mrs. Johnson on a seventy-two-hour hold.”
“You aren’t planning to charge her, are you, sir?” Sam asked.
“AUSA Miller is considering charges.”
“If I may, sir,” Sam said. “While no one would mistake Destiny Johnson for mother of the year, I have no doubt her heartbreak is genuine.”
“That doesn’t give her the right to threaten the life of a police officer,” Farnsworth said.
“She has good reason to be pissed with Sergeant Holland and the department,” Stahl said.
“Lieutenant, I find your attitude counterproductive,” Farnsworth said. “You can get back to work.”
“But—”
Captain Malone flipped his thumb toward the door.
With an infuriated glance at Sam, Stahl hauled himself out of the chair and waddled to the door. After it closed behind him, Farnsworth returned his attention to Sam. “We have to take her threats seriously, Sergeant. You’re extremely vulnerable in the field, so until you’ve testified on Tuesday, we’re putting you under. Limited duty, permission to work from home, no field work.”
“Since I’m going to Chicago tomorrow, taking Sunday off, and attending the senator’s funeral on Monday, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“About the funeral…” Deputy Chief Conklin said.
“I believe the local and federal security required to bring in the president will be sufficient to protect a lowly District sergeant,” Sam said with what she hoped was a confident smile.
“The Secret Service will have to be made aware of the threat and your planned presence at the service,” Conklin said. “I’ll take care of that.”
“Appreciate it,” Farnsworth said. He leaned forward to address Sam. “I want you to take this very seriously. Johnson has a lot of friends, and all of them—fairly or unfairly—blame you for what happened in that house. They don’t care that you didn’t fire the shot. They care that you gave the order.”
“Yes, sir.” Since she blamed herself, too, she could understand where they were coming from.
“AUSA Miller, has Sergeant Holland been adequately prepared for Tuesday’s court appearance?”
“She has, Chief. We’ve been through it several times, and she’s never wavered from her initial statement.”
“I’ll let you get back to work then,” Farnsworth said. “Thanks for being here.”
“No problem.” With an encouraging smile for Sam, Charity got up and left the room.
“If there’s nothing else, I’ve got a few more threads to tie up before my tour ends,” Sam said.
“There’s just one more thing,” Farnsworth said, reaching for a file on his desk.
Sam refused to acknowledge the twinge of pain that hovered in her gut. “Sir?”
“I had lunch with your father earlier this week.”
“Yes, sir, he mentioned that. I know he appreciates your visits.” To the others, she added, “All of you.”
“And I know you go out of your way to downplay your family’s history with this department.”
“I don’t want nor do I expect special treatment because of the rank my father attained prior to being injured in the line.”
Farnsworth replied with a hint of a smile. “Regardless, he was curious as to whether I’d gotten the results of the lieutenant’s exam.”
Just those words were enough to override any success she’d had in keeping the pain at bay. It roared through her, leaving her breathless in its wake. When she was able to speak again, she said, “I’m aware it’s a source of embarrass
ment to my father and to you as my superior officers that I’ve been unable to pass the exam on two previous attempts.”
“What I’d like to know is why the fact that you’re dyslexic isn’t mentioned anywhere in your personnel file.”
Stunned, Sam opened her mouth and then closed it when the words simply wouldn’t come.
“I’ve done some basic research on dyslexia and discovered that standardized tests are one of the dyslexic’s greatest foes.”
“Yes, but—”
“Allow me to finish, Sergeant. I have to admit this information was a relief to me.” He gestured to the deputy chief and captain. “To all of us. We’ve been hard pressed to understand how the best detective on this force has been unable to attain a rank that should’ve been hers some time ago.”
“I…um…”
“You passed this time,” Farnsworth said. “Just barely—but you did pass.”
Sam stared at him, wondering if she had heard him correctly.
He rifled through some other papers until he found what he was looking for. “With the distinct exception of Lt. Stahl, you’ve received outstanding superior officer recommendations, high marks on your interviews and evaluations. We also factored in the graduate degree in criminal justice you earned from George Washington. All in all, you make for an ideal candidate for promotion.” He looked up at her. “Under my discretion as chief of police, I’m pleased to inform you that your name will be included in the next group of lieutenants.”
“But, sir,” Sam stammered, “people will talk. They’ll scream favoritism.”
“You met the criteria. The test score is only one element, and no one but the people in this room will know it was low.”
“I’ll know,” she said softly.
“Sergeant, do you believe you’ve earned the rank of lieutenant?”
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have sat for the exam in the first place, but—”
“Then you should have no further objection to a promotion you have earned and deserve. You’ll be taking command of the detective squad at HQ.”
Staggered, Sam stared at him. “But that’s Lieutenant Stahl’s command.”
“He’s being transferred to internal affairs.”
The rat squad, Sam thought, her stomach grinding under the fist she had balled tight against it. “You’re setting me up to have a powerful enemy.”