As they walked down the linoleum-floored hallway toward the staff offices, Sam remembered his last visit. He hoped this time the outcome would be different.
The chief’s office was the nicest of them all, midway between the front of the station and the squad room. It still retained an old-school feel. Article clippings, some of them yellowing, decorated the wall behind his chair—most of them highlighting the PD’s successes. Sam almost snorted a laugh when he noticed one of his own.
“What do you really know about Nathan Walker, son?” Sheldon asked once he closed the door behind them and sat down at his desk. He shuffled some papers absently. “Did you know he was FBI?”
Sam straightened up and looked Sheldon in the eye. “He’s never lied to me about anything.”
“Oh? I’ll bet you didn’t know he was suspended from duty after Emma’s murder.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You can ask him, Sam, but it seems your friend was with another man the night his wife was killed. His partner was a double agent. Turns out this man had connections to a child prostitution ring, and Nathan helped him escape prosecution. Next time you see him, ask him about Luan. He must be back home in sunny Brazil by now, free as a bird.”
The enigmatic new partner. The sub to Nathan’s Dom. When Nathan told him about the case, he never mentioned the fate of the man who’d gone undercover with him—only that he’d been chosen in the first place because of his connections in the community. He’d never even mentioned his name. Could this Luan have been in on it the whole time? Nathan had been so distraught about the job, about the kids who’d been used and exploited. He never would have helped any of the sick bastards who ran the place. Sam dug his fingers into his thighs, reminding himself he didn’t know the whole story.
“That’s not true.”
“The FBI seems to think so. Did Nathan tell you about the double indemnity clause in Emma’s life insurance policy?”
“Lots of cops have those clauses. It’s run of the mill in a dangerous job.”
“Hmm, but when the policy is changed only a month before a murder, things start to get suspicious.” In spite of himself, Sam’s gut swam with unease. Nathan had never mentioned a life insurance policy at all.
“Nathan has plenty of money.”
“His family has plenty of money. What if he suddenly decided he wanted to take off with a male lover, a lover who was wanted for conspiracy and child endangerment and abuse? What if he decided he wanted to get rid of the wife holding him back, now that he realized his twisted desires? He’d be disinherited.” Sheldon’s expression was grim.
“How do you know all this?”
“Emma told me some things before she died. She was uneasy about the state of her marriage, and she confided in me. The poor kid.” Sheldon shook his head. “Afterwards, I checked out the story with Walker’s boss, and it gave us our case.”
“Why are you telling me all this?” Sam could barely breathe. He needed fresh air. Sheldon’s story sounded like the truth, but it warred with the emotion in his gut, the deep-seated belief the man he’d slept with, the man he’d cared for, was innocent.
Sheldon gave him a slight smile. “You know why. When your dad died, I promised myself I’d look out for you. Walker’s going down like the Titanic, and the only way to save yourself is to swim free of the undertow.”
“But you said yourself he was out of town on the day of the murder. With Luan, or whoever. How could he have done it?” Sam grasped desperately at this line of reasoning in the hopes of unsettling Sheldon’s narrative.
There was a small tape recorder on Sheldon’s desk. Sam recognized it from the night he’d been brought in for questioning after Emma’s murder. Sheldon pressed play and then leaned back, bracing his head with his hands.
The first voice was Sheldon’s, soft and coaxing. “When did you first hear from Nathan Walker?”
“I got a call from him about eight months ago. He had heard about what I owed my bookie and he wanted to meet me.” Sam squinted at the recorder, trying to recognize the second voice, but unable to place it. Whoever it was sounded male, perhaps eastern European.
“So you met with him. Is this the man?” The sound of paper being slid across a smooth surface.
“Yes, that is him.”
“And what did you talk about when you met in person?”
“He told me he would pay my debts if I helped him out with his problem.”
“Oh? What sort of problem?” Sheldon’s voice stayed neutral.
“His wife. He wanted her taken care of.”
“What did you think he meant by ‘taken care of’?”
“Killed,” the man whispered.
“Are you sure? That’s a pretty serious accusation.” Sheldon again.
“Yes, killed.”
“And did you agree?”
The other man’s voice cracked. He sounded like he was crying. “I owed so much money. They were going to hurt my young son, my wife…. We are poor. I saw it as a way out. And he told me, if I did not do it, then he would make sure my family suffered even more.”
“So, Nathan Walker hired you to kill his wife?”
“Yes. He had a plan. If I showed up and said I was hurt, that I had an accident? His wife would let me inside. But no guns, he said.” A pause. “He wanted to make sure she did not scream.”
The words hit Sam like a sledgehammer. His skin went cold and clammy all over. If Sheldon hadn’t stopped the recorder when he did, Sam might have been sick on the desk. His eyes watered.
“Heard enough, Sam?” For the first time ever, Sheldon seemed unaccountably cruel, the edge to his voice hard.
“Yeah, I’ve heard enough.”
“Now, I know Walker has you thinking somehow it’s the police who are involved in this murder. It’s the last ditch attempt of a desperate man who knows he’s been cornered. Emma was killed by a husband who wanted her out of the way, not by anyone else.”
It was too much to process—how Nathan had come to him asking about what Emma had told him the day of the murder. His virtual interrogation. At the time Sam had seen it as the noble attempt of a man trying to avenge his wife’s wrongful death, but now he could see it in another, much more sinister light. He’d made it a seduction, played it so well, and exploited Sam’s feelings in the process. Maybe he’d never been interested at all. He only wanted information. And he got it. Sam had fallen hook, line, and sinker.
Sheldon seemed to know where his mind had drifted. “You were the last one to see her that day. If anyone had information about Emma that might be used against him, it was you, Sam. No wonder he wanted to keep you close, get you on his side. Son,” Sheldon’s voice grew gentle. “Is there any other evidence you remember now, that you didn’t tell me before?”
Other evidence that seemed to point to an insider in the PD—the wiped hard drive, for one, and Emma’s missing cell phone, for another—could have been masterminded by Nathan. Sam did indeed feel as though he were being pulled under by a tide, swept adrift from land and the story he’d clung to for so long.
Sheldon cracked his knuckles. “I told you before. Nathan Walker thinks he’s above the law. He’s a master manipulator, Sam. It’s no wonder you were taken in. Just be thankful you managed to get away in one piece, all right?”
All of those times Nathan had told him to stay out of it for his own safety, and more recently, to stay away from the police. Was this the reason? Because he knew the growing evidence in the case against him and wanted to make sure Sam never heard about it?
Or had Nathan been right all along, and genuine. And was Sheldon now playing Sam like he’d so persuasively argued Nathan had?
If the Feldman cases were connected to Emma’s death, and police corruption was as pervasive as Nathan seemed to suggest, Nathan would be the perfect fall guy. He’d be convicted of murder, while the responsible parties went free.
Still, they had an actual confession by a man who’d claimed to have killed
Emma under duress. He’d not only confirmed Nathan’s identity, he’d described Nathan in a cold, callous way. Sheldon was right. No jury in their right minds would let him walk.
“Now,” Sheldon said, standing. “I’ll see if Walker is done with his lawyer. If you’d still like to see him. I’m sure you have a lot of things on your mind.”
The challenge was there in his voice. He wanted Sam to say “no,” afraid of what he might hear from Nathan, afraid of having Sheldon’s evidence confirmed first-hand.
Sam blinked. “Yes. I would, actually.”
Sheldon shrugged and beckoned Sam to follow him toward the inner sanctum of the station, where he was told to wait outside a second set of metal detectors. Sam forced his mind blank. Once he spoke with Nathan, everything would make sense. It had to.
A few minutes later, another officer wearing plain clothes left the holding area and nodded to him. “Are you Sam Flynn?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’m waiting to see Nathan Walker.”
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Walker has refused all visitors.” She smiled at him, apologetic. “The chief wanted me to let you know.”
Sam returned her smile, amping up the charm. “But he’ll want to see me. Trust me.”
“Actually, he mentioned you, specifically. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t understand. Did he give a message?”
She shook her head. “No. No message besides he doesn’t want to see you.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Sorry, but that’s what he told me. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
The gray winter sky mirrored Sam’s mood as he left the station. He thrust his hands in his pockets and walked toward his truck, feet heavy as lead, like they didn’t want to believe what he had heard either.
For some reason, Nathan hadn’t wanted to see him. The doubt Sheldon had planted grew and blossomed into a cancerous weed, wrapping itself around Sam’s internal organs and squeezing—hard. All it would have taken from Nathan was one word, one glance, and Sam would have known to keep his mouth shut and his head down. That this was all part of the plan. The fact that he’d denied Sam’s visit could only mean there was some truth to what Sheldon had said. And why would Sheldon lie?
But try as Sam might, he couldn’t reconcile the Nathan he knew with this stranger Sheldon and his anonymous witness described. The man who offered comfort when Sam had needed it most was not an evil, twisted person who would hire a hit man to take out his own wife—the woman he’d vowed to love and cherish. It didn’t make any sense.
Yet he couldn’t forget what Sheldon had told him. Nathan’s refusal to see Sam spoke loudly. And Nathan had even admitted that things between himself and Emma hadn’t been good. He’d wanted a divorce.
And Sam needed a drink.
Chapter 15
“SAM, I think it’s better if you come over. It’ll be fun.”
“I don’t feel up to it, Rach.”
“But it’s not a holiday party. It’s a party that happens to be taking place during the holidays. We won’t sing any songs this time, I promise.” The previous year, Sam had been subjected to a mishmash of Christmas and Chanukah favorites. He’d had the dreidel song stuck in his head for weeks. “Come on. I haven’t seen you for almost two weeks.”
Sam sighed. Outside, snow had begun to fall, the large flakes turning the pavement below into a slushy, brown mess. Though it had been cold, the city sidewalks and streets were kept salty enough to melt the snow unless a large storm blew through. Tonight the forecast promised at least twelve inches.
“I’ve got to go see Tim.”
“What about after that? We’re not eating until eight. And I’m making the brisket you like, the one with the tomato sauce.”
A quick glance at the time gave him at least two hours left for visiting with Tim. Then he’d have to come back to his empty apartment. Brisket did sound more appealing than another lonely frozen dinner. His mouth watered.
“Fine. But if the roads get bad, I’m crashing at your place.”
“That’s cool. We’ve got the sleeper sofa. See you in a few hours, then?”
“All right.” The “we” didn’t escape Sam’s attention. Alex had pretty much moved into Rachel’s apartment.
Sam pulled on his winter boots and coat, then searched around for his gloves and found only one. He’d have to get a new pair before Monday, and he groaned at the thought of fighting his way through mobs of Christmas shoppers at the mall. If there was a worse way to spend a Saturday, he didn’t want to know about it.
The parking lot at Shady Brook was packed. During the holidays patients who hardly had a visitor the whole year suddenly had friends and family coming out of the woodwork. Guilty consciences got guiltier in December. Sam knew from personal experience.
The on-duty nurse told him Lisa had gone on vacation for the holidays, but Tim was doing fine. As was the orchid he’d brought Lisa, Sam noticed. It had bloomed again—its perfect white petals evidence it was flourishing under her care. The new nurse didn’t mention anything about the arrangements they’d have to make after the holidays for Tim’s transfer. Sam had gone there the week before to check the place out. If he’d thought Shady Brook sterile and depressing at times, it looked like Disneyland compared to the state-run facility. He’d left with a lump in his throat, his fears confirmed. It was a place people went to die.
He didn’t want to think about that.
Helen’s son and his wife were visiting with their baby, who’d gotten big enough to sit up on her own. She giggled and cooed and pulled on her grandmother’s blanket while her parents spoke in hushed tones. They greeted Sam kindly and offered him some cookies they’d brought along for show. As if Helen could eat them. People did stupid things when they were sad. That was another thing Sam knew about.
“Heya, Timbo,” Sam said, sitting down in his chair. “How you doing today, bud?”
It didn’t matter if he didn’t get a response back. He ate one of the cookies in silence. A few minutes later, once Helen’s family had left, Sam leaned forward and took Tim’s hand.
“I need to talk to you. I could use some advice, okay?”
He hadn’t been able to talk to Yuri or Rachel about what Sheldon had told him. Apparently the evidence had been enough to keep Nathan in jail without bail, pending trial. Every day that passed only confirmed Nathan’s guilt. Sam couldn’t imagine the FBI leaving an agent to languish in county jail if he were innocent.
Nathan had refused to see him a second time and a third. Sam didn’t bother going again, after that.
“I don’t know what I should do, or why I even care. If he did it, he’s a sick sonofabitch,” Sam said after he’d finished the whole story. Tim stared vacantly at the ceiling. “I don’t know what to think, anymore. I mean, maybe Emma was talking about Nathan that day. She must have been, right?”
The sound of a cart wheeling down the corridor distracted Sam for a moment. A nurse looked in and gave him a smile. “Visiting hours are almost over, dear.”
“I know. Just another minute.”
“Better get home before the storm picks up. They’re saying it’s going to be a bad one.”
“I will.”
After she’d gone, Sam turned back to Tim. “And who is this guy who says he killed Emma? It doesn’t seem like Nathan to be so sloppy, you know? To threaten someone? He would have no guarantee the guy wouldn’t talk. It doesn’t make any sense.”
In Sam’s mind, Tim nodded in agreement.
“Maybe someone else threatened him? Hmm. That’s an interesting thought. Maybe he made the confession under duress. But why?”
In his mind Tim frowned thoughtfully and shrugged.
“I worry I’m trying to justify all of the evidence because I don’t want him to be guilty. I really…. I like him. I liked him, or whoever I thought he was. Jesus.”
A weary numbness seeped into Sam’s bones. Going over and over the details had tired him out. Now that he’d unloaded on h
is brother—even though he got no response—a weight had been lifted.
“Thanks for listening, Timmy.” He patted Tim’s lax hand and then released it. “I love you.”
The snow had picked up by the time he got back to his truck, but he still had an hour to kill before dinner at Rachel’s. He turned on the engine and started to drive without any destination in mind.
Driving in the snow always brought a certain, strange calm. Flakes swirled and danced in his headlights as they got the best of the salt and sand and swathed the road in white. Except for the occasional service vehicle, the roads were deserted. Everyone else was home preparing for the Nor’easter.
The numbness didn’t dissipate, only increased the longer he drove. The rhythmic swish of the wiper blades and the splash of the tires through thickening slush interrupted the silence, creating an almost musical cadence. It had been snowing the night of the accident. Peaceful. Sam wondered if his father’s death had been peaceful too. They said he was killed on impact. One minute, he was driving through the quiet falling snow, and the next the car had hit an icy patch, tumbled off the road, and exploded against a tree in a shower of glass and metal. Maybe he hadn’t even felt anything, only known a moment of surprise—a twist of panic in his gut and then nothing at all.
But after the car rolled and expelled them, Sam’s mother and Tim hadn’t been so lucky. No quick release for them. His mom had lingered on for a few days, until her internal injuries finally claimed her. The doctors could place a vena cava filter to stop the blood clots, but they couldn’t stop the swelling in her brain. She’d still looked beautiful, though. When Sam arrived at the hospital the next day, he’d almost believed for a moment that his family had played an elaborate, horrible joke on him.
The drowsiness settled on his shoulders like a warm mantle as the long road stretched before him. Only occasional headlights punctuated the dark. Sam floored the gas pedal and wondered how fast he could go. His father had been driving fast, too.
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