Fatal Scandal: Book Eight of the Fatal Series

by Marie Force

  Sam wrote it down. “Thanks.”

  “Gonna be a long day, huh?”

  “Looks that way.”

  “I’ll see you when you get home. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  She left a message for Andy and then headed for the chief’s suite, where she was stopped by his admin. Sam never could remember the mousy woman’s name.

  “Could I speak to you for a moment, Lieutenant?” she asked so softly Sam almost couldn’t hear her. Her brown eyes darted nervously toward the chief’s closed door.

  “What’s up?”

  “I know you’re close to the chief on a personal level.”

  “So what about it?” Sam asked, immediately on edge. She hated being reminded of her personal connections to the brass. So her dad had been a big deal in the department. She’d clawed her way to her current rank all on her own. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, but she tried not to think about the discretion the chief had used in making her a lieutenant after learning about her decades-long battle with dyslexia.

  “I’m worried about him. He’s not himself, and his face...”

  “What’s wrong with his face?”

  “It’s sort of gray and unhealthy looking.”

  Sam was ashamed to say that she hadn’t paid much attention to how the chief was holding up under Springer’s intense campaign to discredit him. “I’ll talk to him after the meeting.”

  “Thank you,” she said, releasing a deep breath. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

  “You didn’t. Thanks for bringing it to my attention.”

  She glanced again at the closed door. “He listens to you.”

  Sam nodded. “We go way back.” He’d been a huge part of her life growing up, as an adopted uncle. The chief and his wife had been unable to have children of their own. Sam and her sisters, among others, had helped to fill the void for them. Since she joined the department almost fourteen years ago, the two of them had worked hard to maintain a professional relationship in addition to the personal one.

  Sam knocked on the door and entered to find the chief along with Deputy Chief Conklin, Captain Malone and all the lieutenants. Wow, he’d called in the troops. She nodded to Archie and Higgins from the Bomb Squad. When had he made lieutenant? She scowled at Davidson and ended up in a seat next to Vice Squad Lieutenant Cole McDonald. Awesome.

  She and McDonald had locked horns at the end of the Springer case when his compromised narc investigation had fucked up her homicide investigation.

  “Is everyone here?” Farnsworth asked Conklin, who took a look around the assembled group and then nodded. “Thank you all for coming in on a holiday. I appreciate it very much. As you know, the department—and me in particular—is under fire for our handling of the Springer case. Bill Springer is channeling his grief over losing two sons into a witch hunt aimed squarely at this department and this office.”

  As Farnsworth spoke, McDonald looked down at his hands, which were twitching on his lap.

  He ought to be twitching. His fuckup had led to a nightmare for the department and the chief. Well, if she were being entirely fair rather than only outraged, he was probably as upset about it as anyone. Sam raised her hand.

  “Holland.”

  “I’m wondering if we have any more information about how the narc investigation was compromised.”

  Beside her McDonald froze, his discomfort and anger palpable.

  Sam knew she was an asshole for blindsiding her fellow lieutenant with the question, but one of her best officers had nearly died because of his team’s screwup, and she wanted answers.

  “McDonald?” the chief said. “What’ve you got?”

  “We’re continuing our internal investigation. I’ve spoken with every member of the undercover team in-depth, and no one had contact with Springer or any of our other marks the night before the shoot-out in Friendship Heights.”

  “So we still don’t know how he found out we were focused on him for the homicides?” Sam asked.

  “No.” McDonald spoke through gritted teeth. “We don’t.”

  “It’s been six weeks—”

  “I know how fucking long it’s been,” McDonald lashed back at her. “Do you think this isn’t on my mind every fucking minute of every fucking day?”

  “McDonald,” Malone said. “Take a goddamn breath.”

  “I’m breathing just fine, Captain. We’re doing everything we can to get to the bottom of what happened that night, but I don’t yet have the answers we all want and need. I wish I did.” He paused before he added, “You should know, myself and a couple of my guys have been receiving death threats. We suspect they’re coming from the other members of Springer’s posse who’re still in the wind after the investigation went to shit.”

  Farnsworth’s face looked like it had been carved from stone as everyone waited to hear what he would say. “How long have you been receiving death threats?”

  “Almost from the beginning.”

  “And you’re just now mentioning them?”

  “We know how to take care of ourselves, Chief. We’re not looking to make it into a bigger deal than it already is. These guys aren’t going to show their faces in this city again anytime soon. They know we’re looking for them.”

  “I want a full report, with details and specifics, about each of the death threats, as well as who has received them, by the end of the day,” Conklin said.

  “Yes, sir,” McDonald replied.

  Despite her antagonism, Sam felt for the guy. She’d had a long-term undercover investigation go south on her once. Sometimes she still had nightmares about Marquis Johnson’s agonizing screams after his young son Quentin was shot during a raid she’d led at a crack house. Quentin wasn’t supposed to be there. The fact he was there that night still weighed on Sam more than a year later.

  “I think you ought to make a statement,” Sam said to the chief, surprising herself as much as the others. “You need to come clean about what happened that night and why, let them know we’re continuing our internal investigation and we understand and sympathize with Mr. Springer’s grief over the loss of his sons. You could update the press on Detective Gonzales’s condition as he continues to recover from the shot to his neck by Billy Springer, who was implicated in the murders of his brother and eight other teenagers, which would be a great way to remind them that a decorated officer was nearly killed by Mr. Springer’s sainted son.” When she realized all eyes were on her, Sam swallowed hard before continuing. “We haven’t said a word about what happened that day since that day. It might be time for an update. Sir.”

  After a long pause, Farnsworth said, “What does everyone think?”

  “I agree with Lieutenant Holland,” Malone said. “Springer has had the microphone and the spotlight on him for weeks now. Let’s retake control of the story. You could do the press conference and go on some of the radio and TV talk shows and just be honest. Tell them we’re investigating what went wrong and hoping to provide some answers for the Springer family, as well as the community as a whole.”

  “I’d want to consult with Public Affairs,” Farnsworth said.

  “I’ll get someone down here.” Conklin got up and left the room.

  “I also need to clear it with the mayor. She’s been on my ass over this for weeks now.”

  “Why don’t you see if she’d be willing to attend the press briefing?” Sam said. “To show her support for her embattled police chief.”

  “I’ll ask her.” He seemed less than thrilled with the idea, but Sam couldn’t blame him.

  Conklin returned. “Captain Norris will be down momentarily. I asked him to come personally.”

  “Thank you. Does anyone else have any thoughts to add?” Hearing none, Farnsworth dismissed the other officers. “Conklin, Holland and Malone
, please stay.”

  Malone glanced at Sam, his brow raised in question.

  Sam knew what he was asking her and nodded reluctantly. As soon as the room cleared of the other officers, Sam moved to a seat closer to the chief’s desk. “We have another situation you should be aware of,” she said, noting the ashen color of his skin. His admin was right that he looked like shit.

  “What’s that?”

  It pained her greatly to have to add to his worries and to give voice to her concern about Gonzo. “The mother of Detective Sergeant Gonzales’s son was found murdered in a parked car this morning. She’d been manually strangled.”

  Farnsworth stared back at her, his eyes flat and blank. “This would be the same woman who recently exposed his earlier connection to the judge that heard their custody case?”

  “Yes,” Sam said.

  The chief’s deep sigh spoke for him.

  “Tell me he has an alibi for last night,” Conklin said.

  “He and his fiancée were home all night with their son, celebrating the first anniversary of the night they met. I talked to him around eleven o’clock, and he expressed dismay about the story hitting the media and the possible implications for the custody matter. He was upset but under control.”

  “He never mentioned the child’s mother?” Conklin asked.

  And then there’s the part that wants to wrap my hands around her fucking neck and squeeze the life out of her.

  “No,” Sam said without blinking. “Sir.”

  “So he and the fiancée who also loves the kid are each other’s alibi?” Farnsworth asked.

  “Yes.” Sam told them about the situation with the security cameras in Gonzo’s building and the video she’d delivered to Archie earlier, hoping for a lead as to who disabled the cameras. “We’re also digging into Lori’s life. She was a recovering addict who’d recently lost custody of the child for whom she’d turned her life around. We’re hoping to find motive elsewhere before we release the victim’s name.”

  “You’ll have until tomorrow before they’ll be demanding we release the name of the victim,” Conklin reminded her.

  “Yes, sir. I’ve called in my entire squad to work the case today. I assumed the overtime would be approved.”

  “What choice do we have?” Farnsworth asked. “I can’t afford any more shit raining down on this department, and the murder of this woman who was connected by controversy to Sergeant Gonzales is going to be a shitstorm of epic proportions.”

  “Are we looking at conflict-of-interest trouble with this one?” Malone asked.

  “That was my next question,” Conklin said.

  Farnsworth stroked the stubble on his chin as he thought it over. “I’d like to call in Hill to consult so we can defer to him if it leads back to Sergeant Gonzales.”

  “It’s not going to!” Sam said. “He’s not a murderer. He’s a decorated Homicide detective.”

  “I’m well aware of his qualifications as well as his impeccable record, Lieutenant,” the chief said. “However, he’s also a father who’d do anything to protect his child.”

  “Anything except murder,” Sam said. “I know him as well as I know anyone, and I’d bet my badge and my career on his innocence. Besides, one of the reasons he’s still out of work is that the strength in his arm has yet to return. I doubt he’d be physically capable of manually strangling anyone.”

  “He’s been under a lot of pressure lately,” Conklin said, apparently dismissing her argument, “between the wound that’s taking a long time to heal and the revelations about his connection to the judge. People have done crazier things than commit murder when they’re under that kind of strain.”

  “What’s crazier than murder?” Sam asked, adding, “sir,” as an afterthought.

  “Deputy Chief Conklin’s point is well taken,” Farnsworth said.

  By whom? Sam wanted to ask, but didn’t. “We’re running the risk of the FBI and others thinking we can’t handle our own cases. We’ve called them in on the last few.”

  “As I recall,” Conklin said, “you were more than happy to have Agent Hill’s help in your niece’s case.”

  “That was different,” Sam said.

  “How so?” Conklin asked. “Because it was personal? This one is personal to Gonzales. He had a child with the woman, and she’s been making very public trouble for him. Now she’s dead, and his alibi is his fiancée. You know as well as I do how this will play in the press, Lieutenant. Bringing in the FBI to consult covers our asses, which are already on the line right now.”

  It was somewhat out of character for Conklin to raise his voice, which told Sam the strain was wearing on him too. “Fine, if you all think we need the Feds, call the Feds. But this investigation will not lead to Sergeant Gonzales.”

  “If there is even the slightest hint of his involvement, we’re out of it,” Farnsworth said. “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Crystal. May I get back to work?”

  “Go ahead,” Farnsworth said.

  Sam left the office and ran square into the inquiring gaze of the chief’s admin. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to him one-on-one, but I will as soon as I can. I agree he looks a little gray.”

  “He’s not himself.”

  “He’s under an awful lot of pressure right now. Try not to worry too much. He always comes through.” The thought of him not coming through was something Sam couldn’t accommodate in her already overloaded brain.

  The admin nodded, but she didn’t seem reassured.

  “I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll check in with him later.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Sam left the chief’s suite and headed for the pit, crossing the lobby with a growing feeling of anxiety. Her phone rang and she took a call from inside HQ. “Holland.”

  “This is Haggerty.”

  “What’ve you got?” she asked the Crime Scene Unit’s lieutenant in charge.

  “Any idea why there’d be a slip of paper with Sergeant Gonzales’s home address under the floor mat in our vic’s car?”

  Sam felt like she’d been gut-punched. “I have some idea, but I can’t get into it at the moment. Add it to the evidence list. Anything else of interest in the car?”

  “Nothing yet. I’ll have the report to you by tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ll take it sooner if you can do it.”

  “We’ll try. I’d rather be thorough than fast.”

  Sam held back the snapping retort that lingered on the tip of her tongue and slapped her phone closed. “What the fuck?” she muttered under her breath as she went into her office and closed the door to call Gonzo.

  He answered on the first ring. “What’s up?”

  “Tell me something.”

  “Sure.”

  “Have you had any contact with Lori since that day in court when you won custody?”

  “I’ve left her a couple of messages about seeing Alex, but she never called me back. I was trying, you know?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Crime Scene found a slip of paper with your name and address under the floor mat of the car.”

  He was silent as he processed the new information.

  “You gotta help me out here, Gonzo. Who else would have motive to kill her?”

  “How the hell should I know? I barely knew her!”

  “Think, Gonzo. Think long and hard. Give me a thread to pull.” She could almost hear him thinking over the phone.

  “Rex Connolly. He’s the dude she was with when I first found out about Alex. Supposedly she’s not with him anymore, but he might know something about her life. He’s in the system—drugs, B&E, sealed juvie record if I’m remembering correctly. Lori was in the system too. Drug charges.”
/>   “This is good.”

  “The social worker who oversaw the custody case, Justine Travers. She recently got married, and that’s her new last name. She works for the courts and spent a lot of time with Lori during the case. And my friend, Mark Angelo. He was with me the night I met her, and he knew her before. His sister, Sara, was close with Lori. I could give him a call.”

  “No, you won’t. I’ll call him. Text me the number.”

  “All right.”

  “This helps a lot. It gives us somewhere to start.”

  “When are you going public with Lori’s name?”

  “Not until we absolutely have to. Where are you?”

  “Almost to my parents’ place in Harper’s Ferry.”

  “Stay there until you hear from me. You understand? Do not move from there.”

  “I won’t.”

  “We’re going to figure this out. I promise.”

  “I’m counting on that.”

  “I’ll call you later.” Sam stashed the phone in her pocket, grabbed her keys and coat and headed for the pit. “Cruz! With me.”

  “Coming.”

  “McBride!”

  Jeannie McBride popped up from her cubicle. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Find me Rex Connolly.” She passed along the information Gonzo had given her about Rex’s record. “Text me a current address.”

  “I’m on it,” Jeannie said.

  “Everyone else, report in to Cruz in the next fifteen minutes with where you are.”

  Murmured replies of “Yes, ma’am” and “Got it, LT,” from the subdued group followed her command.

  Chapter Seven

  Freddie donned his ever-present trench coat and ran after her, his mouth full of something. His mouth was always full of something, usually donuts or other junk that never added a single pound to his lean physique. “Where we going?”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s gross.”

  “If I didn’t talk with my mouth full, I’d never talk.”

  Sam snorted out a laugh at that truth. “We’re going to Bowie to talk to George Phillips, owner of the car that Lori was driving.”