Cause for Alarm

by Erica Spindler

  "Yes, actually. That's just what they want. They want us to give them Powers, lock, stock and barrel. Right now, all we've got is speculation and coincidence." He frowned. "But I'm thinking, if we could prove there was a cover-up in the senator's death, maybe, just maybe they would make a move. It's worth a shot.

  "We start with the police." He shifted his gaze to Emma, sleeping finally but fitfully, in Kate's arms. "After we get Emma to the doctor."

  75

  The homicide division of the Metropolitan Police Department, or M.P.D., was located downtown in the Henry

  J. Daly Municipal Center. Besides police headquarters, Luke learned, the Daly building housed several other entities, including the Department of Motor Vehicles and the parole board. Interesting choice, combining paroled convicts and police officers in the same building. He wondered what genius had thought that one up.

  Parking downtown D.C. was a nightmare so Luke had taken a cab. He paid the driver, then made his way into the building and past the uniformed guards and metal detector. Homicide was on three, accessible only from the main lobby elevators. Every police department he had ever been in possessed its own distinct character. Some were rough, some sleekly modern, some carnival-like.

  But the officers themselves, as a group, varied little, whether small-town cop or big-city law enforcement. A breed unto themselves, tough but never reckless, unified. He supposed it was because they lived differently than regular folks, on an invisible edge. Seeing death changed a man. As did facing it.

  If he made it through this, Luke hadn't a doubt that he would be changed, too. He stepped onto the elevator, checking his watch as he did. It was nearly five. Emma's trip to the Ready Med had taken longer than he had anticipated, though it was a good thing they had gone. By the time they'd gotten in to see the doctor, the child had gone from feeling a little warm to downright hot.

  And no wonder. Emma had had a temperature of 102.5, brought on by a severe ear infection in both ears. The doctor had prescribed an antibiotic, infant's Tylenol for the fever and discomfort and plenty of rest.

  The elevator glided to a stop; the doors slid open and Luke emerged from the car. The homicide division lay straight ahead, through doors that could only be accessed with a key code. He turned right and headed down the hall to the desk lieutenant's office, pausing beside a trash receptacle.

  On the way downtown, Luke had had the cabbie make a quick stop at a bookstore. He'd run in and bought a copy of Dead Drop. He took it out of the bag, which he tossed in the trash, then tucked the volume under his arm.

  He hoped his so-called celebrity status and a free, autographed book might encourage somebody to talk. The guys at the Houston P.D. had adopted him as one of their own, letting him into their closed circle. They filled him in on cases, their theories, why and how things went down-even when they went wrong. They did so because they knew they could trust him, because he always took care to get his facts straight and give an acknowledgment when warranted.

  He didn't fool himself that the M.P.D. officers would be so welcoming.

  The desk lieutenant was a woman. Luke sent her what he hoped was a winning smile. "Hi, I'm Luke Dallas. The novelist." Her expression didn't change. "I'm in Washington to research my new book, and I was wondering if I could speak with one of the detectives."

  "You'll have to see Detective Peterson in Community Relations. He's on four."

  The Community Relations officer was not about to give him the information he needed. Those guys always played it by the book.

  Luke tried again. He flashed the woman another smile, though he could tell she wasn't impressed. "I'm only in town for the day, and I was really hoping to talk to someone currently working cases."

  "Sorry." She frowned. "Department policy."

  He shifted the book under his arm. Her gaze flicked to it, then back up to him. "Who'd you say you are?"

  "Luke Dallas. Dead Drop." He held up the book and recognition lit her features.

  "I saw you on the ‘Today Show.' Isn't that Matt Lauer to die for?"

  Luke's lips lifted in self-directed amusement. Some claim to fame. "I wouldn't know about to die for, but he's a great guy. A good buddy of mine, actually." When all else fails, lie your ass off. "I could get you an autograph."

  "Really?"

  "Oh, yeah. We play tennis together every week."

  She thought for a moment, then leaned slightly toward him. "I tell you what, I'll let you talk to Detective Sims. I think he'll be able to help you out."

  Five minutes later, Lieutenant Arlene Larson's full name and address in his pocket, Luke sat across from Detective Sims. Luke immediately understood why the lieutenant had chosen this detective to speak with him. He was young, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. A preppy-looking, go-by-the-books kind of guy. Definitely not the kind who would spill department secrets.

  "So, you're a writer?" the detective said.

  "That's right. Luke Dallas." He handed him the book. "For you, signed."

  The kid stared at the book, his jaw going slack. "Holy shit, not the Luke Dallas?"

  Luke smiled and relaxed slightly. "The very one."

  "I love your books." Sims leaned forward, lowering his voice. "I'm a writer, too. Not published yet, but I will be. Maybe you could take a look at my manuscript?"

  First Matt Lauer. Now this.

  "I'm only in town for the day," Luke murmured, trying to sound disappointed. "I tell you what, you help me out with this and I'll give you my agent's name and put in a good word for you. Agreed?"

  "You got it." The detective looked about ready to bust, he was so pleased with the deal. "Want to hear what my story's about? It's really good. Fast-paced. Lots of action."

  "I'd love to, if I had the time. I'll just have to trust that it's great."

  The detective looked crestfallen, but nodded. "Okay, so what do you need to know?"

  "The scenario I'm currently working on involves the cover-up of the murder of an influential man. An important man."

  "Influential? How so?"

  "He's a U.S. senator."

  The detective nodded. "Go on."

  "Our senator is a respectable married man. He has kids.

  A pillar of the community, country and church. He also has a mistress."

  Sims nodded. "This is good. I like this."

  "He's in bed with his mistress. An assassin enters and kills them both. Pop, one shot to the chest and the senator's history."

  "Oh, wow. What's the twist? I know your stories, there's always a twist."

  Luke's lips lifted. "The assassin's not after him, he's after the mistress. The senator is simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. The wife has family connections that go all the way to the president and the feds-"

  "Cover up the true circumstances of the murder to save the wife, kids and country public humiliation."

  "Exactly." Luke smiled. "I can tell you're a born writer." The detective beamed at him, and Luke leaned back in his chair. "You ever seen anything like that before, Detective?"

  "Personally, no. But it could happen."

  "What about Senator Jacobson's murder? Anything like what I described?"

  The preppy detective's face fell. "Senator Jacobson?"

  "The very one." Luke leaned forward. "I have reason to believe Jacobson was neither in a hotel room nor alone when he was killed. I need to corroborate."

  "I didn't work that case."

  "You could look up the report." Luke met the other man's gaze straight on. "It's important, Sims. I'd consider it a personal favor."

  "This isn't for one of your novels, is it?"

  "No, Sims, it's not. But it's life and death, I promise you that."

  The young detective hesitated, then looked nervously over his shoulder. "You didn't hear this from me?"

  "I didn't hear it at all."

  He nodded, glanced around again, then murmured. "I don't have to look that one up, it's not every day a senator gets whacked. Something was definitely off about Jac
obson's death. About the scene." The detective shifted in his seat, his chair creaked. "From the get-go it was hands off, feds only. They examined the scene, collected and processed the evidence. Some of the guys were really ticked off."

  "Couldn't that have been because of who the victim was? Like you said, it's not every day a United States senator is murdered."

  "Could be. But I doubt it." Sims leaned forward. "I heard some talk. Speculation that something different went down than what was officially reported. The scene didn't look right. Captain told us to put a lid on it."

  "What happened then?"

  "We did as ordered. Who has time to worry about yesterday's stiffs, no matter how important a person they were, we got today's, you know what I mean?"

  Luke agreed that he did, indeed, know what he meant. "Sylvia Starr, ever heard that name?"

  Sims thought a moment, then shook his head. "Who is she?"

  "Murder victim. Could you look her up for me?"

  "Sure. What do you need to know?"

  "Date and time of death, circumstances. Whether she was found alone."

  He swung toward his PC, typed in the appropriate combination of letters and numbers; a moment later the information came up. Sims scanned it. "Murdered on November 16, last year. Estimated time of death 3:00 a.m. Lover beside her, a John Doe. Gunshot to the head, close range. Blew her brains out. Unsolved."

  "That's it?"

  "That's it, though there should be more." He frowned, rereading the information on the screen. "I don't see anything about evidence collection, witness interviews, or a case pending. It must have fallen through the cracks. You want me to look her up in the hard file?"

  "No, that's okay. Could you check one more thing for me?"

  "Sure. Shoot."

  "Jacobson, the date and time of his murder?"

  Sims turned to his PC once more. A minute later he frowned. "November 16, last year. Estimated time of death 3:00 a.m. Think there's a connection here?"

  "Maybe."

  "The mistress, right?"

  "Yeah." Luke smiled grimly and stood, thinking ahead to the conversation he would have with Morris. "You got a card, Sims?"

  The detective handed him one, and Luke turned it over and jotted down his agent's name, address and telephone number. "Send him your manuscript, tell him I said he should read it. When I get home, I'll call him, put in a good word for you."

  The man flushed with pleasure. "Thanks, Mr. Dallas." He held out a hand. "Thanks a lot."

  "Thank you." Luke shook his hand. "I appreciate your help."

  He started to walk away, stopping and turning back after a few steps. "Sims?" The detective looked up. "A moment ago you said the scene was feds only. Happen to know which Agency that was?"

  The younger man thought a moment, then shook his head. "Can't recall. You want me to find out? It'll take a few minutes."

  "Yeah, I would," Luke said, turning back toward the desk. "I'll wait."

  76

  Kate sat beside Emma's crib and watched her sleep. Exhaustion and guilt pulled at her. How could she not have acted on the change in her daughter's behavior sooner? All the signs of illness had been there, crankiness, loss of appetite, sleeplessness. Instead, it had taken a 102.5 degree temperature to galvanize her into action. What kind of mother was she?

  Kate passed a hand wearily across her forehead. The doctor had called ear infections a common childhood malady. If treated properly and promptly they posed no long-term health threat, if not, the child's hearing could be affected. He'd also tried to assure Kate that nothing she had or hadn't done had caused it.

  As much as she wanted to, Kate didn't buy that. Emma had gone six months without so much as a sniffle; now, her life and routine in chaos, she had a raging infection in both ears and a temperature.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Please find what we need, Luke. Please.

  The phone jangled and Emma stirred and moaned, her face puckering up in reaction to the sudden, shrill sound. Kate dove for the offending instrument, catching it a moment before it rang again.

  "Hello?" she said softly, her gaze on Emma.

  "Kate, it's Luke."

  "Luke?" She pressed the receiver tighter to her ear, straining to hear above the din on the line. "I can hardly hear you."

  "I've run into a little trouble down here."

  "Trouble? What-" The line crackled, then faded. He was saying something, but she couldn't quite make it out. "Luke, speak up. I can't understand what you're saying."

  Julianna came to the door between their rooms. Kate glanced at her, and she mouthed, "What's wrong?"

  Kate lifted her shoulders to indicate she didn't know, then turned her attention back to Luke.

  "I think we've got him, Kate," he was saying, his voice fading in and out. "But we need to act quickly. How fast can you get down here?"

  "Down there?" she repeated, her heart beginning to pound. "I don't understand-"

  "Kate, I can hardly hear you now." The line crackled again. "-need you down here. Three hundred Indiana Avenue, N.W. The Henry J. Daly Municipal Center. Third floor. Quickly. Got that, Kate?"

  "Got it. But, Luke, what-"

  "You'll understand everything when you get here. Hurry," he said, "we don't have a minute to waste."

  The line went dead.

  Julianna came into the room, eyes wide, the expression in them worried. "What's going on?"

  "I don't know." Kate stared at the receiver a moment, then returned it to its cradle. "Luke says he got what we needed, but there's some sort of trouble and we have to act quickly."

  "He got the proof?"

  "That's what he said. He asked me to come right down."

  "But why?"

  "I don't know." Kate snatched up the diaper bag and carried it to the crib. "It was an awful connection, I could hardly hear."

  Kate gazed down at her sleeping daughter, doubt plucking at her. The Tylenol had brought down her fever and relieved her pain, making it possible for her to finally rest. "I hate to wake her up," she murmured. "Poor thing just got to sleep."

  "Don't." Julianna came to stand beside her. "You go, I'll stay with her. It'll be much quicker, and she can get some rest."

  Kate hesitated. Julianna was right. It would be quicker without Emma. She would have to change Emma's diaper, make sure the diaper bag had plenty of spares and make a bottle. Plus the doctor had prescribed rest.

  "She'll be fine. I bet she won't even wake up."

  Kate caught her bottom lip between her teeth. She hated this. It felt wrong. But Luke had sounded almost desperate, and Kate knew her daughter-Emma did not like her sleep disturbed. If awakened now she would doubtless scream for the next thirty minutes. Kate didn't suppose that was what the doctor had meant by her getting plenty of rest and quiet.

  "You can trust me, Kate. I wouldn't do anything to hurt Emma."

  Kate realized it was true. If Julianna didn't care about Emma, she would have high-tailed it out of Louisiana after disabling Powers. Instead, she had put herself in harm's way to save Emma. Besides, how long would she be gone? Surely not more than forty-five minutes?

  Kate acquiesced, though still torn. "Okay, but lock the door. Don't answer it for anyone."

  Julianna laughed. "Are you kidding? There's a chance I won't even let you guys back in."

  On impulse, Kate gave the other woman a quick hug. "I'll check in when I get there. You know where the formula and-"

  "And bottle and diapers and wipes are? Yes. Now, go."

  Kate grabbed her coat and hurried to the door, unlocked it and stepped out into the cold evening air. She stopped and looked back at Julianna, a knot in the pit of her gut. "Take care of my baby, okay?"

  As she said the words she realized how strange they were, considering their relationship. In the beginning it had been Julianna who had entrusted Kate with the care for her baby.

  "I will. Don't worry about a thing."

  With one last glance backward, Kate hurried out to hail a cab.
/>   77

  Twenty minutes later the cab dropped Kate off in front of the Daly building. She paid the fare and hurried inside. She scanned the busy lobby, looking for Luke; when she didn't see him, she went through the metal detectors, heading toward the elevators.

  She reached them just as one finished emptying out; she stepped inside and punched the third-floor call button. She lifted her gaze to the floor numbers above the door and drew in a deep breath through her nose, vacillating between being anxious and excited, hopeful and fearful.

  Luke had said he'd gotten what they needed. But he'd also said he'd run into some sort of trouble. What could he have meant?

  The elevator stopped on three and the doors opened. The hallway was empty, the door to the homicide division locked. Kate turned right and headed to the desk lieutenant's office.

  The woman, a capable-looking brunette, looked up when Kate entered. "What can I do for you?"

  "I was supposed to meet a friend here, Luke Dallas. He was interviewing one of the detectives."

  "Detective Sims." She nodded. "But I'm afraid you've missed him."

  "Missed him?" Kate repeated, her stomach falling. "Are you sure?"

  "Positive. Detective Sims left on a call about ten minutes ago."

  Ten minutes ago. An eternity.

  Something was wrong.

  Kate began backing out of the office, heart pounding. "He's probably waiting for me in the lobby. Thanks for your help."

  She turned and ran for the elevator. This time she had to wait for a car; each moment seemed a lifetime. An elevator arrived. She hurried on. The car was already occupied by two uniformed officers. She eyed their sidearms, cuffs and radios, oddly reassured.

  The taller of the two caught her gaze. "Everything all right, ma'am?"

  She gazed at the officer. She could enlist their help. Tell them the whole story and beg them to help her.

  She opened her mouth to do just that, then shut it, remembering what Julianna had said about John and the police. That they would make her a sitting duck, that John would outwit them easily. She pictured herself explaining the story to them, then their superior officer or a detective; could hear their questions, their skepticism.