Fatal Reckoning Page 18

  Forrester came rolling in with several aides in tow. “Hey, Joe,” he said in a thick New York accent. “Come on in.”

  Joe followed Forrester and the others into the office.

  “Have a seat.” Tall and confident, Forrester had silver hair and sharp blue eyes. He was among the more competent U.S. Attorneys Joe had worked with in his long career. “What can I do for you, Chief?”

  Joe eyed the young, hungry aides who were probably recent law school graduates on their way up the ladder. “I need to speak to you in private.”

  Forrester cast a glance at the others, and they got up to leave the room.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’m not entirely sure.” Joe told the USA about what they’d uncovered during a new look at Skip’s case.

  Seeming shocked, Forrester sat back in his chair. “This guy Davis, he’s credible?”

  “By all accounts, a stand-up sort of guy. He’s called Conklin every year on the anniversary of the shooting.” Joe laid the highlighted pages on the desk, showing the calls to Conklin’s line.

  “What would Conklin stand to gain by keeping this quiet?”

  “I have no idea. I’ve spent two sleepless nights wondering that myself.”

  “Do you think he knows who shot Skip?”

  “I don’t know that either. He claims he was nowhere near the scene of the shooting that day. Davis says otherwise.”

  “Have you spoken to everyone who was on the scene of the shooting? Every first responder?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Let’s do that. Let’s find someone else who can put Conklin at the scene.”

  “We’ll get on that today.” Joe paused before asking the question that filled him with dread. “What do you see happening here?”

  “If he had this information for four years and didn’t share it with anyone, at the very least we’ll charge him with impeding an investigation.”

  “Could I ask a favor?”

  “You can ask.”

  “May I request that you handle this personally for now?”

  “I’ll handle it personally for as long as I can. If there’s another witness able to put him at the scene, I’m going to want the investigation turned over to the FBI to keep it clean for you and your department. Agreed?”

  As much as it rankled to turn anything over to the FBI, Joe knew he had no choice in this case. “Agreed. I’ll put some people on it today and get back to you.”

  “Keep Lieutenant Holland far away from this, Joe. If this turns out to be something, the last thing we’ll need is a massive conflict of interest.”

  “Understood. Captain Jake Malone will handle it personally.”

  “Great. I’ll wait to hear from you.”

  Joe stood and reached across the desk to shake Forrester’s hand. “Appreciate your time on this.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you’re dealing with this on top of the loss of a close friend.”

  “It’s been a hell of a week.”

  “My condolences. Skip was one of the good guys.”

  “Indeed he was. We’ll miss him, and we’re determined to finally get justice for him, no matter where it may lead.”

  “Understood. Keep me posted.”

  “Will do.”

  Joe left the USA’s office and decided to make another stop on his way back to HQ. He’d thought about this during the night and had concluded that this was a conversation he needed to have, even if it was a risk. Retired Captain Kenneth Wallack had come up through the ranks with him, Skip, Conklin and Malone. They’d attended the academy together and had known each other for decades.

  Recently, Wallack, a decorated sharpshooter, had been kidnapped by his former stepson and forced at gunpoint to kill innocent people in the drive-by shootings. The stepson had threatened to rape and kill Wallack’s new wife, and Wallack had done what he had to in order to protect her.

  Joe hadn’t spoken to Wallack personally since then, but others had seen him. By all accounts, Wallack was a broken man in the aftermath of killing six innocent people, including a young girl. Wallack was another close friend of Conklin’s and for two weeks after Wallack’s wife reported him missing to Conklin, the deputy chief had sat on the info while he investigated personally. His excuse then had been that he feared Wallack, a recovering alcoholic, had fallen off the wagon, and he’d held the info in an effort to protect a decorated officer.

  Joe had called bullshit on that and had suspended Conklin for a week. In the nearly four years Conklin had been his top deputy, that had been the only time he’d ever questioned his judgment or his integrity. Had he been a fool to trust Conklin for all these years? He liked to think he was a good judge of character, and until the Wallack incident, Conklin had never put off any vibes that he couldn’t be trusted. Granted, Joe didn’t trust Conklin on the same level he’d trusted Skip and Jake, but he had put considerable faith in Conklin as the department’s second in command.

  Joe had come up through the ranks with his eye always on the top job, and he loved being chief. Most of the time. The men and women of the Metro PD did a difficult, often dangerous job that most people weren’t equipped to do. Being part of the brother-and-sisterhood that made up the thin blue line had been the second greatest honor of Joe’s life, second only to being Marti’s husband. The possibility that his number two officer and longtime friend could be crooked or corrupt made Joe sick—physically and emotionally.

  Wallack lived with his wife, Leslie, on Montana Avenue. Joe found a parking space a block away and walked the short distance to the clapboard townhouse. He went up the stairs and rang the bell.

  Looking tired and frazzled, Leslie answered the door. Upon quick glance, he deduced she was in her late fifties or early sixties, with graying blond hair and dark circles under hazel eyes. Joe had met her a couple of times at retiree events but didn’t know her well. He only knew that after a difficult first marriage, Wallack was happy with her. Leslie’s expression conveyed surprise to find the chief on her doorstep.

  She opened the storm door.

  “Sorry to drop by unannounced. I wondered if Kenny might be up for a visit.”

  “I’m sure he’d love to see you, but...” When she looked up at him, tears made her eyes shiny. “He’s so ashamed. I worry all the time that he’s not going to be able to live with it.”

  Joe stepped into the house. “He’s been seeing Dr. Trulo?”

  “Almost daily. He’s been so good to both of us. So many people have been. I just don’t know if it’ll be enough for Kenny. He’s tortured by nightmares, and he cries a lot.”

  “I’m not here to make anything worse.”

  “I understand, and he’ll be glad to see you. He always speaks so highly of you and Conky and the others.” She tipped her head toward the back of the townhouse. “Come on back.” Leslie led him to the back of the deep townhouse, where a sunny screen porch looked out over a small, well-kept yard. “Kenny, Joe Farnsworth is here to see you.”

  Wallack, who was seated in a recliner with a blanket over his lap, stood and turned to them.

  Joe bit back a gasp at the sight of Wallack’s ravaged face. He barely recognized the man he’d known for over thirty years. Forcing himself to rally and hide the shock, Joe extended his hand to Kenny. “Good to see you.”

  Kenny shook his hand. “You too. Have a seat.” He gestured to the other recliner.

  “Can I get you anything, Joe?” Leslie asked.

  “No, thank you.”

  “I’ll leave you two to catch up.”

  Kenny eyed him warily. “This is a nice surprise.”

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been by before now.”

  “I don’t blame you for staying away. I can’t imagine the trouble I’ve caused for you and the others.”

  “You haven’t caused us trouble,
Kenny. You were kidnapped and forced at gunpoint to do what you did. No one blames you.”

  “Well, they fucking oughta.” Wallack blinked back tears.

  “No one blames you. They blame Curtis.” Wallack’s former stepson had been the mastermind of the shooting spree. “This was his doing, not yours.”

  Wallack shrugged. “So I try to tell myself.”

  “You were protecting your wife.”

  “She’s the only one who’s ever truly had my back, you know? How could I let that monster do what he said he’d do to her? And he would’ve done it. I have no doubt about that. I’ve known that son of a bitch for a lot of years. I know what he’s capable of.”

  “I get it. We all get it.”

  “You think Vanessa Marchand’s daddy gets it?” The six-year-old had been gunned down while leaving a playground near her home.

  “Mr. Marchand knows who was behind his daughter’s killing, and he blames Curtis.” Joe cleared his throat, determined to stick to the agenda for this visit. “Could I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Conky.” He nearly choked on Conklin’s familiar nickname but was determined to keep things light with Wallack.

  “What about him?”

  “You know Leslie reported your disappearance to him and he sat on it for two weeks, right?”

  “Yeah, I heard that. He said he was worried I was on a bender and wanted to find me himself. I don’t blame him for keeping it on the down low. He was looking out for me. He knows better than anyone how bad it got when I was drinking. Without him as my sponsor and protector, I would’ve lost my job and my pension back in the day.”

  “I need to ask you something, and I need to ask you cop to cop, not as Conklin’s friend. I also need you to keep the fact that we had this conversation between us. Can you do that?”

  “Whatever I can do for you is the least of what I owe you all.”

  “It’s extremely important that you not share what I’m about to tell you with Conklin. I need your word as a man and as a cop.”

  “You have it.”

  Joe hoped he was doing the right thing by confiding in one of Conklin’s closest friends, but he was counting on Wallack’s need for redemption to guide his actions. “We have reason to believe that Conklin knows more about what happened to Skip Holland than he’s disclosed thus far.”

  Wallack’s expression registered genuine shock.

  Joe told him about the witness who’d given Conklin a statement the day of the shooting and then checked in with him every year on the anniversary. “He didn’t tell any of us about this guy Davis or the annual calls.”

  “Wh-why would he do that?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know. I wondered if you might have any insight as one of his close friends.”

  “I can’t begin to imagine what he was thinking.”

  “Did he ever talk to you about Skip’s shooting?”

  “Only about the horror of it. We all talked about that after it happened. He was no less affected than everyone else who knew Skip or considered him a friend. Of course, he was the top captain in line to take Skip’s place as deputy chief when he was medically retired. I don’t remember him mentioning anything about that, but it was a long time ago.”

  “Sometimes it feels like yesterday. Other times, I have trouble remembering him before the shooting.”

  “I’m really sorry for the loss. I know you two were tight.”

  “We were like brothers.”

  “I can’t believe Conky would do anything intentional to impede an investigation that affected his close friend.”

  “Neither can I, and yet, the evidence suggests he did just that.”

  “Have you talked to him?”

  Joe nodded. “He says he wasn’t at the scene that day and has never met Davis. We’ll be talking to the people who were there to see if they recall seeing him.”

  “And if they do?”

  Joe let his grimace speak for itself. “If you think of anything that might be relevant, call me. Even if you think it’s something small or trivial. Call me.”

  “I will. Of course I will. But I don’t think he’d be capable...”

  “We’d all like to think that of our friends and colleagues, but we’ve both seen enough to know better.”

  “True.”

  “Again, this conversation is confidential.”

  “I promise it won’t go any further.”

  “I appreciate your discretion.”

  Wallack responded with a harsh laugh. “I appreciate yours. What I did... I put a stain on the department that I’ll be ashamed of for the rest of my life.”

  “No one else sees it that way.”

  Wallack raised a brow. “No one?”

  “No one who matters.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  AFTER HAVING BREAKFAST with the kids, Sam headed out for work. The story about the Secret Service providing protection to Aubrey and Alden was the lead in the Star and the Post, but Nick had told her not to worry about it. His office would handle it. Because she had more than enough of her own stuff to worry about, she planned to push it out of her mind and let him deal with it.

  She’d woken to a text from Lilia, her chief of staff at the White House, who was dating their close friend, Dr. Harry Flynn. I know you have so much going on and it might be too soon after losing your dad. However, Harry and I would like to invite you and the vice president to a dinner party at my home on Saturday night. It will be a small group of close friends, including Andy and Elsa Simone, Derek Kavanaugh, Terry O’Connor and Lindsey McNamara. If it’s too soon to socialize, we totally understand, but we wanted to invite you anyway.

  Sam had responded, Thank you for the kind invite. Right at this moment, we’d love to join you, but I reserve the right to renege later if I’m not feeling up to it. Is that okay? Let me know what time and what to bring. It would be good for Nick to have some time with his friends, which he had so little of now that he was vice president and everything had to be planned so far in advance.

  Absolutely fine and just yourselves. Seven o’clock. Would it be okay to invite Shelby and Avery? She’s become a friend since I met you. Lilia had also provided her address in the Adams Morgan neighborhood.

  Of course, Sam had replied, looking forward to an evening with friends and to trying to get things back to normal, whatever that was now.

  Excellent. I’ll take care of coordinating with the vice president’s detail.

  Thank you. A casual night out with friends was anything but when you were the vice president. Sam was thankful to Lilia for handling that detail for them. Sam texted Nick to fill him in on the plans for Saturday night.

  That sounds like fun, he replied. A date with my best girl and some time with my best friends. Sign me up.

  Already did! Sam replied, including heart and kiss emoji.

  Thanks to rush-hour traffic, she had plenty of time to think about her next move in her father’s case. Celia, Tracy and Angela had promised to keep looking for the messenger bag at the house, and Sam tried to think about where else it might be at HQ. Lost and found, maybe? How long would they keep things that went unclaimed? Was it someone’s job to discard unclaimed items after a certain amount of time had passed? If so, how did she apply for that job? She’d vastly prefer it to hers lately.

  Between the drive-by shootings, the home invasion that had left Alden and Aubrey’s parents dead, her father’s death and the shooting of Agent Connolly, she’d had about enough of death. Most of the time, she rolled from one case to another without letting the details overwhelm her. But these last few cases had been rougher than usual. Toss her father’s death in on top of everything else, and a lot became too much.

  Lost and found.

  Her brain jumped around from one thing to another and landed back where it start
ed. After being shot, her dad had been transported to the George Washington University Hospital. How long would they keep something in their lost and found? Had the bag still been slung across his chest when he was shot? Probably not, but it was worth checking. Turning the car toward 23rd Street, she flipped open her phone and put through a call to Freddie, all while zigzagging through traffic. At times like this, it was a good thing she was a cop who didn’t have to worry about traffic violations while on the job. Otherwise, she’d probably be in jail.

  “Morning.” His morning perkiness usually got on her nerves, but today she was glad one of them was feeling perky.

  “I’m heading to GW to check their lost and found for the messenger bag.”

  “Oh, good thought. Want me to meet you?”

  “That’d be good. Let Malone know where we are and hit me up when you get there.”

  “Will do. I’m on my way.”

  When she arrived at the hospital, she parked in the emergency department lot and ran inside, hoping to find Dr. Anderson. They’d had far too many encounters that involved him coming at her with needles, but he’d been useful to her in the past and she hoped he would be again. At the desk, she asked for him while ignoring the people in the waiting room whispering about her.

  She wished she could whirl around and tell them to mind their own goddamned business, but she couldn’t do that to Nick, who would have to explain why his wife had been a bitch to his adoring public.

  The nurse working the desk placed a call to request that Anderson come out to the desk.

  Ten long minutes later, he came through the swinging double doors, seeming surprised to see her. Youthful and blond, he had warm brown eyes that lit up with amusement at the sight of the people in the waiting room gawking at her. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a nonbloody visit?”

  He was funny. She’d give him that, even if his humor was often at her expense. “I need a favor.”