Fatal Scandal: Book Eight of the Fatal Series Page 21

  “We’re live in five, four, three...”

  “Welcome back to Good Morning D.C., I’m Monica Taylor, and we’re delighted today to welcome two very special guests, Metropolitan Police Chief Joseph Farnsworth and Lieutenant Cappuano.”

  “Holland,” Sam said with a glare at Monica. “Lieutenant Holland.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. My bad.”

  Right, Sam wanted to say. Sure it was.

  “It’s just that we’re all so excited about our new second family, and naturally there’s curiosity—”

  “Is that why we’re here? To talk about the curiosity about my family? I thought we were here to talk about the baseless accusations Bill Springer has been making about the chief and the department since his sons were killed in November.”

  “That’s what I thought too,” the chief said.

  Visibly rattled, Monica said, “Yes, of course, we want to talk about all of that.” Thankfully, she seemed to get that grilling Sam about being the vice president’s wife was a no-go. “Let’s talk about the accusations Bill Springer has made and give you a chance to respond to some of them. Let’s start with his claim that his older son, Billy, is dead today because of you.”

  “I know Mr. Springer would like to be able to blame it all on me,” Farnsworth said. “If I were in his shoes, I’d be looking for someone to blame too. I mean, how does a man deal with the knowledge that a child he brought into this world is capable of murdering his own brother and eight other innocents? How do parents ever accept that their son was a big-time drug dealer who’d been on our radar for more than a year before he was killed? Do I regret that Billy Springer died at the hands of my officers? Of course I do, but do I blame anyone but Billy Springer for creating a situation in which it was necessary for my officers to shoot him? No, I don’t.”

  “Lieutenant, how do you feel about Mr. Springer’s allegation?”

  “Like the chief said, I believe he’s looking for someone to blame, because without that, he’s forced to accept that his son was a murderer.”

  “Mr. Springer blames you, directly, Chief, for his son’s death because you put the homicide investigation on hold so your officers could complete the narcotics investigation. Does he have a point there?”

  “He is correct in stating that I put the homicide investigation on hold—briefly—in order to give my Vice detectives, who’d been undercover with Billy Springer, twelve hours to complete a six-month investigation. He is incorrect in placing the blame for Billy’s death on me. It was Billy Springer’s decision to take his grandmother and cousins hostage that day. It was Billy Springer’s decision to shoot at my officers, gravely wounding one of them. If neither of those things had happened, Billy would still be alive today and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “Do you concur, Lieutenant?”

  “Absolutely,” Sam said. “Billy Springer almost killed Detective Sergeant Gonzales, who was shot in the neck and would’ve bled out if not for the quick action of his partner, Detective Arnold. Mr. Springer doesn’t seem to want to talk about how Sergeant Gonzales was wounded so seriously. He doesn’t want to talk about the eyewitness we have who was able to identify Billy as the person who killed Hugo Springer as well as the other eight young people in the Springers’ basement. None of that seems to matter to Mr. Springer. He would put all the blame on the police who responded to an active hostage situation and acted appropriately in light of Billy’s decision to shoot at us.”

  “What I don’t understand,” Monica said tentatively, “is how Billy found out that you were looking at him for the murders of his brother and the other young people?”

  “We’d like to know that too,” Farnsworth said. “We’re conducting an internal investigation to determine if any of our people were involved in conveying that information to Billy the night before he was killed. To our knowledge, none of the undercover detectives who’d gotten close to Billy saw him between the time I put the homicide investigation on hold and the time he took his grandmother and cousins hostage in Friendship Heights. We’re working on establishing a timeline and trying to determine the chain of events. When we have answers, we’ll make them public. Until then, all we can say is we don’t know how he found out, but we’d like to know as much as everyone else.”

  “Lieutenant, your niece was assaulted at the party at the Springer home. Can you tell us how she is doing today?”

  Pissed off by the question, Sam said, “She’s doing very well and completing her senior year of high school.”

  “You mentioned Sergeant Gonzales, and I’d like to follow up on that by asking about his possible involvement in the death of his son’s mother, Lori Phillips.”

  “Sergeant Gonzales had nothing to do with the death of Lori Phillips,” Farnsworth said sternly, “and it’s irresponsible for the media to be tossing accusations around without any proof to back them up.”

  “Well, it’s true that Ms. Phillips has been making waves recently, going public with the sergeant’s connection to the judge who heard their custody case.”

  “There’s a huge difference between being at odds with someone and killing them,” Sam said defiantly. “Sergeant Gonzales is one of the best and most capable police officers I’ve ever worked with. He’s a valuable member of my team, and he was nearly killed not that long ago in service to this city. I find it appalling that anyone would insinuate he was capable of murder a few short weeks after you were all calling him a hero. It’s disgusting.”

  “It’s a natural assumption,” Monica said, her cool blond perfection beginning to curdle as it became clear to her that she was seriously outmatched.

  “We don’t work on assumptions, Ms. Taylor,” Sam said. “We work on facts and evidence, and there’s not a single iota of evidence that ties Sergeant Gonzales to the murder of Lori Phillips, and to imply otherwise is to open yourself and your employer to massive litigation.”

  “There’s no need to get hostile, Lieutenant.”

  “There’s every need to get hostile, Ms. Taylor. This is a man’s life and reputation you all are playing with. It’s nothing to you to report he’s a suspect when he is absolutely not a suspect. Does it occur to you that you’re ruining someone’s life when you toss around words like suspect and ax to grind or some of the other things we’ve heard in the last twenty-four hours?”

  “It looks like we’re out of time. I want to thank our guests for joining me today, and we’ll be right back after this check of the weather and traffic.”

  Sam stood and pulled the microphone off, tossing it on the sofa behind her. “Your journalism professors must be rolling in their graves.”

  “I didn’t go to journalism school,” Monica said testily.

  “Oh, really? I couldn’t tell. If Sergeant Gonzales chooses to file suit against you and others for implying he was guilty of murder, and I wouldn’t blame him if he did, I’ll back him up with everything I’ve got.”

  “We’re done here,” Monica said. “Thanks for coming in.”

  Farnsworth took Sam by the arm before she could tear the bitch’s head off, and half-dragged her out of there. “That was fucking awesome,” he said as soon as they cleared the shell-shocked set. Producers, directors and camera people stopped what they were doing to watch them go by.

  “Language, Chief,” Sam said, even though she was amused by his assessment. “She’s a stupid bitch. The minute she dragged my niece into the discussion, the gloves came off.”

  “You were awesome. If I’m ever truly in trouble, I want you to defend me.”

  “Ha! You’ll go up the river for life.”

  “Nah, the jurors would be too afraid of you to convict me.”

  “You were pretty damn good yourself,” she said.

  “Why, thank you. I paled in comparison to the second lady.”

  “Bite me. Do we reall
y get to do this four more times?”

  “Yep.”

  “Something tells me this day isn’t going to suck as bad as I thought it was.”

  Their euphoria lasted until they emerged from the TV station to find Deputy Chief Conklin waiting for them. “Bill Springer was found dead this morning.”

  * * *

  Shelby awoke sore and disoriented. She was supposed to be somewhere. Scotty. He was back to school today. And Nick. His first day at the White House. She needed to be there.

  And then she remembered what had happened the day before and sagged back into the pillows. Avery’s pillows. She was in his bed, in his room, in his house, even after he’d confessed to having had feelings for Sam.

  Despite all his efforts to make it right, Shelby still felt sick over what three people she considered close friends, three people she loved, had kept from her.

  And yes, she loved all of them—or she had before yesterday. Now she wasn’t sure how she felt about any of them.

  Snippets of conversation and odd moments ran through her mind, punishing her with the realization that the signs of something afoot had been there all along. However, she’d chosen not to dig in to them. Like the time she’d asked Sam why Nick didn’t like Avery.

  “Who knows?” Sam had said. “Guys are so weird.”

  But she’d known why. Everyone had known why—except her. Did Scotty know too? Wouldn’t that make it all perfect?

  At some point she’d have to talk to Sam and Nick about this, and the thought of that conversation made her nauseated. How did you bring up such a topic with your employers who were also your friends?

  She shifted to find a more comfortable position, and her knees burned from the movement. She wasn’t sure which hurt more—her knees or her heart.

  Avery came into the room wearing a D.C. Federals T-shirt and black sweats. It wasn’t fair that he looked as sexy in sweats as he did in a three-thousand-dollar suit. He carried a steaming mug that he deposited on the bedside table.

  “What’ve you got there?”

  “That lemon tea you like. You can still have that, right?”

  “Yeah, it’s decaf.” She didn’t want to be touched by his thoughtful gesture, but she could see he was trying. Reaching for the mug, she took a sip and felt the heat travel through her.

  “How did you sleep?” he asked.

  “Okay. You?”

  “Not so great.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I hate that I hurt you, Shelby. That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.”

  “I want to believe that. You have no idea how badly I want to believe that.”

  “You can believe it.” He hesitated before he continued. “I was in a bad place when you and I met. I won’t deny that. But you and I, we’ve built something here. Or at least I thought we had.”

  “I thought so too.” Trying to keep her emotions in check, Shelby took another sip of her tea. “I’m almost forty-three, Avery. I’m pregnant with what will probably be my only child. For years, I put on weddings for happy couples and all the while I wondered if I would ever get my fairy tale. And then I met you, and I started to entertain the possibility that it was going to happen for me after all. Until I found out you were actually in love with my friend.”

  He took her hand and brought it to his lips, a move that would’ve made her swoon two days ago. “I never had anything with her. I’ve had everything with you. There’s no comparison.”

  Okay, that was a good thing for him to say. He was charming. She’d give him that.

  “And before you think I’m saying what you need to hear, ask yourself why I’d do that if I didn’t want to protect what I have with you? If I wasn’t invested, why would I bother to try to fix this?” As he spoke, he gently stroked her cheek with his index finger.

  Electrified by his touch, Shelby looked up to find his golden eyes looking at her with everything she’d hoped to one day find in a partner. “I guess you wouldn’t bother.”

  “No, I wouldn’t, and yet all I thought about during a sleepless night was how I could fix it. I thought about how lonely I’d be without you and your pink perfection, and I didn’t like how that felt. I didn’t like it at all. So you see, Shelby, you have to forgive me because you wouldn’t want me to be lonely and sad without you, would you?”

  Laughing as she wiped away tears, she said, “You’re fighting dirty, Agent Hill.”

  “I’m fighting for you, Shelby Faircloth. Will you please find it in your heart to forgive me for keeping something from you that I absolutely should’ve told you a long time ago? Will you try to put this in the past where it belongs so we can focus together on the future?”

  The sweet Southern cadence of his speech was enough on its own to make her want to beg him for forgiveness. “I’ll try because I want very much to focus on the future with you. But I need a little time to process it all. And I need to talk to Sam in particular and possibly Nick too.”

  “You do whatever you need to do, sweetheart. I’ll be right here waiting for you to tell me we’re okay again.” With his finger on her chin, he tipped her face up to receive his kiss.

  Shelby loved kissing him. She loved everything with him. More than anything, she loved that he’d apologized and took responsibility for causing her pain. That, right there, made him different from any other man she’d ever spent time with.

  He took the tea from her and put it back on the table.

  Shelby put her arms around his neck and drew him close to her, breathing in the sexy masculine scent that she’d become addicted to.

  When he nuzzled her neck, she turned her head ever so slightly, putting her lips in line with his. He gazed into her eyes for a long, breathless moment before he took her mouth in a desperate kiss.

  Shelby gave in to the desire he stirred in her every time he held her and kissed her this way. As always, she was powerless to resist him, even knowing she probably should.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “What’ve we got?” Sam asked when she walked into Bill Springer’s Georgetown office.

  Officer Peterson, a patrolman, consulted his notes. “Bill Springer, age sixty-three, was found by his assistant, Pamela Desjardens, when she arrived for work at seven thirty-five. The office lights were on, Mr. Springer was on the floor and there was no sign of a struggle.”

  The result of a struggle could be cleaned up in the aftermath, Sam thought. “Forced entry?”

  “Not that we were able to ascertain.”

  “Have you touched him?”

  “Only to check for a pulse.”

  Sam squatted to take a closer look at the body. Like Lori Phillips, he had ligature marks around his neck that were indicative of manual strangling.

  “Where’s the admin?”

  “Across the hall at one of the other offices. She was freaking out, and she has a friend over there. I thought it would be okay for her to wait there to speak to you.”

  “Good call, Peterson.”

  “Oh, thanks.”

  “Let’s get Crime Scene here and do a canvas of the other offices in the building to see if anyone heard anything. You’ve called the ME?”

  “On her way.”

  Sam turned to the chief, who stood in the hallway looking down at the man who’d caused him endless grief in the last few weeks. Farnsworth’s face had taken on that grayish hue again after hearing the news about Bill Springer. Beside him, Deputy Chief Conklin took in the scene.

  “What’re you thinking, Lieutenant?” Conklin asked.

  “That someone is trying to make trouble for the MPD. Big trouble.” She went over to Springer’s desk, where a planner sat open. She pulled on a pair of gloves and flipped through the last few days, noting the lack of anything written on the most recent pages. Either he’d stopped writing down
his appointments or he’d stopped taking them. “I’d like to talk to the admin.”

  “Sure, right this way.” Peterson led them across the hall to where a young blonde sat on a sofa, being comforted by another woman. “Ms. Desjardens, this is Lieutenant Holland, Chief Farnsworth and Deputy Chief Conklin. They’d like to talk to you about what happened this morning.”

  She nodded and wiped tears from her face. “I...I got to work early and...and Bill...he was on the floor. I went to him, and he was cold. So cold.”

  “Ms. Desjardens, do you know of anyone who might’ve wanted to harm Mr. Springer?”

  She shook her head. “He hadn’t been working much lately. After everything with his sons...”

  “How long have you worked for him?”

  “About two years now?”

  “And were you only his employee?” Sam asked, playing a hunch.

  She looked up at Sam, her tear-ravaged face red and swollen. “What?”

  “Were you involved with Mr. Springer in any other way than professionally?”

  “We were friends, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “It’s not what I’m asking, as we all know.”

  “You don’t have to answer that, Pam,” the other woman said with a scowl for Sam.

  “Um, yeah, she does have to answer.”

  The air around them vibrated with anticipation.

  “He’d been through a lot lately. It was a really upsetting time.”

  “Uh-huh,” Sam said as her patience ran out. “Were you sleeping with him, Pam?”

  She dropped her head into her hands, her shoulders heaving with sobs.

  The other woman rubbed her back while continuing to glare at Sam. “Don’t you have any compassion?”

  “Lots of it, but I’ve also got a dead body across the hall, and I’m trying to figure out what happened to him.”

  “You should ask your chief. He had a good reason to see Mr. Springer dead.”

  “Except he didn’t kill him, so you might want to watch out for lobbing baseless accusations at innocent people. Pamela, I need you to answer the question, or we’ll have to transport you to HQ to discuss this further.”