Fatal Identity Read online

  “Still, it seemed like you appeared out of nowhere. How’d you do that?”

  “For the first time since I accepted this promotion, being vice president finally came in handy. You see, I have this plane on standby that I can use when I need to get somewhere fast.”

  “Brant must’ve had an embolism.”

  “I think he might be starting to get used to us.”

  Sam tried to smile but everything hurt, even her face.

  “Go to sleep, babe. I’m right here if you need me.”

  Comforted by his presence as much as his sweet love, she curled her hand around his bicep and let sleep drag her into oblivion.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  JAKE MALONE ENDED the day as he started it—frustrated and infuriated with the interference coming from the FBI, which seemed to be one step ahead of them at every pass. And now he was hearing that Holland was down hard with the flu in Knoxville. What else could go wrong? This case was a freaking nightmare.

  He made his way to the chief’s office, waving to Helen, the chief’s admin, on the way by. Her sympathetic smile didn’t do much to assuage his shredded nerves.

  “Whose idea was it to suspend Holland right before the FBI director got himself offed?” Malone asked.

  Farnsworth poured him a shot of the whiskey he kept in his bottom drawer for nights that followed days from hell.

  Silently, Malone took the glass from the chief, toasted him and downed the shot.

  “What’ve you got?” Conklin asked from his seat in front of the chief’s desk. He too held a glass in hand.

  “Not enough.” Malone dropped into the other visitor chair. “The Feds are making things very difficult in the field.” He filled them in on what Holland and Hill had learned in Knoxville, including their interest in speaking with Mrs. Hamilton again. “The Feds have put a protective barrier around Courtney Hamilton and won’t let us near her.”

  “It’s still our case, Jake,” Farnsworth said. “If we need her, we can take her into custody.”

  “That may be true, but we’ll need a SWAT team to get her. The mother’s house in Chantilly is a fortress. Her older children arrived today from Chicago and Boston. The family is expressing an interest in seeing Josh, who’s still unconscious from a nearly lethal dose of phenobarbital.”

  “What’re the doctors saying?” Conklin asked.

  “That it’s a waiting game at this point. Any word from the lab or Crime Scene? We need something to go on. The gunmen who took Cruz and Josh gave us dick earlier.”

  “The lab said they’d have something in the morning,” Conklin said, “and we sent Crime Scene back in for another sweep. Carlucci and Dominguez interviewed the eyewitness, who didn’t have anything more to add to what he’d already given us. He saw a person of average height and build running from the vicinity of the Hamilton home on Sunday afternoon around three-thirty. He couldn’t describe the clothing or any other distinguishing features, so that’s more or less a dead end.”

  “Did we get video from the surrounding homes? In that neighborhood, everyone has security.”

  “Archie’s team is combing through that now,” Conklin said.

  “And still nothing on Jacoby?” Farnsworth asked.

  “Not a trace.”

  With his elbows on the desk, Farnsworth leaned forward. “Finding him is going to be the key to this case.”

  “What makes you so sure?” Malone asked.

  “Think about it. He was in Knoxville with Hamilton at the time the Rollings child went missing. He’s second in command to Hamilton in the Bureau and falls off the grid at the same exact time that Hamilton is murdered and Josh is abducted. How could his disappearance not be related?”

  “I think it’s time we played hardball with the gunmen who abducted Cruz and Josh Hamilton,” Conklin said. “Let’s really go at them, make them think the others are rolling and see what we get. They’re something we have that the Feds don’t, so let’s use them to our fullest advantage.”

  Malone got up and put his glass on the desk. “I’m on it.”

  “Jake, if you need to sleep, get on it in the morning,” Farnsworth said.

  “We’ll do it now, and then call it a day.”

  “Keep us posted,” Conklin said.

  Malone waved to indicate he’d heard him and headed for the detectives’ pit where Carlucci and Dominguez were working on reports. “Ladies, we’re going to talk to our gunmen again, and here’s the plan.” He mapped out the strategy of making the others believe that one of their associates had started talking and it would go bad for the others unless they fessed up right away.

  “They’re going to want lawyers present,” Carlucci said.

  “We’ll tell them we can absolutely get their lawyers here, but that might take until morning, and things are happening right now. It’s up to them as to whether they want to cooperate. We want to know if any of them have info about the whereabouts of Dustin Jacoby or have had any contact at all with Courtney Hamilton in the last week.”

  Dominguez nodded. “Let’s do this.”

  Malone handed each of them a case folder, keeping one for himself, and called downstairs to the sergeant working the desk in lockup, asking to have the three men brought upstairs to interrogation rooms. “We’d prefer if they didn’t see the others being moved.”

  “You got it, Cap. We’ll have them upstairs in five minutes.”

  It’d been a while since Malone had done an interrogation on his own. He hoped he hadn’t forgotten how it was done.

  He’d taken Chris Kinney for himself, because they’d agreed earlier that he seemed to be the ringleader. Kinney had a rap sheet that dated back to high school when he’d been involved in an armed robbery at a convenience store in Southeast that put him in jail for five years. Since getting out four years ago, he’d stayed off the radar until now.

  Kinney was stocky but muscular. He had close-cropped blond hair and a scar that slashed through his bottom lip. His arms were crossed, his expression defiant. “I got nothing to say.”

  “Well, you might want to listen, then. Here’s what’s going on. Your buddies are talking.”

  “No fucking way they’re talking. They know better.”

  “I guess the thought of a long stretch in federal prison has them reconsidering their stance.”

  “Nice try, but I ain’t buying.”

  “Does the name Dustin Jacoby mean anything to you?” Malone asked, playing a hunch.

  Kinney didn’t say anything but his body went rigid. Bingo. Interrogation was just like riding a bike, Malone decided. The skills came back when you needed them. He took a seat, keeping his posture relaxed and his tone amicable. “Here’s what we think happened, and you can feel free to tell me I’m wrong. Something went down years ago between Jacoby and his boss, Troy Hamilton.” Malone was grasping at straws with this theory, but Kinney didn’t know that. His reaction to Jacoby’s name was all Malone needed to head in this direction.

  “We think it involved Hamilton’s son Josh. Maybe Jacoby had something big on Hamilton, something he held over his head for years while they both rose in the ranks within the Bureau. But then the secret went public, and everyone’s in cover-their-ass mode, including Jacoby, who’s fallen off the radar. Now maybe, just maybe, Jacoby decides that his old buddy Troy has got to go before he can spill the beans on the whole scheme.

  “So now we’ve got Troy out of the way, what do we do with the son who caused all this trouble in the first place? We can’t have him running around telling people his parents stole him from another family. If we take him out of the picture, then everything is so much cleaner than it would be otherwise. And that, my friend, is where you come in.” Malone paused for effect. “It was a good plan, except you got sloppy and forgot to take the plates off the van. Oh, and did
I mention that Josh didn’t die? Yeah, that’s a bummer, because the doctors say he’s going to survive, and when he starts talking, whoa, I want to be there for that. You feeling me?”

  Kinney squirmed ever so slightly, but Malone saw it and pounced, leaning in so he was halfway across the table—right in the other man’s face. “I’m giving you ten minutes to make your deal or I’m offering it to one of your pals.” He stood and turned to leave, making it to the door before Kinney stopped him.

  “What’re you offering?”

  “Depends on what you’re giving.”

  Kinney sighed. “What if I could tell you where Jacoby is?”

  “That’d be worth a conversation about lesser charges with the AUSA,” Malone said. “It’s the U.S. Attorney’s call at the end, but I’d recommend leniency for your cooperation.”

  “I want to talk it over with my lawyer first.”

  “I’ll get you a phone, but that’ll take a few minutes. You should know that your friends are being offered the same deal as we speak. First come, first served.” He made to leave the room again. “Let me see about that phone.”

  “Wait.”

  Malone smiled before he turned, losing the smile as he did. He remained stubbornly silent for a long moment before he checked his watch.

  “All right. I’ll take the deal.”

  “Excellent, give me a minute to let the others know.” Staying in character, he stepped outside and stood there for five minutes before he went back in. Someone had once said there’s a lot of acting in detective work, and tonight was a prime example of that. It was nice to know he hadn’t lost his mojo since leaving the field to ride a desk.

  Returning to the room, he produced a pad and pen. “Let’s go through it from the beginning.”

  * * *

  MALONE LEFT THE interrogation room twenty minutes later with a treasure trove of information from Kinney. He went directly to the chief’s office where Farnsworth was also pulling an all-nighter. We’re getting far too old for this shit, Malone thought as he knocked once before showing himself in.

  “That went well,” he said. “Kinney rolled on the others and identified Jacoby as the mastermind. He paid Kinney to help him take out Hamilton and to grab Josh.”

  “Jesus H. Christ. The deputy FBI director killed the director?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “Kinney saw dollar signs and didn’t ask questions, but he said Jacoby was flipping out—his words—about getting it done fast. Things were falling apart, or so he said.”

  Farnsworth sat back in his chair to think that through. “So the release of that age-progression photo was like a fuse under a keg of dynamite.”

  “That’s my thinking too. They sat on this for thirty years until that photo ruined the whole thing. No one ever would’ve known they had anything to do with taking Taylor if it wasn’t for that photo.”

  “Why take out Hamilton and abduct Josh?”

  “Kinney didn’t know the why of it. He only knew that he was being paid to get rid of them both.” Malone handed the chief a slip of paper. “That’s Jacoby’s second cell phone, the one he used to keep in touch with Kinney over the weekend. He doesn’t know if it’s still in service, but if it is, it could lead us to Jacoby.”

  “Let’s get IT on tracking it.”

  “On my way up there from here. Before I go, though, I’m having another thought. Holland and Hill reported there was tension in the Hamilton marriage while they were in Knoxville, at the same time Jacoby was there and Taylor was kidnapped. Courtney left, took the children back to Virginia. I’m thinking she knows a lot more than she let on about what happened to her husband and how that baby came to live in her house.”

  “Agreed.”

  “The Feds have her surrounded. There’s no way we can get to her.”

  “No, but I know who can.” Farnsworth picked up the receiver on his desk phone, flipped through an old-fashioned Rolodex and placed a call. “Pat, Joe Farnsworth, sorry to wake you up. We have a situation and could use the assistance of the Virginia State Police.” He laid it out for his old friend, giving him the full story on their belief that Jacoby was involved and that Courtney Hamilton had information relevant to the investigation. “I need you guys to get her out of her mother’s house and bring her here.” Joe laughed at whatever his friend had to say and then nodded. “Thanks a lot. I owe you one.” He put down the receiver and grinned up at Malone. “Nothing cops love more than a good old-fashioned turf war. They’re all in.”

  “Excellent. Let me get this number up to Archie’s crew and see if we can locate Jacoby.”

  “I’ve forgotten how fun this can be.”

  “I was just thinking that myself. Doesn’t seem fair that Holland usually gets to have all the fun while we toil away at desks.”

  “The old guys still got game.”

  “You know it.” Filled with a new burst of energy, Malone took the stairs two at a time and went into the IT area, which was largely deserted at this hour, except for several third-shift detectives who were sifting through surveillance video from the Hamiltons’ neighborhood. Malone wasn’t surprised to find Lieutenant Archelotta at one of the terminals, working right alongside his team.

  “What can we do for you, Cap?” Archie said when he saw him coming.

  Malone handed him the piece of paper. “I need a trace on a phone number.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “I was told the location we’re looking for might be in the mountains.”

  “If it’s putting out a signal, we’ll find it.”

  “The sooner the better. This is as hot as hot gets.”

  “Let me figure out who the carrier is and request a warrant. Give me thirty minutes.”

  “Thanks, Archie.”

  “They got you working for a living this week, huh?” Archie asked with a cheeky grin.

  “Very funny. I’m going downstairs. Come find me if you get anything.”

  “You’ll be the first to know.”

  Malone went down the stairs, intending to try to catch a cat nap in his office, but when he was paged, he ducked into Holland’s office to take the call. “Malone.”

  “It’s Nick Cappuano.”

  “Mr. Vice President. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m in Knoxville with Sam. She’s really sick, but all she wants to know is if you’ve got Mrs. Hamilton or if you’ve found Jacoby.”

  “You can tell her we’re getting closer on both of them, and one of the gunmen rolled and gave us Jacoby.”

  Nick put the phone on Speaker, conveyed that information to Sam, and naturally, she had more questions.

  Malone filled them in on what they knew so far, and what was currently being done. Ten minutes later, she ran out of questions—and, from what he could hear, steam.

  “I appreciate your time, Captain,” Nick said. “Perhaps now my wife will actually go to sleep and stay asleep.”

  “I live to serve.”

  “We’ll be back in the city tomorrow. I assume you’ll hear from my lovely bride.”

  “I shall eagerly anticipate her return.”

  Nick snorted with laughter before the phone went dead.

  Malone grunted out a laugh as he hung up the phone. Classic Holland. Sick as a freaking dog and still on the job. He’d no sooner had that thought than Cruz and Gonzales appeared in the doorway. “What’re you guys doing here?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “COULDN’T SLEEP,” CRUZ SAID. “I can’t stop thinking about Josh, so I went by the hospital to see how he’s doing. No change.”

  “I couldn’t sleep either,” Gonzo said. “I figured there might be something I could do to help.”

  “Right now, we’re waiting
on Archie to tell us where we might find Dustin Jacoby, who’s apparently smack in the middle of this whole thing—whatever this whole thing might be.”

  “So we’re actually about to go after the deputy director of the FBI in relation to the murder of the director?”

  “And possibly the kidnapping of the child the director raised as his own.”

  “At least there’s never a dull moment on this job,” Cruz said, his expression incredulous.

  “Shoulda gone into banking or insurance or something predictable and boring,” Gonzo said as he took a seat and put his feet on Sam’s desk.

  Cruz took the other seat and put his feet up too.

  While the cat was away...

  “You really think you could be happy doing something else?” Cruz asked Gonzo.

  “I’ve started to think maybe I could,” Gonzo said, keeping his eyes down as he spoke.

  “Are you making conversation or telling me something, Sergeant?” Malone asked.

  “Right now? Making conversation.”

  Cruz stared at Gonzo. It was no secret the two men were close friends outside of work. “Are you seriously thinking about leaving?”

  “I’m seriously thinking about all my options, up to and including a career change.”

  “What does Trulo say about that?” Malone asked.

  “I got the speech about time being the great healer of all things, the same thing he always says, along with how important it is not to make any big or hasty decisions while I’m grieving.”

  “It’s good advice,” Cruz said. “After I got shot, he told me it would be a while before I could hear a car backfire and not think it was happening again.”

  “Including your own car?” Gonzo asked with a ghost of a smile that filled Malone with an unreasonable amount of hope. If he could make a joke, maybe he might actually survive the loss of his partner.

  “That’s hilarious. Ha. Ha. Actually, he meant other cars, and it turns out he was right. It took six or eight months, but I didn’t jump out of my skin every time I heard a loud noise anymore.”

  “I was in a high-speed crash when I was in Patrol,” Malone said. “Rolled over three times, busted a couple of ribs and my collarbone. Took me a year before I could drive over fifty miles an hour, which made it tough for me to do my job. My partner did all the driving for a while, but anytime we had to chase, I’d close my eyes and break into a cold sweat until it was over. Every damned time, I expected the car to roll over.” He could still remember the sickening fear that made him feel weak and ineffective.