Fatal Consequences Read online

  “You’re worried. I can hear it in your voice.”

  “The chain of events concerns me. It has all along.”

  Sam released a low moan. “Oh, God. Oh my God.”

  “We have media out front clamoring for information about Lightfeather. Do you want me to handle them?”

  “No,” Sam said, pulling herself together. “I’ll do it.”

  “We’re doing everything we can to keep him where he belongs, Sam.”

  “I’m counting on that. Keep me posted?”

  “I will.”

  She hung up the phone and tried to breathe through the pain circulating in her gut. Since Nick’s doctor friend Harry had ordered her to give up soda, her stomach troubles had been dramatically better. Hearing that Peter might be released from prison, however, brought the pain back in fierce waves. Sam forced herself to breathe—in through the nose, out through the mouth. Repeat.

  A few minutes later, she stood up on shaking legs and reached for her coat. She had a job to do, and not even the threat of her malicious ex-husband being released from jail could keep her from doing what needed to be done on Regina’s behalf. The dead woman’s family was counting on Sam for answers, and she would get them what they needed no matter what might be happening in her own life.

  Fueled by determination to do what needed to be done, Sam headed for the lobby.

  Chief Farnsworth flagged her down before she could head outside. “Lieutenant.” His warm gray eyes studied her with concern.

  “Chief.”

  “You’ve heard the news about Gibson.”

  “Lieutenant Stahl took great pleasure in cueing me in.”

  “Sorry. I was on my way to talk to you about it when I got waylaid. Are you all right?”

  She nodded. “I’m working the de Castro case. Doing what I do.”

  “We’re making use of all available resources to keep Gibson where he belongs.”

  “I’m counting on that. Well, the press is looking to take a piece out of me, and you know how I hate to keep them waiting.”

  The chief laughed. “Allow me to have your back,” he said, gesturing for the door.

  As always, Sam was grateful for his unwavering support.

  The instant they stepped through the double doors, the reporters pounced.

  “Has Senator Lightfeather been arrested for murder?”

  “How does he know the dead woman?”

  “Were they having an affair?”

  “Is he in custody?”

  The chief held up his hands to stop the barrage of questions. “If you give Lieutenant Holland the chance to speak, she has a brief statement that should answer some of your questions.”

  Sam stepped forward, burrowing deeper into her coat. The February day had grown frigid and stormy. “Senator Lightfeather discovered Regina Argueta de Castro dead last night in her Columbia Heights apartment.”

  “How did he know her?”

  “She worked for the company that cleans the Capitol and congressional offices. Throughout the night, the senator cooperated with our efforts to confirm his alibi, which we have now done. He has been released with instructions to remain in the District until we close the case. Ms. Argueta de Castro was from Guatemala and was in the country legally. Her mother and two children in Guatemala survive her, and they have been notified of her death. That is all I’m going to say at this point. We’ll keep you informed as developments occur.”

  “Were they romantically involved?”

  “No comment.”

  “How do you feel about your ex being sprung from prison?”

  “Absolutely no comment.”

  As Chief Farnsworth ushered her back inside, Sam realized if the press knew about Peter it was only a matter of time before Nick would hear about it too.

  “I need to make a phone call,” she said to the chief.

  “Go right ahead.”

  Sam started to walk away but turned back when he called out to her.

  “If he gets sprung,” the chief said, “we’ll be so far up his ass he won’t be able to fart without us knowing about it.”

  “Thanks.” Sam didn’t trust herself to say anything more without losing her famous cool. She knew he was trying to comfort her, but the very thought of that monster on the loose again was enough to turn her legs to jelly. He’d tried to blow her up. All because she’d reconciled with Nick—six years after Peter had gone to extraordinary lengths to keep them apart.

  Back in the detective’s pit, she closed the door to her office, sank into her chair and called Nick.

  “Hey, babe,” he said. “How’s it going?”

  The smile she heard in his voice went a long way toward soothing her frayed nerves. “I’ve had better days. You?”

  “What’s wrong? And don’t say it’s nothing.”

  “This time it’s not nothing.” She told him about Peter’s case possibly falling apart.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  That he was swearing told her a lot about how upset he was. Nick never swore. That was her claim to fame. “I wish I was.”

  “We’ve got to do something. What can we do?”

  “There will be a hearing, and hopefully the judge has an ounce of sense.”

  “If they let him go, he’ll come at you again.”

  “Maybe his stint in prison has scared some sense into him.”

  “You don’t believe that any more than I do. He’s totally obsessed with you, and now he’s even more pissed off than he was before.”

  “Malone and Farnsworth assured me they’re doing everything they can to keep him in jail.”

  “Does he have a leg to stand on with this hearing?”

  “He might,” Sam said, hating to admit it. She filled him in on the issue with the warrant. “If they suppress the evidence we found in his apartment, our entire case falls apart. A partial print isn’t enough to prosecute.”

  “This is such bullshit! He was caught red-handed!”

  “I hate to do this to you when you’re so busy. Sorry.”

  “I’m never too busy for you, babe. And you have nothing to be sorry about. You’re the victim in this case.”

  “We both are.” He’d been more severely injured in the bombing, suffering a mild concussion and a cut over his eye that had required stitches and left a scar.

  “I’ll make a few phone calls,” he said. “See what I can find out.”

  “Don’t do anything politically risky, Nick. That’d be playing right into his hand.”

  “They’re phone calls. That’s all.”

  She had no doubt one of those calls would be to the U.S. Attorney himself. Her fiancé was nothing if not well connected in Washington.

  “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

  “I’ll be better when you get home tonight.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can break free of the fundraising thing.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Thanks. How’s Henry?”

  “Sprung for now. His wife is on her way here from Arizona.”

  “Yikes. I don’t envy him that confrontation.”

  “If he’d kept his fly zipped, there’d be nothing to confront him about.”

  “True,” Nick said, chuckling.

  “You know I’d have to kill you, don’t you?”

  “Kill me for what? What’ve I done now?”

  “If you ever cheated,” she said in a small voice, instantly regretting going there. She tensed, awaiting his reply.

  “Samantha,” he said, his tone chastising. “Tell me you didn’t just say that.”

  “I didn’t just say that. I know I have nothing to worry about, even when all that senatorial power goes to your head.”

  “It may go to my head, but it’ll never get to my zipper.”

  Sam laughed. He always knew just what to say to her. “I’ll see you when you get home.”

  “Yes, you will, and we’ll have a more in-depth discussion about who gets access t
o my zipper—and who does not.”

  “I’ll look forward to that, Senator.”

  “As well you should. Love you, babe. Thanks for calling and giving me a heads-up about Peter.”

  She’d learned the hard way not to keep things from him and appreciated that he recognized she was making an effort in that area of their relationship. “Love you too. See you soon.”

  Sam put down the phone and gave herself a moment to decompress before she considered her next move in Regina’s case. She was going over the less-than-fruitful reports from the crime scene detectives and the canvas of Regina’s building when Freddie stepped into the office, a grim expression on his face.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Chapter 8

  “Nothing,” Freddie said, startled by the question. “I just walked in the door. What makes you think something’s the matter?”

  “I know you, and I can tell just by looking at you that something is wrong. You’ve been off all morning.”

  “So on top of all your other formidable skills, now you’re psychic too?”

  “Sit,” she said, pointing to the door and then the chair on the other side of her desk.

  Frowning, Freddie pushed the door closed and sat. “What?”

  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “It’s nothing to do with work or the case. Lightfeather is stashed at the Washington Hilton with two guards as directed. No one followed us, and I checked him in under the name of Jim Dalton. Can I get back to work now?”

  “Not until you tell me why your shoulders are hunched and you haven’t smiled all day.”

  “I’m tired, and we’re working a rape and murder. Am I supposed to be whistling ‘Dixie’ at the same time? I wasn’t aware of that job requirement.”

  “Despite your sarcasm, you’re not walking out that door until you tell me what’s bugging you.”

  “Just because we’ve talked about stuff in the past doesn’t mean I have to share my every thought with you.”

  Wow, he was really in a mood. Sam raised a brow to let him know he wasn’t going to escape her clutches.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered, slumping into the chair. “I shouldn’t talk to you that way.”

  “When it’s just you and me and the door is closed, you should speak to me any way you see fit.” It was as close as she’d ever come to letting him know she valued their friendship as much as their working relationship.

  Seeming surprised, he said, “So it’s okay to tell you you’re being nosy and that you should butt out?”

  “Sure, but it doesn’t mean I will.”

  “God, you’re a pain.”

  She smiled. Nick often said the same thing about her, and Sam always took it as a compliment. “I prefer dogged.”

  “That too,” Freddie said. “Fine! If you must know, my mother is driving me crazy.”

  Sam hadn’t seen that coming. “Over what?”

  Freddie gave her a “you know” look.

  “Ahhh, Mama Cruz doesn’t approve of the girlfriend, huh?”

  “No,” he said miserably. “And she won’t even give Elin a chance. We had a good talk last night and I thought things would be better, but when I went to check on her before work this morning, we got into it again. Not sure if it’s the fever or what, but she’s making me nuts!”

  Sam stood up, clipped her portable radio to her hip and grabbed her car keys. “Let’s discuss this on the road.”

  He stood. “Where’re we going?”

  “First to talk to Regina’s boss and then hopefully to some of her coworkers.”

  “I’m with you, boss.”

  Sam waited while he got the trench coat that he claimed made him feel like Colombo and then led the way to her car. After starting the car she gave some considerable thought to Freddie’s predicament. “I can understand where Mama is coming from.”

  “Great,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thanks for the support. I really appreciate it.”

  “Wait. Hear me out. It’s just that when I think of you with a woman, I see someone…different…than Elin for you. Someone…softer, I guess.”

  “What about what I see? Doesn’t anyone care about what I want?”

  “Hmm,” Sam said. “How to say this delicately?”

  “Oh, for crying out loud. Just say it. What do you care about being delicate?”

  “It seems…to those of us on the outside looking in…that you may be letting your, um, little brain do the thinking for your big brain.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the glare he directed her way. “That’s not the case.”

  “Are you sure of that?”

  “I like her! Why doesn’t anyone believe that’s possible?”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. What do you like about her?”

  “She’s…fun and nice and sweet.”

  “Uh huh. What else?”

  “What do you mean what else? Isn’t that enough?”

  “No. Fun and sweet and nice is not enough to build a relationship on.”

  “It’s more than Nick started with. There’s nothing nice or sweet about you.”

  Sam snorted with laughter. “Good one.”

  “Thank you. I try.”

  “What do you talk to her about besides ‘your place or mine’?”

  “We talk about sports and our friends, our work. The usual stuff.”

  “If you’re together three hours, how much of that time is spent talking?”

  “I don’t know. I hardly keep track of that.”

  “Guess.”

  She could see him squirming in the passenger seat. “An hour or so.”

  “So one hour talking, two hours screwing. Can you see why your mother might be concerned?”

  “No! She doesn’t know that!”

  “Freddie, come on. Of course she knows. You practically pant and drool whenever Elin is around. It’s obvious to everyone that you’re hot for her.”

  “I ask again…so what? Why does everyone care so much that I’m hot for her?”

  “Because it’s not like you to be so…preoccupied.”

  “I waited a long time for this, Sam. I wish everyone would butt the heck out and let me live my own life.”

  “We’re worried about you. That’s all.”

  “Well, don’t worry. I’m a big boy, and I can take care of myself. I don’t need you and my mother ganging up on me and screwing with my head. I’m happy with Elin. Can’t that be enough for you?”

  “I’m sure you’re very happy when you’re in bed with her. It’s the rest of the time we’re concerned about.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, and to be honest, it’s none of your business. Or my mother’s.”

  “That’s very true. So I will do as you ask and butt out.”

  “Good.”

  “Fine.”

  They rode the rest of the way to the Capitol Cleaning Services headquarters in uneasy—and unusual—silence. Inside, they were ushered into the offices of JoAnn Smithson, the owner of the company.

  Mrs. Smithson looked to be in her late fifties or early sixties, and judging from her haggard appearance, Sam deduced she hadn’t slept well the night before.

  After giving them permission to record the interview, Mrs. Smithson folded her hands on top of her cluttered desk. “What can I do to help you find the person who did this to Regina?”

  “How long had she been in your employ?” Sam asked.

  “Just over two years.” She retrieved a file from a stack on the desk and handed it to them. “Here’s her personnel file. As you can see, she had all the proper paperwork.”

  Freddie reached for the folder and flipped through the contents.

  “If we checked the rest of your files, we’d find that to be true of all your employees?” Sam asked.

  Mrs. Smithson stiffened. “We do not hire undocumented workers. We work for Congress, Lieutenant. How long do you think we’d hold that contract if I had illegal workers traipsing th
rough the Capitol?”

  “Not long I’d imagine. How well did you know Regina?”

  “Quite well. I make it a point to know all my employees.” She sagged into the chair. “Her poor mother and children. Have they been told of her death?”

  “Yes. Were you aware of her relationship with Senator Lightfeather?”

  Mrs. Smithson sat up straighter. “Relationship? What relationship did she have with a senator? She cleaned his office.”

  “According to the senator, they were romantically involved.”

  The color drained from Mrs. Smithson’s face. “That’s not possible,” she sputtered. “We have rules…strict rules about decorum and behavior. She wouldn’t have…” She glanced up at Sam and Freddie. Their expressions must have confirmed the truth. Once again she sagged. “I can’t believe this.”

  “How much was she paid?”

  “Seventeen dollars an hour, plus benefits.”

  “We’d like to speak to some of her friends or coworkers, anyone who might’ve been aware of what was going on between Regina and the senator. We’re also looking for some insight into her life outside of work.”

  “Maria Espanosa,” Mrs. Smithson said. “They were close friends.”

  “Where can we find her?”

  Mrs. Smithson wrote down an address, also in Columbia Heights, and handed it to Sam. “She didn’t come into work last night, and no one has heard from her. I planned to check on her when I leave the office.”

  Sam churned with anxiety. “Is it like her to miss work?”

  “She’s never missed a shift.”

  Sam glanced at Freddie and sensed they were on the same wavelength.

  Mrs. Smithson watched their silent communication. “You don’t think…”

  “We’ll check on her and let you know what we find.”

  “Will it be all over the media that Regina was messing around with a senator?”

  “We haven’t confirmed that information to the press yet,” Sam said. “But it’s only a matter of time before it becomes public.”

  “Oh God,” Mrs. Smithson said, massaging her temples as tears flooded her already-reddened eyes. “God. Everything I’ve worked for…all these years. We have rules…”

  “You might want to look into hiring a firm that specializes in crisis communication,” Freddie suggested. “So you can be prepared to deal with the media.”