Fatal Accusation Page 9

  “I agree, and when he has a chance to think about it, he will too. No one wants to go out of a job like this in the midst of a firestorm of criticism.”

  “We need to keep an eye on this, check in with him. Frequently.”

  “I’ll stay on it,” Malone said. “Losing your dad puts a big hole in his support system. Hell, losing Conklin does too. Joe thought Conklin was on his team, and to find out otherwise is a shock to his system.”

  “It’s a tough thing for everyone involved. It has us questioning everything. Wondering who we can trust on this job isn’t a question any of us want to be asking. I’m going to call Celia. Getting that statement out ought to help.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  Sam left him in the lobby and headed for the pit, keeping her head down to discourage people from talking to her. She went into her office and shut the door to place the call to her stepmother.

  “Hi there,” she said when Celia answered the call to her cell.

  “This is a nice surprise. Aren’t you at work?”

  “I am. Do you have a second?”

  “For you? Always.”

  Her stepmother’s kindness was one of the things Sam loved best about her. “I’m sure you’ve seen the stuff in the papers and on the news about the chief.”

  “I have and I’m disgusted by it. As if he knew what his deputy was up to. He would’ve been the first one to throw the book at Conklin if he’d known.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way. We were wondering if you might issue a statement in support of the chief.”

  “Absolutely. Tell me what you want it to say, and I’ll do it today.”

  “Speak from your heart about what Joe Farnsworth meant to you and Dad during the years following his shooting.”

  “That’s easy enough. We wouldn’t have gotten through it without his friendship and the unwavering support of the department.”

  “Say that too.”

  “Should I email it to you?”

  “That’d be great.”

  “I’ll text you when I send it.”

  “Thank you so much for this. It’ll mean a lot to the chief.”

  “It’s the least I can do after all he did for us. I’ll get to it. Watch for my text.”

  “Thanks, Celia.”

  “You got it.”

  She sounded feisty and empowered, which was much preferred to the pervasive sadness that had clung to her since her husband’s sudden death.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “Enter!”

  Freddie came in, his eyes wide with shock. “Tara Weber has been found dead in her home.”

  As his words registered, Sam felt as if someone had pulled the chair out from under her.

  “Sam.”

  She looked at him, her mind racing with the possible implications.

  “We need to go.”

  Operating on autopilot, Sam stood, grabbed her keys, radio and cell phone and walked toward the door, going through the motions even while feeling as if she were underwater, unable to take a breath or do anything other than fight her way to the surface.

  Nick. She had to tell him before he heard it from someone else. Was she allowed to tell him? She wasn’t sure and didn’t care. Not this time.

  She flipped open her phone and placed the call to the top person on her list of contacts.

  He answered on the second ring. “Hey, babe. How’s your day going?”

  “Nick.”

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “Tara Weber was found dead in her home.”

  His sharp exhale echoed through the phone. “Oh my God. What about the baby?”

  “Haven’t heard anything yet, but there was no report of him being there.”

  For a long moment, neither of them said anything as they both tried to wrap their heads around what this would mean for them.

  “What do you know?” he asked.

  “Only that so far.”

  “I feel like I’m going to be sick.”

  “You and me both.”

  “You don’t think Nelson had anything to do with this, do you?”

  “I honestly have no idea what to think,” Sam said. “Obviously, there’s no way he could’ve done it himself, not with the Secret Service shadowing his every move. But could he have gotten someone else to do it? I suppose that’s possible. That begs the question of why would he though, with the whole world watching him—and her—at the moment.”

  “Sam... You’re going to have a matter of days to figure this out before he’s forced out. People in both parties wanted him out before this. Now...”

  “I hear you. I’m on it.”

  “Keep me posted?”

  “I will, but you can’t tell anyone. Let them hear about it through their channels. I’m out on a limb telling you.”

  “I hear you.”

  “You going to be okay?”

  “I will once you figure out who did this and prove that my boss had nothing to do with it.”

  “I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

  “Assume you’ll be working late tonight.”

  “Probably. You’re on kid duty?”

  “Yep. I got it covered. See you when you get home. Wake me up if I’m asleep.”

  She never would but said what he wanted to hear. “I will. Love you.”

  “Love you too. Be careful out there with my wife. She means the whole world to me.”

  “I’m always careful. See you.”

  Talking to him helped her feel more grounded, more focused, prepared to go to battle once again for someone who’d been murdered in her city. Regardless of how Tara Weber’s murder impacted her life and her husband’s, Sam would give everything she had to get justice for Tara—and her family.

  * * *

  FREDDIE DROVE THEM to Georgetown while Sam pondered the implications. Who had killed Tara days after her affair with the president had gone public, and so soon after the birth of her son, who may or may not be Nelson’s? Would the investigation she was about to launch lead to her own husband becoming president?

  Dear God, the implications... It was enough to make her want to run and hide. After only recently closing her father’s case, did she have it in her to fight this new battle?

  When they were stopped at a red light, Freddie looked over at her. “I can hear your brain frying.”

  “You can’t hear a brain fry.”

  “I can hear yours. It makes a very particular sizzling sound. What’re you thinking?”

  “That this can’t be happening. It was bad enough that he had the affair. Now the woman is dead?”

  “What did Nick say?”

  “He can’t believe it either.”

  “Does he think Nelson was involved?”

  “Neither of us knows what to think where he’s concerned. Did he go to her house and murder her himself? Highly unlikely. He couldn’t have done that with Secret Service all around him. But could he have gotten someone else to do it? Sure. Anything is possible.”

  “I can’t get my head around the president of the United States arranging a murder.”

  “Maybe someone close to him did it without his involvement, hoping to solve a big problem for him.”

  “Instead, they created a whole new one.”

  And whoever killed Tara had created a whole new problem for her to solve too. Normally, Sam felt a rush of adrenaline as she headed to the scene of a new homicide that would require her full attention. This time she felt... Numb, exhausted, drained, oddly detached from what was happening right in front of her.

  Dr. Trulo had warned her about this, the inevitable “come down” after the frantic activity that followed her father’s death and the renewed focus on his case. Not to mention, four years of pursuing leads and asking q
uestions that had led nowhere. And now they had answers—answers they didn’t like, but answers, nonetheless. A hollow pit had formed inside her, taking the place of the potent, boiling rage she’d carried with her since the day their lives had been changed forever by a bullet that hadn’t killed her father but might as well have.

  The hollowness made her ache—for her dad, for the suffering he’d endured, for the years they’d never have together, for the betrayal at the hands of a man they’d considered a friend. She’d done her best to be stoic and strong for the people around her who were also in pain, but inside... Inside, she ached.

  “Meant to tell you that Gonzo called me last night,” Freddie said, breaking a long silence.

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Really well. He sounded better than he has in a long time.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Any news about a release date?”

  “Not yet. He said he’ll know more in a week or two, but he’s planning to stay for as long as they’ll have him so he doesn’t have to go back ever again.”

  “That’s good news.” Hearing her sergeant was on the road to recovery from the pain medication addiction he’d developed after the murder of his partner was the best news she’d heard in ages.

  “He was asking about you, how you’re handling everything with Conklin.”

  “I’m handling it, just like everyone else.” The last thing she wanted to do was talk about it any more than she had to. She was so sick of talking about it.

  “Except you’re not everyone else. You’re Skip’s daughter, and no one else in the department was as close to him as you were, so that makes it very different for you.”

  She wanted to scream at him, to thank him for stating the obvious, but she didn’t do either of those things because he was trying to help and didn’t deserve to be attacked.

  “People are concerned, Sam, because they care. We care. I hope you know that.”

  Sam forced a small smile for his benefit. “I do know, and I appreciate it. I’m just not sure what else to say.”

  Right now, her biggest concern was the fucking traffic that was impeding their progress. “Flip on the lights.”

  Freddie did as directed and cars started to slowly—far too slowly for her liking—get the hell out of their way. Twelve minutes later, they arrived at the address in Georgetown that they’d been given by Dispatch.

  “Third floor.” Freddie led the way past the scrum of reporters who screamed questions about Nick becoming president and her becoming first lady and would she have to give up her job and would she have a Secret Service detail and what did she think of the president’s affair and did he kill his mistress and—

  The main door closed, sealing them off from the ravenous shouts.

  “They’re out of control,” Freddie said.

  “Let’s get Patrol over here to get them under control.”

  He used his handheld radio to make the call.

  They took the elevator to the third floor, where they were met by Patrolman Clare, who Sam hadn’t met before. He was young and fresh faced with the pale complexion and wide eyes of someone who’d just seen murder for the first time.

  “What’ve we got?”

  Clare consulted his notebook, his hands trembling ever so slightly. “Tara Weber, age thirty-five, found dead in her bed by her assistant, Delany Russo, a Georgetown University graduate student, who has worked for Ms. Weber for two years.”

  “Where’s Russo now?”

  “Inside.”

  “Assume the ME is on the way?”

  “Yes, she’s en route.”

  “Is Ms. Weber’s baby here?”

  “No.”

  “Ask the assistant where he is,” Sam said to Officer Clare as they entered an apartment painted bright white with gorgeous, gleaming hardwood floors. Big windows allowed in so much light that the glare brought tears to Sam’s eyes. How did anyone stand that? She’d need sunglasses to live here.

  On a white leather sofa, a young blonde woman sat with a female Patrol officer whom Sam did not recognize. Officer Clare went over to consult with the blonde woman and then came back to report to Sam and Freddie.

  “The baby is with Ms. Weber’s parents in Herndon.”

  That was a relief. “Thank you. Take me to the victim.”

  “This way.” Officer Clare’s reluctance to see the crime scene again was obvious, but to his credit he did the job and held up.

  Sam wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but the reminder that Tara Weber had been shockingly beautiful only added to the pervasive sadness percolating inside her. Not that less-than-beautiful people didn’t stir her emotions at times like these, but Sam’s immediate, visceral reaction to seeing Tara naked in her bed, her perfect face still perfect even in death, her skin unmarked except for the violent bruises on her neck, rattled her. Long, dark, wildly curly hair fanned out on the white pillow. Without the bruises, one might mistake her for a woman asleep rather than dead.

  Sam stepped in for a closer look at the bruises that had turned the woman’s neck a vibrant shade of dark purple.

  “Were you able to locate her cell phone?”

  “I haven’t seen it, but I haven’t done a full search.”

  “Let’s get a warrant to search the apartment,” she said to Freddie.

  “On it.” He went off to call Malone, who’d put forth the request. They had to dot the i’s and cross the t’s to make sure any evidence uncovered was done so legally.

  “Any sign of forced entry?” she asked Clare.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “So whoever it was, she let them in. Can you please get with building security to obtain video from the building entrance and the third-floor hallway?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Clare beat feet out of there, no doubt anxious to put distance between himself and the dead woman.

  Working Homicide was, in some ways, like any other job once you got used to the things you saw on a daily basis, Sam thought. You built up calluses on your soul that protected you from the reality of what you were experiencing. Most days they did, anyway. Some days, like this one, when you were already raw, the calluses provided little protection and the pain sneaked by them, lodging itself in the places normally kept sealed off so you could function on the job.

  Deep thoughts by Lieutenant Sam Holland.

  She would’ve laughed if it weren’t for the dead woman on the bed and the investigation that required her to put aside her own emotions to focus on the task at hand.

  “You okay?” Freddie asked, his brows knitted with the concern that had been directed her way far too often lately.

  “How about we make a deal, you and I?”

  “Um, if we must...”

  Her little grasshopper had learned to be wary. She’d taught him well. “If I’m not okay, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, you don’t need to check on me.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to smother you. I can’t help but be concerned after...well, everything.”

  “I understand, and if the roles were reversed, I’d feel the same way. It’s just that I can’t talk about it every minute of the day and still do what I’m supposed to do, you know?”

  He immediately looked stricken. “Yeah, I get it.”

  “Don’t do that either.”

  “What?”

  “Worry about saying the wrong thing. Let’s keep it real. That’s what I need more than anything right now.”

  “I’ll do my best to keep it real while not worrying too much about how you really are.”

  “Thank you.” He was the best partner she’d ever had, and she knew how much he cared about her, not just as a boss and colleague but as a treasured friend and the ball-busting older sister he’d never had. She felt the same way about him, so much so that she probably shouldn’t still partner with him. But tha
t was an applecart she had no desire to upset. Not now anyway.

  “I’ll stop asking if you actually promise to tell me if or when you’re not okay. No bullshit, no evasions. Just the truth.”

  “Ummm,” she said in a scandalized whisper, “you said a swearword.”

  “Sam.” Displeasure radiated off him. “Be serious.”

  “I promise.” She looked him in the eye as she said the words, knowing that would matter to him.

  His terse nod was his only reply. “Have you ever seen so much white in anyone’s house?”

  “It was definitely her favorite color.”

  The conversation, the sparring, the inanity kept them sane while they waited for the ME, standing watch over their latest victim until she could be turned over to Lindsey’s team.

  “This should be fairly slam dunk, right? A place like this will have the best security footage money can buy.”

  Sam glared at him. “You didn’t really use the words ‘slam dunk,’ did you?”

  His brows furrowed with confusion. “Why?”

  “Way to put a hex on us. If it was going to be an SD, it won’t be now.”

  “Whatever.” He rolled his eyes as he did so often during a shift with her that she wondered how he didn’t manage to sprain his eye sockets.

  They were in that room with Tara Weber’s body for a long time before Lindsey arrived with her deputy, Dr. Byron Tomlinson.

  “The president’s mistress?” Byron all but salivated from the salaciousness of it.

  Sam shot a look to Lindsey.

  “Shut up, Byron, and have some respect. That’s certainly not all she was.”

  Sam would’ve given Lindsey a high five if she’d been close enough. She couldn’t have said it better herself. There was much more to Tara Weber than the headlines she’d starred in over the last few days, and Sam was determined to make sure she didn’t become a caricature in death.

  “Apologies.” Byron sounded more like his usual professional self. “I just can’t believe everything that’s come out about her and Nelson and the kid.” He looked to Sam. “Is the baby here?”