Текст книги "Fatal Scandal"

Автор книги: Marie Force

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Chapter Eighteen

Sam was on the phone before she reached her car. “The wife was having him followed,” Sam told Farnsworth when she got him on the line. “I’m going to track down the investigator now.”

“Wow, that could be a big break.”

“I know. I nearly jumped out of my skin when she told me. So get this—she also said Bill Springer was well aware of his son’s illegal activities and was complicit in many of them.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Marissa said something else about the night before Billy was killed. He and Bill were at the house on MacArthur and Billy got a phone call right around eight. He apparently went ballistic and ran out of there. The next time she saw him was in the morgue. I think that was the call where he found out we were closing in on him for murder.”

“We’ve gone through all his phone records.”

“We should go through them again. We’re missing something, and now we’re able to isolate when Billy Springer received the tip.”

“I’ll pass that on to McDonald.”

“I’m having a thought.”

“Are you planning to share it?”

“Stahl.”

“Sam, come on. I know you’ve had a beef with the guy—”

“Is that what you’d call him coming to my house and trying to kill me? A beef? It’s been much more than that. Think about how many leaks we’ve had in the last year since you replaced him with me in Homicide. Think about how many times he’s tried to haul me before the rat squad only to have you intervene. Remember the phone call to the media we caught him making from HQ during the Vasquez case?”

“I remember all of it. So what’s your point?”

“He’s going down on the assault charges. There’s almost no chance that he won’t do some time with Secret Service agents as witnesses to what happened at my house and members of the department planning to testify to the hard-on he’s had for me since I took over his command.”

“Gross choice of words, but okay, so?”

“Believe me, everything about him is gross to me too. Anyway, Malone and I went to his house last night. No sign of him.”

“I’ll ask Patrol to look for him.”

“Keep this between us for now. It’s only a hunch.”

“It’s a hunch worth looking into.”

“Can you send me to the pit?”

“Hang on a second.” The phone clicked onto Hold and that awful music. She needed to talk to him about that. “McBride.”

“Hey, it’s Holland.”

“Morning, Lieutenant. Saw you on the news. You were awesome.”

“Thanks. That Monica what’s her name is a bimbo.”

“You made her your bitch.”

Sam laughed. “So listen, I need some info on a private investigator named James Donlon.”

“Let me see what I can find.”

Sam stayed parked outside the Springer home on MacArthur while Jeannie clicked away on the computer.

“He has an office on Rhode Island Avenue. I’ll text you the details.”

“Thanks. Tell Arnold I need the info from Lori’s text messages and the rest of the data dumped from her phone ASAP.”

“Got it, will do.”

“So, tomorrow...”

“Yes, tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there at some point.”

“You’ve got other stuff to do.”

“I want to be there to support you.”

“I appreciate that, but Michael and my mother will be with me, so do what you need to until you have to testify.”

“I’ll be there. Anything new to report?”

“Tyrone and I are going to talk to the people at Lori’s church this morning. I’ll let you know what we find out.”

“I’ll be in after a while, and I hear Gonzo’s coming back today because he can’t bear to sit on the sidelines for another minute.”

“Did he get medically cleared?”

“Nope, but a little detail like that isn’t going to stop him.”

“I can’t say I blame him. If I were being accused of the things people are saying about him, I’d want to do something too.”

“Same. Just don’t let on I said that. I can’t act like I approve of him coming back without the okay.”

“My lips are sealed. I’ll call you after we leave the church.”

“Sounds good.” She hung up with Jeannie and placed a call to Harry while she drove to Rhode Island Avenue.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mrs. C?” Harry asked.

“I need a favor.”

“Anything for you.”

Sam told him about Marissa Springer and asked if he’d be willing to stop by to see her.

“I can get there tonight.”

“I’m not sure what she needs, but she looks like hell. I don’t think she’s been sleeping since everything happened with her sons. And today, her husband was found dead, not that she’ll be shedding any tears over that. Apparently they were estranged.”

“Bill Springer is dead?”

“Yep, but that’s not for public consumption yet.”

“I won’t say anything. Damn. What happened to him?”

“I can’t say.”

“I understand. I’ll take care of her. Will I see you at the White House thing later?”

“I hope so.”

“Can you believe your husband went to work at the White House this morning?”

“He did? I somehow managed to block that out.”

His guffaw echoed through the phone. “You’re too funny, Sam. See you later.”

“Thanks again, Harry.”

“Anytime.”

The office of James Donlon, private investigator, was located in a run-down strip mall. On one side of the office was a pizza and sub shop, on the other a massage “studio.” The word made her laugh as she imagined what kind of massages went on in a storefront that had curtains pulled tight over the windows. On any other day, she’d want to take a closer look. Today, she didn’t have time.

She walked into Donlon’s office like she owned the place and came face-to-face with one of her favorite things—a receptionist.

“Help you?” the woman asked.

“I’d like to speak with Mr. Donlon.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

Sam placed her badge on the counter above the receptionist’s desk. “I don’t need an appointment.”

“One moment please.” She got up and walked to the back of the space and into a room with a door that closed behind her.

Sam tapped her fingers on the counter. She was giving him one minute to show his face before she went back there. Dropping her hand to her side, she checked her service weapon, which was exactly where it was supposed to be. Maybe she shouldn’t have come here alone.

The receptionist came out just as Sam’s deadline was about to kick in. “Right this way,” she said.

Sam walked to the back of the narrow office and into James Donlon’s paneled office. It looked a lot like Jim Rockford’s office in The Rockford Files. In other words, right out of the seventies. Donlon himself, however, was right out of the nineties. He was about thirty, with shaggy blond hair that needed to be cut and several days’ worth of stubble on his jaw.

“I know who you are,” he said, his brown eyes big with recognition and perhaps a bit of hero worship.

“Thanks,” Sam said to the receptionist, dismissing her. Thankfully, the young woman got the hint and left the room. “Talk to me about Bill Springer.”

Donlon’s expression changed immediately, indicating he had zero poker face. “His wife hired me to keep an eye on him.”

“So I’ve heard, and I’m sure you’re well aware of why I’m here.”

“I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re asking. I would’ve had no good reason to kill him. His wife has been keeping me flush for years now.”

“What do you know about who did kill him?”

“I didn’t actually see it happen. I was outside in my car, keeping an eye on the building. I couldn’t get much closer to him without blowing my cover.”

“Did you see anyone go into the building after nine p.m. last night?”

“This is where it gets messy.”

“How so?”

“I fell asleep. I didn’t see anything after eight thirty. I woke up at twelve thirty, saw that Springer’s car was still in the lot and went home. I heard about what happened after his wife called me to tell me he was dead. I feel awful that I didn’t see anything that can help.”

Sam felt awful too as a promising lead fizzled in the face of his incompetence.

“I had an all-night stakeout for another client the night before, so I was beat.”

“Can you tell me if you’ve seen anyone around Springer in the last few weeks who might’ve been suspicious or if you witnessed any arguments he had with anyone?”

“Only with his wife. She hates his guts. I mean, seriously, I might never get married after watching those two in action.”

“How do you mean?”

“She blames him for what happened to Hugo and Billy. She says her babies are dead because of him, even though he wasn’t the one who did the killing. He may as well have, she would say. You ever see that movie about the chick who boiled the guy’s bunny?”

“Fatal Attraction?”

“Yeah, that’s it. She reminds me of that chick. Scary mean.”

“Did you ever see her strike her husband or try to harm him in any way?”

“No, nothing like that. She did her best work with her words. I have surveillance equipment in his office, and the stuff I witnessed—”

“Wait, you have surveillance equipment in his office?”

“Yeah, why?”

“That’s where he was killed. Can you call up the video from last night?”

“I was just about to do that when you came in. I only got the call from Mrs. S about ten minutes ago.”

Sam wanted to tell him to shut up and start clicking, but she didn’t want to piss him off when he had access to information she needed. Without being invited, she got up and went around his desk to watch over his shoulder.

“So why don’t you have Secret Service?”

“Because I don’t need them.”

“It’s not required?”

“Only for the president, vice president, president-elect and VP-elect. Everyone else can decline it.” She’d answered that question no more than five hundred times since Nick became the vice president.

“That’s cool. So you got to keep your job.”

“Yep.”

“Huh, well that’s odd.”

“What’s odd?” Sam asked with a sinking feeling in her belly.

He did some more furious clicking of images on his screen that showed the hallway and reception area. And then the screen went gray. “What the fuck?” More furious clicking and more blank screens. “Someone fucked with my cameras.”

Sam should’ve known it was too good to be true. “Who else knew they were there?”

“Besides me? Only Mrs. S.”

“You’ve been very helpful. Thank you.”

“What the hell could’ve happened to my cameras?”

“I’ll leave you to figure that out.” Sam walked out of his office and strolled past the receptionist, nodding to the woman.

“Excuse me. Mrs. Cappuano?”

Sam gritted her teeth, bit back the nasty retort and had to remind herself that she was, in fact, Mrs. Cappuano, even if she’d prefer to be Lieutenant Holland on the job. “Yes?”

“Do you think I could have your autograph? My friends are never going to believe I met you.”

The only thing that could’ve made this better was if Freddie had been there to laugh about it with her afterward. “Um.” In that moment she thought of Nick and how much he did to support her career. Would it kill her to do something to support his? It might. It truly might. “Sure. What’s your name?”

“Destiny.”

“Of course it is.” Sam took the piece of paper and pen that Destiny provided and wrote, “To Destiny, it was nice to meet you. Samantha Cappuano.” She handed it over to Destiny, who’d withdrawn her phone from her purse. Sam drew the line at selfies. “Take it easy.” She was out the door before the request could be made. On the way to her car, she took a call from Marissa Springer.

“I was wondering if you might stop by again. I thought of a few more things that might be useful to the investigation.”

Since she had a few more questions for Marissa after interviewing Donlon, Sam said, “Sure, I’ll come by in a few.”

“Thank you so much.”

She got into her car and called Harry, grimacing when his voice mail picked up. “Hey, it’s Sam again. If you get this message, never mind about Marissa Springer. I’ve changed my mind about her deserving Dr. Flynn’s brand of TLC. See you at the White House.”

At a red light, she took advantage of the opportunity to reply to a text with a photo from Nick. It’s surreal that this is my office now. How’s the day going? Will you be able to make the reception?

Before him, before them, she never would’ve left an investigation as hot as this one was getting to attend a party. But how many times would he start a new job in the White freaking House? She was going to that reception.

I’ll be there with bells on, she wrote. Will they let me in?

He wrote right back. They’d better. You’re the second lady!

Do they know that? Haha!

Come with Scotty and his detail. That will make everything easier. The SS showed me to my office today. I wouldn’t have had a clue where it was without them.

Got a few things to do before I head home. Will see you at the WH. Love you, Mr. VP.

Love you too, babe. Hope you’re being careful out there.

I’m always careful.

The light turned and she hit the gas, anxious to tie up some loose ends so she could get to the party. This would be her first official duty as second lady. Hopefully she wouldn’t fuck it up in some massive way that would give the White House press corps something to talk about forever.

She never had changed out of the suit she’d worn for the TV appearance. Hopefully, that would be good enough for the White freaking House too. Sam drove back the way she’d come and turned on to MacArthur Boulevard a few minutes later. After she turned off the car, she glanced at her phone to see if Nick had texted again. There was nothing from him, but there was one from Gonzo.

I’m back in town. What can I do LT?

I’ve got one quick thing to do and then I’ll be back at the house. Will see you then.

Sounds good.

Sam tossed her phone into the passenger seat, got out of the car and headed up the sidewalk to Marissa Springer’s home. After she asked Marissa if she had monitored the cameras in her husband’s office the night before and heard whatever it was Marissa needed to tell her, she’d be on her way to HQ to reconnect with her team before she had to leave for the party.

She was eager to hear what had come of McBride and Tyrone’s trip to Lori Phillips’s church, and she wanted to know if Arnold had found anything more in the text messages from Lori’s phone.

The doorbell chimed inside the house while Sam waited on the stoop. She was about to ring the bell again when Edna opened the door. “Hello again.”

“Mrs. Springer asked me to stop by again. Could I speak to her, please?”

Edna glanced nervously over her shoulder. “Um, yes, come in.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes.” Edna stepped back, still holding the door, so Sam could walk into the house.

As she crossed the threshold, Sam was hit by one of her gut feelings. I shouldn’t be here by myself. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. I’ve broken all my own rules.

The click of a gun engaging only cemented her suspicions.

“Close the door, Edna, and lock it,” Marissa said. “Right now.”

Edna began to cry. “Miss Marissa, don’t do this. You don’t want to do this.”

Marissa put a bullet between the eyes of Edna Chan, who fell to the floor.

Her ears ringing from the blast, Sam had to leap out of the way or Edna would’ve taken her down with her. “What the fuck?”

“Put your gun on the floor and kick it over here.”

Furious with herself for fucking this up so royally, Sam stared down the other woman, looking for a hint of fear or nerves or anxiety. All she saw was calm, cool resolve. This was not good. Due to the TV appearance first thing, Sam had failed to wear her clutch piece on her leg the way she usually did while working a case, so she’d be completely disarmed if she handed over her gun. “What’s going on here, Marissa?”

“You’re done asking questions. I’m in charge now. Kick your gun over here or I’ll shoot your knee. You’ve got five seconds. Four, three, two...”

“Fine.” Sam withdrew her gun from the back of her skirt and thought for a second about trying to get a shot off. But even with the safety disengaged as it was whenever she was on duty, she’d be dead in the time it took to pull her weapon. Instead, she put it on the floor and kicked it in Marissa’s direction. “What happened between the last time I was here and now?”

“Nothing. You did exactly what we expected you to do. You went to talk to James and then you came back here when I asked you to. This time we’re ready for you.”

“Who’s we?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. Come with me.”

This was ridiculous, Sam thought as she walked toward Marissa. She could kick this woman’s ass, and Marissa was actually holding her hostage? Did she dare try to kick the gun out of her hand? The thing that stopped her was the way Marissa had dropped Edna with a perfect shot. That indicated a certain level of expertise.

“What do you want with me?”

“Enough with the questions.”

“Um, you’re holding a gun on me, and I’m not supposed to ask why?”

“You know why.”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking.”

The look Marissa gave her was positively venomous. “I blame you for my son’s death.”

“Which one?”

“Billy! Your incompetence led to my son’s death, and you’re going to pay for that.”

“So let me get this straight. You’re taking me hostage because I built a case against your son that went bad when he took hostages?”

Marissa leaned in closer to her. “No, I’m going to kill you because you and your band of incompetents ruined my life.”

In that moment, the shock seemed to pass and reality set in. Unless someone missed her and figured out where she was, she was going to die in this house where so many others had already died.

Shit fuck damn hell.

Marissa marched her down the basement stairs. Sam immediately noticed the pool table, where they’d found drug paraphernalia and empty vodka bottles the night of the murders, had been removed. The bloodstained carpet remained, however, and every surface was still smudged with the fingerprint powder Crime Scene detectives had left behind. Sam wondered how Marissa could bear to live in the house with all these reminders of her son’s violent death.

“Sit.” Marissa gestured with the gun to a wooden chair in the middle of the room.

Keeping a wary eye on the gun, Sam did as directed. “So what’s the plan, Marissa? How long are you planning to keep someone the entire police department will be looking for in a matter of minutes?”

“I told you to shut up, and I meant it.”

“You have to know they’ll be looking for me.”

“You’re so arrogant. Prancing around town like you own this city. Your husband is vice president, and you forgo Secret Service because you don’t think you’ll need it. How funny is that now? Taken hostage by a housewife. I wonder what your husband would pay to get you back?”

All the money in the world, Sam thought, saddened at the thought of him hearing she was in danger when there was nothing she could do to reassure him. She couldn’t think of him—or Scotty or the rest of her family—or she’d lose her composure. She needed to stay focused on Marissa and the gun and trying to figure out what she hoped to accomplish.

Sam had far too much to live for to let a frustrated housewife be the end of her.

When Sam was seated in the wooden chair, Marissa pulled a phone from her pocket and made a call. “I got her to come back,” Marissa said while Sam tried to figure out who she was talking to. “Get over here. Now.” She ended the call and returned the phone to her pocket.

Then she began to pace back and forth in the space where the pool table used to be. She never took her eyes off Sam, who sat perfectly still while watching Marissa’s every move. How had she misjudged this woman and this situation so completely? Sam had made a career out of trusting her instincts and following her gut. Both had let her down in this situation. She’d gotten no sense of violent tendencies during her initial visit with Marissa, but she should’ve taken what James told her about Marissa to heart before coming back here alone. She’d been in too big of a rush to think it all the way through, and she was paying for that now.

“Could I use the bathroom?” Sam asked.

“No.”

“So I should just pee right here?”

“If that’s what you’ve got to do.”

Sam hadn’t really had to go, but once she was told she couldn’t, she needed to go urgently. She chalked that up to nerves. She was in a bad spot. No two ways around it, but she’d been in bad spots before, such as the time she’d walked in on a robbery in progress at a convenience store and managed to neutralize the shooter and save a few lives—including her own.

Then there was the time her malicious ex-husband had gotten the big idea to bomb her car—and Nick’s. When hers had detonated, she’d been hurled against the brick-front townhouse where Nick had lived then. He’d been hit by flying glass, but they’d both survived. They’d been run off the road by some gangbangers, looking to use them to score initiation points. He’d broken ribs and she’d had a severe concussion, but they’d both walked away.

The week of her wedding, a perp had shot at her from a second floor window. Freddie had anticipated the shot, jumped on her and got her out of the way of the bullets, but not before her head connected with a huge rock, giving her yet another concussion.

Thinking about all the times she’d been through worse than this and come through fine boosted her confidence in this situation. What was one slightly crazy woman with a gun against a seasoned cop who’d overcome all that? If only she knew who Marissa had called and what they were planning. Did they want to take the vice president’s wife hostage to make headlines? She immediately dismissed that angle because Marissa had indicated this was about revenge for Billy’s death. It was about discrediting the department—and her.

“Did you kill Lori Phillips?”

“Do I have to shoot you to shut you up?”

Before Sam could answer, the upstairs door opened and closed.

“Down here,” Marissa called up the stairs.

Sam held her breath, waiting to see what would happen next and looking—always—for a way out. But Marissa never took her eyes or the gun off her.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs took Sam’s anxiety level into the red zone. She saw the belly first and had to smother the urge to gasp when Stahl appeared in the basement, his beady eyes alight with pleasure at the sight of her on the other end of Marissa’s gun.

“Well, well, well, lookie here.” He rubbed his hands together with glee, which made Sam’s stomach turn with dread and nausea.

“Stop celebrating and tie her up,” Marissa said.

“Don’t snap at me, bitch. I’ve waited a long time for this moment. You need to let me enjoy it.”

“Do your enjoying after you tie her up.”

As Stahl approached her, it took all the self-control Sam possessed to keep from blinking or flinching or doing anything else that would only add to his satisfaction. No matter what happened here, she wouldn’t give him anything more than she had to.

“What’s a matter? Cat got your tongue, Lieutenant?”

She stared at him, unblinking.

He slapped her hard across the face, making her see stars. Then he grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked—hard. “When I ask you something, you’d better answer me.”

Sam spit in his face.