Innocent (Inequitable Trilogy Book 2)

by Lesli Richardson

  Stephen Lyman introduces me to the two DCMP detectives, Detectives Hart and Burbeck. “They need to discuss something with you.”

  Detective Hart studies me. “Mr. Walsh, can you please tell us your whereabouts last night?”

  I feign confusion. “Sure, but can I ask why?”

  “After you tell us.”

  I look from him to his partner and back again. “What’s going on?”

  “Mr. Walsh, please.”

  Reluctance, I’m sure, is something they’re used to. “If I do, I don’t want this in the freaking papers. Assure me this is confidential, please? I have a career to think about, and I don’t need to be making any enemies because someone wanted to feed a juicy gossip scoop to a reporter.”

  Stephen’s standing there, arms crossed over his chest. “Just tell them, Jordan. It’s confidential, unless there’s a crime.”

  Then…I do. “I left the vice president at campaign headquarters, spent some time at Congresswoman Grace Martin’s apartment talking with her, then returned to campaign headquarters to get the vice president before we returned to the residence. What’s going on?”

  Detective Burbeck takes notes. “No other stops?”

  “I mean yeah, but…” I narrow my gaze. “Why do I feel like I’m being questioned?”

  “Mr. Walsh, we need to know exactly where you were last night, and when.”

  Time to get a little huffy. “Is she saying something happened between us? Because I left after she came on to me. She was drunk and hi—” I pretend to catch myself. “She wasn’t exactly sober when I left her. But nothing happened. I swear.”

  Detective Hart stares at me. “Sir, we need an exact time and location of your movements last night after you left campaign headquarters and went to Congresswoman Martin’s apartment. Including any other stops you made.”

  “What is going on?”

  “Jordan,” Stephen says. “Tell them everything.”

  I warily eye the detectives. “Do I need a lawyer?”

  “Do you, Mr. Walsh?” Detective Burbeck asks. “Answer our questions now, right here, or we can take you in for questioning and let you sit in an interview room while you wait for an attorney to arrive. This is the easy way—talking to us right now. Your choice. Start from when you left the vice president at campaign headquarters, and walk us through your evening, in full detail. Every stop, and the times as best you can approximate them. We know you were at her apartment. There’s surveillance video and she texted you. We know that much. Why did you start to leave and then return?”

  I take a deep breath and start over, including the poop stop at Leo’s. How Grace was drinking, and I saw evidence of her drug use. How she made a pass at me, got pissed off when I said no, and I used that excuse to leave, but she texted me immediately, so I returned because I didn’t want her to be angry. Then I left Grace’s once it was clear she wasn’t going to stop drinking, she texted me, and I rebuffed her. I bought a coffee on the way back to Leo’s, we had sex and talked for a little while, then I returned to campaign headquarters.

  I pull out my phone, show them Grace’s texts to me from last night, and the time stamps, then show them the receipt from the coffeeshop, which hit my e-mail upon purchase, but also shows up in my banking app.

  Detective Hart looks up the coffeeshop’s location on a map app on his phone while Burbeck takes more notes, but I see how both men’s body language relaxes.

  Stephen Lyman silently watches, but I sense his relief, too.

  That’s a good sign.

  “Can anyone verify what time you returned to campaign headquarters?” Detective Hart asks.

  “He’s accurate,” Stephen Lyman chimes in. “I already checked that out, just after you called me. Several members of the detail remember him arriving, and he’s on the entry log having swiped his campaign ID badge. They can all swear affidavits, if necessary.”

  I glare at the detectives. “Okay, now you tell me what’s going on, please? What is Grace saying I did? I honestly thought she was so out of it last night that she probably wouldn’t even remember hitting on me. I mean, I was hoping she wouldn’t remember. Is she pissed off because I wouldn’t come back? Look, Stella Woodley is her best friend, and Elliot Woodley is mine. I’ve stopped by her apartment a few times over the past couple of weeks to chat with her, because she invited me, and I’m trying build a bridge there to make life easier on all of us. What, exactly, is she accusing me of?”

  The detectives exchange a knowing glance before the Detective Hart speaks. “She’s not saying anything, Mr. Walsh. Her chief of staff found her this morning after she didn’t come to the office and wouldn’t answer phone calls. Deceased.”

  I stare at them and hope I look appropriately horrified. “What? Oh, my god! What happened? How? She…she was okay when I left. I mean, she was pretty drunk and I know she was high, but she walked me to the door when I left.”

  “Apparent drug overdose,” Hart says. “Do you have any information about her drug use?”

  “Fuck.” I turn away from them for a moment, running my hand through my hair and taking a few deep breaths before I turn back to them. “I saw a baggie on the coffee table last night. She was acting a little odd, and she finally admitted to me she was high.”

  Detective Burbeck notes this. “Did she say what she was taking? Or did you actually see her take it?”

  I slowly shake my head. “I don’t know exactly what she took. She did offer to let me smoke pot with her a couple of weeks ago, but I said no. I don’t do that stuff. Then, last night, I saw she had something in a baggie, a powder. She’s really dead?”

  “Yes, sir,” Burbeck says. “Probably died not long after she sent you those texts.”

  “Fuck.” I prop my hands on my hips and stare at the floor for a moment, like I’m trying to compose myself.

  Hart speaks. “What, exactly, was the nature of your relationship with Congresswoman Martin?”

  “Acquaintances. I’ve been to her place several times over the past few weeks to talk. We didn’t exactly get off on the right foot when we first met. She was irritated at me because I wouldn’t allow her unlimited access to the vice president. Then we ran into each other at a fundraiser a couple of weeks ago. I thought, okay, when she invited me over to her place to talk, I’d hear her out. Then she hinted around a few times that she wanted to get…intimate with me. Last night was the first time she made an all-out pass at me. I didn’t tell her I’m gay, though.”

  Burbeck looks up from his notepad. “You’re gay? Does the vice president know?”

  “Yeah. A lot of people around here know. It’s not a secret. I mean, it’s not public knowledge, either. Leo Cruz and I, the president’s body man, sort of have a long-term, down-low thing going on. But I also don’t want to totally blow Grace off and make her mad, right? I’m hoping I could win her over, because she’d be a valuable contact to have. Someone on the vice president’s side after the election. Grace admitted to me during an earlier visit that she’d had a drug problem in college, and even that Stella Woodley made her go to NA meetings. Then she showed me a website for a rehab place, and said she was thinking about calling it. I told her I thought she should, if she’s having a problem. Last night, I tried to get her to call them. Shit. I was really hoping she called them after I quit texting with her.”

  I scrub my face with my hands. I don’t want to overdo this, but I need to show some emotions. “I… I guess she was having more of a problem than I thought she was.”

  They mention that they found the number for a rehab facility on her phone, and on her laptop browser. Meaning if they’re telling me that, they believe my version of events. I even volunteer to take a drug test right now, if they want me to, but they decline.

  From the looks on their faces, I can tell they’re already closing this case.

  “God, I should’ve stayed with her.” I finally sit down in one of the chairs at the small conference table, with my elbows braced on my knees, hands clasped
, head bowed. “If I’d stayed a little while longer, maybe I could’ve helped her. Maybe I could’ve talked her into calling the rehab facility.”

  Hart speaks. “Mr. Walsh, one of the drugs we found in her apartment tested positive for Fentanyl. It’s very strong. We found evidence she likely took some shortly after you left. Probably during or after she sent you those texts. We have to wait for toxicology reports, but it’s my experience that it will likely be what killed her.”

  “Dammit.”

  “Any idea where she bought her drugs?”

  I shake my head. “No. I work for the vice president. Even if I wanted to do drugs, I can’t afford that kind of liability in my life. He’s already told me that if he wins the election, I’m going to be his body man. He’s not just my boss—he’s my best friend. I damn sure wouldn’t expose him to something like that.”

  I take a deep breath and sit back, looking up at them. “Can I tell the vice president about…” I choke back my emotion. “Can I let him know what’s going on? He’s known her for years. I wouldn’t call them best friends, certainly, but she is his sister’s best friend.” I wince. “She was her best friend. Dammit.”

  Hart nods. “Yes, it’s all right to inform him, but please don’t spread the information until we release it to the media.”

  I blow out a breath. “Look, I understand if you can’t, but is there any way to keep my name and Leo’s out of this? I don’t want to be a distraction to the campaign. Leo didn’t even know I was talking to Grace. I was trying to keep everything compartmentalized.”

  The detectives exchange a glance and Burbeck speaks. “As long as all your info checks out—and based on what we’re seeing so far, I expect it will all check out—then yes, we’ll keep your names out of this. You might be asked to testify if there’s an inquest, depending on the final autopsy report, but you are obviously not a direct witness to her death, or present when it happened.”

  My relief is genuine. “Thank you.”

  “Do you have Stella Woodley’s information handy?” Hart asks. Of course I give them everything I have.

  By the time the detectives leave the White House thirty minutes later, they’ve talked to Leo to confirm I stopped by his apartment last night. They also asked to see his apartment alarm log, which he shows them on his phone before e-mailing them a copy.

  It’s also obvious they believe their eyes and the evidence as presented—a woman with a history of substance abuse rolled the dice one too many times and lost. I am a well-respected young, gay white man who has high security clearance, and who has Secret Service vouching that there is nothing in my history which would implicate me in any kind of illegal activity. I’ve never even had a parking ticket. Literally. My only contact with law enforcement of any kind has been TSA screenings when I fly, and filling out my security clearance paperwork.

  The detectives will be contacting us again to come in and sign statements, but it looks like my disguise was more than adequate this time.

  I looked innocent.

  Fucked-up survival skills for the win, I suppose.

  Leo pulls me into the Cabinet Room, where it’s currently empty, and gives me “the eye.”

  I can’t do this with him right now. I keep my voice low. “Can we talk about this later, please? And not in front of the boy?”

  From his scowl, it’s obvious he’s torn between wanting to hug me and wanting to spank me, but he finally nods. “Yeah. Anything else I need to know?”

  I shake my head. “No, Sir,” I whisper.

  Fuck, I hate lying to him, but it’s technically not a lie.

  He absolutely does not need to know about last night.

  I step into Elliot’s office once his briefing ends and lock us in.

  Dammit, he’s totally tuned in to my moods, because he frowns when he looks up. “What’s wrong, Sir?”

  I hold up a hand, staying him, keeping him in his chair. “Mister Vice President, I have some bad news.” And I break it to him.

  Stunned shock fills his expression as he leans back in his chair. “Holy shit. Does Stella know yet?”

  “I don’t know. I just finished talking to DCMP detectives a few minutes ago.” I take a deep breath. “And…we need to talk. Because the rest of this might come out.” He frowns as I tell him exactly the story I just told the detectives and Stephen Lyman.

  I hate that a mask drops across his features, one I can’t read. Deep lines furrow his brow and he clasps his hands together in his lap as he stares down at them. “So, why were you going to see her all those times?” I also hate the quiet pain in his question. Leo warned me that Elliot is very territorial.

  Now Sir can take over. I round his desk and cup his face in my hands, dropping my voice. “I knew she was trying to get close to you. I needed to find out what she really wanted. I was hoping she’d give away who some of her other ‘friends’ were so I could weed them out of having too much contact with you during the campaign and after the election. She was deep into The Family. So’s Stella. I need to protect you from that group.”

  He stares up at me. He’s wearing his contacts today, and his blue eyes look dark, maybe even a hint of feeling betrayed in them. “You never did anything with her?”

  “Okay, Elliot, seriously? Ew, for starters. I’ve never been with a woman and have no desire to. That’s in addition to the fact that I’m perfectly happy with you and Sir. You two are my life. But you also know damn well how the sausage gets made in this town. I was trying to befriend her and get her to let her guard down around me. This is no different than me sending you out to dinner with Yasmine.”

  Finally, he blows out a long breath and wraps his arms around me. “Sorry, Sir,” he mumbles against my stomach. “I told you, I’m territorial.”

  I hold him, relieved that he’s bought it. “I know, buddy. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was visiting her. You didn’t need to know, and I was trying not to put anything on your plate that didn’t have to be there. Leo didn’t even know until today. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t up to some bullshit. Guess that’s not a worry now.”

  “Should I call Stella?”

  “I wouldn’t. Not yet. I don’t know if they’ve talked to her yet. I gave the detectives her info. I don’t even know if they’ve notified Grace’s family. They should hear it first from the authorities, not from you or your sister.”

  He tips his face up again. “I love you, Sir,” he whispers. “I don’t ever want it left unsaid.”

  I lean in and kiss him, taking my time. “Love you, too, boy. Don’t worry—you’re never getting rid of me.”

  I desperately hope that’s not a lie.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  It’s a long, stressful day. When DCMP officially announces Grace’s death about two hours after my visit from the detectives, the fact that they don’t even mention someone was with her last night tells me volumes.

  They believed me.

  Completely.

  Dare I risk breathing a sigh of relief?

  Nah, I don’t want to jinx it.

  The only thing that could throw a wrench into my plans is if Grace told Stella about me visiting her and she lets loose with that. It shouldn’t hurt me in terms of the investigation, because I told the detectives about the past visits. Except I don’t need the media exposure or attention if Stella sics them on me.

  Turns out Stella can’t keep her mouth shut. Within fifteen minutes, she’s giving a televised statement to FNB, Fox News, and other cable news channels, and tearfully mourning her “bestie.” Surprisingly, she admits Grace had some “issues” back in college, but that she’d believed her friend had overcome her “demons.”

  Then she goes on to detail how she selflessly tried to help her friend way back then.

  Whelp. That’s one way to steer the narrative and use it for self-aggrandizement.

  More power to her.

  Unfortunately, her impromptu media blitz soon has reporters crawling up Elliot’s ass-crack and wanting statem
ents. Because of the campaign, I bypass Elliot’s comms shop and help Angie craft a joint message from the president and Elliot, one that’s somber in tone and doesn’t address Stella’s claims about Grace’s history with substance abuse. It’s short and noncommittal, as well as offering Grace’s family and friends their heartfelt condolences.

  Honestly? I expected Stella to call Elliot almost immediately, but we don’t hear from her.

  At lunch time, I’m about to step into Elliot’s office to eat with him when Leo walks over. I admit him before locking the door behind him.

  Elliot looks beyond relieved to see him and drops to the floor before either one of us even give him the signal to.

  The flash of jealousy that rolls through me over him bowing for Leo like that shocks me.

  Leo owns both of us.

  But here, in this building?

  Elliot’s mine.

  Huh.

  I’ll need to unpack that later.

  For now, I walk over to the desk and stand off to the side. Leo squats next to Elliot and pulls him into his arms for a long, strong hug, whispering to him.

  Another jolt of dark jealousy nips at my soul.

  I beat it back.

  Finally, Leo stands and offers his hands to Elliot to help him up, where he pulls him in for a hug.

  “Are you staying for lunch, Master?” Elliot quietly asks.

  “No, pet. I wish I could. I need to take care of some things.” He kisses him and then turns, catching my eye and holding my gaze for long enough that I know some of the “things” he’s handling probably involve him sniffing around to see what else he can find out about the Grace situation.

  I know he’s got a personal dossier on Grace, and the fact that he’s only learning today about my visits to her has to leave him feeling a little shook. Or angry. Or…something.

  I can’t decipher his expression.

  All I know is I’m fighting the urge to drop to my knees and beg Daddy to forgive me for hanging out with her.

  Maybe that’s part of it. Maybe he sees it as a betrayal of Elliot and him.