by Marie Force
“Was anyone else there with you while you were with Peter?”
“No, but Stan was on the phone. A lot.”
“How long did you ‘get physical’ with Peter?”
“Two days.”
A surge of bile burned her throat, but she choked it back, determined to get through this and close the case. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the implications for Nick, the Nelson administration or the country. Not yet. Not until she’d gotten justice for Peter.
“That’s how long it took for him to tell me you ain’t got no humility. You hated him and wouldn’t care if he talked about you. I got him to tell me about miscarriages you had when you were married and how you banged your coworker Archelotta. Then he passed out, and I figured I wasn’t gonna get anything else from him. I told Stan what he’d said, and he said it was enough for what they needed. I don’t know nothing about no interview.”
Realizing Stan, not Peter, had fed the interview fodder to Buzz, Sam said, “When did you realize you were going to have to kill him?”
He looked at her as if she were crazy. “I couldn’t just walk away and leave him to tell the cops who roughed him up.”
She looked over at Gonzo, who was leaning against the far wall. “Find Christopher Nelson.”
“I can tell you where he is,” Fields said. “He’s got a fancy office in Georgetown. Runs one of those political think tanks or something. Whatever that is.”
Sam nodded to Gonzo, and he left the room. “You’re going to have to testify to all of this.”
“There’s no way I can do that. I figured you’d get that after I told you what I know.”
She sighed with exasperation. “Then there isn’t a deal.”
“How’s that fair? I gave you what you wanted!”
“And I can’t do jack shit with it if you aren’t willing to testify.”
For the first time, Fields began to look truly frightened. The glare was gone and the reality had sunk in. “They’ll kill me before they’ll let me testify.”
“We’ll put you into protective custody until the trial.”
Fields closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hands. “I’m already in enough trouble. I just wanted the money to take care of my family if I ended up in jail on the other charges. I didn’t want none of this.”
“Did you ever get any sense that the president himself was involved?”
“Nah.” Fields lifted his head. “They never said nothing about him.”
Sam knew that didn’t mean the president hadn’t been pulling the strings behind the scenes. In the scope of ten seconds her mind wandered through all the various scenarios, up to and including Nelson having to resign in the wake of what was sure to be the biggest scandal to rock Washington since they’d uncovered a prostitution ring last year. That had brought down the speaker of the House of Representatives and a senior senator, among others. This would be even bigger, and if Nelson had to resign... Oh dear God. She couldn’t even begin to go there.
“I’m going to write this up, and then you’re going to review it and sign it, asserting that everything you’ve told us here is true. If I find out you lied about any of it, there’re no deals, and the murder one rap and the life sentence that goes with it is back on the table. Are we clear?”
“Yeah. We clear.” His once-cocky tone was now resigned as he began to fully understand the bind he was in.
So now she knew who’d killed Peter and who’d hired him to do it. What she still didn’t know was exactly what they were hoping to accomplish. She left the interrogation room and found Gonzo returning from the pit.
“Does Nelson work for his father in any official capacity?”
“I did a search on him. He’s a special adviser.”
“Which means he probably has a security clearance, which means his prints are on file. I want to check those prints against the letter that was sent to Nick’s office.”
“You think he’d be that stupid?”
“He never thought for one second this was going to lead back to a member of the president’s family.”
“I’ve got the address of his office,” he said.
“Let’s go.”
“Wait just a minute, Lieutenant,” Chief Farnsworth said as he approached the gathering with Avery Hill in tow. “I understand that your suspect has given up Christopher Nelson as the mastermind.”
“That’s correct.”
“And it’s true that Nelson’s motive, or what we know of it at this time, was gathering information from your ex-husband that could be used to discredit you and your current husband?”
“Also correct.”
“You’re off the case,” Farnsworth said. “We’re turning this over to the FBI to bring in Nelson and his henchman.”
“Wait—”
“No, I’ll not wait,” Farnsworth said. “I gave you the latitude to investigate your ex-husband’s murder. That latitude ends right here.”
Sam looked at Hill, who seemed to go out of his way to avoid making eye contact with her. “I’d like to observe when you talk to him.”
“That can be arranged,” Hill said. “We’ll bring him in right away and notify you when we’re going to talk to him.”
Sam knew that was the best she could hope for. “Okay. Don’t fuck it up.”
“I’ll do my best not to,” Hill said, his honeyed Southern accent tinged with sarcasm.
Sam filled him in on the need to check Nelson’s prints against the letter.
“I’ll have our lab get on that.” He headed out, and Sam watched him go, champing at the bit to go with him. But her chief had spoken. He so rarely pulled rank on her that when he did, she tried to do as she was told, but it wasn’t easy.
“I understand you need medical attention, Lieutenant,” Farnsworth said. “Detective Cruz will drive you to the ER and stay with you while you’re evaluated.” He gestured to Freddie.
Sam glared at her rat-fink partner, who seemed totally unaffected by her ire.
“Let’s go,” Freddie said.
“I quit as your best-man woman,” she hissed as they made their way—slowly and painfully—to the morgue entrance.
“I don’t accept your resignation.”
“I can’t believe you. With all I do for you, this is the thanks I get?”
“I’m soooo sorry for caring about you. I’m an awful, terrible person.”
“Well, at least you know you’re awful and terrible.”
His laughter only further irritated her. They met up with Gonzo in the hallway.
“Get me something that connects Nick’s mother to Nelson or his henchman.”
“I’m on it,” Gonzo said. “Good luck at the hospital.”
Sam gave Freddie the silent treatment on the ride to the GW emergency department, where she was a frequent flier.
“I was beginning to think you didn’t love us anymore, Lieutenant,” Dr. Anderson said when he came into the room where she’d been taken after they sent her for X-rays. If there was one benefit to being second lady—and a regular—they didn’t make her sit for hours in the waiting room. They brought her right back to a room, which saved her from being gawked at and even photographed by people who recognized her. And yes, that’d actually happened a few times in doctors’ offices.
“So nice to see you, Doc.”
“What’d you do this time?”
“Got myself hit by a car while chasing a bad guy and hurt my hip.”
“You don’t do anything halfway, do you?”
“I got the guy. Isn’t that all that matters?”
“I suppose so.” He typed on the computer monitor and called up her X-rays, taking a close and careful look at them. “I don’t see any sign of a fracture, which is the good news.”
&nbs
p; “What’s the bad news?”
“You have a bone bruise, which means it’s going to hurt for quite a while before it fully heals.”
“No break means I’m outta here.” She hopped down from the table and instantly regretted it, sucking in a sharp deep breath. The pain made her see stars.
“Take it easy, will ya?” Freddie said as he took hold of her arm.
“I can get you some crutches if you think they’d help,” Anderson said.
“No thanks. Appreciate your time, Doc.”
“Always a pleasure to see you, Lieutenant. You can get your frequent-flier card punched on the way out. You must be due for a free visit soon.”
“Everyone around me is a comedian,” Sam muttered.
“You inspire us,” Freddie said, making the doctor laugh. He escorted her through the waiting room, where every head swiveled toward them when people realized who she was. They were out of there before phones could be used to take pictures.
“I’d better tell Nick about this before he hears about it on TMZ.”
“Might not be a bad idea.” He held the passenger door to her car and waited for her to get settled before he closed the door and went around to the driver’s side.
She’d insisted on taking her car because the ride was smoother and the seat higher. Thinking about that now made her feel like a decrepit old lady. Sam flipped open her phone and put through the call to Nick. His voice mail picked up.
“Um, babe, it’s me. I had a little run-in with a car this morning. I’m fine. Nothing broken or anything, but I might not be able to spread my legs for a while. Thought you’d want to know. Call me.”
“Seriously?” Freddie asked, incredulous. “Did I need to hear that?”
“What? That’s the part of the story that’ll matter the most to him.”
“No, it isn’t. The part that’ll matter most to him is that you’re okay. You did that to pay me back for dragging your sorry ass to the ER.”
“Now, that would just be vindictive on my part, and I am anything but.”
“Right.”
“Take me to Hill’s office.”
“He said he’d call.”
“I tell him that all the time and ‘forget’ to make the call. Take me there.”
Freddie drove to the J. Edgar Hoover Building, headquarters to the Federal Bureau of Investigation, located at 935 Pennsylvania Avenue.
“That is one ugly-ass motherfucking building,” Sam said. “No wonder Hill spends so much time at our place.”
“You should’ve had your mouth washed out with soap more often as a kid.”
“Didn’t work on me. I love the taste of soap.”
“You are so weird.”
“Sticks and stones, my friend. Sticks. And. Stones.”
“Do I need to drop you at the front door, Doris?”
“What’s with you today? You’re Mr. One-Liner.”
“I’m on a roll. Don’t mess with me. Door or walk?”
“I’ll walk.”
“Because we’ve got all day for you to hoof it. Let me drop you off so we can salvage what’s left of this shift.”
“Whatever you say, dear.”
He dropped her at the door and went to park.
Since he was being a pain in the ass today, she didn’t wait for him. Inside, she was forced to surrender her firearm—she fucking hated that—and was ushered through security. At the reception desk, she showed her badge and asked to be let in to see Agent Hill.
“Of course, Mrs. Cappuano,” the chipper receptionist said. Sam hated receptionists almost as much as she hated surrendering her firearm.
“I’m Lieutenant Holland when I’m on the job,” she half growled at the woman.
“My apologies. Let me call Special Agent in Charge Hill’s office for authorization.”
“He’s expecting me.”
“Oh, okay, then.” She gave Sam directions to the elevator and told her how to find Avery’s office on the third floor.
“My partner, Detective Cruz, will be here in a few minutes. Send him up, will you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sam took the elevator, pushed the button and hoped the rattling was due to the age of the building and not the maintenance of the elevator. Wouldn’t that be something, if, after all the crazy crap that’d happened to her, she was killed by a malfunctioning elevator? She’d survived getting hit by a car today. Her number probably wasn’t up yet.
She was deposited on the floor that housed the Criminal Investigations Division and had to get past yet another receptionist.
“Oh, Lieutenant, what an honor to have you here,” she said, her eyes wide with recognition and excitement. “Would it be too much to ask for your autograph?”
“Yes, it actually would since I’m here on official business. I need to see Agent Hill right away.”
The woman’s face fell with disappointment. “My apologies. Let me get him for you.”
Sam immediately regretted denying her and possibly costing Nick a vote he might need someday. She took a piece of scrap paper from the lady’s desk, copied the name Leslie from the placard and wrote “Nice to meet you, Leslie! Samantha Cappuano” and left it where she would see it when she returned to her post. There. Good deed for the day done.
CHAPTER THIRTY
AVERY CAME THROUGH a door and seemed shocked to see her waiting for him. “What’re you doing here? I told you I’d call you.”
“I wanted to save you some time.”
His skeptical expression let her know he saw right through her bullshit.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” she asked with a big smile.
“Of course. Come on back.”
She followed him to a corner office at the end of a long hallway. If possible, his office was smaller and less attractive than hers, and that was saying something.
“Have a seat.”
She took note of a photo of Shelby on his desk. “How’s she doing?”
“Pretty good. The baby was fussy overnight, so neither of us got much sleep.”
“I didn’t think you’d be working today.”
“I’m taking time off when they come home.”
“Are they going home to your place?”
His expression remained neutral when he said, “For now.”
“What’s going on with Nelson?”
“My deputy and one of our other top people are bringing him in now.”
“You didn’t want in on that?”
“I had to stay here and smooth things over with the acting FBI director and the attorney general, who’re melting down over us arresting the president’s son because of information we got from a career criminal. They weren’t going to allow us to bring him in until the lab got a hit on a partial print on the letter that linked Christopher Nelson to the threat.”
“I knew it!” Sam wished she could stand up and dance a jig. She loved when scumbags fucked up and implicated themselves in felonies. With her hip aching like a bastard, there would be no jig dancing today, but she was celebrating on the inside. Nothing made her happier than seeing justice done on behalf of murder victims, especially those she’d known personally.
Sam’s cell phone rang with a call from Gonzo. “Speak to me.”
“There’s a deposit for twenty-five grand in the account of Nicoletta Bernadino made three days ago.”
Another reason to dance a jig. “And the source?”
“A personal account belonging to Stanley Ritter.”
“Bull’s-eye. Good work, Gonzo.” Sam ended the call and passed the info to Avery.
“Arrogant motherfuckers. Never thought they’d get caught.”
“They didn’t bank on me.”
Hi
s desk extension rang, and he took the call. “Would you please bring him back? Thank you.” To Sam he said, “Your partner is here.”
“I figured he’d catch up eventually.”
“Thanks for waiting,” Freddie said with annoyance when he was shown in.
“I’m doing what I was told and resting my hip.”
“Did you get that looked at?” Avery asked.
“Yep, and apparently I’m going to survive.”
“That’s good news,” Avery said. When his extension rang again, he picked it up, listened for a minute and then replied. “All right. I’m coming.” To Sam and Freddie he said, “Nelson’s lawyer is here, and my people are executing search warrants for Nelson’s home, office, bank records, cell phones and computers.”
“Of course he lawyered up. God forbid he should have to face the music on his own.” She eyed Avery, taking note of his obvious exhaustion. “Do you have the wherewithal to go for the jugular here?”
His golden eyes flashed with anger. “Are you questioning my abilities, Lieutenant?”
“Not at all. I’m merely pointing out that you’ve had an unusually draining few days, and you may not have the stomach to go toe-to-toe with the president’s son, who you may have to charge with multiple felonies.”
“My stomach is just fine, thank you very much. How’s yours?”
Sam didn’t show any reaction to his reference to yesterday’s puking incident. “As a federal employee, are you going to be able to ask him if his father is involved?”
“As a federal agent, I’ll have no problem asking every question that needs to be asked.”
“You’ve got to nail him to the wall, Avery,” Sam said fiercely.
“That’s the plan.”
* * *
AVERY HAD DONE his homework. He hit the pompous son of the president hard and fast from the first minute of the interview, coming at him with things he’d written and said on behalf of the policy think tank he represented. He’d taken great pleasure in deriding the young vice president who had quickly eclipsed his father in the popularity rankings.
“In fact,” Avery said, “were you not quoted two months after Vice President Cappuano took office as saying he was vastly ‘overrated’ and ‘underqualified’ to be president should the need arise?”
