by Marie Force
Tornquist took the page, scanned it and returned it to her with a sanctimonious smile. “That’s my electronic signature. Do you know how many of these my office handles every year for ambitious young Ohioans who come to the Capitol looking to begin a career?”
“Then you didn’t know Ms. Taft?”
“I did not.”
“So you write these letters for your constituents regardless of whether or not they’re qualified for the positions they’re applying for?”
“It’s not my job to determine whether or not they’re qualified. I assume the employer takes care of vetting potential employees. I merely vouch to their character.”
“How could you do that when you’d never met Ms. Taft? How do you know you’re vouching for a worthwhile character?”
“Lieutenant, I’d think that in light of your marriage, you’d have a better-than-average understanding of how these things work.”
Freddie cleared his throat, a sure sign he was trying not to laugh. She’d bet her life he was counting down in his head again.
“Congressman, let me tell you how things work in my world. People vouch for people they know. They don’t vouch for people because they had the good sense to be born in the great state of Ohio.”
“Surely your husband—”
“We’re not talking about my husband! We’re talking about you! Did you or did you not know Victoria Taft when she requested a recommendation from you?”
A bead of sweat suddenly appeared on the crown of the congressman’s head as his face twisted with discomfort. “Do I need a lawyer?”
Sam loved when they asked that question. Nothing screamed of something to hide quite like a request for a lawyer. “You tell me. Do you need one?”
“I didn’t know her,” Tornquist said hesitantly.
“But?”
“I know someone who did,” he said, “and he asked me to write the letter.”
“I find it very interesting that you remember a letter you wrote years ago for a woman you say you didn’t know. Don’t you find that interesting, Detective Cruz?”
“Absolutely, Lieutenant. I mean you gotta figure he writes a lot of letters. Why is it that he remembers anything about this one?”
As they held their private conversation, Tornquist continued to sweat and fidget.
“So,” Sam said, returning her attention to Tornquist, “are you going to tell us who asked you to write the letter for Victoria Taft?”
His face turned that unappealing shade of purple that Sam usually associated with Lieutenant Stahl. Releasing the top button of his shirt, he pulled his tie free and seemed to be struggling to breathe.
Sam and Freddie exchanged glances.
“Congressman,” she said, “are you all right?”
“I-I don’t know. My chest hurts, and I’m having trouble breathing all of a sudden.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake, Sam thought. Just when we were getting somewhere. She reached for her radio and called for an ambulance. Then she helped the congressman onto the floor, tugged his tie off and released two more buttons on his shirt. “Cruz, let the staff know to be on the lookout for the bus.”
“On it.”
“Am I having a heart attack?” Tornquist asked as he gasped for breath.
“Let’s hope not.”
Since he was conscious and breathing, Sam didn’t have to get up close and personal with rescue breathing or anything else that would force her to put lips or hands on his sweaty body.
“What did you do to him?” Blondie asked as she came running into the room.
Freddie was right behind her.
“We didn’t do anything,” Sam said. “One minute we were talking to him, and the next he was turning purple. How’s that our fault?” She was getting sick and tired of being blamed for doing her damned job.
“Congressman, are you all right?” Blondie asked, squatting next to him.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine, Melody. Don’t worry.”
Melody, Sam thought. How fitting.
Ten minutes passed in uncomfortable silence as Tornquist fought for every breath. When the paramedics came rushing in, Sam and Freddie stood and stepped back to make room for them.
After taking a minute to assess the congressman’s condition, the paramedics strapped him onto a gurney. On his way past, Tornquist reached out to Sam.
“Talk to Christian Patterson. He asked me to write the letter.”
And that, Sam realized as the paramedics whisked the congressman from the room, was the first major break in the Kavanaugh case.
* * *
Sam and Freddie followed the paramedics from the building and watched them load Tornquist into the ambulance.
“Do you think he’s in on it?” Freddie asked.
“He knows something. That cardiac event came on awfully suddenly.”
“That’s what I was thinking too. It was almost convenient.”
“What do we do about what he told us?”
“We dig into Christian Patterson.” She took off toward the car. “Can we talk about how I called this one?”
Freddie groaned. “Do we have to?”
“Yes, we have to. Not even thirty minutes ago, I said, ‘Gee, I wonder if Arnie Patterson had anything to do with this,’ and not five minutes ago, Tornquist hands us the man’s son on a platter.”
“Do you know what my first thought was when he said the name Patterson?”
Sam was practically skipping on the way to the car. She gave a little shake of her hips for emphasis. There was nothing more thrilling than a big lead in a confounding case. “I haven’t a clue. Why don’t you tell me?”
“I thought, ‘Oh my God, she’s going to talk about this forever.’”
That made Sam laugh—hard. “How well you know me, my friend.” In the car, she pulled out her phone and called HQ. “Put me through to the pit.”
“The what?” the dispatcher asked.
Sam sputtered with exasperation. “Are you new?”
“Who is this?”
“Lieutenant Holland. Connect me with the homicide unit, please.” She rolled her eyes at Freddie. “Don’t they tell them these things in orientation?”
“Apparently not.”
The phone rang and rang. “Carlucci.”
“Oh, good, you’re still there. I need an address for Arnie Patterson’s local office.”
“The Arnie Patterson? The bazillionaire candidate?”
“One and the same.”
“I’m looking it up.”
Sam could hear the clicking of computer keys in the background.
“Looks like New Hampshire at R Street, near Dupont Circle.”
“Got it, thanks Carlucci. Do me one more favor—do a run on Christian Patterson, Arnie’s son.”
“Hang on.”
After some more clicking of keys, Carlucci said, “Let’s see, Google has him listed as a top adviser to the campaign, a vice president in his father’s investment firm. He was an all-American football player at Ohio State. He’s married to a former Miss Ohio, and they have two sons, ten and twelve. Looks like his father—tall and blond with the toothy smile.”
“That’s what I needed. Are you guys almost done?”
“Getting there.”
“I won’t keep you. Thanks for the help.”
“No problem, Lieutenant.”
Sam ended the call and shared what she’d learned with Freddie.
“I take it we’re heading to New Hampshire Avenue, then?”
“Let’s stop by the gym on the way. I want to cover all the bases.”
“What gym was it?”
“Fitness Emporium on Mass Ave.”
“Hey, Elin used to work there! Years ago.”
“Did she know Victoria?”
He shook his head. “She would’ve said so. At least I think she would’ve.”
“Call her. Ask.”
“Um, okay.”
Freddie withdrew his cell phone from his pocket and placed the c
all. “Hey, hon. Yeah, everything’s fine. Sam and I were wondering if you remember a client named Victoria Taft when you were at the Emporium.”
Sam listened intently, trying to hear what Elin was saying.
“They sign an agreement when they start that they can’t talk about the clients of the gym. Ever. She can get sued.”
“Are you kidding me?”
Freddie held the phone to the side. “She’s not kidding.” To Elin, he added, “Will they talk to us if we go there?” He paused. “I was afraid of that. Okay, thanks. Appreciate the info.” Glancing at Sam, he said, “Yeah, me too.”
“Aww, does she love you?” Sam asked, making smooching noises.
“Bite me.”
“You’re not allowed to say that to me. I’m only allowed to say it to you.”
“Bite me hard.”
Sam snorted with laughter. “What’d she say about the gym?”
“We’d need a warrant.”
“Well, then, let’s get one.” As she drove to New Hampshire Avenue, she placed a call to Captain Malone.
“Are you back in the ER again?” Malone asked when he answered.
“You crack yourself up, don’t you?”
“Indeed, I do,” he said, chuckling. “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”
“First of all, you need to tell your new dispatcher what the pit is.”
“I’ll get right on that.”
“And when you’re done with that, I need a warrant for Victoria Taft’s records at the Fitness Emporium on Massachusetts Avenue. Cruz’s girlfriend used to work there, and they’ve got a strict confidentiality policy.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Any word from the lab on the DNA taken from Victoria Kavanaugh?”
“Not yet, but the chief put in another call an hour ago.”
“That’s good,” Sam said. “We need that info. I’m working a promising angle. If it pops, and I think it might, it’s going to be huge.”
“Isn’t it always huge with you, Holland?”
“How is that my fault?”
“Never said it was your fault. I’m only making an observation. Tell me this—what’s going on with Tyrone and McBride?”
“Um, I, uh... I decline to comment except to say that I’m handling my squad the way I see fit.”
“If they contest it—”
“They won’t.”
“Stahl is sniffing around like a dog on the path of a juicy bone.”
“Let him sniff. He won’t get anything.”
“Be careful, Lieutenant,” he said in a tone that was far more stern than she was used to hearing from him.
“Always am, Captain. Let me know when you get that warrant.”
“Will do.”
Sam slapped the phone closed. “That motherfucker.”
“I assume you’re referring to our old pal Lieutenant Stahl.”
“Who else? Why doesn’t he get a life and a real job and leave me alone to do mine?”
“Because that would be absolutely no fun.”
“Speaking of the men I love to hate, Gibson tried to off himself last night. Left a note for me, apparently.”
“Oh my God, Sam. Really?”
“Yeah. Patrol showed up at my door. Can you believe he still had me listed as his next of kin after all this time?”
“The guy doesn’t give up. You’ve gotta give him credit for that.”
“Do I?”
“Rhetorically speaking. Is he going to be all right?”
“I don’t know, and I tell myself I don’t care.”
“No one would blame you if you didn’t care.”
“Yeah.”
“We could find out, you know. Wouldn’t take much more than a phone call. All you have to do is say the word.”
Sam thought about it as she pulled into the lot at the building that housed the Patterson campaign headquarters and parked. Turning to Freddie, she said, “I want to know if he survived or not. That’s it. No other details.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“It’s no problem.”
“Let’s go have a chat with Christian Patterson.”
Chapter Seventeen
Inside the storefront that served as Patterson’s Washington office, they encountered a young man working the reception desk. Otherwise, the place was quiet. The windows and walls were plastered with Patterson signs, slogans, stickers and other campaign paraphernalia.
“May I help you?”
They flashed their badges. “Lieutenant Holland, Detective Cruz, MPD. We’re looking for Christian Patterson.”
He took a long, measuring look at the badges as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “May I ask what this is in reference to?”
“Nope. Is he here?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Where is he?”
“He, I...I’m not at liberty to disclose that information.”
“We love that answer, don’t we, Cruz?”
“One of our favorites.”
“Here’s the thing,” Sam said, leaning on the raised counter that hid his cubicle from prying eyes. “You can either tell us where we might find Mr. Patterson, or we can arrest you for interfering with our investigation. What’s your pleasure?”
She enjoyed watching his eyes bug out of his head as she said the word “arrest.”
“You can’t arrest me for not telling you where someone is.”
Leaning on one elbow, Sam turned to face Freddie. “Can I arrest him for not telling me where someone is?”
“Yes, ma’am, you absolutely can. If the person you’re seeking has information material to a homicide investigation, you can arrest anyone who impairs your efforts to seek that person.”
“Thank you, Detective.” She pivoted her gaze to the ashen-faced young man. “So you see, I can arrest you, and I will arrest you. But all that unpleasantness and paperwork can be avoided if you simply tell me where he is.”
“I’ll get fired if I do that.”
Sam raised her hands as if weighing her options. “Fired or arrested. Hmm, which would you prefer, Cruz?”
“I think I’d take option A, as a firing wouldn’t be attached to my name forever. Whereas an arrest... Well, that can make for some rather nasty business when it comes to getting another job.”
“I’d imagine,” Sam said, “if you get arrested, you’ll probably get fired too. Tell me what I need to know, and you’ll only get fired.”
“I’ve heard about you,” he said as his fear turned to anger.
“Ohhh, is this when you tell me you’ve heard I’m a nasty bitch? I so love when they tell me that, don’t I, Cruz?”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s one of your favorite parts of the job.”
Sam propped the uninjured side of her face on her upturned hand and gave the young staffer the best smile she could with only half her face working properly. “Now, what’s it going to be?”
“He’s at home.” He fairly spat the words at her.
“Which is where?”
“Gaithersburg.”
“Write down the address.”
With the shake of his head and another glare that fell far short of intimidating, he scrawled the address on a sticky note and handed it to her.
“There, now was that so difficult?”
She could tell that the words go to hell were burning on his lips, but he wisely held his tongue. “Cruz, let’s go to Gaithersburg.” She headed for the door but turned back to find the young man holding the phone to his ear. “If you tell him we’re coming, I’ll be back to arrest you.”
He froze and quickly dropped the phone.
Satisfied that he’d gotten the message, she pushed open the door. “Oh my God, that was so much fun. Wasn’t that fun, Cruz?”
“For sure,” he said, laughing.
“Do we have the best jobs ever?”
“Most of the time, no. Our jobs suck the big, fat one. That, th
ough... That was fun.”
“I gotta tell you, you’re the best partner I’ve ever had.” The words were out before Sam could take a second to filter herself. She glanced over to find him staring at her, mouth agape. Oh shit.
“I am? Really?”
“I can already feel this going to your head.”
“I’ll live off the high for weeks.”
“Jesus. Me and my big mouth.”
Scowling darkly, he said, “You know I don’t appreciate it when you use the Lord’s name in vain.”
She unlocked the car. “Bite me. Phew. Back on track. Crisis averted.”
“I haven’t forgotten what you said.”
“What did I say?”
“That I’m the best partner you’ve ever had.”
“I have no memory of that.”
“You’re a piece of work, Lieutenant.”
“I hear that a lot. So Christian Patterson runs a tight ship. If that kid tells where the boss is, he gets fired?”
“I thought that was weird too.”
“I’m getting the buzz on this one. Every fiber of my being is pointing me in the direction of Patterson and his campaign. We gotta keep a lid on this until we can prove it. We have to nail them every which way to Tuesday before we tell anyone.”
“Anyone?”
Sam was thinking it through as she drove. “Anyone.”
“So, we’re not telling Malone or Farnsworth or Hill?”
“Not yet. We can’t afford the slightest leak on this, and the more people who know the more risky it becomes that it gets out. For right now, it’s you and me on the trail. We’ll bring the others in when we know for sure that we’ve got them.”
“You could get in big trouble for this.”
“Let me worry about that. If we close the case, they’ll be too caught up in the success to worry about the methodology.”
On the way to Gaithersburg, Sam’s phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID, saw it was Nick and took the call, her heart doing a little happy dance that still took her by surprise all these months later. “Hey, babe.”
“How’s it going?”
“Pretty good, actually. We’re finally catching a few breaks on this one.”
“Anything you can tell me?”
Sam thought of what she’d told Freddie. Anyone. “Not yet. Have you talked to Derek today?”
