Fatal Deception

by Marie Force

  Jeannie and Will exchanged glances.

  “Who was Steven Coyne?” Jeannie asked, having the sneaking suspicion that she ought to know.

  “How fast people forget,” Morganthau said, shaking his head again. “He was Skip’s first partner when they were still in patrol. He was gunned down in a drive-by shooting that was never solved.”

  Jeannie wondered if Will was having the same earth-tilting-on-its-axis reaction that she was to discovering Tyler’s mother had a connection to Skip and the department. Suddenly, a lot of things made sense.

  “There was no mention of her connection to the department in the reports or in the papers,” Jeannie said.

  “We kept it quiet. Steven had been gone almost twenty years at that time. After a very difficult mourning period, she’d gotten on with her life. We saw no need to resurrect those painful memories when she was dealing with the disappearance and later the murder of her son.” He looked from Jeannie to Will and then back to Jeannie. “You didn’t know about Alice?”

  Jeannie heart beat erratically. “No, sir.”

  “I can imagine how it must look to you with hindsight, but try to imagine the spot Skip was in with his murdered ex-partner’s wife back in the middle of another murder investigation.”

  “He did what he could to protect her and her family,” Jeannie said, trying to process it all.

  “He did what any of us would’ve done.”

  “Could I ask,” Will said hesitantly, “why he was assigned a case that struck so close to home for him? Wouldn’t it have been a conflict of interest?”

  “It would’ve been a conflict for any member of the department. We take care of our own, as you surely know, so everyone knew her. As I recall, Skip insisted on handling it, and because the department was so shorthanded, no one objected to him taking a case that promised to be thankless, to say the least.”

  No wonder Skip had gone to great lengths to keep the heat off Alice’s broken family. He’d allowed Cameron Fitzgerald to go into the military days after his brother went missing, which now made far more sense than it had before.

  “Did Skip have a personal relationship with Mrs. Fitzgerald?” Will asked. “Beyond looking out for her?”

  “I can’t answer that. I have no idea.”

  “Did anyone ever imply there was more to their relationship than friendship or concern?” Jeannie asked.

  “There were rumors, but you know how people gossip.”

  “Was there any truth to the rumors?” Jeannie asked.

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “What do you think?” Will asked.

  Morganthau took a moment to consider his reply. “I think Skip Holland was a good guy who was torn in a lot of competing directions, and he did the best he could in a difficult situation.”

  And that, Jeannie thought, was as much as the good doctor was going to say about the situation. Only Skip Holland could attest to the true nature of his relationship with Alice Fitzgerald, and Jeannie doubted he’d be inclined to discuss it. How to handle that would be entirely up to Sam.

  Jeannie stood and extended a hand to the doctor. “Thank you for your time and hospitality. We very much appreciate your insight.”

  “You’re very welcome. I hope it was helpful.”

  “More than you know,” Jeannie said.

  Will shook the doctor’s hand. “Thanks, Doc.”

  “Give everyone my regards,” Morganthau said when he walked them to their car. “I miss the people but not the bodies. All that senseless death. It got to me after a while, you know?”

  Did she know? Hell, yes, she knew. “Yes, sir. Enjoy your retirement. You’ve certainly earned it.”

  “Thank you. Be safe, you hear?”

  “We will.”

  They drove down the driveway in silence and were on Route 50 on the way back to Washington before Will broke the silence.

  “That certainly explains a lot.”

  “Sure does.”

  “Now what?”

  “Now we tell Sam and let her figure out what to do about it.”

  “I don’t envy her this one.”

  “I don’t envy her most of them.”

  “But this...”

  “Yeah,” Jeannie said. This would suck worse than most.

  * * *

  “What do we know about Colton Patterson?” Sam asked Freddie. They had commandeered the conference room and put a keep-out sign on the door. Luckily, the pit was empty, so no one was paying attention to them. She was still mulling over why she’d found her wedding picture facedown in her office and the scent of Agent Hill’s aftershave clinging to her phone. It worried her that he hadn’t gotten the message earlier. But she shook off those unpleasant thoughts so she could stay focused on the case.

  Freddie scanned his laptop screen as Sam paced and squeezed a stress ball. “He’s forty, also graduated from Ohio State, never been married, known as a bit of a playboy. He used to date Tenley James,” Freddie said, referring to the famous actress. “Whereas Christian went the home-and-hearth route, his brother seems to have taken the opposite path—a new girl every week.”

  “What’s he look like?”

  “Here, see for yourself.” Freddie spun the laptop around to display a photo of a handsome, rugged-looking man who was as dark as his brother was blond. “He must look like the mother.”

  “I can see why the ladies dig him. Let’s run them both through the system and see if anything pops in the way of a criminal record.”

  “Doing it now.”

  “We also need to dig into Defiance and see if the town holds any dirty secrets.”

  “What kind of dirty secrets?”

  “Missing young women, for one.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “Do a search for the names Greg, Betty and Defiance, Ohio.”

  Freddie typed frantically, trying to keep up with her rapidly moving thoughts.

  Energy coursed through Sam’s veins like lightning. She lived for the buzz that came with knowing she was on to something.

  “There’s nothing for a Greg and Betty Tate of Defiance.” His brows knitted with concentration as he scrolled through the information. “Oh wow. Oh man. Check this out. A George and Barbara Tate were killed in a house fire twelve years ago. Their teenage daughter Valerie was taken in by the Patterson family.” Freddie spun the computer around to reveal a photo of a much younger Victoria Kavanaugh.

  “Holy shit!” Sam thrust a fist in the sky. “We’ve got ’em!”

  “I hate to point out that all we’ve got is a connection between Victoria and the Patterson family. That doesn’t prove they murdered her.”

  “It’s a start,” Sam said. “We’ve also got motive. Who else would have a motive to insinuate a plant close to the Nelson administration but someone who was gunning for Nelson’s job?”

  “Still gotta prove it,” Freddie said.

  “You’re a buzzkill, you know that?”

  “So you tell me.”

  Sam continued to pace in front of the murder board. “Do a search for Valerie Tate of Defiance, Ohio.”

  Freddie’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “Lots of stuff about the fire, about the Patterson family taking her in. Couple of pictures. In every one of them, Colton has his arm around her.”

  “I wonder if they dated.”

  Freddie was reading, his lips moving as his eyes darted back and forth over the screen. “So this one article talks about how Colton got really sick in first grade, so he repeated and ended up in the same class as Christian and Valerie. There’s a picture of the three of them in caps and gowns, graduating from high school. Apparently, everything the Patterson family does is news in Defiance.”

  “Where did Valerie go to college?”

  “Bryn Mawr,” Freddie said, glancing at her.

  “I knew it! How can this not be related to the Patterson family in some way or another?”

  “Not denying that it’s related to them. Pointing out—again—that even thoug
h there’s a connection doesn’t mean we’ve caught a murderer.”

  Sam scowled at him and took another lap of the conference room, nervous energy coursing through her as she tried to put the puzzle pieces together.

  “Check it out—Valerie’s online presence ends right around the time she graduated from Bryn Mawr. There’s not a single other mention of her anywhere.”

  “Very interesting. So someone in her rich pseudofamily set her up to infiltrate the Nelson campaign. I want to know who, and I want to know why. Rich people like them have flunkies. They have people who take care of situations such as a plant who stops cooperating. We need to figure out who the Patterson’s flunkies are and have a talk with them.”

  “Great. How do we do that?”

  “Um, ask them?”

  Freddie considered that for a minute. “We call Christian Patterson and say, ‘Who are your flunkies?’”

  “Sure,” Sam said with a shrug. “Why not?”

  A knock on the door interrupted them. Sam waited until Freddie closed the screen on the laptop. “Enter.”

  Agent Hill stepped into the room. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing much,” Sam said. “You?”

  “I got the name of the NCIS agent who handled Derek’s security clearance update after he married Victoria.”

  “And?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Of course he is,” Sam said. The Patterson family was nothing if not thorough. “How?”

  “His death was ruled a suicide. He went off a bridge in Alabama.”

  “Did anyone dig beneath the surface?”

  “Nope. Apparently, he was a bit of a loner, so no one even reported him missing for a week. By the time they found him, there wasn’t much left to investigate.” Avery pushed his fingers through his hair, a gesture Sam had come to recognize as one of frustration. “Speaking of not much left to investigate, Bertha’s house was incinerated, along with the houses on either side of hers.”

  “Anyone hurt?”

  He shook his head. “Luckily, everyone got out in time.” Gesturing to the computer on the table, he said, “Did you find out anything more from the congressman?”

  “Not too much,” Sam said. “He had a heart attack before we could question him.”

  “Jeez, we can’t catch a break, huh?”

  “We will. We have to keep at it.”

  “I’m going to talk to the doctor who implanted the tracking device in Maeve Kavanaugh. I’ll be back for the meeting at sixteen thirty.”

  “We’ll be here.”

  He eyed them suspiciously before he stalked from the room.

  “He knows something’s up,” Freddie said.

  “Good for him.”

  “When do you plan to let the others in on what we’ve uncovered?”

  “Soon. We need a little more, and I know right where to get it.” She waved her arm, indicating that he should follow her.

  He grabbed the laptop and scrambled after her. “Where’re we going?”

  “Back to see our friend at Patterson’s campaign headquarters.”

  * * *

  She’s hiding something, Avery thought as he drove to the Washington Hospital Center on Irving Street, Northwest. He had the worst time figuring out all the Northwest, Northeast, Southeast, Southwest business in Washington. Why didn’t they use street names without the directions? Any time he’d asked that question of a D.C. native, they looked at him like he had two heads and said that’s the way they’d always done it. Still, didn’t they get that it was confusing to out-of-towners?

  His thoughts naturally returned to Sam, who’d been a little too nice and a little too accommodating. He knew her well enough by now to get that was usually a sign she was up to something. Hopefully, she’d come clean with him soon, and they could close this damned case. The minute they did, he was heading for Jamaica.

  Derek Kavanaugh had told him that Dr. Bernard Saltzman had attended Victoria when Maeve was born. Saltzman’s office was housed within the Washington Hospital Center where he also had labor, delivery and surgical privileges.

  Avery parked and walked what seemed like a mile to the main door, where he asked for directions to Saltzman’s third-floor office. The waiting room was full of expectant women. At reception, he flashed his badge. “FBI Special Agent Hill to see Dr. Saltzman.”

  The older woman eyed the badge and then looked up at him. “He’s with a patient at the moment.” She gestured to the waiting room. “With many others waiting to see him.”

  While he normally would demand to see the doctor immediately, he had no desire to interrupt what went on in this place. “I’ll see him between patients.” Avery scanned the available chairs and found one next to an extremely pregnant women. Several of the women in the room were holding hands with terrified-looking men.

  Avery sat, hoping he wouldn’t be kept waiting for long.

  Being around pregnant women always made him feel twitchy. He never knew what to say or how to behave. His sisters had been pumping out kids for years now. Avery stayed far, far away from that business. Once they were born, he was happy to be a doting uncle, but he left the pregnant, hormonal and emotional stage to his brothers-in-law to manage.

  The office door opened, and in walked the blonde sprite he’d met the night before at Sam’s house. What was her name? He racked his brain trying to remember and strained to hear as she checked in. Shelby! That was it. The new personal assistant to the senator and his wife. Maybe she wouldn’t notice him sitting there, trying to blend in among the sea of preggos.

  She turned to find a seat and zeroed right in on him, her eyes widening with surprise. “Agent Hill? Are you expecting?” She glanced at the woman to his right.

  Horrified by the assumption, he shook his head. “I’m here to speak with the doctor about a case I’m working on.”

  Shelby took the chair on the other side of him. Judging by her slim figure, she either wasn’t yet pregnant or was newly pregnant. “Is he in trouble?” she whispered.

  “No. Nothing like that.” He glanced at her, wondering how well she knew Sam. “When are you due?”

  Her smile faded, and he instantly regretted the question. “I’m not pregnant yet. Still trying.”

  Trying to be sly, he glanced at her left hand.

  “I’m not married, either.”

  Clearly, he wasn’t sly enough. He held up both hands. “No judgment.”

  Her blue eyes filled with tears, and Avery yearned for a high roof to jump from.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue she produced from the largest pink purse he’d ever seen. Come to think of it, everything on her was pink. “I’m all hopped up on hormones, and everything makes me cry. The other day, the car in front of me hit a bunny on a side street, and I cried for an hour!” As she spoke, tears rolled down her face, and she wiped frantically at them, trying to stem the tide. “God, I’m a mess.”

  Since Avery didn’t disagree, he kept quiet.

  “So you can’t tell me what the doctor did,” she said in what she considered a whisper.

  “No.”

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.”

  “Sam won’t want you asking that stuff when you’re working for her.” The words came out more harshly than he’d intended.

  Her eyes flooded once again.

  “Oh, come on. I didn’t say that to make you cry.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, looking wounded. “I can’t help it.”

  Trying to make conversation, he said, “What does your boyfriend think of the waterworks?”

  “I don’t have one of those either.”

  Again, Avery was sorry he’d asked.

  “Your accent is lovely,” she said wistfully. “Is it Charleston?”

  “Yes,” he said, surprised by how she’d figured out where he was from. “How’d you know that?”

  “Spent some time there once. Long time ago.”

  “Don’t,” he said, filli
ng his tone with warning when her chin wobbled and her eyes went shiny.

  “Sorry.” She pulled out a fresh tissue. “Painful memories.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask how you plan to have a baby with no husband or no boyfriend.”

  She gave him a wan smile. “Science.”

  “Huh.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “What does what mean?”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing. It’s surprising.”

  “What is?”

  God, how do I get myself into these situations? “I’d think you’d have men standing in line wanting to father your child.”

  A sob hiccupped from her chest. “You really think that?”

  “Don’t make me sorry,” he warned her.

  The receptionist stepped into the waiting room. “Agent Hill? The doctor will see you now.”

  “Thank God,” Hill muttered. “Ah, it was nice to see you. Good luck with your, ah, project.”

  “Thank you,” Shelby said, reaching for another tissue.

  Avery followed the stout older woman down a series of hallways that led to the doctor’s office.

  Saltzman was dictating into a handheld recorder but waved him in and gestured to a seat.

  The receptionist closed the door when she left the room.

  Saltzman was tall and thin, with salt-and-pepper hair and wire-framed glasses. When he was finished dictating, he clicked off the recorder. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Bernie Saltzman.”

  Avery shook his outstretched hand. “Special Agent Avery Hill, FBI.”

  “You’re here about Maeve Kavanaugh and the tracking device.”

  “Yes—”

  “Before you ask why you didn’t hear from me right away when she went missing, I just returned yesterday from an African safari with my wife and children. I only heard about the Kavanaugh case this morning after the baby had been found.”

  “That answers some of my more pressing questions.”

  Saltzman dropped into his chair and stretched out his long legs. “It’s awful. Victoria was a lovely person. She and her husband were so excited about the baby.”

  “Do you remember all your patients so clearly?”

  “I wish I did, but there are a lot of them. They stood out because of his connection to the president.”