by Marie Force
“So this has happened before?”
“No, he’s never been murdered before.”
Her expression was anything but amused. “Do you think this is funny, Mr. Cappuano?”
“Hardly. My best friend is dead, Sergeant. A United States senator has been murdered. There’s nothing funny about that.”
“Which is why you need to answer the questions and save the droll humor for a more appropriate time.”
Chastened, Nick said, “He slept through his alarm and ringing telephones at least once, if not twice, a month.”
“Did he drink?”
“Socially, but I rarely saw him drunk.”
“Prescription drugs? Sleeping pills?”
Nick shook his head. “He was just a very heavy sleeper.”
“And it fell to his chief of staff to wake him up? There wasn’t anyone else you could send?”
“The senator valued his privacy. There’ve been occasions when he wasn’t alone, and neither of us felt his love life should be the business of his staff.”
“But he didn’t care if you knew who he was sleeping with?”
“He knew he could count on my discretion.” He looked up, unprepared for the punch to the gut that occurred when his eyes met hers. Her unsettled expression made him wonder if she felt it, too. “His parents need to be notified. I’d like to be the one to tell them.”
Sam studied him for a long moment. “I’ll arrange it. Where are they?”
“At their farm in Leesburg. It needs to be soon. We’re postponing a vote we worked for months to get to. It’ll be all over the news that something’s up.”
“What’s the vote for?”
He told her about the landmark immigration bill and John’s role as the co-sponsor.
With a curt nod, she walked away.
An hour later, Nick was a passenger in an unmarked Metropolitan Police SUV, headed west to Leesburg with Sam at the wheel. She’d left her partner with a staggering list of instructions and insisted on accompanying Nick to tell John’s parents.
“Do you need something to eat?”
He shook his head. No way could he even think about eating—not with the horrific task he had ahead of him. Besides, his stomach hadn’t recovered from the earlier bout of vomiting.
“You know, we could still call the Loudoun County Police or the Virginia State Police to handle this,” she said for the second time.
“No.”
After an awkward silence, she said, “I’m sorry this happened to your friend and that you had to see him that way.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you going to answer that?” she asked of his relentless cell phone.
“No.”
“How about you turn it off then? I can’t stand listening to a ringing phone.”
Reaching for his belt, he grabbed his BlackBerry, his emotions still raw after watching John be taken from his apartment in a body bag. Before he shut the BlackBerry off, he called Christina.
“Hey,” she said, her voice heavy with relief and emotion. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“Sorry.” Pulling his tie loose and releasing his top button, he cast a sideways glance at Sam, whose warm, feminine fragrance had overtaken the small space inside the car. “I was dealing with cops.”
“Where are you now?”
“On my way to Leesburg.”
“God,” Christina sighed. “I don’t envy you that. Are you okay?”
“Never better.”
“I’m sorry. Dumb question.”
“It’s okay. Who knows what we’re supposed to say or do in this situation. Did you postpone the vote?”
“Yes, but Martin and McDougal are having an apoplexy,” she said, meaning John’s co-sponsor on the bill and the Democratic majority leader. “They’re demanding to know what’s going on.”
“Hold them off. Another hour. Maybe two. Same thing with the staff. I’ll give you the green light as soon as I’ve told his parents.”
“I will. Everyone knows something’s up because the Capitol Police posted an officer outside John’s office and won’t let anyone in there.”
“It’s because the cops are waiting for a search warrant,” Nick told her.
“Why do they need a warrant to search the victim’s office?”
“Something about chain of custody with evidence and pacifying the Capitol Police.”
“Oh, I see. I was thinking we should have Trevor draft a statement so we’re ready.”
“That’s why I called.”
“We’ll get on it.” She sounded relieved to have something to do.
“Are you okay with telling Trevor? Want me to do it?”
“I think I can do it, but thanks for asking.”
“How’re you holding up?” he asked.
“I’m in total shock… all that promise and potential just gone…” She began to weep again. “It’s going to hurt like hell when the shock wears off.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “No doubt.”
“I’m here if you need anything.”
“Me, too, but I’m going to shut the phone off for a while. It’s been ringing nonstop.”
“I’ll email the statement to you when we have it done.”
“Thanks, Christina. I’ll call you later.” Nick ended the call and took a look at his recent e-mail messages, hardly surprised by the outpouring of dismay and concern over the postponement of the vote. One was from Senator Martin himself—“What the fuck is going on, Cappuano?”
Sighing, he turned off the BlackBerry and dropped it into his coat pocket.
“Was that your girlfriend?” Sam asked, startling him.
“No, my deputy.”
“Oh.”
Wondering what she was getting at, he added, “We work closely together. We’re good friends.”
“Why are you being so defensive?”
“What’s your problem?” he asked.
“I don’t have a problem. You’re the one with problems.”
“So all that great press you’ve been getting lately hasn’t been a problem for you?”
“Why, Nick, I didn’t realize you cared.”
“I don’t.”
“Yes, you made that very clear.”
He spun halfway around in the seat to stare at her. “Are you for real? You’re the one who didn’t return any of my calls.”
She glanced over at him, her face flat with surprise. “What calls?”
After staring at her in disbelief for a long moment, he settled back in his seat and fixed his eyes on the cars sharing the Interstate with them.
A few minutes passed in uneasy silence.
“What calls, Nick?”
“I called you,” he said softly. “For days after that night, I tried to reach you.”
“I didn’t know,” she stammered. “No one told me.”
“It doesn’t matter now. It was a long time ago.” But if his reaction to seeing her again after six years of thinking about her was any indication, it did matter. It mattered a lot.
Chapter 3
The Loudoun County seat of Leesburg, Virginia, in the midst of the Old Dominion’s horse capital, is located thirty-five miles west of Washington. Marked by rolling hills and green pastures, Loudoun is defined by its horse culture. Upon his retirement after forty years in the Senate, Graham O’Connor and his wife moved to the family’s estate outside Leesburg where they could indulge in their love of all things horses. Their social life revolved around steeplechases, hounds, hunting and the Belmont Country Club.
The closer they got to Leesburg, the tenser Nick became. He kept his head back and his eyes closed as he prepared himself to deliver the gruesome news to John’s parents.
“Who were his enemies?” Sam asked after a prolonged period of silence.
Keeping his eyes closed, Nick said, “He didn’t have an enemy in the world.”
“I’d say today’s events prove otherwise. Come on. Everyone in politics has enemies.”
<
br /> He opened his eyes and directed them at her. “John O’Connor didn’t.”
“A politician without a single enemy? A man who looks like a Greek god with no spurned lovers?”
“A Greek god, huh?” he asked with a small smile. “Is that so?”
“There has to be someone who didn’t like him. You can’t live a life as high profile as his without someone being jealous or envious.”
“John didn’t inspire those emotions in people.” Nick’s heart ached as he thought of his friend. “He was inclusive. He found common ground with everyone he met.”
“So the privileged son of a multi-millionaire senator could relate to the common man?” she asked, her tone ripe with cynicism.
“Well, yeah,” Nick said softly, letting his mind wander back in time. “He related to me. From the moment we met in a history class at Harvard, he treated me like a long lost brother. I came from nothing. I was there on a scholarship and felt like an imposter until John O’Connor took me under his wing and made me feel like I had as much reason as anyone to be there.”
“What about in the Senate? Rivals? Anyone envious of his success? Anyone put out by this bill you were about to pass?”
“John hasn’t had enough success in the Senate to inspire envy. His only real success was in consensus building. That was his value to the party. He could get people to listen to him. Even when they disagreed with him, they listened.” Nick glanced over at her. “Where are you going with this?”
She mulled it over for a moment. “This was a crime of passion. When someone cuts off a man’s dick and stuffs it in his mouth, they’re sending a pretty strong message.”
Nick’s heart staggered in his chest. “Is that what was in his mouth?”
Sam winced. “I’m sorry. I figured you’d seen it…”
“Jesus.” He opened the window to let the cold air in, hoping it would keep him from puking again.
“Nick? Are you all right?”
His deep sigh answered for him.
“Do you have any idea who would have reason to do such a thing to him?”
“I can’t think of anyone who disliked him, let alone hated him that much.”
“Clearly, someone did.”
Nick directed her to the O’Connors’s country home. They drove up a long, winding driveway to the brick-front house at the top of a hill. When he reached for the door handle, she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
He glanced down at the hand and then up to find her eyes trained on him.
“I have to ask you one more thing before we go in.”
“What?”
“Where were you between the hours of ten p.m. and seven a.m.?”
Staring at her, incredulous, he said, “I’m a suspect?”
“Everyone’s a suspect until they aren’t.”
“I was in my office all night getting ready for the vote until five-thirty this morning when I went to the gym for an hour,” he said, his teeth gritted with anger, frustration and grief over what he was about to do to people he loved.
“Can anyone confirm this?”
“Several of my staff were with me.”
“And you were seen at the gym?”
“There were a few other people there. I signed in and out.”
“Good,” she said, seeming relieved to know he had an alibi. “That’s good.”
Nick took a quick glance at the cars gathered in the driveway and swore softly under his breath. Terry’s Porsche was parked next to a Volvo wagon belonging to John’s sister Lizbeth, who was probably visiting for the day with her two young children.
“What?”
“The whole gang’s here.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to find some relief from the headache forming behind his right eye. “They’ll know the minute they see me that something’s wrong, so don’t go flashing the badge at them, okay?”
“I had no plans to,” she snapped.
Nonplussed by her tone, he said, “Let’s get this over with.” He went up the stairs and rang the bell.
An older woman wearing a gray sweat suit with Nikes answered the door and greeted him with a warm hug.
“Nick! What a nice surprise! Come in.”
“Hi, Carrie,” he said, kissing her cheek. “This is Sergeant Sam Holland. Carrie is like a member of the family and keeps everyone in line.”
“Which is no easy task.” Carrie shook Sam’s outstretched hand and sized up the younger woman before turning back to Nick, her approval apparent. “I’ve been telling Nick for years that he needs to settle down—”
“Don’t go there, Carrie.” He made an effort to keep his tone light even though his heart was heavy and burdened by what he had to tell her and the others. How he wished he were here to introduce his “family” to his new girlfriend. “Are they home?”
“Down at the stables with the kids. I’ll give them a call.”
Nick rested his hand on her arm. “Tell them to leave the kids there, okay?”
Her wise old eyes narrowed, this time seeing the sorrow and grief that were no doubt etched into his face. “Nick?”
“Call them, Carrie.”
Watching her walk away, Nick sagged under the weight of what he was about to do to her, to all of them, and was surprised to feel Sam’s hand on his back. He turned to her and was once again caught off guard by the punch of emotion that ripped through him when he found her pale blue eyes watching him with concern.
They stared at each other for a long, breathless moment until they heard Carrie coming back. Nick tore his eyes off Sam and turned to Carrie.
“They’ll be here in a minute,” she said, clearly trying to maintain her composure and brace herself for what she was about to hear. “Can I get you anything?”
“No,” Nick said. “Thank you.”
“Come into the living room,” she said, leading the way.
The house was elegant but comfortable, not a show place but a home—a place where Nick had always been made to feel right at home.
“Something’s wrong,” Carrie whispered.
Nick reached for her hand and held it between both of his. He sat that way, with Carrie on one side of him and Sam on the other, until they heard the others come in through the kitchen.
Hand-in-hand, John’s parents, Graham and Laine O’Connor, entered the room with their son Terry and daughter Lizbeth trailing behind them. Graham and Laine, both nearly eighty, were as fit and trim as people half their age. They had snow-white hair and year-round tans from spending most of their time riding horses. When they saw Nick, they lit up with delight.
He released Carrie’s hand and got up to greet them both with hugs. Terry shook his hand and Lizbeth went up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He introduced them to Sam.
“What’re you doing here?” Graham asked. “Isn’t the vote today?”
Nick glanced down at the floor, took a second to summon the fortitude to say what needed to be said, and then looked back at them. “Come sit down.”
“What’s going on, Nick?” Laine asked in her lilting Southern accent, refusing to be led to a seat. “You don’t look right. Is something wrong with John?”
Her mother’s intuition had beaten him to the punch.
“I’m afraid so.”
Laine gasped. Her husband reached for her hand, and right before Nick’s eyes, the formidable Graham O’Connor wilted.
“He was late for work today.”
“That’s nothing new,” Lizbeth said with a sisterly snicker. “He’ll be late for his own funeral.”
Nick winced at her choice of words. “We couldn’t reach him, so I went over there to wake him up.”
“Damned foolish of him to be sleeping late on a day like this,” Graham huffed.
“We thought so, too,” Nick conceded, his stomach clutching with nausea and despair. “When I got there…”
“What?” Laine whispered, reaching out to grip Nick’s arm. “What?”
Nick couldn’t speak over the huge lump that lod
ged in his throat.
Sam stood up. “Senator, Mrs. O’Connor, I’m so very sorry to have to tell you that your son’s been murdered.”
Nick knew if he lived forever, he would never forget the keening wail that came from John’s mother as Sam’s words registered. He reached for Laine when it seemed like she might faint. Instead, she folded like a house of cards into his arms.
Carrie kept saying, “No, no, no,” over and over again.
With Lizbeth crying softly behind him and Terry’s eyes glassy with tears and shock, Graham turned to Sam. “How?”
“He was stabbed in his bed.”
Nick, who continued to hold the sobbing Laine, was grateful that Sam didn’t tell them the rest. He eased Laine down to the sofa.
“Who would want to kill my John? My beautiful, sweet John?”
“We’re going to find out,” Sam said.
“Sam is the lead detective on the case,” Nick told them.
“Excuse me,” Graham mumbled as he turned and rushed from the room.
“Go with him, Terry,” Laine said. “Please go with him.”
Terry followed his father.
Lizbeth sat down on the arm of the sofa next to her mother. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “What will I tell the kids?”
Painfully aware of how close John was to his niece and nephew, Nick looked up at her with sympathy.
“That he had an accident,” Laine said, wiping her face. “Not that he was killed. You can’t tell them that.”
“No,” Lizbeth agreed. “I can’t.”
Laine raised her head off Nick’s shoulder. “Where is he now?” she asked Sam.
“With the medical examiner.”
“I want to see him.” Laine wiped furiously at the tears that continued to spill down her unlined cheeks. “I want to see my child.”
“I’ll arrange it tomorrow,” Sam said.
Laine turned to Nick. “There’ll be a funeral befitting a United States senator.”
“Of course.”
“You’ll see to it personally.”
“Anything you want or need, Laine. You only have to ask.”
She clasped his hand and looked at him with shattered eyes. “Who would do this, Nick? Who would do this to our John?”
