Fatal Affair

by Marie Force

  “I’d say creepy would be a better word.”

  “Agreed. I want you to look into those ‘other relationships’ of hers that he referred to. Find out if any of the other men in her life met with an untimely demise, and while you’re at it, do a search for unsolved cases involving dismemberment. The senator might not have been the first.”

  “Local or national?”

  “Start local and see what pops. I’ll be authorizing overtime for both of us, so while you’re at it, get me everything you can find on the three women we met today. No detail is too big or too small. If they have a tattoo, I want to know what it is and where.”

  “Tramp stamps,” he wrote as she snickered at the term. “Got it. You’re really sure it was a woman, aren’t you?”

  “Every fiber of my being tells me this was a love affair gone very wrong.”

  “Or someone wants us to think that.”

  “We can’t rule that out,” she conceded.

  “In light of what we’ve learned today, we also can’t rule out that it might’ve been a love affair with a man that went very wrong.”

  “Right again,” she said. “Nothing is ever as cut and dried as we’d like it to be, is it?”

  “Nope.”

  “You’ve had a few girlfriends.”

  “So?” he said warily.

  “Don’t you compare notes on past relationships?”

  His face flooded with color. “Depends on how serious it is with the new one and whether or not she asks.”

  “Is it weird that Natalie Jordan never told her husband that things got kinky with the senator?”

  “I don’t know, Sam. That falls into a serious gray area. What guy would want to know that his woman did it all with the ex?”

  “Hmm. It just seems strange to me that she’s never even alluded to it. I mean, they’re married. And you saw his face. He had no idea what I was talking about.”

  “Did you share that kind of stuff with Peter?”

  “Bad example. We weren’t your typical married couple.”

  “Sorry to dredge up the past, but I think you’d be in a better position to answer your own questions than I would be, having never been married myself.”

  “Yeah, I guess, but I hardly had the kind of marriage where major sharing factored in.”

  “So what’s next?” he asked, seeming anxious to change the subject.

  “I need to go back to HQ, write up what we have so far, and deal with the brass on this thing with the Johnson case.”

  “What’ll you do if they put you under?”

  “If they do, it’ll only be for a couple of days at most—one of those days I’ll be in Chicago, another one we’re taking off because we’ll need to recharge, and then Monday is the senator’s funeral. With all the local police and Secret Service who’ll be there, I can’t imagine they’ll stop me from going. I can pull the strings from the sidelines, but I’m not letting it go.”

  “Even if they order you to?”

  “Especially then.”

  “Righteous.”

  Back at her desk, Sam downed a soda, opened the e-mail Gonzo had sent, and discovered the real Thomas O’Connor was a thirty-six-year-old man with dark hair and eyes. She made a note to ask Nick whether John had ever mentioned having a cousin of the same age. Regardless, the man on her screen was not the boy in the picture, and she now had positive confirmation that Graham and Laine O’Connor had lied to her about the boy. But why? Why would they deny their own grandchild? Sam had no idea, but she intended to find out.

  Her stomach clenched with pain as she read—and then re-read—an e-mail from the chief’s admin, confirming her four o’clock appointment. Checking her watch, she realized she had just a few minutes to get there on time. She stood up, but the pain had other ideas. Collapsing back into her chair, she put her head down and tried to breathe her way through it. A bead of sweat slid down her back.

  This was a bad one, but it had been getting progressively worse over the last few months despite her best efforts to ignore it. Sooner or later, she was going to have to do something about this “nervous stomach” situation, possibly even give up diet cola as she’d been told to do. But not now. No time for that now. When the worst of the pain had passed, she tested her shaky legs, took another long deep breath and set out for the chief’s office.

  She was waved right in but stopped short just inside the door. When Farnsworth called in the brass, he called in the brass. Seated in a wide half-circle in front of Farnsworth’s desk were Deputy Chief Conklin, Detective Captain Malone, Lieutenant Stahl and Assistant U.S. Attorney Miller. Sam glanced at Miller’s shoes, saw the stiletto heel, and confirmed it was Charity, one of the identical triplets who worked for the U.S. Attorney. Neither Faith nor Hope would be caught dead in stilettos.

  “Well,” Sam said, as the pain resurfaced with an ugly vengeance. Determined to stay cool, she took shallow breaths and slipped into the remaining chair. “You didn’t tell me we were having a party, Chief. I would’ve brought snacks.”

  “Sergeant,” Farnsworth said, his handsome face tight with stress that only added to Sam’s. “Before we get into the Johnson matter, go ahead and brief us on the status of the O’Connor investigation.”

  Folding her hands tightly in her lap, she brought them up to speed, holding back the details about the senator’s peculiar sexual appetites. She had decided to do her best to keep that out of the official record in deference to his parents and family.

  “So almost seventy-two hours out, we don’t have so much as a suspect?” Stahl said.

  Sam made an effort not to show him what a jackass she thought him to be. “We have several individuals of interest we’re actively pursuing. In addition, I believe the senator had a son who was kept hidden from the public. I request permission to travel tomorrow to Chicago to further investigate this thread.”

  “How’s it relevant?” Stahl snapped.

  Repulsed by the roll of fat around his belly and the huge double chin that wiggled when he talked, Sam said, “If it’s true, the senator’s relationship with the mother could be very relevant.”

  “I’ll authorize the travel,” Malone said, pulling rank on Stahl who fumed in silence.

  “Thank you, Captain,” Sam said.

  “The Feds are sniffing around,” Farnsworth said. “I’ve managed to hold them off thus far, but with every passing day, it’s getting harder.”

  “Understood. We’re moving as fast as we can.”

  “All available resources are at your disposal, Sergeant,” Farnsworth added. “Use whatever you need.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  “Now, on the other matter, we’ve got Mrs. Johnson on a seventy-two-hour hold.”

  “You aren’t planning to charge her, are you, sir?” Sam asked.

  “AUSA Miller is considering charges.”

  “If I may, sir,” Sam said. “While no one would mistake Destiny Johnson for mother of the year, I have no doubt her heartbreak is genuine.”

  “That doesn’t give her the right to threaten the life of a police officer,” Farnsworth said.

  “She has good reason to be pissed with Sergeant Holland and the department,” Stahl said.

  “Lieutenant, I find your attitude counterproductive,” Farnsworth said. “You can get back to work.”

  “But—”

  Captain Malone flipped his thumb toward the door.

  With an infuriated glance at Sam, Stahl hauled himself out of the chair and waddled to the door. After it closed behind him, Farnsworth returned his attention to Sam. “We have to take her threats seriously, Sergeant. You’re extremely vulnerable in the field, so until you’ve testified on Tuesday, we’re putting you under. Limited duty, permission to work from home, no field work.”

  “Since I’m going to Chicago tomorrow, taking Sunday off, and attending the senator’s funeral on Monday, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “About the funeral…” Deputy Chief Conklin said.

&
nbsp; “I believe the local and federal security required to bring in the president will be sufficient to protect a lowly District sergeant,” Sam said with what she hoped was a confident smile.

  “The Secret Service will have to be made aware of the threat and your planned presence at the service,” Conklin said. “I’ll take care of that.”

  “Appreciate it,” Farnsworth said. He leaned forward to address Sam. “I want you to take this very seriously. Johnson has a lot of friends, and all of them—fairly or unfairly—blame you for what happened in that house. They don’t care that you didn’t fire the shot. They care that you gave the order.”

  “Yes, sir.” Since she blamed herself, too, she could understand where they were coming from.

  “AUSA Miller, has Sergeant Holland been adequately prepared for Tuesday’s court appearance?”

  “She has, Chief. We’ve been through it several times, and she’s never wavered from her initial statement.”

  “I’ll let you get back to work then,” Farnsworth said. “Thanks for being here.”

  “No problem.” With an encouraging smile for Sam, Charity got up and left the room.

  “If there’s nothing else, I’ve got a few more threads to tie up before my tour ends,” Sam said.

  “There’s just one more thing,” Farnsworth said, reaching for a file on his desk.

  Sam refused to acknowledge the twinge of pain that hovered in her gut. “Sir?”

  “I had lunch with your father earlier this week.”

  “Yes, sir, he mentioned that. I know he appreciates your visits.” To the others, she added, “All of you.”

  “And I know you go out of your way to downplay your family’s history with this department.”

  “I don’t want nor do I expect special treatment because of the rank my father attained prior to being injured in the line.”

  Farnsworth replied with a hint of a smile. “Regardless, he was curious as to whether I’d gotten the results of the lieutenant’s exam.”

  Just those words were enough to override any success she’d had in keeping the pain at bay. It roared through her, leaving her breathless in its wake. When she was able to speak again, she said, “I’m aware it’s a source of embarrassment to my father and to you as my superior officers that I’ve been unable to pass the exam on two previous attempts.”

  “What I’d like to know is why the fact that you’re dyslexic isn’t mentioned anywhere in your personnel file.”

  Stunned, Sam opened her mouth and then closed it when the words simply wouldn’t come.

  “I’ve done some basic research on dyslexia and discovered that standardized tests are one of the dyslexic’s greatest foes.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Allow me to finish, Sergeant. I have to admit this information was a relief to me.” He gestured to the deputy chief and captain. “To all of us. We’ve been hard pressed to understand how the best detective on this force has been unable to attain a rank that should’ve been hers some time ago.”

  “I…um…”

  “You passed this time,” Farnsworth said. “Just barely—but you did pass.”

  Sam stared at him, wondering if she had heard him correctly.

  He rifled through some other papers until he found what he was looking for. “With the distinct exception of Lt. Stahl, you’ve received outstanding superior officer recommendations, high marks on your interviews and evaluations. We also factored in the graduate degree in criminal justice you earned from George Washington. All in all, you make for an ideal candidate for promotion.” He looked up at her. “Under my discretion as chief of police, I’m pleased to inform you that your name will be included in the next group of lieutenants.”

  “But, sir,” Sam stammered, “people will talk. They’ll scream favoritism.”

  “You met the criteria. The test score is only one element, and no one but the people in this room will know it was low.”

  “I’ll know,” she said softly.

  “Sergeant, do you believe you’ve earned the rank of lieutenant?”

  “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have sat for the exam in the first place, but—”

  “Then you should have no further objection to a promotion you have earned and deserve. You’ll be taking command of the detective squad at HQ.”

  Staggered, Sam stared at him. “But that’s Lieutenant Stahl’s command.”

  “He’s being transferred to internal affairs.”

  The rat squad, Sam thought, her stomach grinding under the fist she had balled tight against it. “You’re setting me up to have a powerful enemy.”

  “Lieutenant Stahl is skating on very thin ice these days,” Captain Malone said. “I don’t believe he’ll give you any trouble, and if he does, he’ll deal with us. Let me add my congratulations, Sergeant, on a well-earned and highly deserved promotion. I look forward to working with you in your new role.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Sam said, still shocked as she shook his outstretched hand and then Conklin’s.

  “Ditto,” Conklin said, following Malone from the room. “You’ve earned it.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  When they were alone, Sam turned to the chief.

  “You’ll piss me off if you ask if this is because I’m your chief or your Uncle Joe,” he said, his tone full of friendly warning.

  “I was just going to say thank you,” Sam said with a smile that quickly faded. “Will the, ah, dyslexia be added to my jacket?”

  “It’ll remain your personal business, provided it continues to have no bearing on your ability to do the job.”

  “It won’t.”

  Farnsworth sat back in his big chair and studied her. “I have to ask how you managed to get two degrees while battling dyslexia.”

  “I got lucky with professors who worked with me, but everything took me twice as long as it took everyone else. And I’ve always choked on standardized tests. I just can’t get them done in the time allotted.”

  “I can only imagine how much harder you’ve had to work to compensate. Knowing that only adds to my respect for you and your work.” He stood up, came around the big desk, and offered his hand. “Congratulations.”

  Sam’s throat closed as her hand was enfolded between both of his. “Thank you, sir. I’ll do my very best to be worthy.”

  “I have no doubt. Let me know what you uncover in Chicago.”

  “I will, sir. Thank you again. For everything.” She closed the door behind her, managed a nod to the chief’s admin, and made for the nearest ladies’ room. The relief, the sheer overwhelming relief, left her staggered. She gave herself ten minutes to fall apart before she pulled it together, wiped her face and blew her nose.

  Studying her reflection in the mirror, she whispered, “Lieutenant,” as if to try it on for size. For once her stomach had no comment. Taking that as a positive sign, she splashed cold water on her face and decided to leave on time for a change. The report could be written and transmitted from home. Besides, she needed to go tell the only other person in the world who would care as much as she did that she would soon become Lieutenant Holland.

  Chapter 19

  Before Sam could call for him, she heard the chair.

  “What’s this? Home on time?”

  She went to him, rested her hands on his shoulders and was startled to encounter sharp bones where thick muscle used to be. Jarred by the discovery, she bent to kiss his forehead. Eye to eye, she said, “I should be furious with you.”

  “For?”

  “Don’t play coy with me.”

  “It should’ve been in your jacket. From day one. I’ve always said that.”

  “It wasn’t for a reason. I don’t want people feeling sorry for me or treating me differently. You know how I feel about it.”

  “That fierce pride of yours is only going to get you so far.”

  “And my daddy is going to get me the rest of the way?”

  “I simply gave him a piece of information he didn’t have
. What he did or didn’t do with it was up to him.”

  “No, Dad, it was up to me. I don’t want you interfering in my career. How many times do I have to say it before you get the message?”

  “I’ve been duly chastised. Now, are you going to tell me what he did with it?”

  “Not until you’ve suffered a little first. What’s for dinner?”

  He followed her to the kitchen. “That’s mean, Sam.”

  “Are you being mean to your father again?” Celia asked.

  “Believe me, he deserves it. Oh, jeez, is that roast beef?”

  “Sure is. Are you hungry?”

  “Starving. I didn’t even realize it until right this very minute.” She peeked into a pot and groaned. “Mashed potatoes? God, my ass is growing just smelling it.”

  “Now you stop that,” Celia said as she served the meal. “You have a lovely figure that I’d kill for. How was your day?”

  “The usual chaos.”

  “Nothing special?” Skip asked. “Nothing different?” Sam pretended to give that some significant thought. “Not really. Freddie and I are working the case, pulling the threads. Got a couple of good angles to pursue.”

  “What are they doing about Johnson?” Skip asked.

  Hanging on their every word, Celia fed him and herself with a practiced hand.

  “I was ordered to ‘lay low’ until I testify on Tuesday.”

  “To which you said…?”

  She shrugged. “I’m fine with it. I have to go to Chicago tomorrow, I’m taking most of Sunday off, and have the funeral on Monday. I should be fine.”

  “Should be isn’t good enough.” He swallowed, cleared his throat and turned his steely blue eyes on his daughter. “Anything else happen at your meeting with Farnsworth?”

  Deciding she had tortured him long enough, she said, “Oh, you mean about the promotion?”

  He growled.

  “I got it.” She took another bite of mashed potatoes and tried not to think about the calories. “You can soon call me Lieutenant, Chief.”

  “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, indeed.”

  “Oh that’s wonderful, Sam!” Celia jumped up to hug and kiss her. “That’s just wonderful, isn’t it, Skip?”