Ron glanced at the sheet again. "It says Aaron Hofstra is not the father of Pamela Hofstra's baby."
Chapter Seven
Dorian left for a meeting with his cop friend, so Kendall busied herself jotting notes for her interview, but her heart wasn't into it. Stefani knew someone in the senator's office. The senator's wife disappeared without a trace and now Stef was dead. It was all connected somehow, she was sure of it. But how?
Trying to refocus on her interview, she skimmed her notes. Senator Hofstra had reluctantly agreed to the interview, knowing that the more people that saw the news about his wife, the greater chance she would be found alive. After the appointment was set, he called back to say his mother would be in on the interview. Constance Hofstra was a leader in high society, having raised millions of dollars for her son's campaign and various charities over the years. She'd also stood beside her husband throughout his governorship until his retirement and subsequent death a few years ago.
Kendall didn’t have a problem including his mother. She could ask questions about Aaron’s wife from a mother’s perspective. She did have a problem with the next words out of the senator's mouth. He was positive his wife would be back and she could be included in the interview as well. Kendall murmured her agreement, but knew the possibility was slim at best.
She didn't want to further upset the man, but she planned on asking some hard hitting questions. She had to submit a list to his campaign manager before the interview so she prepared an email. After ten minutes, she gave up, frustrated. She couldn't concentrate. Looking at the list of names Dorian had pulled from Stef's phone calls, the name Rick Fleming stood out again. How did she know that name? Maybe Stefani's sister would know.
She disconnected the charger from her phone and powered it on. She'd missed a few calls. Scanning the list, she saw the one from Stef, but she didn’t leave a message. She accessed her contact list and dialed Cassie, Stefani's sister. The phone went directly to voice mail. Kendall didn't want to leave a message in case she hadn't heard the news. She was in the military and might not have been notified yet. She just left her number and asked Cassie to call back when she had the chance. She wanted to call and offer condolences to Kiki's father and Bridget's mom, but she decided to wait until she was sure they'd been notified.
With a sigh, she picked up her notes and refocused on her upcoming interview.
#
"How did this arrive?" Ron asked as he passed the paper to Cory, who'd also donned a latex glove. Ron slipped his glasses off and slid them in his pocket.
"It was in with today's mail," Constance Hofstra answered.
"No postmark," Posten added. "It must've been hand-delivered."
"Where's the envelope?" Cory asked as he pulled a plastic bag from a jacket pocket and inserted the letter inside.
"Here." Wilks reached for the wastebasket.
"Wait," Ron instructed, holding up a hand to stop his progress. He delved inside with his gloved hand to remove the envelope. It was plain white, legal-sized with the senator's name typed in bold black print on the front. No return address, postage or indication of where the letter originated. He doubted they would find any evidence…the sender had been careful and not licked the envelope so they wouldn't be able to get a DNA hit that way. Cory held another plastic bag open and Ron dropped it in and sealed it shut.
He faced the senator again, who'd yet to speak. Ron wasn't sure he'd even blinked since they'd arrived. He knew the doctors had been keeping him medicated but the latest news seemed to set him back. He was borderline catatonic.
"Any idea who would have sent this, Senator?"
The senator's gaze moved slowly from the window to Ron. "It's lies." His voice was flat, unemotional. "Whoever sent this is trying to hurt me."
"Of course it's lies," Constance Hofstra soothed, running her hand down her son's head. "Pamela would never do that to you."
Again, Ron felt Constance's hatred for Pamela. She truly believed the woman could've slept with another man. "Let me see the results again." Ron held out his hand to Cory and his partner handed him the plastic bag. Ron examined it but there was no indication of the lab that had performed the paternity test. Had Pamela suspected the senator wasn't the father of her baby and had the tests done secretly? If so, who'd sent the results to the senator?
"I'm going to need the name of Pamela's obstetrician," Ron told them.
"I can give you the name," Constance said, "But you won't be able to speak to her."
"Why not?" Cory asked.
"The clinic burned down last night. The doctor and one of her nurses died in the fire."
#
After securing a promise from Kendall to stay put, Dorian slid on a pair of sunglasses and jogged across the street to meet Alex. He chose the coffee shop so he could keep an eye on the room, make sure no one tried to get inside.
A bell jangled over the door when he entered the diner. Alex was waiting in a booth, nursing a cup of coffee, his foot tapping a frantic beat. In cop mode, he faced the door, his eyes continually roaming the area. He'd taken a table away from other customers, and as soon as he spotted Dorian, he jumped to his feet. "What the hell is going on, Demarchis?"
Dorian signaled the waitress and slid into the bench seat. When Alex continued to stare at him with a mixture of anger and reproach, he sighed, "Sit down, Alex."
Alex grumbled, but took a seat. The waitress hurried over with a pot of steaming coffee and filled both mugs. Alex barely waited until she had left before he whispered harshly, "How did you know the names of the victims?"
Instead of answering, he said, "We’ve known each other for a long time."
"Dammit, would you quit dancing around this, Demarchis. I want to know what the hell's going on and I want to know now." His fist pounded the table in emphasis.
Several heads turned at the outburst. Alex glared at them until they spun back around and then he zeroed his gaze in on Dorian. "Yes, we’ve known each other forever," he growled in a harsh whisper, his hand slashing through the air. "What the hell does that have to do with this case? Three women are dead, Demarchis, and you know something."
"You trust me, right?"
Alex looked like he wanted to argue again but reluctantly nodded.
"There was another woman in that room."
Alex blinked, his head jerking back. "Another victim?"
"No, she survived the attack."
Alex’s brows pinched together. "Then why isn’t she coming forward, talking to us, trying to help us find out who gunned down her friends in cold blood?"
"Because one of you is the killer."
#
One of you is the killer.
Dorian's words slammed into Alex like the blunt end of a sledgehammer. His back hit the padded booth, air bursting from his lungs. It took a second to regain his bearings before he growled, "I think you better tell me everything you know right now, Demarchis, or I swear, friend or no, I’ll haul your ass in for obstruction."
Dorian smirked, obviously knowing he wouldn’t follow through on the threat. It took everything in Alex not to lunge across the Formica table and wipe that sneer off his face.
"The woman, let’s call her Jane."
Please. Alex rolled his eyes
"Jane and her friends meet in Chicago. They go out for dinner, head back to the room to change for a night on the town. One woman orders champagne, another is nervous, jittery. She accidently drops her cell and it slides under the bed. Jane crawls under to retrieve it when someone knocks on the door. Thinking it’s room service, one of the girls opens the door, but men burst inside and spray the room with silenced bullets. Jane stays hidden under the bed while the gunmen swipe all the purses and identification. Someone approaches and they flee, but not before Jane notices a thick scar around one man’s wrist."
Alex processed the timeline of events. "So they stole purses…you think it was a robbery gone bad? Someone spotted the girls and followed them to their room?"
Doria
n shook his head and continued with his story. "The room service waitress saw the carnage and ran for help. Jane slid out and when she heard sirens, she ran into the hall. An officer came up to her and when she told him that the girls were her friends, he forced her outside, accusing her of the crime."
"He left without securing the scene?" Alex asked incredulously.
"Yeah, but as he hauled Jane out, she noticed the scar on his wrist."
Alex sighed, rubbing his forehead. "The same guy."
Dorian nodded.
"So he could've been impersonating an officer."
"Jane doesn’t think so. She's pretty perceptive and her job requires her to deal with cops on a regular basis. The badge and the car were legit, though it was too dark for her to read the numbers."
"He was trying to hide." Alex cursed. "So how did," he made air quotes, "Jane, get away?"
Dorian’s lips twitched. "She Biancaed him."
"She what-ed him?"
"She sprayed cinnamon Bianca into his eyes."
Alex grunted approvingly. "Quick thinking. So how’d you hook up with her?"
"Her friend knew one of my coworkers. He sent her to me."
He looked Dorian square in the eye. "You know you gotta let me have her, Demon."
Dorian shook his head. "No. No way. Whoever did this finds her, she’s dead."
"She’s a material witness in a triple homicide. We can keep her safe."
Dorian pounded his fist on the table this time, his voice a low growl. "She’s not a witness, she didn’t see anyone and besides, one of you did this, dammit."
Alex grabbed his mug to settle the contents and scrubbed a hand down his face. He needed to talk to the girl but with Dorian protecting her like a junk yard dog, he knew there was no way he would get near her until Dorian allowed it to happen. He switched tactics. "Convenient Jane happens to hide right when the gunmen barge inside."
Dorian narrowed his gaze. "Just what are you implying?"
Alex held his arms up. "I’m not implying anything, just making an observation."
Dorian's eyes narrowed even more. They were mere slits. "Contrary to police belief, coincidences do happen. Jane had nothing to do with this. Nothing."
Alex's already minimal patience was at an end. "I want Jane. Don’t make me threaten you with arrest."
Dorian’s voice was low and lethal. "I came to you because I trust you, Mylonas. Do not make me regret it."
He knew he should fight harder but Dorian was a stubborn son of a bitch and he wouldn’t back down. Alex could threaten him with life imprisonment and it wouldn’t do any good. The man was a former SEAL, for God's sake. The best of the best. "How come we didn’t find anything about Jane in that room?" Dorian explained the lack of identification. "Okay, so they don’t know her name, but they know she exists."
"Yeah, and they've already come after her three times."
Alex blinked. That stunned him. "How'd they track her?"
"She had her friend’s cell phone. They traced her through the GPS."
"Where’s the phone now?"
"On a slow train to the Pacific."
"Any idea what they want?"
Demarchis glanced away. "None."
"You’re lying. Your eyes just gave it away. You looked down to the right."
Dorian huffed out a sigh. "Look, when I know something concrete, I'll let you know. You are my one and only contact on this. I don’t trust anyone else you work with, you got it?"
Alex sighed deeply. "Are you going to at least let me talk to her?"
"Soon."
"Demarchis—"
"Look, Alex, she’s my client and my top priority is keeping her safe."
"I’ll go along with this for now, but not long. I’d hate like hell to do it, but I will arrest you, Demon. Someone gunned down three beautiful young women and so help me, I am going to find them and make them pay, even if it means fingering one of my own."
His stomach rolled at the thought.
#
Alex watched Dorian jog down the street, knowing he wasn’t going straight to the girl. He could follow him, but if there was one person in this world he trusted, it was Dorian.
Sliding on his shades, he padded to his car and climbed inside. If what Dorian said was true, they had a rogue cop. He rested his head on the steering wheel. God, he hated this. It wouldn’t be the first time, probably not the last, but even the tiniest whisper of police corruption caused a burn deep in his belly. Ninety-nine percent of the cops were honest, hardworking men and women whose main focus was to serve and protect the public, sometimes with their lives. But that one percent who chose the dark side ruined it for everyone else. They were the ones people remembered.
His phone chirped. He flipped it open after seeing his precinct number on caller ID.
"Mylonas."
"Alex, it's Carol. The chief wants to speak to you. What's your twenty?"
"I was just about to meet Millson to interview potential witnesses on the triple homicide."
"Chief said it's urgent."
"I'll be there in ten." Alex disconnected and was about to slide the phone back in his pocket when it rang again. Noticing his partner Barry Millson's name on the screen, he flipped it open.
"Hey, where are you, bud?" Millson asked. "I've already interviewed several of the staff."
"I just got called back to the station. I'm not going to make it there this afternoon."
"No problem, I can handle things here. Quick work getting the names, by the way."
Alex closed his eyes. He hated lying to his partner. Though they'd only been partnered a little over a year, he trusted Barry Millson to watch his back. But a little voice in his head whispered, "Trust no one."
"Find anything else out?"
"I talked to the desk clerk who registered the blond chick this afternoon. He said she looked panicked and kept dropping things."
Blond chick. Millson had no sense of decorum. "You mean Ms. Sinclair." Alex could hear Millson flipping pages, checking his notes.
"Yeah, that's the one."
"Did you talk to the man I told you about? The one who saw two suspicious people dressed in black enter the hotel?"
"Uh…" More pages flipped. "Briefly. He had to take a call. I made a note to speak to him again."
Alex sighed. "Get him to a sketch artist now. If he can ID either of the two men, it might be the break we need."
"Will do," Millson said.
"I'll be in touch." Alex disconnected. When he entered the precinct, the constant buzz of ringing phones and the dull drone of chatter filled the air. The sounds were so familiar, he didn’t even notice. So was the scent of stale coffee and something burning in the microwave and sweat. He nodded a greeting to a few people as he headed to his desk. George Williams lumbered over, his doppelganger Monty Woods close behind. Alex barely managed not to roll his eyes. He did not need a confrontation with the foulmouthed beat cop or his ass-kissing sidekick. Williams blocked his path.
"Out of my way, Williams. The chief needs to talk to me."
Williams didn't budge. "I hear a little birdie told you the names of the victims in that hotel killing."
"What the hell you talking about, Williams?" Alex truly disliked the man who had a reputation for drinking more than working. Rumor had it that most of the time, Woods was on his own, covering for Williams while he slept off a binge. Monty even saved his partner’s life once when he got caught between the crossfire of rival gangs. They were both pretty messed up, but Woods was the one to almost bleed out from massive stab wounds.
Though never buddies, ever since the confrontation at Mama Demarchis’ restaurant, their relationship had been tenuous at best. Alex was younger, but he'd rapidly and steadily moved up the ranks to Williams' open hostility. Williams would never be anything more than a beat cop, and was damn lucky to even hold on to that job, and for that, he had the union to thank.
Williams leaned closer, his foul breath making Alex wince. "Word is you know so
mething about that massacre and you're holding out."
"Williams, you’ll know anything as soon as I do."
"Mylonas."
At Chief Saunders' summons, Alex pushed around Williams, ignoring his hostile glare. Alex blinked in surprise as he passed the chief and entered the office, his eyes moving from his boss to the man standing in front of the wide oak desk. Why was the governor of Illinois here? The chief closed the door and made introductions. Alex shook Governor Carson Denton's hand.
"Have a seat." Chief Saunders indicated the chair in front of his desk. Alex did as instructed, watching as Saunders took his seat, wondering what this was all about.
"The governor heard about the murders and stopped by to inquire about the investigation."
Okay, that Alex understood. The brazen murder of three beautiful women had drawn media attention from across the country.
The chief clasped his hands on the desk. "That was quick work getting the names of the victims. Good job."
A sick feeling rooted in the pit of his stomach. "Thank you, sir."
"Yes, good work, Detective," the governor agreed, his smile a little too practiced and a little too smarmy. You could pick this man out of a crowd as a politician. He was Aaron Hofstra's running mate for Vice President. "How did you identify the women so quickly? I was led to believe there was no identification in the room."
He was going to kill Dorian for putting him in this position. But, to give him credit, he'd come up with an explanation, and a real one. He would've discovered the names eventually, but Dorian's tip gave him the information he needed faster.
"I checked the hotel records, got the name of the girl who registered. Her name was the only one on the records, and she had just charged dinner to her room. I spoke with a busboy in the restaurant. He recognized the girls as former Cougars cheerleaders from an old poster hanging in the break room. The kid retrieved it and the girls signed it for him on their pictures. It was just a matter of contacting their former director to identify the bodies and then notifying their next of kin."
"Excellent police work," Saunders commended. "Any other physical clues?"
Alex shook his head. "No shell casings. The perps policed their brass."
Trust No One Page 8
