by Marie Force
Nick laughed. “I could probably make that happen now if you’d like.”
“Nah, I’m just kidding. I hope you know that one of your parents is very proud of you for all you’ve accomplished and is looking forward to whatever comes next for you and your family.”
“Thanks, Dad. I appreciate the call. We’re looking forward to seeing you guys at Thanksgiving. Scotty got a new race car driving game he says the boys are going to love.”
“We’re looking forward to it too. We’ll see you next week. In the meantime, take care, son.”
“You too.” Nick put down the phone and sat back in his chair, resting his head against the leather while wishing he had some control over the tangled emotions his mother stirred in him. He loved her and hated her and wished she were different while also wanting her to go away and leave him alone. He felt all those things in the span of a few seconds, the same things he’d felt all his life where she was concerned.
When he was a child, he hadn’t yet figured out how to manage the emotional carnage she left behind. As an adult, he’d tried his best to avoid her and the mess that came with her. But the emotions… They were exactly the same as when she’d promise him a visit and then never show up.
Why was he even thinking about this shit when his life was so great now? Why did he let her suck up his mental energy? Without giving himself too much time to consider the implications, he picked up the phone and called her.
“Nick,” she said, sounding surprised.
With one word from her, he realized he’d made a huge mistake. The sound of her voice made him feel like the love-starved child he’d once been, waiting for something, anything from the mother who couldn’t care less about him. Then and now. “Why are you doing this? Why are you going on TV and talking about me like you know anything about me or my life?”
“You’re my son! Of course I know about you and your life.”
“When we haven’t spoken in months, you have no right to go on TV and talk about me like you have some sort of inside info when you don’t.”
“That statement you released was very disrespectful.”
“Are you for real right now? You want to talk about what’s disrespectful? You wanting nothing to do with me until I became successful and famous, and now suddenly you want your little piece of the action.”
“That’s not true.”
“Oh please. Don’t make it worse by lying to me on top of everything else. I don’t want to get ugly with you, but I will if you don’t stay out of my life and my business. The next time I see you talking about me in any capacity, you’re going to face legal action.” He should’ve taken that action after she resurfaced during the Christopher Nelson investigation, but he’d refrained. That, he now knew, had been a mistake. “This is the only warning you’re going to get before I play hardball with you.”
“Maybe I should go public with my son the vice president threatening to play hardball with his mother.”
“Do whatever you need to do. Just keep your mouth shut about me and my family. I won’t hesitate to make your life as miserable as you’ve made mine.”
She released a harsh laugh. “Your life has hardly been miserable. Look at where you work.”
“No thanks to you. Leave me alone and keep your mouth shut about me. I mean it.” He ended the call before she could say something that would further lacerate the heart she’d broken too many times to count. It infuriated him that his hands shook for five full minutes. He was thirty-seven, and she was still getting to him the way she always had.
Closing his eyes, he focused his thoughts on Sam, Scotty, the twins, the family they’d created with their children, Sam’s family, his dad, their close friends. He thought of each of the people he loved—and who loved him.
He’d traveled a million miles from that apartment in Lowell, Massachusetts. He worked in the White House. Millions of people knew his name and were crushed he wasn’t going to run for president. Why was he letting one miserable excuse for a human being get to him this way?
Gazing at the phone on his desk, he picked it up again and did something he should’ve done months ago. He called his lawyer friend Andy Simone to figure out how he could prevent her from doing this to him anymore.
Enough was more than enough.
Taking the largest ten investors in Ginny’s scheme, Sam and her team hit the streets to start at the top with a plan to work their way down through the list until something popped.
“Most of the time, I feel pretty confident we’ll figure out what happened, but not this time,” she said to Freddie as they drove to Bethesda in traffic that thankfully wasn’t as heavy as usual. They’d waited until after nine to leave HQ, hoping to avoid the worst of rush hour.
“I was saying that to Elin last night, how we have hundreds of people with motive.”
The day had only just begun, and Sam already felt exhausted. She hadn’t slept well after Nicoletta’s performance and Nick’s reaction to it.
“Christina called me last night, freaking out about Gonzo accepting the plea,” Sam told him.
“She just found out about it?”
“Sounded that way. I talked to the chief, and he’s doing what he can with Forrester. Malone was going to text Gonzo and tell him not to sign anything until he has a chance to talk it out with us. We agreed it’d be better coming from him.”
“God, I hope he does what he’s told.”
“Me too. I can’t bear the idea of him torching his career because of Ramsey’s warpath against me.”
“I heard Ramsey is losing his shit over something he got in the interoffice mail.”
“I heard that too. Wonder what it was?”
“No idea, but it must’ve been bad if he’s flipping out.”
“Must’ve been.” It was all Sam could do not to giggle like a fool. What goes around comes around, and when you’re an asshole like Ramsey was, you had to figure there was plenty of shit to be found. They’d barely had to try to find it.
“Heard about Nick’s mom spouting off on TV again last night.”
“Yeah, she’s nothing if not consistently awful.”
“I hate that for him so much.”
“Me too. You have no idea. It crushes him when she profits off her association to him, such as it is.”
“It’s disgusting,” Freddie said.
“Sure is.”
“Were we able to track down info about the Alinos, the friends with the parents with Alzheimer’s?”
“Jeannie talked to Mrs. Alino this morning, and they’ve spent the last two days in the hospital with Mr. Alino’s father, who has some sort of infection. Neither of them has left the hospital, and she said they have nurses who can attest to that. When Jeannie asked if there was anything she could add to the investigation into Ginny’s death, Mrs. Alino said she had nothing to say.”
“So that’s a dead end.”
“Jeannie is going to the hospital to confirm their alibi information.”
“I keep thinking about Ginny stealing from friends who had parents battling Alzheimer’s. That’s sociopathic.”
“Completely.”
“Jeannie also said none of the neighbors noticed anyone cleaning something outside the house on Sunday.”
“One dead end after another.”
Their first stop was at the home of VocalExchange, a recording studio that occupied the top floor of an office building off Rockville Pike. Naturally, they had to contend with a receptionist to get to Mark Townsend, the studio’s owner.
“Do you have an appointment?” the young woman asked.
“Do we have an appointment, Detective Cruz?” Sam asked with long-suffering patience.
“We don’t need one,” Freddie said. “We’re cops investigating a murder. Tell him we can do it at his place or ours. His choice.”
“Ah, just a minute,” the receptionist said, scurrying through a set of double doors.
“Mean and scary,” Sam said, chuckling.
�
�I’ve learned from the best.”
“If only they knew what an empty threat that really is. Like we’re gonna haul his ass all the way downtown in this traffic.”
“Right? Not to mention the paperwork. How long you giving her before you go Sam Holland on her?”
“One more minute.”
While they waited, Sam perused a brochure about the studio and learned they did a wide range of voice-over work for radio and TV commercials, audiobooks and a variety of other mediums.
The receptionist returned with seconds to spare. “Right this way.”
Chapter Eighteen
As they followed the woman through the double doors, Freddie flashed a smug smile at Sam.
Being mean and nasty didn’t come naturally to him the way it did to her. It made her ridiculously proud to see him assert himself during an investigation.
Unlike most of the offices they visited, this one was mostly studios with glass fronts facing a main corridor. People were working inside several of the studios they passed on their way to Townsend’s office, which was down another corridor. The receptionist gestured for them to go in.
“Thank you,” Freddie said to her as he went by, always polite, even when trying to be mean and nasty.
Sam figured Townsend to be in his mid-fifties. He had salt-and-pepper hair and a harried way about him, as if he had more to do than he could possibly squeeze into his awake hours. She knew what that was like.
They showed their badges.
“Lieutenant Holland, Detective Cruz, Metro PD,” she said.
He sat back in his chair, eyeing her with the curiosity she’d come to expect since Nick became VP—especially from men. They probably wondered why the VP “allowed” his wife to run around without a detail, solving murders. If only they knew no one “allowed” her to do anything. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re investigating Ginny McLeod’s murder,” Sam said.
“I’m surprised anyone is wasting time or resources on her. Trust me when I tell you, she wasn’t worth it.”
“We’ve heard that from a few people, but our job is to get justice for her whether she deserves it or not.”
“What about justice for the people she defrauded?” Bitterness dripped from his every word. “When do we get justice?”
“How did you know Ginny?”
“I went to high school with Ken. We’ve been friends since then. Or we were until his wife decided to put her mark on me. Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked to build this business? To build a life for my wife and kids? I was five years from retirement, and now…” He shrugged. “I was going to turn the business over to my oldest son, but now I’ll have to sell to have any chance of ever retiring. That’s what she took from me. The legacy I’d hoped to leave my children.”
“How much did you invest with her?”
“Three quarters of a million.”
Sam held back a gasp. Yes, Ginny had been sinister in her plot, but her victims had been somewhat easily led to give up that kind of money for something that might or might not pay off.
“I can tell you’re wondering what kind of fool invests that kind of money in something like this, but you had to know Ginny to fully appreciate how she managed to pull this off. She was very convincing that this was the opportunity of a lifetime, the chance to double my money without having to lift a finger. I kept thinking it was too good to be true, but for every question I had, she had an answer. My wife and I did our due diligence. We talked to other investors Ginny worked with who’d seen amazing results, or at least they said they had.”
“Do you recall who the people were who attested to her investment success?”
“I gave all that info to the IRS as part of their investigation, but it didn’t lead anywhere. The names were fake, the stories were fake. It was all fake, except for the fact that she took our money, and now it’s gone. That’s very real.” He paused and then glanced at her. “Have you spoken to Tina Goss?”
“We haven’t heard her name,” Sam said, glancing at Freddie for confirmation.
He shook his head.
“Who is she?” Sam asked.
“Her husband, Jack, was one of the investors. He took his own life after Ginny’s scheme was uncovered. You should talk to Tina.” Townsend seemed to think better of giving her the info. “I don’t know why I’m helping you. I don’t care who killed Ginny. The person who killed her did us all a favor getting rid of her, except now, of course, we’ll never know if she stashed the money somewhere.”
“Where were you on Sunday afternoon?”
The question seemed to shock him. “You aren’t asking if I killed her, are you?”
“I’m asking where you were on Sunday afternoon.”
“I was right here, Lieutenant. Working, like I do seven days a week, because I don’t have time to waste if I want to try to earn back some of what I lost. I work every day.”
“Was anyone else here with you?”
“One of my sound engineers was here.”
“Could we please speak to him or her?”
Though he was clearly pissed, he picked up his desk phone, made a call, asked the sound engineer to come to his office.
After a few uncomfortably quiet minutes, a knock on the door preceded a younger man into the room. “You wanted to see me?” He did a double take when he saw Sam.
She got that a lot these days.
“These MPD detectives are investigating the murder of Ginny McLeod. They’re wondering where I was on Sunday afternoon.”
“Uh, you were here. From about eleven to seven or so, when we finished up.”
“And your name is?” Sam asked.
“Rob Heinke.”
“Spell the last name for me.” Sam wrote it down. “And your phone number?”
“Why do you need that?” Townsend asked.
“In case we have other questions.”
“Like what? He told you I was here from eleven to seven. What other questions would you have for him?”
Sam glanced at the younger man, who seemed undone by the entire thing. “Your number.”
He looked to Townsend before shifting his gaze back to her and reciting the number.
“Thank you,” Sam said.
“You can go on back to work,” Townsend said.
Heinke hightailed it out of there as if his ass was on fire. She had that effect on people.
“I don’t know what else you would need from him.”
“We’ve learned to gather all the information we might ever need,” Sam said. “So we don’t have to backtrack.”
“I didn’t kill her, but I’m glad someone else did.”
“I’ve heard that from others.”
“I’m sure you’ll hear it a few more times before you’re done.”
“Where would we find Tina?”
Townsend seemed hesitant to provide the information, but pulled out his phone and scrolled through to find her in his contacts. “She works at home in Rockville.” He gave them the address. “Please don’t tell her I sent you. The poor woman has had enough to deal with without thinking I’ve turned on her too.”
“Why would it matter if you turned on her?”
“Because we’re friends. After what Ginny put us all through, some of us have become close in our shared agony.”
“How close are we talking?” Sam asked.
He stared at her, all but simmering with rage. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means. Were you or are you more than friends with Tina?”
“I, uh, I don’t have to answer that. My personal business is just that.”
“Not during a homicide investigation, it isn’t. Answer the question, or we’ll take you in for a formal interview downtown. Your choice.”
“How is this relevant to the investigation?” he asked, sounding incredulous.
“Everything is relevant when it involves a homicide, Mr. Townsend. We’d appreciate it if you’d answer the
question and stop wasting our time.”
“I… I became friends with both of them—Jack and Tina—after we started to fear we’d been scammed.”
“How did you meet them?”
“They went to the press about their suspicions. This was when we were still trying to get the Feds to take us seriously. Long before the official investigation began. When I saw them quoted in an article about a potential real estate scam, I reached out to them, and we began talking. We had a lot in common.”
Townsend paused, ran a trembling hand over a face marked by exhaustion and tension. “Jack… He was out of his mind over it. Everything he’d worked so hard for, just gone. And for a long time, no one seemed to care. We had what we believed was proof she’d stolen hundreds of thousands from us, and we couldn’t get the FBI to take our calls or to listen to our complaints, even with one of us having a friend who was an agent. We filed reports with our local police departments, who gave the matter a cursory glance. It was all so frustrating, especially since Ginny was still living large while we were coming to the realization that we’d been totally fucked over by a friend. It was all so unbelievable.”
Sam took copious notes as he spoke.
“We became friends and allies in our efforts to get justice for ourselves and what we knew had to be other victims. And then… Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, Tina called me with the horrible news that Jack had taken his own life.” Townsend’s eyes filled with tears. “That news hit me like a fist to the gut. I couldn’t breathe.”
Sam gave him a minute to collect himself, waiting as patiently as she could for him to get to the point.
“I went to see Tina that night, to offer what support I could, and I started visiting her regularly, looking out for my friend’s widow.”
“Did your wife visit her too?”
He shook his head. “She chose to take more of a hands-off approach to the entire situation. She was upset about it, for sure, but she said she couldn’t let it consume her the way it had me and Jack. And she blames me, of course, for the entire mess. I was the one who was gung ho to invest. She didn’t think we should, and when she was proven right, well… Our marriage has been in name only since then.”
