Fatal Consequences (8 page)

“I’ll borrow it, but I’m not taking it from you.”

“I don’t just have some,” she said haltingly. “I have a lot. My parents…my family is, um, well, we have money. It’d be nothing to me to help you out if you need it.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m sure it won’t come to that.” He stepped out of her embrace and opened the car door for her. When she was settled he went around to the driver’s side. On the way to her place, Gonzo tried to process everything that had happened.

“Is this going to change everything between us?” she asked after a long period of silence.

“Is what? The baby?”

“The money,” she said in a small voice that told him it had changed things for her in the past.

“Why should it?”

“You’d be surprised how it can change things.” Rubbing a hand over her jeans, she added, “For what it’s worth, I live on what I make. I’ve never allowed money to be a big deal in my life.”

“Easy to do when you’ve always had plenty of it.” The instant the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. Her shocked expression indicated a direct hit. He reached for her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I appreciate the offer. I really do, but I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“I hope not either, but if it does, the offer is on the table.”

Gonzo squeezed her hand even as he continued to buzz with apprehension. The thought of the baby—his son—in that smoke-filled house…And that there might be nothing he could do about it…That made him shudder.

“Come in, Tommy,” Christina said when they reached her house. “You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

“I’m not fit for company.”

“Don’t do this. Don’t push me away.”

“Christina—”

She reached for him and pressed her lips to his.

When he tried to pull back, she sank her fingers into his hair and held him close to her. “Don’t go.”

“I’m all churned up.”

“Then be churned up with me. We’ll figure this out. I promise.”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “You’re sure you want to take all this on? I wouldn’t blame you—”

She rested a finger over his lips. “Let’s go in.”

As Gonzo stepped out of the car and followed her inside, he had to admit he was grateful not have to spend the night alone with his thoughts.

In Henry Lightfeather’s office, Sam studied the array of family photos displayed on the credenza. Like Henry, his wife Annette seemed to have Native American origins. Their five adopted children were ethnically diverse. One was in a wheelchair. They seemed to be a happy, smiling family in the many photographs. In addition to the group shot, there were individual photos of each of the children as well as framed samples of their artwork.

“I would’ve felt like they were watching,” Sam said.

“Watching what?” Freddie asked.

“While I was doing the cleaning lady on the sofa, I’d have felt like my family was watching with all these pictures right here.”

Freddie snorted. “I’ll bet they were the last thing he was concerned about when he was doing the cleaning lady on the sofa.” He opened a door. “We’ve got a closet full of suits and personal items. Shaving kit, running shoes, sweats.”

Sam opened the door to talk to the Capitol Police officer who’d escorted them into the office. “Were you aware that he was living in his office?”

“We know everything that goes on in these buildings.”

“Are there rules about members living in their offices?”

“It’s frowned upon, but not unheard of. The cost of living in this city is exorbitant. A lot of members have trouble swinging two places.”

“So we’ve heard.” Sam took another look around the spacious office. “We’re through here for now, but we may be back. Do us a favor and keep people out of here until we give you the okay.”

“Does that include the senator?”

“That includes everyone.”

He nodded in agreement.

“Thanks for the courtesy,” Sam said.

Lindsey McNamara called as they headed for Maria Espanosa’s apartment in Columbia Heights. “What’ve you got, Doc?”

“No match on the second semen sample with anyone in the system,” Lindsey said. “And no shock that Lightfeather is a match for the other.”

“Well, we knew he would be.” Sam smacked the palm of her hand on the steering wheel. “Why couldn’t the other guy have been in the system?”

“Because if it was that easy, none of us would have jobs,” Lindsey quipped.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re running the fetus, right?”

“As we speak. Another point of interest is the skin we found under her nails was a match with the mystery semen. So we can confirm it was the second guy who roughed her up, not the senator.”

“At least that’s something. She put up a fight.”

“Judging from the skin we found, she scratched him good.”

“Thanks for the info, Lindsey. Keep me posted on the fetus.”

“You got it.”

Sam punched the speaker button on the phone to shut it off. “What’re you thinking so far?” she asked Freddie.

“I’m trying to picture how a cleaning lady becomes a United States senator’s lover.”

“Well, if a cop can do it…”

Freddie laughed.

“Sorry, bad joke. Please proceed.”

“While it doesn’t seem that Lightfeather did the murder, how can her affair with him not be related somehow?”

“I agree. It would’ve been a huge bombshell for both of them if anyone found out.”

“With him having the most to lose.”

“Or so we assume. Maybe the stakes were higher for her.”

“Her immigration status would be in jeopardy if she lost her job, and her family was counting on her support,” Freddie said.

“The stakes were high for both of them.”

“You gotta wonder what they were thinking that first time.”

“Probably safe to assume not much thinking was involved.”

“Imagine afterward though…when the reality sunk in.”

“Total freak-out,” Sam said. “On both parts.”

“What if someone found out? Someone who would’ve been furious or jealous or threatened.”

“Do you think she’d tell anyone?”

“No,” Freddie said emphatically. “Absolutely not.”

“Not even her closest friends?”

“I wonder if she had close friends here.”

“Let’s talk to Maria Espanosa and find out,” Sam said.

Maria lived in a basement apartment about four blocks from Regina’s place. They knocked on the door and waited.

“Something stinks,” Freddie said.

“She ain’t home,” a young voice from the street called down to them.

They turned to face the boy, who Sam gauged to be ten or eleven.

“Any idea where she is?” Sam asked.

The kid shrugged. “Don’t know. Haven’t seen her in a coupla days.”

Sam and Freddie exchanged glances.

“You cops?” the boy asked.

“That’s right,” Freddie said.

“Cool. Can I watch?”

“Not this time, buddy.” Freddie went up the half set of stairs to speak to the boy while Sam called in their location to dispatch.

“Possible DOA,” she told the dispatcher. To the kid, she called, “Any idea where we can find the super?”

“Sure. My grandpa. I’ll get him for ya.”

“Thanks, man,” Freddie said. “Tell him to bring his keys.”

The kid scampered off, and Freddie came back down to join Sam. “Smell plus gone a few days equals murder.”

“Your thinking matches mine.”

“Who would have a beef with two members of the Capitol Cleaning Services?”

“Not sure yet, but you can bet we’re going to find out.”

The super arrived a few minutes later with a fat wad of keys. His grandson trailed behind him.

“You might want to get the kid out of here,” Sam said.

“Mario,” the old man barked. “Scram!”

“Aw, Gramps, come on!”

“
Scram,
I said!”

“Nothing fun
ever
happens around here, and then when it does…” His mutterings faded as he clomped off.

The old man unlocked the door. “Holy hell, what’s that reek?”

“Most likely a dead body,” Sam said as she pushed past him.

He startled. “Hey, this ain’t that kinda place! I run a clean building.”

Sam ignored him as she followed the smell to the bedroom where she found Maria’s naked, bloody body on the bed. “Call it in,” she said to Freddie as she stepped in for a closer look at the open wound on Maria’s neck. A pool of blood between her legs indicated a vicious sexual assault. “Same as Regina.”

“Defensive injuries to her hands,” Freddie said.

“Looks like she connected with the knife before it found her throat.”

He shook his head with dismay. “Poor thing.”

“Start a canvas of the neighborhood. See if you can figure out when she was last seen alive.”

“Judging from the smell and the condition of the body, I’d guess thirty-six hours or more.”

“Agreed. Which means he did her before Regina. That leads me to wonder if there are others waiting to be found.”

“I’ll get going on that canvas,” Freddie said. “I assume you’ll want her cell phone dumped?”

Sam nodded. “How much you want to bet it’s the same company? Get a subpoena and let them know if they continue to stonewall us, they’ll be hearing from the U.S. Attorney himself.”

“Got it.”

Left alone with the dead woman, Sam studied the framed photographs on the bedside table. Several young children and a shot of Maria with what must’ve been her parents. Sam wondered if, like Regina, Maria also had children living in another country. The one room apartment where she’d been killed was spartanly furnished with just a bed and dresser. A small television sat on top of the dresser. Sam deduced that Maria did little more than sleep and bathe in this space. There wasn’t much room for anything else.

While waiting for crime scene detectives to arrive, Sam went through the papers she found in the bedside table drawer. Along with a passport from Belize, she found papers authorizing Maria to work in the United States as well as cards and letters from her family at home. Drawing a notebook from her back pocket, Sam wrote down the name and return address that appeared most frequently on the letters in anticipation of making another of those dreaded phone calls.

Lindsey McNamara came down the short flight of stairs into the apartment. “What’ve you got, Sam?”

“Same M.O. as Regina, right down to the rape.”

“Someone’s gunning for young immigrant women,” Lindsey said as she snapped on latex gloves.

“Starting to seem that way. They had that in common along with their jobs, but what’s the motive? Could it be that they stumbled upon something in the course of their jobs that someone didn’t want them to know?”

“I can’t imagine that members of Congress leave sensitive information laying around the offices for the cleaning staff to find.”

“Unless they were sent in to look for something specific,” Sam speculated.

“I suppose that’s possible.”

Crime scene detectives soon descended upon the apartment.

“Get me that report ASAP, Doc,” Sam said on her way out.

“You got it,” Lindsey said.

Sam took the stairs to the street level where a crowd had formed, no doubt hoping for a glimpse of the murdered woman’s body. As she took deep gulping breaths to rid her senses of the death smell, Sam doubted they’d be so curious if they saw even a fraction of what she did on any given day.

Freddie jogged down the street to join her. “Last confirmed sighting was yesterday morning,” he reported, consulting his notes. “The owner of the coffee shop on the corner said she bought her usual soy latte after her morning run. From what the neighbors said, she worked nights, ran five miles after her shift ended, got her latte and then went home to sleep. Never deviated from the routine. Seven days a week.”

“So someone was either watching her or knew her routine and was waiting for her when she got back to her apartment. Maybe took her by surprise or pulled the knife to get her inside.”

“No one I’ve talked to so far recalls a man hanging out in the area.”

“Mrs. Smithson said they work five nights a week cleaning the Capitol, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“And Lightfeather said Regina spent ‘most nights’ after work with him, but they argued about where she was the other nights.”

“Right.”

“I want to know where they were those other two nights too.” Sam consulted her watch. Almost seven o’clock. “Let’s turn the canvas over to second shift and pick this up in the morning. We’ll meet at HQ at seven and bring everyone up to speed on what we have so far. I’ll talk to Malone about putting out an alert to immigrant women in the city, just in case this isn’t related to where they worked.”

“You don’t think it’s unrelated, though, do you?”

Sam rested her hands on her hips. “I’m leaning toward related, but I’ve learned not to make assumptions until I know more.”

“We’ll hit it hard in the morning,” Freddie said.

“You bet we will.”

She handed him the slip of paper with Maria’s family contact information. “Until then, I need you to make a phone call.”

Freddie glanced at the paper. “Ugh. Do I have to?”

“Someone does, and just in case they don’t speak English, you get the short straw. While you’re at it, give JoAnn Smithson a call too. Let her know about Maria.”

“Oh gee, lucky me.” He snatched the paper from her. “I hate making these calls.”

“Don’t we all, Detective? Don’t we all?”

Sam spent an hour at HQ updating the murder board and making notes about what she knew about the two victims, which wasn’t much. Regina was thirty, Maria twenty-eight. Both had been in the country for about two years. Both had applied for permanent citizenship. Sam knew Regina’s application had been denied, but Maria’s status was unclear. She wondered if Senator Lightfeather would know and decided to pay him a visit on the way home.

After consulting with Captain Malone, she issued an alert to the media to warn young immigrant women living in the city to be vigilant in and around their places of residence. She didn’t mention the similarities between the two murders, lest she set off hysteria in the city. Hopefully, they could apprehend the perpetrator before that became necessary.

On her way to the Washington Hilton on Connecticut Avenue, she received a call from Darren Tabor.

“No comment,” she said as she activated the speaker on her phone.

“I haven’t asked the question yet.”

“Just because Nick and I gave you one exclusive doesn’t mean you can randomly call me any time you want.” Sam had reluctantly agreed to sit for a joint interview with Nick after their engagement. They’d granted the interview to Tabor because he’d given them a heads-up that the
Reporter
tabloid planned to run a story about Sam’s long-ago near-abortion and figured they owed him one. Now they were even—at least as far as Sam was concerned.

“I made you look really good in that article,” Tabor said.

Sam snorted. “I don’t need your help to look really good.”

Laughing, Tabor said, “You might want to work on your self-esteem, Lieutenant. I hate to see you so down on yourself.”

Sam choked back a chuckle. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Just saw your alert to immigrant women,” Tabor said. “What else can you tell me?”

“Nothing yet.”

“Do you have a second victim?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“You must if you saw fit to issue the alert.”

“Don’t you dare report that, Darren. I’m not confirming anything.”

“That’s okay. I can check the logs. They’ll tell me what you’re not.”

“I’ll leave you to make your own conclusions.”

“What’s Lightfeather’s status?”

“I told you all earlier—he’s been cleared on any involvement in the murder of Regina Argueta de Castro.”

“You can’t do your favorite reporter a favor and confirm they were involved?”

“Give it a rest, Darren. I’m outta here.” She shut off the phone and pulled up to the Washington Hilton a few minutes later. Flashing her badge to the bellhop who met her, Sam said, “I’ll be just a few minutes.”

“The person you no doubt wish to see is on the seventh floor.”

“Thank you.” Now why couldn’t everyone be that cooperative toward the police?

Sam took the elevator to the seventh floor and made her way to the room at the end of the hallway where two of her colleagues stood watch outside the door. “How goes it?” she asked them.

“Pretty quiet, Lieutenant.”

“Is the wife here yet?”