Fatal Deception (33 page)

“What is?”

God, how do I get myself into these situations? “I’d think you’d have men standing in line wanting to father your child.”

A sob hiccupped from her chest. “You really think that?”

“Don’t make me sorry,” he warned her.

The receptionist stepped into the waiting room. “Agent Hill? The doctor will see you now.”

“Thank God,” Hill muttered. “Ah, it was nice to see you. Good luck with your, ah, project.”

“Thank you,” Shelby said, reaching for another tissue.

Avery followed the stout older woman down a series of hallways that led to the doctor’s office.

Saltzman was dictating into a handheld recorder but waved him in and gestured to a seat.

The receptionist closed the door when she left the room.

Saltzman was tall and thin, with salt-and-pepper hair and wire-framed glasses. When he was finished dictating, he clicked off the recorder. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Bernie Saltzman.”

Avery shook his outstretched hand. “Special Agent Avery Hill, FBI.”

“You’re here about Maeve Kavanaugh and the tracking device.”

“Yes—”

“Before you ask why you didn’t hear from me right away when she went missing, I just returned yesterday from an African safari with my wife and children. I only heard about the Kavanaugh case this morning after the baby had been found.”

“That answers some of my more pressing questions.”

Saltzman dropped into his chair and stretched out his long legs. “It’s awful. Victoria was a lovely person. She and her husband were so excited about the baby.”

“Do you remember all your patients so clearly?”

“I wish I did, but there are a lot of them. They stood out because of his connection to the president.”

“After the baby was born, Victoria had a GPS locating device implanted in Maeve’s arm. Is that a common practice?”

“Becoming more common all the time.”

“Did Victoria tell you why she wanted the device implanted in the baby?”

“She was concerned that someone would take the child because of the nature of her husband’s job.”

“Did you find that odd?”

“Not really. She had some issues with anxiety that she was quite open about, so it didn’t surprise me.”

“Was she on medication for the anxiety?”

“Not while she was pregnant.”

“Were you aware that her husband didn’t know about the GPS device?”

That seemed to surprise him. “No, I didn’t know that, but it’s not uncommon for me to deal solely with the mothers after their babies are born. The fathers are in and out.”

Avery stood to leave and handed Saltzman a card. “Thank you for your time, Doctor. If you think of anything else, please give me a call.”

“Agent Hill?”

He turned back.

“I reread her file last night to refresh my memory. You might like to know that Victoria had more than the average amount of interest in hospital security before she delivered.”

“How do you mean?”

“She wanted information about who could come into the ward, what kind of measures were in place to record the comings and goings of visitors. That kind of thing.”

“Did it seem to you that she was worried about someone taking the baby?”

“Yes, with hindsight, I’d say she did seem concerned about that.”

“Thanks again.”

Avery followed the exit signs to the waiting room, where he nodded to Shelby.

She gave a small wave.

He was glad to see she’d stopped crying. Halfway to the elevator, he heard his name. Turning, he found Shelby chasing after him.

“Sorry,” she said, flushed.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

She was so tiny that even wearing spike heels, the top of her head only reached his chest. Bending her head back, she looked up at him. “I was wondering if you might like to have coffee sometime.”

Was she asking him out? “Ah, well, I’d love to, but I won’t be sticking around after we close this case. I’ve got somewhere I need to be.”
Far, far away from here
, he thought.

Her expressive face fell with disappointment. “Oh, okay. I won’t keep you.”

“Good luck,” he said, glancing at the doctor’s office door, “with...everything.”

“Same to you.”

In the elevator, he replayed the odd encounter and experienced a twinge of regret that he hadn’t met someone like Shelby years ago, back when he was still interested in the kinds of things she wanted. Back before he knew Sam Holland was in the world. Yeah, things were a lot simpler then.

Chapter Nineteen

Sam pushed open the door to Patterson’s campaign headquarters and strolled in like she owned the place.

The young man behind the counter blanched when he saw her and leaped to his feet, the color leaching from his face. “I didn’t tell him you were coming! You can’t arrest me!”

“Relax,” Sam said. “No one is being arrested. Yet.”

“What does that mean?”

“I need some more information. If you help me out, we’re square. If you don’t...” She glanced at Freddie. “We might have a problem.”

His gaze darted from her to Freddie and then back to her. “What kind of information?”

Sam leaned on the counter as if settling in for a chat with an old friend. “Let’s start with your name.”

“Sam.”

“Hey!” Sam said. “What a coincidence. That’s my name too. Isn’t that cool?”

“I guess,” he said with a shrug. He clearly didn’t think it was as cool as she did. Running a trembling hand through wavy dark hair, he vibrated with nerves.

“I imagine it takes a lot of people to run this organization.”

“Yeah, so?”

“About how many?”

“A couple hundred, give or take, work here and a thousand or more working across the country.”

“Where’s everyone today?” Sam asked, even though she already knew.

“Everyone is off today after the big Southern swing.”

“Why aren’t you off?” Freddie asked.

“Someone had to answer the phones.”

“How many of the thousand or more people working on the campaign are paid?”

“More than five hundred. The rest are volunteers. Arnie has attracted a heck of a following. We have more volunteers than we can accommodate.”

Spoken like the proud disciple
, Sam thought. “Who works closest with the candidate?”

“His sons, Christian and Colton.”

“And who works closely with them?”

He crossed his arms and seemed unnerved. “I’ve probably said enough.”

“Who instilled the gag order on the staff?”

“Christian. He’s more or less the boss of the staff. He’s particular about leaks.”

“Particular in what way?”

“He makes it clear that anyone caught talking to outsiders about the campaign won’t work here for long.”

“Have there been instances of people being fired for telling tales out of school?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“I’m... Y-you’re going to have to get a warrant. I’m not going to talk about personnel issues. I’ll be in enough trouble as it is.”

Realizing that avenue was a dead end, Sam said, “Who are Christian and Colton’s closest associates?”

“Porter Gillespie works for Colton and Jonathan Thayer is Christian’s aide.”

Freddie wrote down the names. “Can we get their local addresses?”

Young Sam collapsed into the desk chair. “I’m so going to get killed for this.” On a yellow notepad, he wrote down the addresses.

“Go ahead and add the cell numbers while you’re at it,” Freddie said.

“So Christian and Colton go way back with these guys?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. I guess.”

“How far back?”

“All the way back. The Patterson family has a lot of friends. People like them.”

“Let me ask you this,” Sam said.

The young man seemed to barely breathe as he waited to hear her next question.

“If one of the Patterson brothers had, say, a...dirty...job to be done, would they get Porter or Jonathan to do it for them?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed frantically. “What kind of dirty job?”

“You know, the sort of thing that needs to be done in a heated campaign.” Sam leaned in a little closer. “The sort of thing that the candidate and his family wouldn’t want to do themselves.”

“I don’t know what kind of thing you’re referring to.”

Sam couldn’t tell if he was being intentionally obtuse or if he was that naïve. “I suppose I mean things that skirt ethical or legal boundaries.”

“We run a very clean campaign, Lieutenant,” he said indignantly, leading Sam to wonder if he actually believed that.

“Sure, you do. Don’t they all, Detective Cruz?”

“I’m sure they do. There’s nothing dirty or unethical about politics.”

Sam settled into the conversation with Freddie, ignoring the nervous young man whose eyes darted between them as if he were watching a tennis match. “Except in some cases they’re as squeaky clean as they appear. I don’t think this is one of those cases. Do you?”

“Something about this one smells bad,” Freddie said, following her lead perfectly as he did so often.

When had he become every bit as good at this as she was?
Huh
, Sam thought.
That snuck up on me.
“I can’t quite get a handle on this particular odor,” Sam said, returning her attention to young Sam. “But it’s particularly stinky, isn’t it, Detective Cruz?”

“Particularly. Yes. It has an aura of bad food, onions, maybe, with a hint of dirty diaper thrown in there.”

Sam held back a laugh as she nodded in agreement.

“Talk to Jerry,” young Sam said, seeming suddenly anxious to be rid of them.

“Excuse me?” Sam asked, as if she hadn’t heard him perfectly.

“I said, talk to Jerry.”

“Jerry’s last name?”

“Smith.”

“And what does he do?”

“He drives people and does odd jobs and...stuff.”

“Ohhh,” Sam said, clapping gleefully. “Stuff. Why do I suddenly suspect you knew all along what we meant by dirty jobs? Now where would we find this illustrious Jerry Smith?”

He wrote the address on a piece of paper and tore it off the pad, thrusting it at her. “If I end up dead, it’s on you.”

“No, my friend, it’s on you for being stupid enough to work for people who’d kill you for telling the truth. You might want to reconsider your career choices.” Sam started to leave but then turned back. “Write down your full name, address and phone number.”

“Why?”

“Because we might need to talk to you again, and I’d hate for you to disappear on us.”

His hand was visibly trembling as he wrote down the information and passed her the paper.

“Excellent. Stay local in case we need you.”

They pushed through the door into a swampy blast of heat that seared her lungs. “This has been an extremely fun day,” Sam said.

“While some people might question your idea of fun, I completely agree.”

“The dirty diaper thing was a nice touch.”

“Did you like that? I thought it was rather brilliant myself.”

Sam rolled her eyes at him as she unlocked the car. “How much you want to bet that Jerry Smith’s DNA is going to match what was found under Victoria Kavanaugh’s nails?”

“I’d bet the farm on that one.” Freddie gestured to the campaign office. “That poor kid is never going to be the same. You made him your bitch in there.”

“I really did, didn’t I?” Sam asked with a satisfied grin as she started the car. “He needs to get another job. He knows they’re scumbags, but he was willing to put his own ass in a sling defending them. I don’t get that kind of blind loyalty to people who don’t deserve it.”

“Patterson has a huge and loyal following in this country. People see what they want to see, you know?”

“Yeah. It’s true.”

Jerry Smith resided at an extended-stay hotel that featured efficiency apartments, located six blocks from campaign headquarters. Young Sam had even included his room number, which saved Sam and Freddie the trouble of dinking around with the front desk and having to threaten them with a warrant.

In the parking lot, Sam noticed a black Lincoln SUV with tinted windows and a Patterson for President bumper sticker and pointed it out to Freddie. “At least we know he’s here.”

They entered the lobby and went straight for the elevator, taking it to the fourth floor.

Sam rapped on the door of number 424 and held up her badge to the peephole when she heard rustling inside the room. “Metro Police, open up, Jerry.” She rested a hand on her weapon, nudged Freddie and tossed her chin, indicating that he should move clear of the doorway in case this went bad. It suddenly occurred to her that they probably should’ve called for backup before coming here. “Jerry, you’re testing my patience. I know you’re in there. I saw your car out front.”

“What do you want?”

“We need to talk to you. Open the door, or I’ll send my partner to get the manager.”

Another minute passed in which the only sound coming from the room was the blare of the TV. If they hadn’t been on the fourth floor, Sam would’ve worried about him escaping out the window. As the security chain scraped and jangled, Freddie drew his weapon.

Since he had her covered, Sam kept hers holstered.

The dead bolt disengaged, and the door swung open.

At more than six feet tall, Jerry was bald, muscled and tattooed. Sam’s first thought was that petite Victoria wouldn’t have stood a chance against this guy. He was a dirty-jobs guy sent straight from central casting, right down to the scruff on his jaw, the wife-beater T-shirt and the nasty scowl on his face. And was that a bruise on his chin? She wondered if that explained the bruises on Victoria’s knuckles. Sam sure hoped so.

“What do you want?”

“Step inside,” Sam said.

“Here is fine.”

“Downtown would work better for us, wouldn’t it, Detective Cruz?”

“We’d prefer that, actually. Although we’d have to cuff you for transport, and I’m thinking if I’m you, I’d rather let us in for a civilized conversation than be cuffed and hauled to HQ.”

His scowl got nastier, if that was possible, as he stepped aside to let them into the messy space that stank of cigarettes and stale beer.

“Enjoying your day off, Jerry?” Sam asked.