Fatal Justice (31 page)

“We’d like to speak to him.” Sam nudged Freddie. “Give her your card. Call Detective Cruz if you hear from him. Do you understand?”

“What does Preston have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know yet. That’s why I want to talk to him.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Diandra asked, zeroing in on Sam’s face. “You’re trembling and ghostly pale.”

“She was in a car accident last night,” Freddie said.

“And you’re working on Devon’s case?”

“I’m working on both cases—Devon’s
and
Julian’s.”

Diandra appeared startled to hear that. “What does one have to do with the other?”

Sam took a moment, sized up the other woman, measuring her every movement. “I don’t know yet.” Despite what the motion cost her aching head, she leaned in closer. “But I’m going to find out, Diandra. You can bet your ass I’m going to find out. Detective Cruz? Let’s go.”

Emerging through the ICU double doors, Sam gripped Freddie’s jacket to keep from falling down. Her legs had the consistency of cooked spaghetti. “Get on the horn with the lab,” she whispered. “Tell them they have one hour to get me the report on the weapon used on Devon. I already know it was the same gun that did Julian. I just need confirmation. One hour.”

“Lieutenant, maybe you should sit for a minute.”

“Not’til we’re out of this place. Get me out of here without going anywhere near the lobby.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you nail her just now? You’ve all but got her on accessory to murder.”

“Because we still need to sew up a couple of loose ends, and then I’m going to let Preston nail her. It’s the least of what he owes her. All we have to do is find him.” She staggered, and Freddie tightened his hold on her. “Make the call.”

Freddie gripped her arm while dialing the cell phone with his free hand.

“Where the hell would he go?” Sam asked the minute they were safely in Freddie’s Mustang. Refusing to puke in the hospital parking lot where the press might see her, she fought back a vicious wave of nausea. “You’re sure they checked all the hotels?”

“Everyone within twenty miles of the city. The theory is he wouldn’t go much farther knowing his son was wounded.”

“And Austin couldn’t think of anywhere else his father might be?”

“Only places we’ve already looked.”

Sam punched the door and then instantly regretted it. Gasping from the pain that rippled through her in sickening waves, she closed her eyes and took shallow breaths through her nose.

“Damn it, Sam. You should be in the hospital.”

“Drive. Now.”

“Where to?”

“Out of this fucking parking lot! Before we get snagged!”

“Jeez, you’re bitchy when you’re in pain.”

“I’m always bitchy.”

“True.”

“More so since I quit soda.”

“
Very
true.”

“So how’s that whole ‘I’m a crazy horn dog after all’ thing going?”

“You’re never going to forget that, are you?”

“Not in this lifetime.” She rested her head back against the seat, pleased that at least something in her life had returned to normal—or what was passing for normal these days. Ever since the moment she first walked into John O’Connor’s apartment and encountered Nick’s grief-stricken face, her life had changed forever. Imagining the news of her long-ago near-abortion whipping through the city, she released a jagged sigh. “So, Nick said Darren Tabor spilled the whole thing to you.”

“Yes. He was actually extremely cool. For him.”

“Good of him to tip us off.” She knew she had to ask, that this would be the first of many times she’d have to revisit the most painful moment of her life, a moment she thought she’d left behind a long time ago. “Are you disgusted with me?”

His eyes darted from the road to her and back to the road. “Of course not.”

“Not even a little?”

His jaw tightened with tension. “You must’ve had no choice.”

“I really didn’t. But I know your faith runs deep. You should feel free to speak your mind, Freddie.”

“I already have.”

The tone of his voice indicated the conversation was over, that there would be nothing more said about it. Ever. He no doubt had strong feelings about the issue, but apparently he had strong feelings about her, too.

“You know what’s disgusting?” she asked, looking to lighten things up.

“What’s that?”

She kicked at the candy wrappers, chip bags and soda cans on the floor of his car. “Your disgusting eating habits.”

“I’m a growing boy,” he said with that charming smile of his. “I need my sugar.”

“It’s gross.”

“You’re just jealous because you wish you had my metabolism.”

“I continue to hope I’m around to see your crappy diet catch up to you.” The old car hit a huge pothole, and Sam gasped. “
Dude
. Watch the bumps.”

“Um, do you think maybe you could tell me where we’re going?”

“Just drive. Let me think. Where are you Preston? Where’s the last place you think we’d look for you?” She let the thought run around in her mind for several minutes. “Call Gonzo. I want the log from Devon’s house.”

Dialing while driving, Freddie passed along the request.

Keeping her eyes closed, Sam said, “Ask him if Preston Sinclair came to the house after the bodies were found.”

A minute later, Freddie confirmed that Preston had, in fact, come there looking for his son while crime scene processed the house. According to Gonzo’s report, Preston acted suitably distraught and left after packing a bag for his son. He said he was going straight to the hospital. While they were on the phone, Gonzo also confirmed the same gun had been used in both Sinclair shootings.

The buzz of all the pieces falling into place rippled through Sam’s battered body. “I
knew
it! Dupont Circle. Stat.”

“There might be bumps.”

“I’ll risk it.”

Ripped to shreds by what he’d just endured with the media, Nick returned to Sam’s room to find it empty. “What the hell?”

Storming down the hall to the nurse’s station, he inquired about her.

“She was in her room, Senator. I was just in there.”

His ribs ached, his collarbone was on fire and his nerves were totally shot. Making a supreme effort not to rip the nurse’s head off, he bit back a nasty retort and summoned a calm tone. “She’s not there now. I want to know where she is.”

“So do I.” The nurse picked up the phone and called for security. “If she’s in this hospital, they’ll find her.”

“Thank you.”

He returned to Sam’s room, dug his cell phone out of his pocket and called her. Hearing the tune of “Living on a Prayer” coming from under the pillow made him want to throw his own phone across the room. Then he noticed the bag Celia had brought.

Empty.

“Goddamn it, Sam.
Goddamn it!
” He reached under the pillow for her phone, scrolled through the numbers, found Freddie’s and pressed send.

“I bet he was in the house just long enough to unlock a window or door,” Sam said.

Freddie pulled up to the townhouse and parked. “So you think he came back after the cops left?”

“That’s exactly what I think.” Sam reached for the door handle.

Freddie’s hand on her arm stopped her. “What’s the plan, boss? To go in there balls to the wall and ferret him out?”

“Well, yeah. Exactly.”

“Um, no offense or anything, but a certain lieutenant near and dear to me recently ripped me a new one for going in without backup.”

“You have backup. You have me.”

“Again I say no offense, but I’d rather go in with my fat Aunt Doris than you in the condition you’re in right now.”

“Ouch. I’m hurt.”

“Yes, you are, and I’m not going in there with just you to apprehend a man who’s already shot his own brother and son.” Stretching his injured shoulder, Freddie added, “I’d like to think I’ve learned my lesson. The two of us are hardly equipped at the moment.”

“Christ, you’re such an ass pain, Cruz. Call it in, but the collar’s mine, you got me?”

“I got you, and I’ve asked you not to take the Lord’s name in vain.”

She growled at him.

Just as he reached for the radio to call for backup, his phone rang. Checking the caller ID, he glanced over at her. “Funny. It’s you.”

“Shit. It’s probably Nick, and I’ll bet he’s pissed.”

“
Gee
, do ya think?”

“Your sarcasm is of no use to me right now.”

“Am I answering?” Sam stared at the phone. “No. I’ll call him after this goes down. Get the backup here before Preston slips through our fingers.”

“You are so dead when Nick gets ahold of you. I hope I get to watch that.”

“Shut up and call!”

The SWAT team scampered out of two black vans. They moved with the precision of a NASCAR pit crew, each member knowing exactly what they were supposed to do and when they were supposed to do it. Early in her career, Sam had considered SWAT but decided against it when she realized they did a lot of waiting for situations to arise while detectives were constantly in the thick of things.

With officers in place on the roof, in the street and on the ground they stormed the front door.

“Damn,” Freddie said reverently. “I never get tired of watching them in action.” A rumble of activity lit up the radio, and he reached for the door handle. “They’re coming. Stay here.”

“Screw you.” Sam got out and was hit with another wave of nausea that nearly brought her to her knees. She forced the stars from her eyes and watched them bring a broken, bawling, handcuffed Preston Sinclair out of his son’s house.

The SWAT lieutenant handed her a 9-millimeter handgun zipped into a plastic bag. “We got there just in time. He was going to off himself.”

Malone and Gonzo arrived on the scene.

“I’m not even going to ask what the hell you’re doing here, Holland,” Malone said. “But why am I not surprised?”

Sam took the bag containing the gun. “Got the guy, got the weapon,” she said with a smug smile. Even that small movement cost her. To Gonzo, she added, “Get him to HQ, put him in a room and stay with him until I call you. Don’t even step out to take a leak, got me?” She handed him the gun. “Have Jeannie trace it. I want proof that Diandra bought it. Get it for me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Gonzo took Preston by the arm and escorted him to the car.

Malone raised an eyebrow as he studied Sam. “What’re you up to, Holland?”

“I need someone to pick up Diandra Sinclair at the GW ICU.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I’ll do it.” Freddie flagged down a uniformed officer directing traffic around the scene. “We’ll take his squad car and leave my car here. I’ll meet you at HQ.”

“Don’t bring her in until I tell you to. Wait for my call.”

“Got it.” His face full of concern, Freddie turned to Malone. “Captain, you’ll escort Lieutenant Holland back to HQ?”

“I’ll escort her back to the hospital,” Malone said.

“Then I’ll grab a cab,” Sam said, raising her chin—painfully—in defiance, “but either way, I’m going to HQ.” The blinding light of the sun over his shoulder brought tears to her eyes, but she didn’t look away.

“Fine, but the minute you finish this, you’re on medical leave until I say otherwise.”

“Fine.”

“Fine,” he retorted as he led her to his car. “You may be aware that there’s a very unhappy United States senator looking for you.”

“So I’ve heard.” Closing her eyes, she rested her head against the seat. “Do me a favor? Help me dodge him? I need an hour to finish this, and then I’ll take my punishment and my suspension and whatever else you all want to dole out.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing that.”

“You and everyone else.” She glanced over at him. “So, nothing to say? About the other thing?”

Malone shrugged. “None of my business. None of anyone’s business.”

“Is HQ all abuzz with it?”

“Maybe.”

She sighed.

“Give it a day, maybe two—and you’ll be on leave for most of it. It’ll blow over.”

“It’s horrifying,” she said softly. “That they all know.”

“What’s horrifying is that your privacy has been breached this way just because of who your boyfriend is.”

“Yeah.”

“But he’s worth it, right?”

“He really is.”

Malone smiled. “But that doesn’t mean we won’t nail the bitch who sold your medical record to the rag.”

The unexpected laughter had Sam reaching for her head with both hands. “Oh my God, don’t make me laugh.
Please
.”

On the way to HQ, she used the captain’s phone to call ahead to the U.S. Attorney’s office. Hope Dobson, one of the three identical triplets who served the District as assistant U.S. Attorneys, answered. Sam laid out the case against Preston and detailed Diandra’s role.

“Do you believe she knew he was going to kill his brother?” Hope asked.

“Not only did she know, she put him up to it, and I’m going to prove it. Can you be in the detectives’ pit in thirty minutes? There’s gonna be one hell of a show. You won’t want to miss it.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, and Hope? She’s the main event as far as I’m concerned. Preston is diminished capacity all the way. He’s totally under the control of his wife. It’s disturbing.”

“I’ll see what I can do. How does the son’s shooting fit in?”

“All your questions will be answered very soon. I’ll let you hear it from the horse’s mouth.” She ended the call and handed the phone to the captain. “You might want to let the chief know this is going down.”

“Again I ask, what are you up to, Holland?”

“Just closing a case, sir,” she said, indulging in the chance to close her eyes and sink into the seat for just a minute. Among her many other woes, the line of stitches at her hairline was on fire. One minute of complete stillness to soothe her aching head and body. That was all she needed.

Captain Malone nudged her awake when they arrived at HQ. “This is insane, Holland. You need to be in the hospital.”

Forcing herself to wake up, Sam tried to shake off the grogginess and gasped from the ricochet of pain. “Give me thirty minutes, and I’ll wrap this one up with a bow on top just for you.”

He cast a wary glance at the throng of media gathered outside the main door to HQ. “We need to go in through the morgue.”

That would mean a longer walk to the pit—a much longer walk. “That’s fine,” she said, gritting her teeth. Anything to avoid the savages looking to take another piece out of her wounded hide. “Actually, I’m glad to see them here. They’ll help my plan.” She smiled at the idea of Diandra Sinclair, in handcuffs, being marched through the scrum into HQ.

“Which you
still
haven’t shared with me.”

At some point during the interminable walk, Sam became aware of his hand on her arm, all but holding her up as he directed her down the long hallways.

In the pit, she was greeted with none of the usual hubbub she’d come to expect. Rather, a subdued silence had descended over her troops as they no doubt tried to process what they’d learned about her that day. Refusing to be distracted, Sam shrugged off her coat and reached for the handheld radio on her desk.

Malone lowered himself into the other chair in her office.

“Detective Gonzales, what’s your twenty?” she asked.

“Interrogation A with Mr. Sinclair.”

“Detective Cruz?”

“In the parking lot with Mrs. Sinclair.”

“Detective McBride?”

“On the way to your office, Lieutenant, with the information you requested.”

Sam put down the radio and smiled. “Excellent.”

Jeannie knocked on the door a minute later and handed Sam a file. Inside was a copy of a gun license, registered to Diandra Sinclair.

“Good work, Detective,” Sam said, trying not to worry about the fact that Jeannie couldn’t seem to make eye contact with her.

AUSA Dobson stepped into the room, followed closely by Chief Farnsworth who took one look at Sam and blanched.