Chapter Eight #2
She sounded feisty and empowered, which was much preferred to the pervasive sadness that had clung to her since her husband’s sudden death.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Enter!”
Freddie came in, his eyes wide with shock. “Tara Weber has been found dead in her home.”
As his words registered, Sam felt as if someone had pulled the chair out from under her.
“Sam.”
She looked at him, her mind racing with the possible implications.
“We need to go.”
Operating on autopilot, Sam stood, grabbed her keys, radio and cell phone and walked toward the door, going through the motions even while feeling as if she were underwater, unable to take a breath or do anything other than fight her way to the surface.
Nick. She had to tell him before he heard it from someone else. Was she allowed to tell him? She wasn’t sure and didn’t care. Not this time.
She flipped open her phone and placed the call to the top person on her list of contacts.
He answered on the second ring. “Hey, babe. How’s your day going?”
“Nick.”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Tara Weber was found dead in her home.”
His sharp exhale echoed through the phone. “Oh my god. What about the baby?”
“Haven’t heard anything yet, but there was no report of him being there.”
For a long moment, neither of them said anything as they both tried to wrap their heads around what this would mean for them.
“What do you know?” he asked.
“Only that so far.”
“I feel like I’m going to be sick.”
“You and me both.”
“You don’t think Nelson had anything to do with this, do you?”
“I honestly have no idea what to think,” Sam said.
“Obviously, there’s no way he could’ve done it himself, not with the Secret Service shadowing his every move.
But could he have gotten someone else to do it?
I suppose that’s possible. That begs the question of why would he, though, with the whole world watching him—and her—at the moment. ”
“Sam… You’re going to have a matter of days to figure this out before he’s forced out. People in both parties wanted him out before this. Now…”
“I hear you. I’m on it.”
“Keep me posted?”
“I will, but you can’t tell anyone. Let them hear about it through their channels. I’m out on a limb telling you.”
“I hear you.”
“You going to be okay?”
“I will once you figure out who did this and prove that my boss had nothing to do with it.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”
“Assume you’ll be working late tonight.”
“Probably. You’re on kid duty?”
“Yep. I got it covered. See you when you get home. Wake me up if I’m asleep.”
She never would but said what he wanted to hear. “I will. Love you.”
“Love you, too. Be careful out there with my wife. She means the whole world to me.”
“I’m always careful. See you.”
Talking to him helped her feel more grounded, more focused, prepared to go to battle once again for someone who’d been murdered in her city. Regardless of how Tara Weber’s murder impacted her life and her husband’s, Sam would give everything she had to get justice for Tara—and her family.
Freddie drove them to Georgetown while Sam pondered the implications.
Who had killed Tara days after her affair with the president had gone public, and so soon after the birth of her son, who may or may not be Nelson’s?
Would the investigation she was about to launch lead to her own husband becoming president?
Dear God, the implications… It was enough to make her want to run and hide. After only recently closing her father’s case, did she have it in her to fight this new battle?
When they were stopped at a red light, Freddie looked over at her. “I can hear your brain frying.”
“You can’t hear a brain fry.”
“I can hear yours. It makes a very particular sizzling sound. What’re you thinking?”
“That this can’t be happening. It was bad enough that he had the affair. Now the woman is dead?”
“What did Nick say?”
“He can’t believe it either.”
“Does he think Nelson was involved?”
“Neither of us know what to think where he’s concerned. Did he go to her house and murder her himself? Highly unlikely. He couldn’t have done that with Secret Service all around him. But could he have gotten someone else to do it? Sure. Anything is possible.”
“I can’t get my head around the president of the United States arranging a murder.”
“Maybe someone close to him did it without his involvement, hoping to solve a big problem for him.”
“Instead, they created a whole new one.”
And whoever killed Tara had created a whole new problem for her to solve, too.
Normally, Sam felt a rush of adrenaline as she headed to the scene of a new homicide that would require her full attention.
This time she felt… Numb, exhausted, drained, oddly detached from what was happening right in front of her.
Dr. Trulo had warned her about this, the inevitable “come down” after the frantic activity that followed her father’s death and the renewed focus on his case.
Not to mention, four years of pursuing leads and asking questions that had led nowhere.
And now they had answers—answers they didn’t like, but answers, nonetheless.
A hollow pit had formed inside her, taking the place of the potent, boiling rage she’d carried with her since the day their lives had been changed forever by a bullet that hadn’t killed her father but might as well have.
The hollowness made her ache—for her dad, for the suffering he’d endured, for the years they’d never have together, for the betrayal at the hands of a man they’d considered a friend.
She’d done her best to be stoic and strong for the people around her who were also in pain, but inside… Inside, she ached.
“Meant to tell you that Gonzo called me last night,” Freddie said, breaking a long silence.
“How’s he doing?”
“Really well. He sounded better than he has in a long time.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Any news about a release date?”
“Not yet. He said he’ll know more in a week or two, but he’s planning to stay for as long as they’ll have him so he doesn’t have to go back ever again.”
“That’s good news.” Hearing her sergeant was on the road to recovery from the pain medication addiction he’d developed after the murder of his partner was the best news she’d heard in ages.
“He was asking about you, how you’re handling everything with Conklin.”
“I’m handling it, like everyone else.” The last thing she wanted to do was talk about it anymore than she had to. She was so sick of talking about it.
“Except you’re not everyone else. You’re Skip’s daughter, and no one else in the department was as close to him as you were, so that makes it very different for you.”
She wanted to scream at him, to thank him for stating the obvious, but she didn’t do either of those things because he was trying to help and didn’t deserve to be attacked.
“People are concerned, Sam, because they care. We care. I hope you know that.”
Sam forced a small smile for his benefit. “I do know, and I appreciate it. I’m not sure what else to say.”
Right now, her biggest concern was the fucking traffic that was impeding their progress. “Flip on the lights.”
Freddie did as directed and cars started to slowly—far too slowly for her liking—get the hell out of their way. Twelve minutes later, they arrived at the address in Georgetown that they’d been given by Dispatch.
“Third floor.” Freddie led the way past the scrum of reporters who screamed questions about Nick becoming president and her becoming first lady and would she have to give up her job and would she have a Secret Service detail and what did she think of the president’s affair and did he kill his mistress and—
The main door closed, sealing them off from the ravenous shouts.
“They’re out of control,” Freddie said.
“Let’s get Patrol over here to get them under control.”
He used his handheld radio to make the call.
They took the elevator to the third floor, where they were met by Patrolman Clare, who Sam hadn’t met before. He was young and fresh faced with the pale complexion and wide eyes of someone who’d seen murder for the first time.
“What’ve we got?”
Clare consulted his notebook, his hands trembling ever so slightly. “Tara Weber, age thirty-five, found dead in her bed by her assistant, Delany Russo, a Georgetown University graduate student, who has worked for Ms. Weber for two years.”
“Where’s Russo now?”
“Inside.”
“Assume the ME is on the way?”
“Yes, she’s en route.”
“Is Ms. Weber’s baby here?”
“No.”
“Ask the assistant where he is,” Sam said to Officer Clare as they entered an apartment painted bright white with gorgeous, gleaming hardwood floors. Big windows allowed in so much light that the glare brought tears to Sam’s eyes. How did anyone stand that? She’d need sunglasses to live here.
On a white leather sofa, a young blond woman sat with a female Patrol officer whom Sam did not recognize. Officer Clare went over to consult with the blond woman and then came back to report to Sam and Freddie.
“The baby is with her parents in Herndon.”
That was a relief. “Thank you. Take me to the victim.”
“This way.” Officer Clare’s reluctance to see it again was obvious, but to his credit he did the job and held up.
Sam wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but the reminder that Tara Weber had been shockingly beautiful only added to the pervasive sadness percolating inside her.
Not that less-than-beautiful people didn’t stir her emotions at times like these, but Sam’s immediate, visceral reaction to seeing Tara naked in her bed, her perfect face still perfect even in death, her skin unmarked except for the violent bruises on her neck, rattled her.
Long, dark, wildly curly hair fanned out on the white pillow.
Without the bruises, one might mistake her for a woman asleep rather than dead.
Sam stepped in for a closer look at the bruises that had turned the woman’s neck a vibrant shade of dark purple.
“Were you able to locate her cell phone?”