Fatal Justice, page 12
Sam checked the sofa and saw Nick speaking softly to Christina. She tried not to be bothered by the fact that he had been unable to talk to her but was having no problem unloading on his chief of staff.
“Lieutenant?” Malone said.
Tearing her eyes off the scene on the sofa, Sam said, “Sinclair’s long-time lover. Duncan Quick.”
“He was gay?”
“Yes. He ended a twenty-year relationship with Quick a year ago, and apparently, Quick is still partially in the closet.”
“The confirmation hearings would’ve blown the lid off that.”
“Your thinking parallels mine. I want to see Quick’s reaction to the news that Sinclair’s dead.”
“Approved.”
“We’ll be back tonight.”
“Do we need to be worried about Cruz?”
“Hang on a sec.” She did a quick scroll through her missed calls and pages, but found nothing from Freddie. “No word from him at all this morning. That’s not like him.”
“I’ll send patrol by his apartment.”
“Let me know.” She ended the call and turned to Gonzo. “I’ll meet you outside.”
“Got it.”
Sam approached the duo on the sofa. “Ah, would you mind giving us a minute?” she said to Christina.
“Sure.” She released Nick’s hand and got up.
Sam sat next to him and lifted her hand to brush the hair from his forehead. “I’m going to Florida to talk to Duncan.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t feel right about going. About leaving you.” She rested her forehead on his shoulder.
“I want you to find out who did this.”
“Are you going to work?”
“Yeah. Christina told me the Senate is going to take up John’s bill as its first order of business in the new session.”
“Oh, Nick. That’s great news.”
That he seemed to barely care only added to her growing list of worries.
She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be back. As soon as I can.”
“I know.”
Reluctantly, she got up and went into the kitchen where Christina was pouring coffee. “You’ll be with him?” Sam asked.
“Every minute.”
Sam glanced at Nick staring off into space in the next room. “This is worse than after John.”
“Yes.”
Running her fingers over hair that she’d corralled into a clip, Sam considered taking a pass on the case. It was up to her, after all. She could put Gonzo in charge, send him to Florida and stay in D.C. with Nick. But he’d rebuffed all her efforts to comfort him.
“Sam.”
She turned to find Christina studying her intently. “He’ll understand if you go. He knows it’s your job, and he has to go do his today. We need his vote.”
Sam nodded. “Don’t leave him alone.” And then she remembered Christina wasn’t one of her detectives. “Please.”
“You have my word.”
“Thank you.” She went into the living room and bent to kiss Nick’s forehead. “I’ll see you tonight.”
If he heard her, he gave no indication.
Only when she was outside did she realize he hadn’t told her to be careful.
Sam approached the car where Gonzo waited for her. With every step she took away from Nick, she became more conflicted. Pacing the sidewalk, she tried to figure out what to do. Unused to being paralyzed by indecision, she examined every angle and kept coming back to the same conclusion. Before this, before Nick, there’d never been a decision. The job came first. Always. Now it wasn’t quite so simple.
Gonzo waited patiently, watching her as she moved back and forth.
Finally, Sam stopped and turned to him. “Go to Florida.” From her pocket, she withdrew the slip of paper Laine had given her, handed it to him and filled him in on what she knew about Duncan Quick. “He was with Sinclair for twenty years, so be gentle in how you deliver the news. I want to know where Quick has been for the last twenty-four hours. I want confirmation from anyone he names as an alibi.”
“You aren’t coming?”
Sam glanced at the front door to Nick’s house. “No.”
Gonzo’s eyes widened with surprise.
“Don’t say it,” she growled.
His expression one of total innocence, he said, “Say what?”
“Call me the minute you have anything.”
“I’m on it.”
She watched him walk to his car and drive away, and then she kicked the living shit out of one of the tires on her own car.
“Sam?”
Looking up, she found her father and Celia watching her.
“What’s wrong?” her father asked, directing his chair around a patch of ice on the sidewalk as he came toward her.
“Did you hear about Sinclair?”
“The chief called your father,” Celia said. “We’re stunned. How’s Nick?”
“Horrible.”
“Is that why you’re abusing your car?” Skip asked.
“I need to go to Florida to interview Sinclair’s ex-lover, but how do I do that when he’s practically catatonic?” Sam asked, gesturing to Nick’s house.
“Is anyone with him?” Celia asked.
“Christina, his chief of staff,” Sam said. She should be the one offering comfort to Nick, but for some reason he didn’t want it from her.
Nick’s front door swung open, and they watched as Christina held the storm door open, urging him out ahead of her. He had changed into a suit, but hadn’t bothered to shave.
Sam, Skip and Celia watched them come down the stone stairs.
“What are you still doing here?” Nick asked Sam in a dull, flat tone.
“I sent Gonzo to Florida.”
“Oh.”
“We’re going to the Capitol so he can be there for the opening of the new session and to vote on O’Connor-Martin,” Christina said.
“I’ll catch up to you after,” Sam said.
“Talk to Senator Cook,” Nick said, still wearing a far-away expression on his face.
“Why?” Sam asked.
“He made a comment to me about Julian,” Nick said. “That he should watch his back because someone might take a shot at him.”
“I’ll talk to Cook.” Sam went up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “That helps. Thank you.”
Christina ushered Nick into her car, and they drove off.
“Wow,” Skip said. “You weren’t kidding.”
“What do I do?” Sam said. “I don’t know how to help him through this.”
“You love him,” Celia said. “You just love him. That’s all you can do.”
Freddie awakened from a deep sleep, his body languid and replete after an all-night sex fest. With his hand tucked into the soft lushness of Elin’s breasts, he wondered if there was any special morning-after stuff he should say or do.
As he pondered that question, she stirred, her muscular ass brushing against his groin.
His dick actually ached from what he’d put it through during the night. It was a good thing he had to work this morning. Otherwise, he might be expected to perform again, and he wasn’t sure he could.
Stretching his stiff muscles he raised his arm to check his watch to see how much time he had before his cell phone alarm would tell him it was time to get up. “Shit!” He sat up so fast that Elin almost fell off her side of the bed.
“What?”
Freddie bolted from the bed and ran for his coat, which Elin had put in the living room the night before. Rifling through the pocket, he found his cell phone and stared at it in stunned disbelief. It was off. He never shut off that phone. Ever. “Did you shut my phone off?” Returning to the bedroom, he powered up the phone.
Still half asleep, she muttered, “Hmm?”
“Elin! Did you shut off my phone?” It went crazy beeping with messages. “Sonofabitch.”
“You were off duty,” she said without opening her eyes. “I wanted you to relax.”
“Are you serious? I’m a homicide detective! I’m never off duty!” Multiple calls from Jeannie McBride, Sam and Captain Malone popped up on the list of missed calls. “Shit, shit, shit,” he whispered, tugging on his clothes as fast as he could, his heart racing with anxiety and dread. What had he missed?
Elin watched him from the bed, the sheet pulled up snug against her ample breasts. “Are you mad?” she asked in a small voice.
He was so far beyond mad he was afraid to say anything for fear he’d totally lose it with her. Pushing his feet into the hiking boots he favored in the winter, he headed for the door without tying them.
She got up, donned a robe and followed him into the living room. “I’m sorry, Freddie. I wasn’t thinking about your work.”
Without a single look back, he stalked out the door and let it slam behind him.
On his way to HQ, Freddie fought back surge after surge of nausea. He had no one to blame but himself. This was his punishment for abandoning his morals for a night of mindless sex. If he hadn’t given into his base urges, he’d be at work right now where he belonged rather than desperately trying to come up with an excuse that Sam would buy.
“Play that back again.” Sam watched the screen with intense focus. “There. Freeze that.” She pointed. “Is that him talking to the doorman? The height is about right.”
Jeannie consulted her notes. “The doorman said he didn’t remember Sinclair talking to him.”
“It’s kind of fuzzy, Lieutenant,” Malone said from behind her. “Could be anyone.”
“No one recalled talking to him,” Jeannie said. “We interviewed the entire shift.”
“Take it to the lab,” Sam said. “See if they can enhance that frame for us.”
Freddie came bursting into the room.
“Cruz,” Sam said. “Nice of you to join us.”
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” he said, breathing hard. “I overslept. My phone died.”
“Which is it, Detective?” Sam said, studying his disheveled appearance.
Freddie took a deep breath. “My phone died, the alarm didn’t go off so I overslept. I apologize. It won’t happen again. What did I miss?”
“A homicide,” Sam said, filling him in on the details.
“Isn’t that Nick’s friend?”
“Yes.”
“Oh man,” Freddie said.
He turned his head, and Sam zeroed in on the hickey on his neck.
“What can I do?” he asked. “Give me something to do.”
Still eyeing him suspiciously, Sam handed him the tape and repeated the instructions to have the lab zero in on the frame in question. “I’ll be partnering with Detective McBride on this one.”
“Why?” Freddie cried. “Because I was late one time?”
“No.” Sam leveled him with a cold stare. “Because you lied to me.”
“I told you what happened! I’ve never been late before. Ever.”
“Take the tape to the lab, Detective, and then go relieve the officers watching Reese’s house.”
Freddie’s mouth fell open. “For real?”
“You heard me.”
He stalked out of the conference room, slamming the door behind him.
“I’m, um, going to check on the canvas,” McBride said, scooting out after him.
Malone studied Sam.
“What?” she snapped.
“Being kind of hard on Cruz, aren’t you?”
“You told me to run my command any way I see fit. That’s what I’m doing.”
“How do you know he lied?”
“I know him.”
“Very well,” Malone said. “I’ll leave you to it. You know where I am if you need me.”
When she was alone, Sam paced the small room. The frustration threatened to boil over. Where was Clarence Reese? Who killed Julian Sinclair? How would she deal with Nick and his devastation in the midst of two homicide investigations? And lastly, who had been chewing on her partner’s neck?
Chapter 15
Gonzo sat on the floor outside Duncan Quick’s apartment for more than an hour. A window at one end of the hall looked out over South Beach, eleven stories below. The boredom gave him far too much time to think about the incredible night he had spent with Christina Billings.
She had surprised him with her willingness to sleep with him after just two dates. He’d expected to have to work harder to win over a sharp, successful woman like her. Not that he was complaining. No way. The woman was h-o-t. It was just that not too many people surprised him anymore after ten years as a cop.
Not only did she surprise him, she intrigued him. He wasn’t used to being intrigued by women. Entertained, yes. Intrigued? Not so much. He’d expected her to be like most of the women who passed through his life as transients. They were on their way to something more lasting, something they knew they wouldn’t find with him. So he had a reputation for being a bit of a player. So what?
“I think I might keep this one around for a while,” he muttered to himself. “See what transpires.” Of course the fact that Sam had freaked when she saw them together only added to Christina’s appeal. “A smart man wouldn’t antagonize his boss.” Laughing to himself, Gonzo combed his fingers through jet-black hair. “I guess I’m not that smart.”
He checked his watch again. Where the hell was Quick? The neighbors hadn’t been able to shed any light on his whereabouts. In fact, no one had seen him since the previous morning. Gonzo had already checked all the neighborhood haunts he’d been told Quick frequented to no avail.
His cell phone rang. “Gonzales.”
“What’ve you got?” Sam asked.
“Nothing yet. No sign of Quick anywhere.”
“Interesting.”
“How long do you want me to wait?”
“As long as it takes. He has to come home eventually.”
“I was afraid you’d say that. What’s happening there?”
“We’ve got jack. No one at the hotel remembers seeing Sinclair after the O’Connors dropped him off. We’ve got some grainy film that seems to show him talking to someone, but the image isn’t clear enough to be of any help.”
“Is it possible he was meeting someone?”
“We’re looking at that. His estranged brother lives here in town. McBride and I are on our way to talk to him now.”
“Keep me posted. Any sign of Cruz?”
“He rolled in about an hour ago with a hickey on his neck and a boatload of excuses about his phone dying.”
Gonzo howled with laughter. “Aw, our little boy is finally growing up.”
“He needs to grow up on his own time.”
“It’s the first time he’s ever been late. Lighten up, Lieutenant.”
“I wish everyone would stop saying that to me!”
“Would you ride anyone else this hard?” Gonzo asked, bracing himself for her retort.
“What’re you saying? That I favor him?”
“He’s your partner. Of course you favor him. But maybe you expect more of him, too.” Again he braced himself. “Because you trained him.”
“Hmm. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“So he had a big night out. It’s high time, don’t you think?”
“Maybe,” she conceded. “I should probably partner up with you or someone more experienced so I don’t have to deal with this crap.”
“You’d break his heart, Sam. He’s totally devoted to you.”
“Christ,” she muttered. “All these entanglements. When did I get so entangled?”
Gonzo laughed. “It’s such a bitch having people care about you, isn’t it?”
“Seriously! Call me when you find Quick.”
“Will do.” Gonzo stashed the phone in his pocket and got up to wander to the window again. Looking out at the palm trees, sugar white sand and crystal blue water, he wished he were here on vacation. When was the last time I had a vacation? he wondered. His grandparents had lived here when they first came from Cuba, but the family later moved north. Maybe after they closed this case, he’d bring Christina here for a week on the beach.
“Whoa,” he said. “Where’d that come from?” He wasn’t the kind of guy who took a woman on a vacation. Hell, he rarely saw them again after he slept with them. The ding of the elevator arriving at the other end of the hallway jarred him out of his disturbing thoughts. Turning, he found an older man coming down the hallway at a determined clip. Only when he drew closer did Gonzo spot the bruises on the man’s face and the drying blood on his lip. He carried a small duffel bag and was dressed in khakis and an un-tucked button-down shirt.
“Mr. Quick?”
The other man jolted, clearly startled by Gonzo’s unexpected appearance.
“I’m sorry to scare you. Are you Duncan Quick?”
“Who wants to know?”
Gonzo flashed his badge. “Detective Tommy Gonzales, Metro Washington, D.C. Police.”
Quick ran a trembling hand through thinning gray hair. “I’m Duncan Quick. What can I do for you?”
“What happened to your face?”
“I had an accident.”
Gonzo didn’t believe him but decided not to push it—yet. “Do you mind if we go inside?”
“What’s this about?”
“Let’s go in, and I’ll tell you.”
Warily, Quick opened his apartment door and gestured Gonzo into a stylish, contemporary space.
“Nice place.”
“Thank you. Now what can I do for you, Detective?”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you that Julian Sinclair has been murdered in Washington.” Gonzo had learned to cut to the chase in these instances.
Quick gasped and took a step back, his face ashen with shock. The bruises stood out against the sudden pallor. “That’s not possible,” Quick stammered. “He’s going to be on the Supreme Court. I saw the news.”
“He was murdered last night.”
“How?” he whispered.
“He was shot. His body was found early this morning in a Washington, D.C. park.”
“That just can’t be,” Quick said, sinking to the sofa as if his bones had liquefied. He dissolved into deep gulping sobs.
Gonzo found himself looking out at the water view, anything to avoid watching the raw display of grief. “Can I get you something?” he asked a few minutes later.
