Chapter 24
Freddie sat in front of Patricia Donaldson’s two-story home for a long time. He couldn’t imagine asking her the questions he needed to ask but knew it was long past time he got over the queasiness that struck him whenever he had to ask people personal questions—especially about their sex lives.
Perhaps if he got a sex life of his own, then he wouldn’t be so put off by asking about what other people did in their bedrooms. He’d been raised a Christian, had taken his religion seriously and had saved himself for marriage. That’s how he ended up a twenty-nine-year-old virgin, a fact he had shared with no one, lest he be ridiculed by his colleagues.
He’d had plenty of girlfriends and had done his share of fooling around, but he’d yet to have the full experience. Lately, he’d been thinking too much about what he was missing. And with no marital prospects on the horizon, he wondered how much longer he could hold out.
Since they’d interviewed that personal trainer the other day, Elin Svendsen, he had fantasized about her obsessively. The way she hinted at the nasty stuff she had done with Senator O’Connor… What Freddie wouldn’t give for one night with her. Maybe once they cleared the case, he’d be in the market for some personal training of a different sort.
In the meantime, he needed to go into that house and ask Patricia Donaldson if her son was John O’Connor’s son, if she’d continued a sexual relationship with the senator and if so, what kind of sex she’d had with him. The thought of asking those questions of a woman he’d never met made him sick.
Even if he sat there all night, he’d never be fully prepared. And since Sam was waiting for him to get this information and get it back to her, Freddie emerged from the rental car and headed up the flagstone walkway. With one last deep breath to settle his nerves, he rang the bell. Chimes echoed through the house. He waited a full minute before a fragile-looking blonde opened the door. Her blue eyes were rimmed with red, her pretty face ravaged with exhaustion. If this woman hadn’t recently lost someone she loved, Freddie would turn in his badge.
“Patricia Donaldson?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am. I’m Detective Freddie Cruz, Metro Police, Washington, D.C.” He showed her his badge.
She took the badge from him, examined it and handed it back to him. “This is about John.”
“Yes, ma’am. I wondered if I might have a few minutes of your time?”
With a weary gesture, she stepped aside to let him in.
Freddie followed her to a comfortable family room, noting the photos of the handsome blond boy scattered throughout the house. The place appeared to have been professionally decorated, but had retained a warm, cozy atmosphere.
When he was seated across from her, Freddie said, “You were acquainted with Senator John O’Connor?”
“We’ve been friends for many years,” she said softly.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Her raw eyes filled with tears. “Thank you.” She brushed at the dampness on her cheeks.
“You were just friends?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
Freddie reached for a framed photo on an end table. “Your son?”
“Yes.”
“Handsome boy.”
“Thank you.”
“I can’t help but notice his striking resemblance to the senator.”
She shrugged. “Maybe a little.”
Freddie returned the photo to the table. “Is your son at home?”
“He went to do an errand at school. He’s a junior at Loyola.”
Relieved to know the boy wasn’t in the house, Freddie pressed on. “In the course of our investigation, we’ve uncovered a series of regular monthly payments Senator O’Connor made to you for the last twenty years.” Even though he knew the facts by heart, Freddie consulted his notebook. “Three thousand dollars, paid by check, on the first of every month.”
Her hand trembled ever so slightly as she reached for the gold locket she wore on a chain around her neck. “So?”
“Can you tell me why he gave you the money?”
“It was a gift.”
“That’s a mighty big gift—thirty-six thousand dollars a year, totaling more than seven hundred thousand over twenty years.”
“He was a generous man.”
“Ms. Donaldson, I realize this is a very difficult time for you, but if you were his friend—”
“I was his best friend,”
she cried, her hand curling into a fist over her heart. “He was mine.”
“If that’s the case, I’m sure you want us to find the person who killed him.”
“Of course I do. I just don’t see what you need from me.”
“I need you to confirm that your son Thomas is John O’Connor’s son.”
“Do you, Detective?” she asked softly. “Do you really need me to confirm it?”
Her easy capitulation flustered Freddie. He’d expected to have to work for it. “I’d appreciate if you could tell me about your relationship with the senator, from the day you met him through to his death.”
She paused for a long moment, as if she were making a decision, and then began to talk so softly that Freddie had to strain to hear. “My family moved to Leesburg the summer before eighth grade. I met him on the first day of school. He was nice to me when no one else gave me the time of day, but that was John. It was just like him to make the new girl feel welcome.” Lost in her memories, she seemed to have forgotten Freddie was there.
He took notes, knowing Sam would expect every detail.
“We became friends—unlikely friends.”
“Why unlikely?”
“His father was a United States senator, a multi-millionaire businessman. Mine worked at the post office. We weren’t exactly from the same universe, but John was the least status-conscious person I ever knew. He couldn’t have cared less about his father’s position, which of course drove his father crazy.
“Over time, our friendship grew and blossomed into love. His parents never liked me, never welcomed me into their home or their family. That made John sad, but it didn’t keep us apart. He was the love of my life, Detective, and I was the love of his. We knew it at fifteen. Can you imagine?”
“No, ma’am.” He couldn’t imagine it at twenty-nine. “I can’t.”
“We were overwhelmed by what we felt for each other and determined to be together forever, no matter what it took.” She glanced down at her lap, her fingers twisting nervously. “I was sixteen when I got pregnant. My parents were devastated, but his were outraged. His father was in the midst of an ugly re-election campaign, and all they cared about was the potential scandal. They offered me a hundred thousand dollars to have an abortion.”
Freddie kept his expression neutral.
“I refused to even consider it. I was under the illusion that John and I would find a way to be together, to raise our child together. I had no idea then how far people with power could and would go to get what they wanted. Within a week, my father was transferred to a post office in Illinois.”
“What did John say about this?”
“What could he say? He was going into his senior year of high school. His parents still had him under their thumb.”
“Did he see the baby?”
She nodded. “He and his parents came out for a day when Thomas was born. The senator pitched a holy fit when I named him Thomas John O’Connor, but they had taken John away from me—away from us—they weren’t going to deny my son his father’s name. I had my limits, too.”
“What was your relationship with John like after the baby was born?”
“We talked on the phone as often as we could. We made plans to be together.” Her hands trembled in her lap. “After he graduated from high school, his father got him an internship in Congress for the summer and then they shipped him off to Harvard. It was more than a year before we saw each other again.”
“He was an adult by then. Why didn’t he stand up to his parents?”
“They controlled the money, Detective, the money he was using to support his son while he was in college. He did what he was told.”
“And after college?”
“His father threatened to disown him if he married me, because if he did, people would find out about ‘the kid’ as Graham called him, and there’d be a scandal.” Her voice had gone flat and lifeless. “As much as John loved me and Thomas, he wouldn’t have been able to live with being disowned by his father.” She leaned forward. “Don’t get me wrong, Detective. I hate Graham O’Connor for what he denied me, what he denied Thomas and mostly what he denied John. But John loved his father, and more, he respected him despite everything he had done to us. John was a good man, the best man I’ve ever known, but he didn’t have it in him to turn his back on his father. He just didn’t. I accepted that a long time ago and learned to be satisfied with what I had.”
“Which was what exactly?”
“We had one weekend a month to be a family, and we made the most of it. John was a wonderful father to Thomas. Between visits, he was completely available to him, and they talked most days. My son is devastated by his father’s death.”
“And no one ever questioned his resemblance to the senator in light of the fact that he had his name?”
“No,” she said. “Amazingly, we got away with it. The O’Connors managed to thoroughly bury us here in the Midwest. During John’s campaign and the first few months he was in office, we played it cool and didn’t see much of each other. Once the attention faded, we were able to pick things up again. The media never caught so much as a whiff of us.”
“I’m curious as to why he sent you monthly payments, rather than giving you a lump sum. His parents had money, and he became a wealthy man himself when he sold his company.”
“He took good care of us, but he liked sending the monthly payments. He said it made him feel connected to Thomas and to me.”
“I apologize in advance for what I’m about to ask you… But I need to know where the senator slept when he was here.”
Her eyes flashed with anger and embarrassment. “Where do you think he slept?”
“Was he involved with other women?” Freddie hated the pain his question obviously caused her.
“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth. “But my son doesn’t know that, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
“It didn’t bother you? That he was with other women?”
“Of course it bothered me, but I didn’t expect him to be celibate the other twenty-seven days a month.”
“Did you discuss the other women in his life?”
“We did not.”
“Not even when he was with Natalie for three years?”
“He had his life, and I had mine,” she snapped. “One weekend a month, we belonged to each other.”
“Have you ever been married?”
She laughed. “Where do you think I would’ve stashed my husband on the third weekend of every month when my longtime lover came to visit?”
“So that’s a no?”
“I’ve never been married.”
“When he was here,” Freddie said, trying not to stumble over the words, “you had sexual relations with him?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant to the case.”
“It’s relevant, and I need you to answer the question.”
“Yes, I had sex with him! As much and as often as I could! Are you satisfied?”
“Was there anything, um, unusual about the kind of sex you had with him?”
She stood up. “We’re finished here. I won’t allow you to come into my home and debase the most important relationship in my life.”
Freddie stayed seated to give her the perceived advantage as he dropped the final bomb. “Did he ever try to get you to have rough sex or anal sex with him?”
She stared at him, astounded. “I want you to leave. Right now.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you can answer the question here or I can take you back to Washington so you can answer it there. It’s your call.”
Her hands on her hips, her eyes shot daggers at him. “John O’Connor was never anything but a perfect gentleman with me. Every woman should have a lover as gentle and sweet. Now if there’s nothing further, I want you to leave my home.”
“Will you be attending the funeral in Washington?”
“Since there’s no longer an O’Connor in office, I can’t see any reason for my son and me to hide out anymore. We’re planning to go. John’s attorney called me today to tell me we need to be at the reading of the will the day after the funeral. I’m sure Graham and Laine are thrilled about that.”
“Have they ever had any contact with Thomas?”
“Not since the day after he was born.”
“The media will be all over you.”
He admired the courageous lift of her chin. “John suffered over the fact that he couldn’t acknowledge his son. The least I can do for him is rectify that now that he’s gone.”
“I’m sorry again for your loss, Ms. Donaldson, and I’m sorry to have upset you with my questions.”
She shrugged off his apology. “If it helps the investigation, then I guess it will have been worth it.”
“You’ve been a big help.”
At the door, she said, “Detective? Get the person who did this to my John.” Her eyes filled with new tears. “Please.”
“We’re doing everything we can.”
Chapter 25
The Watergate lobby was mobbed, but when Nick walked in the mob went silent, parting to allow him passage to the elevator. He recognized some of the faces—his grandmother, his father, Mr. Pacheco from seventh grade science, Lucy Jenkins who’d lived next door and Graham O’Connor. Why was he here? With the vote this afternoon, John wouldn’t have time for one of their regular lunches.
Nick tried to tell him John was busy, but Graham wouldn’t listen. He just smiled, like he knew something Nick didn’t know. Behind him, was that…Sam? Sam Holland? She hadn’t returned his calls, but that was a long time ago. He’d always wanted to see her again. Reaching out, he tried to get to her.
She smiled and slipped away.
“No! Not again. Come back. Sam!”
John’s sister Lizbeth cried and clawed at him, her face red and swollen. “John’s hurt! Help him, Nick. Help him!”
Nick ran for the elevator, pushed the up button frantically, but the doors wouldn’t open. Banging on the metal doors until his hands were bruised, he finally bolted for the stairs and ran up six flights. Gasping for air, he emerged into the hallway. A woman dashed from John’s apartment carrying a bloody knife, her face covered by a knitted scarf.
“John!” Nick sprinted into the apartment.
“Hey, Cappy,” John said, emerging from the bedroom, blood coursing from the open wound in his neck. “What’s up?”
“John…” Nick pressed his hands against John’s neck, trying to make it stop. How could he lose this much blood and stay conscious? “Help! Somebody help us!”
“It’s okay, Cappy.” John’s hand landed on Nick’s shoulder. “I’ll be all right.”
Nick looked up to find John’s face morphing into a smiling skeleton. He screamed.
“Nick,” Sam said. “Wake up. Babe, wake up.”
His head ached, his mouth was dry, his eyes gritty. “What?”
Sam brushed the hair off his forehead and kissed his cheek. “You were dreaming.”
Nick rested a hand over his racing heart. “John was there. He was still alive. There was so much blood. I tried to make it stop.” His throat tightening, he closed his eyes. “I couldn’t stop it.”
She held him close, running her fingers through his hair. “You couldn’t have stopped it,” she whispered.
“The stuff I’ve found out about him…since it happened… None of it matters. He was my friend.”
“Yes.” She pressed her lips to his forehead. “That’ll never change.”
“He was the closest thing to a brother I’ve ever had. We had this…language. It was all ours. The staff used to shake their heads when we’d get going. They had no idea what we were talking about. But we did. We always did.”
Sam tightened her hold on him.
“I miss him,” he whispered. “I really miss him. I just can’t believe I’m never going to see him again.”
“I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could say.”
“You’re helping.” He raised his head, met her eyes.
She leaned in to kiss him. “I want to get the person who did this for his parents and his family. But mostly I want it for you.”
“I’m apt to be a bit of a mess for a while.”
“That’s all right.”
He rested his hand over the hideous bruise on her chest. “This is a hell of a time for us to be starting something. You know that, don’t you?”
“Worst possible time.”
“So it stands to reason we’ll be able to deal with just about anything if we can get through this.”
“I guess we’ll find out.” She smiled and caressed his face. “I need to get back to work.”
“I know. Did you sleep?”
“Big time. I didn’t think I would.”
“You needed it. We both did.” He leaned in to kiss her once more. “Are you or your dad going to mind that I plan to stay here with you until this is over?”
“No. I like having you here, and he doesn’t really care, despite the grief he might give you.”
“I need to go home at some point to get some clothes and make sure the condo association took care of getting the windows fixed.”
“We can arrange that.” She sat up and stretched. “I’m going to grab a shower. Care to join me?”
“I’d love to, but I’m not going to push my luck. I’ll go after you.”
“Wimp.”
“Yep.”
She laughed as she slipped into a robe, and the sound warmed him. He was surprised to realize she had made him feel better, even as the sickening images from the dream lingered. After Sam went into the bathroom, he sat up, gripping his pounding head. The concussion they’d called minor was making a major statement, and whatever they’d used to numb the cut over his eye had worn off, leaving a dull, throbbing ache.
He felt kind of foolish about unloading on Sam, but she hadn’t seemed to mind. Having someone to share the ups and downs with was something he could get used to—as long as that someone was her.
He stood up and groaned when his injured foot protested. Reaching for his jeans, he pulled them on and took a good look around the messy room. Sam had a way of exploding into a space, which was in direct conflict with his need for order. Beginning with the clothes piled on the floor, he went to work on the clutter. By the time she emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, the place was almost livable.
Her eyes all but popped out of her skull. “It’s like you can’t help yourself!”
“Just straightening up. No biggie.”
“I won’t be able to find anything!”
“You couldn’t find anything before.”
“I knew
exactly
where everything was.”
“No way,” he scoffed. “You’re a slob, Samantha.” He bunched the towel she had wrapped around her into his fist and tugged her close enough to kiss. “A sexy, gorgeous slob, but a slob nonetheless.”
Pouting, she tried to break free of him. “Just because I’m not an anal retentive freakazoid, doesn’t mean I’m a slob.”
“Freakazoid? I’m hurt.” With another hard kiss he released her so she could get dressed. “This is going to be a problem when we live together.”
“
Live
together?” she sputtered, choking on the words. “Where the hell did
that
come from?”
“You don’t have to act like the idea is totally repulsive.”
She shoved her long legs into jeans. “We haven’t even been together a week, Nick. I mean…come on.”
Not wanting her to see that she’d hurt him by being so dismissive, he turned away from her to look out the window. He churned with things he’d like to say to her, arguments and persuasions she was clearly not ready to hear. As he stared out into the darkness, a shadow across the street caught his eye. Zeroing in for a closer look, he realized someone was watching the house. He ignored the screaming pain in his foot and the pounding in his head when he bolted for the door and flew down the stairs.
Sam called out to him.
Blasting through the front door and down the ramp, he was almost hit by a car as he ran into the street. The blare of the car’s horn startled him, taking his attention off the shadow for just an instant, but that was all it took.
“Watch out, asshole!” the driver yelled out the car window.
By the time Nick recovered his bearings the shadow was long gone.
“
Shit!
Son of a bitch!”
“What’re you doing?” Sam screamed from the porch.
“Someone was there,” he said, his breath coming out in white puffs in the cold air. “I saw him. Watching the house.”
“So you just run out half-cocked, not to mention half-dressed?”
“What else was I supposed to do?”
She had her hands on her hips in a gesture he recognized by now as her seriously pissed stance. “Um, I don’t know. Maybe tell the
cop
who was in the room with you?”
He limped back to the ramp and started up to where she waited for him. “I didn’t think of it. All I thought about was getting him.”
“And what were you going to do with him once you got him?”
Squirming under the heat of her blue-eyed glare, he shrugged. “I would’ve figured something out.”
“That’s
exactly
how civilians get themselves killed by the hundreds every year, thinking they can take the law into their own hands.”
“I don’t need you to lecture me or to keep using the word
civilian
like it’s some kind of vermin.”
“Vermin’s got to be smarter than you just were.”
“I almost had him.”
“You almost got flattened by a car!”
Fuming, they stood there spitting nails at each other.
“Um, ’scuse me, but ah, I’m back,” Freddie said from the sidewalk. “You said I should come here and, um…”
“Come up,” Sam said, never taking her eyes off Nick. “Go in. I’ll be right there.”
“Gotcha, boss,” Freddie said with a sympathetic smile for Nick as he went by them. “Good to see you again, Mr. Cappuano.”
“Likewise,” Nick said, still focused on Sam. “And you can call me Nick.”
“You should’ve told me what you saw,” Sam said after the door closed behind Freddie. “If you had, I could’ve called it in, and maybe we would’ve nabbed him. Instead, you go off on a Rambo mission that yielded squat.”
Nick contemplated that. “You might have a point.”
“I
might?
Really? Wow, thanks.”
“I’m sorry, all right?” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just reacted. So shoot me for wanting to get whoever is stalking you.”
“How do you know they’re not stalking
you?
”
“Because I’m a whole lot more boring than you are.”
“You’re not boring. Stupid occasionally, but never boring.”
“Thank you. I think.”
“Did you get a good look at him?”
He shook his head. “Nothing but a shadow, but that shadow was definitely watching this house.”
“If you see him again,
tell me
.” She pinched his chest hair and tugged just hard enough to raise him to his tiptoes and bring tears to his eyes. “Don’t you
dare
risk yourself like that again. You got me?”
“I got it,” he said through gritted teeth. After she released him, he rubbed a hand over his chest. “I only let you get away with that shit because I was taught it’s bad manners to flatten a woman, even if she deserves it.”
“Whatever,” she retorted on her way back into the house where Skip, Celia and Freddie waited for them.
Skip’s sharp eyes skirted over Nick’s bare chest and feet.
“Um, I’m going to go find a shirt,” Nick said, starting up the stairs.
“Might not be a bad idea,” Skip said.
“Leave him alone, Dad,” Sam said. “He’s already convinced you’re going to have him killed.”
“Also not a bad idea. Why didn’t I think of it?”
“
Dad
…”
“Relax and let me have some fun with the boy, will you? I so rarely get to have any fun these days.”
Freddie smirked.
“What’re you smiling at, Cruz?”
The smile faded. “Not a thing, ma’am. Not one thing.”
“I assume you’re not just here to bum another meal. What’ve you got for me?”
“Some of the others are heading over from HQ to help out,” he said. “Want me to wait and brief everyone at the same time?”
“Give me the highlights.”
By the time he had run through it, she had paced a path in the living room rug.
“I was thinking on the plane ride home,” Freddie said, “that the other women he dated were like substitutes for the one he couldn’t have. All of them resemble her in basic features, and I’m no shrink, but maybe he turned on the kink with them because he was frustrated he couldn’t be with the one he wanted.”
“That’s probably why he freaked when Natalie pressured him about getting married. In his own twisted way, he felt like he was already married, even if he was unfaithful to her. I mean, how does he marry someone else when she’s off raising his kid in Siberia?”
Nick came down the stairs, his hair wet from the shower.
“You heard all that?” Sam asked, alarmed by his pale face and flat eyes.
“Enough to get the gist.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, surprised when he shook off her sympathy.
“Don’t protect me. Do your job. Find out who did it.”
“Okay,” she said, understanding that he was absorbing the blow the best way he knew how. Turning back to Freddie, she was interrupted when the front door swung open. In flooded most of the HQ detectives, carrying platters of food, six packs of beer and soda, and armloads of chips. Each of them paused to squeeze Skip’s hand on their way into the kitchen to deposit the food.
“What the hell is this?” she asked Gonzo.
“They take a stab at you, they take one at all of us,” he said, his chocolate brown eyes fierce. “Everyone’s on their own time. Give us something to do.”
Touched and on the verge of choking up, she said, “Thank you.”
“They posted the LT list today. Congratulations.”
“You’ll be there soon enough,” she said with a twinge of guilt over how she’d gotten there. Gonzo made detective a couple of years after her, so at least she hadn’t snagged a spot from him. “For sure.”
He shrugged. “We’ll see.”
“There was someone out there.” She gestured to the door. “Nick saw him watching the house. He went vigilante on me and scared the guy off.”
“I’ll call it in and get someone posted outside.”
“If it was just me, I wouldn’t want it. But my dad’s here and Celia…”
“Say no more. We’re on it.” He glanced over at Nick. “So. You and the witness, huh?”
She winced. “Don’t.”
Gonzo’s handsome face lit up with amusement. “I won’t, but others will. You have to know that.”
“Hopefully, the gossip mill will run its course and the story will die a natural death when someone else fucks up.”
“Not before you take some serious abuse.”
“I can handle it.”
“Sam?” Nick said. “Why don’t you come have something to eat?”
“He likes to feed me,” she whispered to Gonzo.
“Nothing wrong with that.”
Thirty minutes later, after everyone had eaten, Sam called them into the living room. “Let’s get back to work.”
“Before we do that,” Freddie raised his Coke bottle in salute to Sam, “a toast to my partner, soon-to-be
Lieutenant
Holland.”
As Sam glared at him and plotted his slow, painful death, the room erupted into applause and whistles. She glanced at her father and found him watching her, his eyes bright with emotion.