“Of course. Please, have a seat.”
She perched on the chair on the other side of Sam’s desk. “I understand you were the detective in charge of John’s case.”
“I was, yes.”
“I wanted to thank you for moving so quickly to get justice for him, even if I wish justice had led in a direction other than my son.”
“Ms. Donaldson…”
She fiddled with a tissue she produced from her purse. “It’s just, I wondered…you’re absolutely certain that it was my Thomas who killed his father?”
Oh God
, Sam thought.
God, God, God
.
“They were always so close, and I’m having trouble imagining that my son could’ve done these horrible things he’s accused of. I figured you’d tell me the truth. I don’t know who to believe anymore.”
“I’m absolutely certain it was Thomas,” Sam said. “I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear, but the evidence is irrefutable. In addition to the evidence, he confessed in front of me as well as Senators O’Connor and Cappuano. I’m afraid the case against him is solid.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “He must’ve had some sort of breakdown and didn’t know what he was doing. The boy I raised would never hurt anyone, let alone his father or those other people he didn’t even know.” Two of his father’s ex-lovers and the husband of one of them had been among Thomas’s victims.
“I’m sure his attorney will take that under consideration,” Sam said, desperately wanting to end this excruciating interview. “Hearing that his father had been unfaithful to you did something to him.”
“They’re considering an insanity plea, as you must already know.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“I’m sorry to have taken up your time. I was just looking for some answers.”
“I wish I could’ve been more helpful.” As she said the words, another thought occurred to Sam. “I know someone you could talk to who might understand what you’re going through.”
Patricia’s eyes brightened with hope. “Who?”
“Laine O’Connor.”
Patricia’s hope was quickly replaced by despair. “She won’t want to talk to me. They think I ruined John’s life by getting pregnant. I’m sure they blame me for his death too.”
“They don’t,” Sam assured her. “If anything, they blame themselves for forcing John to live a double life. I’ve come to know them quite well in the last few months, and I’m fairly confident Laine would welcome the chance to make amends with you.” At least Sam hoped so. She was dallying in areas she probably had no business butting into. The bad blood between the O’Connors and Patricia went back decades. “Would you like me to call her for you?”
“If you’re sure she won’t mind,” Patricia said.
“I’m sure she won’t.”
“That was a good thing you did back there,” Freddie said when they were in the car.
“Huh?”
“Hooking Patricia up with Laine—two grieving mothers, two women who loved John O’Connor. It was a good thing.”
“I hope so,” Sam said. “I’m half expecting a ‘what the hell were you thinking’ phone call from Nick.”
“Nah.” Freddie bit into one of the three cream donuts he’d bought from the roach coach outside HQ. “He’ll approve. In fact, I hate to say it, L.T., but you’re becoming sensitive in your old age. Being in love has softened you.”
“Screw you.”
He chortled with laughter and then downed a second donut.
Sam’s mouth watered at the smell of sugar and cream. “If you’re done stuffing your face, tell me what we know about Bradford Tillinghast.”
“He’s a lobbyist with the firm Tillinghast-Young. They represent oil company interests to Congress.”
“And what was his number doing on the cell phone records for both our dead cleaning ladies?”
“A very good question indeed.”
Sam smiled. “I have a feeling this interview is gonna make my day.” Sensitive. Whatever. She loved nothing more than watching smug, powerful people—or people who
thought
they were powerful—come unglued when they became the subject of a murder investigation.
“What about our plan to talk to Senator Trent first thing?” Freddie asked.
“We’ll get to him. Eventually. Gonna be a long-ass day.”
At the well-appointed K Street offices of Tillinghast-Young, Sam and Freddie were told that Mr. Tillinghast was in a meeting and couldn’t be disturbed.
“I love that answer,” Sam said to Freddie. “Don’t you love that answer?”
“It’s one of my favorites,” he said.
The pretty receptionist’s eyes darted between them, and Sam noticed the slight tremble of a manicured hand.
Sam leaned on the reception desk and brought her face in close to the other woman’s. “Here’s the deal—go tell Mr. Tillinghast that two homicide detectives from the MPD are here to see him. Tell him we can either do this here in the comfort of his office, or we can arrest him and do it downtown where the interrogation rooms are not nearly as comfortable. Got me?”
The receptionist scurried down a long hallway as if her pants were on fire.
“Mean and scary,” Freddie said.
“Sensitive, my ass.”
“Is your ass sensitive? Hmm, I wouldn’t have thought that.”
Sam glowered at him. “You’d better shut up before you find out how sensitive my fist is.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, but she caught the smirk he directed her way.
“You’re in a good mood for a guy who is isn’t getting any.”
The smirk was replaced by a frown. “I’ll be back in the saddle after tomorrow night.”
“You’re certain she’s going to show, huh?”
“Of course she will. She’s into more than just the sex.”
“Sure about that?”
“Yes,” he said, but he didn’t sound sure. “She’ll show.”
“Hmm, hope so.”
“Do you? Do you really hope so?”
Before Sam could reply, the receptionist returned and gestured for them to follow her.
“This is the kind of cooperation that goes a long way toward earning the favor of the MPD,” Sam said to Freddie who rolled his eyes at her.
Bradford Tillinghast was exactly what Sam expected him to be: tall, blond, built like a former college football player and dressed in a navy pinstripe suit that had been cut just for him. The luxurious office completed the picture of an all-American success story.
“What can I do for y’all?” he asked in a drawl that sounded like Texas.
“You can tell us how you know Regina Argueta de Castro and Maria Espanosa.”
For a brief instant his eyes widened before his expression became impassive. But Sam caught the flash of fear.
“Who?”
“Don’t screw with us, Mr. Tillinghast. We’ve got your number on both their cell phones. So unless you’d like to move this interview downtown, you have five seconds to tell me how you know them.”
She watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down.
“I’d like to speak to my lawyer.”
“Great,” Sam said. “Have him meet you at MPD Headquarters.” She nodded to Freddie who pulled out his handcuffs.
“Wait.” Tillinghast glanced warily at the coworkers who were pretending to not watch the goings-on behind his glass-walled office. “Are the handcuffs really necessary?”
“We don’t transport anyone uncuffed. Department policy.”
As he ran a trembling hand through his well-coifed hair, Sam caught the glint of a wedding ring.
“What’s it going to be?” she asked. “Here or there?”
He took a deep breath and released it. Hands on hips, he fixated on the wall displaying his trophies and framed awards. Life had been good to Bradford Tillinghast. Until today.
“I paid them for sex,” he said in a rush of words. “I didn’t know their last names or anything else about them. And I only met with each of them twice.”
Buzzing from the first big break in the case, Sam said, “Where did you meet for these encounters?”
“The Ambassador,” he said, naming a four-star hotel in the heart of downtown Washington.
“How did you make contact with them?”
Hesitating, he shifted his gaze to the window. “I’d really like to speak to my lawyer now.”
Apparently, he was far more concerned about giving up the information on how he found Regina and Maria than he was about being paraded through his office in handcuffs. Interesting. She gestured for Freddie to cuff him.
Freddie slapped the cuffs on Tillinghast’s wrists and read him the Miranda warning. Tillinghast kept his head down as they walked him past his shocked colleagues.
Sam tried not to be judgmental, but she figured the walk of shame was the least of what a married guy deserved for paying for sex four times—or so he said—with other women. She wondered how long it would take for official Washington to be set abuzz by Tillinghast’s arrest.
Just as she had the thought, her cell phone rang. A quick glance at the LCD showed Nick’s number. She hoped he wasn’t annoyed at her for asking Laine to see Patricia.
“Hey,” she said.
“Did you really just arrest Brad Tillinghast?”
“Christ have mercy. That didn’t take long. How did you hear?”
“Trevor saw it on Twitter,” he said, referring to his communications director.
“Fabulous.” Tillinghast’s coworkers hadn’t wasted any time spreading the word.
“You are one
ballsy
chick, Holland. What’d he do?”
“Stonewalling. That’s all I can say right now.”
“The news has set the Hill on fire.”
“Wait ’til you hear the rest of the story.”
“I’ll look forward to that.”
“So, um, you might be hearing from Laine today.”
“Already did.”
“Is she pissed? The idea was out of my mouth before I took the time to consider—”
“She thinks it’s a great idea, babe. As she said, if she’d done it years ago, maybe her son would still be alive.”
“Oh, well, I’m glad she’s not mad. I just figured, you know, they both loved John. Maybe they could help each other.”
“You did good, Samantha.”
Shrugging off the praise, she said, “How are you?”
“I’m okay.”
Sam stood on the K Street sidewalk and watched Freddie load Tillinghast into the back of her car. “Really? Or are you just saying that?”
“It usually takes a week or two to bounce back from seeing her.” He released a bitter-sounding chuckle. “You’d think I would’ve learned by now not to get my hopes up.”
Sam closed her eyes. The pain she heard in his voice was unbearable. “I don’t want you to see her anymore. At some point you have to say enough already.”
“I think maybe I’ve reached that point this time.”
“Good,” she said. “Well, not good, but you know what I mean.”
“Yes, babe, I know what you mean.”
“We have each other now. We don’t need people who bring us down.” She thought of Peter being released from jail—possibly tomorrow—and knew she needed to tell him. “I hate to pile on, but I heard Peter’s hearing is tomorrow. Malone made it sound like there’s almost no way he won’t get sprung.”
“Goddamn it,” Nick muttered. “I know I’ve said this before, but you’ve just gotta be fucking kidding me. He tried to
kill
us!”
“I know, babe. Believe me, I know.” She hated to hear him so upset on top of what he was already dealing with. “We’ll be on him like white on rice. He won’t be stupid enough to pull another stunt like the bombs.”
“You hope.”
“I hate to say it, but I’ve got to go.”
“You’re not trying to dodge the tail, are you?”
The thought had occurred to her—more than once—but she’d never admit that to him. “I’ve been on my best behavior.”
That drew a short laugh from him. “That’ll be the day. Talk to you later. Be careful out there.”
“Always.” As Sam ended the call and got into the car, she experienced a pang of fear about what he might do to keep Peter in jail.
“This is Senator Nick Cappuano for Mr. Forrester.”
“One moment please, Senator.”
Even though Nick knew this phone call was not a good idea from a personal
or
political standpoint, there was no way he could sit idly by and not make one last effort to keep that scumbag Gibson in jail where he belonged.
“Senator,” Forrester said in his nasally New York accent. “What can I do for you or do I already know?”
“You can tell me you’re doing everything in your power to keep that bastard Gibson in jail.”
The U.S. Attorney cleared his throat. “As I mentioned the last time we spoke on this subject, I don’t have the evidence to retain Mr. Gibson.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
“Senator, this conversation is so far outside the realm of appropriate that it may be of interest to the Senate Ethics Committee.”
“Go ahead and report me. But if I were you, I’d be far more concerned about releasing a murderer who will no doubt come after my future wife again.”
“I’ll remind you that Mr. Gibson was only charged with
attempted
murder. Your future wife and her team failed to follow procedure, Senator, and that’s the only reason we’re having this conversation. If they can get me something else that ties Gibson to the items found in his apartment, I’ll certainly entertain new charges. Until then, we have nothing to talk about.”
“If something happens to her, Forrester, I hope you’ll be able to live with it.”
“My conscience, Senator, is crystal clear. Your fiancée and her team had Gibson by the short hairs. All they had to do was wait for the warrant. They chose not to do that, and there’s not a damned thing I can do about it now.”
“You could find a way to delay his release to give them time to gather more evidence.”
“If there was more evidence to be gotten, I’d have it by now. You know that as well as I do.”
“There has to be something you can do—”
“I have to get back to work, and I’m sure you do too. Have a good day, Senator.”
Before Nick could reply, the line went dead. Furious, he threw his BlackBerry across the room and watched with satisfaction as it hit the wall and shattered into pieces.
Christina stepped into the office, surveyed the remnants of the phone and then turned to him. “Everything all right in here, Senator?”
“No.” He reached for his suit coat and headed for the door. “Everything is
not
all right.”
Nick stalked out of his office in the Hart Building and hustled through the underground tunnels that led into the Capitol building. In one of the hallways a network news reporter was interviewing one of his colleagues. He waited until they were finished and then flagged down the reporter and cameraman. “I have a statement I’d like to make.”
Since Nick rarely gave interviews despite frequent requests, the reporter’s eyes lit up with anticipation.
When the cameraman was in place, Nick tried not to think about the political fallout that might occur in the aftermath of his statement. “As many of you know, Peter Gibson, the ex-husband of my fiancée, Lieutenant Sam Holland, affixed bombs to her car and mine in December. When the device attached to her car detonated, we were both injured. Later that night, believing Gibson had dangerous bomb-making materials in his apartment, officers entered the dwelling prior to obtaining a search warrant. Once inside they discovered items that could’ve leveled his building as well as several others nearby. Even though a partial fingerprint ties Gibson to the bomb that was attached to my car, the charges against Gibson may be dropped tomorrow because the officers entered his apartment without a warrant. U.S. Attorney Forrester tells me there’s nothing he can do to stop this from occurring. This time tomorrow, Peter Gibson may once again be free to resume his bomb-making activities. I thought it was important that the citizens of the District were aware of this so they can be vigilant. That’s all I have to say.”
The stunned reporter and cameraman stared at him.
Nick turned away from them and found Christina and his communications director, Trevor Donnolly, also staring at him.
“
You called Forrester about this?
” Christina’s voice was an octave higher than usual.
“You’re goddamned right I did. Gibson tried to
murder
us. You really think he ought to be let out of jail?”
“I just, um…Wow.”
“Forget it,” Nick said, needing to get out of there. “I’m going to the gym. Tell Richard and Judson I can’t meet them tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He left his overcoat and belongings in the office and exited through the south entrance to the Capitol. On the way out, several other reporters tried to stop him, but he waved them off. He had nothing left to say.