Heroes In Uniform (248 page)

Marsh raised his face to the slice of bright blue sky that glowed above him.
God help him
, he hoped he never had rebound sex.

Her Last Chance: Chapter Seventeen

Thirty minutes later Marsh skimmed his eyes over the crowded squad room at the Brooklyn Precinct. The feds were in the corner of the room, as far removed from eavesdroppers as they could get. Walker sat on a table, one foot planted on the floor, the other dangling in the air, swinging backwards and forwards.

The lieutenant was outlining the plan to the next shift. They’d let the press believe they’d caught the Blade Hunter, but the FBI, Brooklyn PD and NYPD knew better. Not that they’d released Dancer, yet.

Detective Jenkins would work her day shift and tonight, after the evening edition of
The
NY News
came out, she would go back to her lonely apartment in Bay Ridge. Except tonight she wouldn’t be lonely. They’d have officers all over her apartment building.

Setting the trap and baiting the hook.

“You really think this is going to work?” The skin under Agent Walker’s eyes looked sunken and heavy. Red veins formed a delta across the whites of his eyes and the stubble on his chin was almost enough to be classified as a beard.

Marsh shrugged. Maybe not tonight, but given time the Blade Hunter would go after the pretty cop—he was too egotistical not to.

“You have a better idea?” Marsh countered.

Walker gave a small laugh that sounded anything but amused. “No.”

“Dancer is innocent.” Marsh walked over to the vending machine and got black coffee that tasted so bitter he gagged, but it fired up some neurons and he seriously needed something fired up somewhere.

His brain ached.

“He was leaning over the body of a dead woman with the murder weapon next to him.” Walker shot him a look full of warning, so Marsh held his silence. “And Special Agent Dancer knew enough about the murders to arrange a copycat killing—if he wanted to.”

“So why the fuck get caught?” They didn’t get how smart the other agent was. NASA smart. Bill Gates smart.

“I’m not finished.” Controlled anger battled the threadbare patience in Walker’s tone. “Dancer’s tox screen came back positive for narcotics, but a smart perp could plan that himself. We don’t know exactly how or when he received the drug. Might have taken just enough to be found during a routine screen if he was caught, giving himself an alibi. You said your boy was smart?” Walker’s eyes held his.

Marsh finished the lousy coffee, crushed the paper cup in a tight fist. “But he’s not a killer. Dancer loves women.”

“Yeah, so did Bundy.”

Fury rose in Marsh’s chest with each particle of oxygen he drew in. He got in Walker’s face. He used to be able to control his temper but in the last six months his control had evaporated.

“Hey, no fighting unless we all get to play.” Cochrane cut it. “Preliminary DNA evidence is in.” The expression on Cochrane’s face made Marsh’s heart freeze. “DNA from the semen matched Special Agent Steve Dancer.”

Everyone in the squad room had turned to face them.

This couldn’t be happening…

Turning away Marsh placed both hands against the opaque glass of the precinct’s window, spread out his fingers. He ground his teeth and felt the pressure build behind his eyes. “This UNSUB is a pro. He’s been doing this all over the world for twenty years and who knows how many people he’s set up to take the fall for him.” Marsh turned back to face Walker and Cochrane, ignoring other prying eyes. “We have got to catch this man before he kills again.”

“You really don’t believe your guy did it?” Cochrane lowered his face. “Not even Prudence Duvall?”

“You think I couldn’t get your semen if I wanted it?” Marsh held the detective’s gaze and watched him lose all color.

“Jeez, there’s a visual I didn’t need,” Cochrane rubbed his bald spot and backed away a step.

Prudence Duvall had invited Steve Dancer to lunch. If she hadn’t ended up dead he’d have suspected her of setting him up. Something inside Marsh’s mind clicked and suddenly it started to make sense. To understand the crime, you had to know the victim.

“Dammit.”

“What?”

“Maybe Pru Duvall knew this guy.”

Cochrane paled. “Oh, shit. I can tell I’m not going to like our next move.”

Marsh grinned at him. Walker looked on, watchful but impassive.

Grieving or not, future president of the US or not, he needed to talk to Brook Duvall.

* * *

About to knock on the huge double doors to the Duvall’s Gramercy Park apartment, Marsh heard raised voices inside and stilled his hand.

“I want that damn painting!”

“I don’t know anything about your painting you selfish bastard. My wife just died!”

He exchanged a glance with Cochrane. Did they stay and listen and maybe learn something, or knock on the door and reveal their presence?

The scrape of furniture and the crash of something fragile against an unyielding wall forced them into action. Marsh unclipped his holster and Cochrane pulled his weapon as he stood to one side. Ignoring the gleaming polished brass knocker, Marsh hammered hard against the solid wood with the base of his fist.

“FBI, NYPD. Open up.” He upped the volume, repeated, “FBI, NYPD. Senator Duvall, open up, please. We know you’re in there.”

There was quiet, broken by the sound of footsteps slowly approaching the door, the indiscernible sound of whispered instructions.

“You too, Admiral, don’t bother hiding. We need to talk.” How screwed up was their investigation about to become with so many politicians and bigwigs watching their own backs?

The lock clicked and the door swung open to reveal a disheveled Brook Duvall, wearing the same clothes he’d had on earlier. Iron-gray hair stood on end and a puffy red mark cruised one cheekbone. Eyes were bloodshot from both tears and alcohol. Marsh smelled the whisky on his breath.

Although if ever there was a day when a man deserved to drown his sorrows, the day of his wife’s murder would be it.

“May we come in?” Marsh asked.

Brook nodded, rubbed his throat.

Admiral Chambers had two decades on Duvall. He hovered beside an overturned table, fists clenched, murderous rage glittering in his eyes. He took an unsteady step, crunched fine porcelain beneath his Rockport shoes.

“Admiral Chambers, so nice to see you again.” Marsh felt anything but amused.

The admiral grunted.

“The admiral happens to be my father’s best friend.” Marsh gave Detective Cochrane his most plastic smile and was pleased that the detective grinned at him as they holstered their weapons.

“So you’re up shit creek with everyone, huh?” Cochrane laughed, a deep cynical sound that said he’d been there, done that.

“Never a dull moment.” Marsh turned to the senator. “Is there somewhere we can discuss things like civilized gentlemen?”

The senator’s PA barged through the door behind them and glanced at the shattered vase on the dark hardwood floor. “What happened?”

“Geoffrey, can you get the gentlemen a drink please, and clear up this mess?” Senator Duvall patted the other man’s arm and looked up at Marsh. “I gave the housekeeper the night off. She was devastated.” Tears welled up in his eyes again and he looked away, stumbled toward his office.

Marsh followed, doubting the senator would get to the White House now, but who knew? If Duvall wasn’t implicated in the murder of his wife, the sympathy vote alone might rocket him into the Presidency. Now there was an angle to investigate—if he wanted to get strung up by his balls.

The admiral followed, tailed by Cochrane.

Cochrane was his new best friend because the rest of his team was busy going through the church records and NYPD wanted him under the microscope. He needed to find the killer and get Dancer out. Then he’d deal with Josephine.

In the office, Brook poured himself a tumbler of single malt and Marsh wished to God he could have one too.

“I need to know what’s going on,” Marsh said quietly.

Duvall sank slowly into a wingback chair as if his body was so weary he might collapse. Admiral Chambers helped himself to a shot of whisky and then leaned against the oak mantle, warming himself before the fire.

“Nothing’s going on,” the admiral sneered.

Miserable old goat.

“Try again, Admiral.”

Cochrane was wandering around the study, selecting and examining books from the dark bookshelves.

“Want me to arrest him for assault, Senator Duvall?” Marsh asked the bereaved man.

“You wouldn’t dare…”

“Try me.”

The admiral’s mouth dropped open as he stared at Marsh, the crimson in his cheeks fading to reveal parchment-like white skin.

“But it’s up to the senator,” said Marsh.

The admiral glanced down at Brook Duvall who stared sightlessly into the flames. “Can’t prove a damn thing.”

“The same way you can’t prove Prudence stole any painting from you. Do you know about this painting?” Brook looked up at Marsh. “He says my wife stole it from him years ago and he picks
today
to come and claim it.” His head swung round to face Chambers. “Did you kill her for it?”

Brook leapt out of his chair and tackled the admiral to the floor, the whisky glass crashing into the fire with a shattering hiss of flame. Both men landed with a hard thud, but Brook had the advantage of surprise and age on his side and straddled Chambers, gripping the old man’s throat. “Did you kill her?”

Marsh looked on. If it looked like Duvall was going to do serious damage he’d step in.

“I haven’t even seen her in years.” Chambers’ hands fought for purchase on Brook Duvall’s fingers, but the senator wasn’t giving up easily.

“You’re lying!” Tears started to flow again and Brook looked up and seemed to realize what he was doing, or maybe who his audience was. He stumbled off the older man and crawled onto his chair, wrapped his arms over his head and wept.

Chambers sat up, loosened his tie, undid his top shirt button and wheezed out a breath before he could speak. “You’d know all about lying, wouldn’t you, you fucking queer.”

Oookay
.

Marsh scraped his fingers over his eye sockets as he stared at the broken figure of the next would-be president. There had never been a hint of scandal. “You’re gay?”

Duvall said nothing, sat with his face hidden against his knees, shoulders shaking.

“Did you
ever
do her?” The admiral asked with a leer. “Because she was rabid by the time she got to me.”

“She’d need to be,” Cochrane muttered under his breath.

Chambers climbed to his feet, wobbling unsteadily. Duvall sobbed harder and Marsh noted the PA stood at the door, directing a vicious look at Chambers.

“So Pru was a beard?” asked Detective Cochrane.

Duvall sat up straight, his gaze going to Geoffrey in the doorway and Marsh put the final piece of the puzzle together.

“It was her idea.” Duvall palmed the tears off his cheeks. “We met in Savannah when her father was still alive.” He glanced up and caught Marsh’s gaze. “I think he abused her, but she never talked about it. She never talked about much.” He gave a bitter laugh, “She caught me with Geoffrey in a compromising situation at some house party the Huntingfords threw.” Brook closed his eyes.

“Geoffrey and Pru are…
were
second cousins. She knew I had political aspirations, and as she found me,” he glanced at his PA, “
us
, literally in the closet, it didn’t take long to convince us that we could actually make a marriage of convenience work. Plus, I was in the Navy…” He looked away from Marsh into the flames. “You know how the military loves homosexuals.”

“So lying to the American people is an ethical way to start your political career and an okay way to win the Presidency?” Marsh questioned.

Cochrane snorted while Admiral Chambers sank stiffly into the second chair with a smirk.

Geoffrey came over and poured himself a large one. “All those years…” He turned and looked at his boss, his lover, shaking his head as if they’d lost everything. “I never thought it would end this way.”

“Did you kill your wife?” Detective Cochrane asked, a hard expression closing down his features.

The senator looked surprised. “Me?”

“Yeah,
you
. She get fed up of the arrangement? Threaten to spill the beans?” Cochrane had a viable suspect in his sights, and leverage to make a powerful man talk. “Spouses are always top of the pile when it comes to murder.”

“But I thought a serial killer murdered her?” He didn’t know they’d ruled Dancer out as the Blade Hunter. Duvall’s eyes ricocheted violently, a pinball gone crazy. They came to rest on Geoffrey and he held out a shaking hand that the other man took.

“You lovebirds got an alibi for last night that doesn’t involve each other?” Cochrane’s New York accent got thicker with each word.

The senator and his PA looked at each other frowning. “We were in the Hamptons.”

The admiral laughed, a nasty ugly sound.

“What about you, Admiral? Got an alibi?” Marsh’s words stopped him cold.

“Me?” The old goat had the gall to look affronted.

“Yesterday, you find out Prudence took a painting that might be worth as much as fifty million dollars.” Marsh watched the old man’s faded brown eyes grow cold. “You have an alibi for last night?”

“I wouldn’t have killed the bitch until after she’d told me where the painting was.” His lips twisted as he looked into the fire.

“But
the bitch
, as you so politely put it,
is
dead,” Marsh said quietly. “And I think she knew her killer.”

Everyone spoke at once.

“What?”

“Oh my God…”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Hey! One at a time!” Cochrane pointed at Geoffrey. “You said,
oh my God
, like you knew something?”

Geoffrey sat on the arm of Brook’s chair, stiff as cardboard. “It’s just…”

“Spit it out,” Detective Cochrane ordered. Marsh let him lead.

Geoffrey glanced uncertainly at Brook. “Pru was heavily into S&M and I know she was seeing someone, but I don’t know who it was.”