Blind Spot (5 page)

Nathan bit his lip. “You will. I was going to tell him he could crash here in the spare room while we prep for the case next week, but I wanted to clear it with you first. Is that all right?”

Sam certainly hadn’t planned on sharing Nathan during his last few days of freedom, but at least he’d be able to scope the guy out and see if he was really so damn funny. “I guess so,” he said, not bothering to conceal his begrudging tone.

“This is all an act. It’s not for real. And we’ll only be working this one case. What I need to know is, can you live with this?”

Sam looked at the lines creasing Nathan’s forehead. He’d lost so much, and he was making an effort, in spite of the dangerous situation he’d soon be negotiating. Sam needed to meet him halfway. “I think I can. As long as you’re honest with me.”

“I will be.” Nathan leaned forward and kissed him. “I promise.”

“I trust you,” Sam said before he deepened the kiss.

“You’d better,” Nathan replied breathlessly. He broke the kiss to say “It goes without saying you won’t be seeking what you need elsewhere while I’m gone.”

“I only said that to make you jealous.”

“You’re nothing but trouble, Sam Flynn.”

“But you love me.”

“God help me, I do.”

“The feeling is mutual, Sid.” Sam whispered Nathan’s middle name. Nathan had once used it to secretly communicate when he was on a case, and it had been an intimate joke between them ever since. He took the opportunity to push Nathan onto his back and straddle his thighs. Nathan’s mouth was slack with surprise and pleasure as Sam leaned down. “Let me show you how much.”

A FEW
hours later, armed with a nonfat, sugar-free vanilla latte, Sam loitered on the steps of the Stonebridge Police Department. The place was busily preparing for Chief Donna Howard’s press conference later that day. A few news vans idled across the street, their reporters getting preened and powdered before they went live. People in business casual entered and exited the stone building, not sparing Sam a second glance. A panhandler approached him, and Sam ferreted around in his pockets for some loose change. He had nothing but a couple quarters, meant to be used for parking.

“Thanks buddy,” said the guy, who was missing most of his teeth and reeked of booze and urine.

“No problem.”

Sam almost sipped the beverage in his hands before remembering it wasn’t for him. He checked his phone again and tapped his foot. Noon. And just like clockwork, only thirty seconds later Donna Howard exited the building flanked by another officer. She wore a steel-gray suit to match her short, straight bob, and her black heels clacked on the steps as she descended.

“Wait up a sec, Chief,” Sam called out. She glanced up from behind her trendy tortoise frames.

“Well look what the cat dragged in,” said the chief, though her Brooklyn accent held a trace of a smile.

Sam walk-jogged to her, careful not to spill the brew. He greeted the officer next to her and held out the coffee. “How’re you doing? I thought you could use this.”

Chief Howard took the cup and sniffed, then sipped. The flash of surprised pleasure on her face confirmed he’d chosen correctly. “How did you know this is how I like it?”

“I had a feeling.”

“Assuming you didn’t lace it with ricin.” She arched a manicured brow at him, and Sam eyebrowed her right back.

“Gotta gain your trust first, before I escalate to poison,” Sam said with a chuckle. “You’re no good to me dead.”

She continued walking, gesturing with her head for Sam and the flanking cop to follow. “I know you’re not down here to bring me a coffee. Though it is appreciated, I can tell a bribe when I see one.”

“Guilty as charged, Chief. I was sort of hoping for an exclusive before the conference,” said Sam. “You know, for old times’ sake?”

Though he and Donna Howard were far from besties, a sort of respect had grown between them since she stepped into Chief Sheldon’s old position. Sam knew she liked him. She’d turned a blind eye to his obstruction during the arson case, when he’d kept the main suspect’s whereabouts a secret. Of course Damon hadn’t been guilty, or else she wouldn’t have been so lenient.

As they turned the corner to the deli where she lunched almost every day, Sam kept pace beside her. She hadn’t told him to get lost yet, which meant she was thinking about it. The backup cop didn’t seem as pleased. He gave Sam a suspicious look, and Sam could see the guy was fully armed and at the ready.

“What’s with the escort?” Sam asked.

“Can’t be too careful,” said Chief Howard, opening the door to the deli with her free hand. Delicious smells of pastrami and grilled onions greeted them, and Sam’s stomach rumbled. He could already taste the grease.

“You think someone might target you?”

“Never know. White appointed me, after all. I figure his enemy is my enemy.” The PD had gotten flack for failing to stop the Halloween party on the night of the bombing, though, due to their quick response time and efficient crisis intervention strategy, they’d fared better than the mayor in the court of public opinion. And Chief Howard was on record saying she had approved the cancellation of the party before the bombing.

“Unless it was personal,” said Sam.

“Unless.” She dragged out the
s
on the end of the word and lowered her voice just a little. Whether it was a hint remained to be seen. They made small talk until it was their turn. Chief Howard eyed the backboard menu and then stepped forward and cleared her throat. “The usual,” she said to the cashier.

The teenaged girl smiled. “All right. Chicken salad on rye with a half-sour pickle, coming right up.”

Sam gave his order and fumbled for his wallet in his back pocket. “I’ve got this, Chief.”

Chief Howard smirked at him, one corner of her mouth lifting. “I feel positively spoiled.”

They collected their food and found a table in the back of the bustling restaurant. Sam sat across from the chief while her escort scanned the room. He hadn’t ordered lunch and didn’t appear very interested in their conversation.

“All right. So you bought me a sandwich and a coffee. Now what do you want? I’m assuming this isn’t a date.” She took a giant bite and munched loudly.

Sam grinned. “I wanted to get a couple quotes from you for the article I’m writing, if you don’t mind. Is there anything you can tell me about the case? What kind of leads you’re looking into?”

“I can’t say more than I’ll say at the conference. But we’re giving this investigation top priority. I’ve got a whole team on it.”

Sam leaned forward. The escort cop eyed him like he might want to take a bite out of Donna’s sandwich. “Where does Rivera fit in?”

“He doesn’t. He’s heading back to New York. Soon,” she said. “This case is under local jurisdiction, and this time I’m keeping it that way.”

As Sam indulged in his delicious pastrami, he wondered how Rivera felt about leaving town. He had personal history with the chief, and it obviously wasn’t an easy relationship. Whether they were still sleeping together was yet to be determined. Nathan thought not, and the way Donna was aggressively biting into her sandwich at the mention of Rivera, maybe he was right. “So do you know how the poison was administered?”

“Looks like through food or drink,” said the chief. “Probably the day before he died. But he could have been dosed any time during the previous twenty-four hours.”

“Hmm,” said Sam. “So it had to be someone who handled his food. Someone who had easy access to the house and the kitchen?” The mayor’s wife, Judy, sprang to mind again, though the Whites had a live-in cook and housekeeper.
Hmm.
Now there was a thought.

The chief didn’t seem convinced. “Not necessarily. He had several events the day before he died—a lunch meeting with the city council and then an evening benefit for the Streets Clean project. There were two hundred people present, at least.”

“Invite only?”

“Yes. But there wasn’t much security. It was at the Hyatt, downtown. Staff going in and out. Open doors. Then again, no one was expecting a murder to take place. Should have known better, considering what town we live in.”

Sam jotted down a few notes and decided to take a little trip there after the press conference. The Hyatt was probably the nicest hotel in the area. “That means it could have been practically anyone. Though, if the murderer dosed the hors d’oeuvres, others would have gotten sick. The mayor’s food or drink was specifically targeted.”

“Exactly.”

Sam tsked and shook his head. He took another bite of his sandwich, which he’d almost forgotten, and chased it with a sip of iced tea. He still couldn’t get over the hypocrisy. White made such a big deal about getting drugs off the streets after his would-be democratic competitor, the philanthropist Stephen Feldman, was found dead in his tub nearly two years before. Of course back then no one knew about Feldman’s ties to the mob. He had profited from bringing drugs into the city, and used his charitable foundation to launder the money and give the dirty cops a cut to look the other way. Until recently, Mayor White’s hands had been clean from any association with the Voronkovs.

But what if he’d been involved all along?

“Hey, kid, is your sandwich all right?” Chief Howard asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You look like you just took a bite of sludge from the East River.”

“Maybe I did.” Sam wiped his mouth with his napkin. Then he leveled a serious look at Chief Howard. He needed to know the truth. “Did you know about the mayor’s drug use?”

“Absolutely not.” She fixed him with a glare. “How dare you accuse me of something like that.”

“Sorry, Chief.” He threw his hands up. “I was only curious. It’s pretty crazy it went on so long with no one speaking out. I mean, his aide must have known. But I guess it was the guy’s job to keep the mayor out of trouble. You’ve probably already questioned him.” Barney Collins was a semicloseted gay man Sam had bumped into once or twice at New York clubs. Sam always wrote him off as someone who voted against his own interests in favor of power and privilege. He was the mayor’s right-hand man, and Sam wondered why he hadn’t added the guy to his list of suspects. If anyone had access to White, it was Collins.

Chief Howard made a noise of disgust. “Of course we did. And let me tell you, the guy was about as useful as a bag of broken nails.” The dismissive way she spoke of Collins confirmed him as a major suspect. Clearly she didn’t want to answer any more questions. She checked her watch and started to rise. “I’ve got to head back to the station to get ready. Thanks for the lunch. You coming with?”

Sam’s fingers tingled with anticipation. Forget the Hyatt. Collins was next on his list. “Actually, something’s come up. I’ll catch it on TV later. Thanks a bunch, Chief.”

Without waiting for a good-bye, he threw down a couple dollars for a tip, grabbed his notepad, and headed for the door.

BARNEY COLLINS’S
city hall suite was on the third floor of the building, at the end of a corridor of otherwise-tiny administrative offices. Sam pushed the frosted-glass door open and confronted a woman sitting at a desk and talking on her cell phone. She seemed startled at Sam’s sudden appearance and begrudgingly told whoever was on the other end of the line that she had to go. Sam waited. Other than the assistant, there didn’t seem to be anyone in the office. Maybe the staff were at a meeting?

“I don’t have an appointment,” he explained. She put down her phone. “But I was hoping I could see Mr. Collins.”

“He’s gone for the day.” It was only a little after one.

“Gone where?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. Then she leaned forward, her blue eyes lightening with mischief. “But off the record, it probably involves a liquid lunch.”

“Thanks.”

Sam scoured the nearby watering holes looking for a thin, blond man. There were several bars that catered almost exclusively to city employees, but after a few unsuccessful attempts, Sam realized Collins was probably trying to fly under the radar.

He finally found him several streets away from downtown, seated at a shabby bar with New York prices. A couple flies buzzed around Sam’s head, and he swatted them away. The whole place had a “seen better days” vibe. Collins had seen better days too. His thinning hair was swept to the side, and he stared hollowly at the bottles lining the back of the bar. Sam sat several stools to the left of him and nodded at the bartender, who was reading the sports pages.

“What can I get ya?” he asked when he saw Sam.

“Whatever light beer you’ve got. Don’t much care.”

“Coming up.”

Sam figured that, by ordering a beer he detested, he’d be less tempted to drink it. He hadn’t touched a drop in a year. Over the last few months, he’d started to wonder whether he was an alcoholic or alcohol dependent. It was a spectrum. He couldn’t deny it had been hard to stay functional, and he’d done some pretty stupid shit. The cravings were bad for a while. But even so, he quit almost cold turkey, and he was proud he had the willpower to kick the habit without any help. Maybe putting a name on it didn’t matter. Now, as the bartender flipped the top of the crappy beer and slid it over, Sam hardly gave it a second glance. He wasn’t about to start drinking again, anyway. His life was better without it, and it felt good to be philosophical. He was in total control.

He mock-nursed the beer and scoped out Collins from the side of his eye. He was drinking a martini—from the looks of the empty glass in front of him, at least his second. Liquid lunch, indeed. Sam smiled at him noncommittally, wanting the spark of recognition to start with Collins. He’d already decided that a questioning-reporter approach wasn’t the best strategy, especially if the guy was as edgy as he seemed.

Sam gave him a half smile and pretended to check something on his phone. It worked.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Collins asked.

Sam glanced up at him, feigning confusion. “What? Oh, you do look familiar.”

“You’re Sam Flynn. Right?”

“Guilty as charged.” Sam grinned, and Collins’s doe-like eyes widened slightly with interest. He took the bait and moved two seats closer to Sam.