Double Indemnity (27 page)

“No wonder Emma was so quiet about those results,” Sam muttered, staring down at his hands. He'd been so disappointed at the time.

“Once Patricia finally trusted Emma enough to tell her what she knew, Emma put two and two together.” A pregnant pause. “Sheldon knew what the toxicology and autopsy results indicated. He told Emma they were inconclusive and ordered her to drop the case. Of course, she couldn't.” Nathan closed his eyes for a moment.

In spite of the warm, close quarters, Sam shuddered. He couldn't believe they were talking about the same man who'd brought him Christmas presents as a child. “But I don't understand. What did Patricia know? Was she withholding evidence?”

“She was trying to protect her kids. Seems her husband was in a boatload of trouble with the mob and had evidence to incriminate members of the PD as well.”

Sam grimaced, half from the pain in his head, half in commiseration for poor Patricia Feldman. He was also more than a little pleased his own guess had been so close to the mark. “She must have been scared out of her mind.”

“She was.”

A droplet of water beaded down Nathan's lightly haired chest and onto his firm stomach before disappearing into the treasure trail below. Sam watched it, distracted by the overwhelming urge to put his hands on Nathan's waist and pull him close to lick the trace it left behind.

Nathan paused to rip the gauze and tape Sam's hand before he spoke again. “Patricia felt guilty about Emma's death. When I asked why, she told me she'd given Emma all of the info about her husband's involvement with the Voronkovs and the police. It was a million-dollar, drug-money-laundering scheme. The drugs came into Stonebridge port, and the Voronkovs paid the cops to look the other way. Then Mark Feldman filtered the money through his foundation and gave the dirty cops an additional cut on top. And that's where Chief Sheldon came in. He was working directly with Bernhardt Hoff to bring the drugs into the city and benefitting quite handsomely from it all.”

“Bernhardt Hoff? Was he the one who made the confession?”

“Yes. And he killed Emma.” Nathan swallowed deeply and glanced away from Sam's concerned gaze. “He did this to you too.”

Sam's fist clenched with outrage. He wanted to punch something, but without a productive outlet for his anger, he could only sit and listen—and be thankful the perps were finally behind bars. “Meanwhile, the cops are arresting dime-bag dealers left and right to make it look like they're doing something to solve the drug problem.”

“Exactly. Addressing the symptom and not the cause.”

“Because the cause is paying the bills.” Sam shook his head. “I thought the Voronkovs were mainly in New York?” He'd done some research on the new Russian crime elite for an article the previous year and knew the Feds were having a difficult time getting charges to stick, mainly because the bosses seemed to keep their hands clean while delegating the dirty work to a coterie of very dedicated and skilled henchmen, like Hoff.

Nathan seemed to pick up the thread of his unspoken thoughts. “From what we've gathered in our questioning so far, Hoff's job was to extend operations north. He's not a stool pigeon, though, and he's not naming names. It's our hope we can… persuade him.”

Sam's head ached. From what he'd seen, the man had been incredibly cocky and self-assured about his own prowess. The callous way he'd spoken about Emma's murder had turned Sam's stomach. He seemed like the kind of guy whose loyalty could be bought for a price, but ultimately only cared about himself. “I wonder how a guy like Mark Feldman gets involved in something like this.”

“Money. Power. You can't underestimate how seductive those things can be. But apparently Mark decided he wanted out. He was going to cut all ties and go clean. Sheldon and the Voronkovs couldn't have that, not with everything he knew.”

“So they killed him.”

“Actually, Petersen did.”

“What?” Sam's eyebrows shot up.

“He botched it pretty badly—he didn't wait long enough for the pills to dissolve, which is what tipped Emma off in the first place. The way I see it, he's lucky he's dead.”

“I'll say. At least the bullet was quick.” Sam had hated the guy, but he didn't like to imagine what Hoff might have done to him if he got the order.

Nathan bit his full bottom lip as he considered Sam's head, turning it gently to the left, then the right. “This doesn't look half bad.”

“So I'm not Frankenstein's monster?”

“I'm going to put a little antibiotic ointment on. Hold still.”

Sam did as he was told while Nathan uncapped a tiny squeeze tube of petroleum-like stuff and smeared it on the wound. The touch was efficient but kind and conjured up a vision of Nathan dressed in hospital blues. He would make a damn fine doctor, Sam thought, cracking a smile.

“What's so funny?” Nathan asked.

Not wanting to lose track of the conversation, Sam shook his head and let the fantasy go. “Nothing. So, how did Patricia find out about Mark? Did she know all along?”

“She said no, and I'm inclined to believe her. A few days before he died, Mark gave her a flash drive full of conversations and bank reports. He told her to pass it on to someone she trusted if something ever happened to him. Of course, at the time, she had no idea what he was talking about. But after his death, she checked out the contents, which put her in jeopardy.”

“Jesus. Couldn't he have given it to his lawyer?”

“A guy like Feldman? He obviously thought they would never have the balls to kill him. And his image was very important to him.”

Sam scoffed. “Typical. So, after they offed him, Patricia gave Emma the drive.”

Nathan paused a moment in his work to adjust his towel, which had fallen dangerously low on his hips. “She was worried about what would happen to her kids when the Voronkovs and Sheldon figured out she knew too much. And that's where I came in. We needed irrefutable evidence about their involvement. Even though we had Patricia's firsthand testimony, that drive was the only tangible proof. Sheldon kept himself very clean.”

Sam thought of the chief's grandfatherly demeanor. Nothing more than a façade to hide a profiteer who'd lied and left his city to languish at the hands of the mob. The betrayal hit him hard. He closed his eyes. “Shit.”

“I'm sorry, Sam. I wish this were a nicer story.”

Sam shook his head. “It's all right. Go on.”

“So I proposed something crazy.” Nathan crossed his arms over his chest and inspected his handiwork.

“Wait a minute,” Sam whispered. “Patricia's not dead, is she?”

Nathan gave him a brilliant smile. “Not even a little bit.”

“You staged the whole thing? How?” Sam thought about the frigid winter waters of Long Island Sound, the bone-crushing drop from the Baptist Street Bridge.

“We had a boat waiting under the bridge and a team of elite divers in the water. We knew we'd have at least ten minutes before the Coast Guard arrived to search for the body.”

“Still, that's a long drop.”

“She knew the risks, and she was willing to take the chance. She had some bruising, but no major injuries. And now she's safe with her kids in witness protection.” Nathan had begun to look positively gleeful. “Those bastards thought they were home free.”

“Except Patricia scared the bejesus out of Petersen with whatever she said before she jumped.”

“Staged. I figured if we could catch somebody back at my house looking for the evidence, it would make our case watertight. But first we needed to make sure Patricia was safe. We also had some guys decoding the Feldman Foundation books in case we never found the drive. Mark Feldman was a smart guy, and the illegal transactions were buried deeply. We needed to buy some time.”

“So you let them charge you.” Sam didn't even try to hide the resentment in his voice. Nathan's arrest had hit him hard. Still, he vowed to let the matter go—for now.

“Sheldon had no idea Patricia was still alive. He thought they could pin Emma's murder on me, so we let him. And in fact, we even fed him information to increase his confidence—confidence makes people careless.”

Sam grimaced. “The chief told me the FBI had put you on probation after the sex ring case. He said you helped one of the perps to escape to Brazil. Your partner.” He paused, not sure whether he should go on. “Sheldon said he was your lover.”

“Luan.”

Nathan said the name a little too wistfully for Sam's liking. He grit his teeth. “Yes.”

“It's true he went home to Brazil after the case finished. But no, he wasn't involved, and I wasn't ever on probation.” Nathan touched Sam's chin, urging him to look up. His dark eyes tracked over Sam's face, then locked with his. They seemed more honest and open than ever before.

“Were you lovers?” Sam asked, his throat dry. He wanted Nathan to keep touching him, to bend down and kiss him.

This was the question Nathan had, so far, evaded. He dropped his hand and let Sam go. “Only once.”

“Sheldon said you wanted to run off with him,” Sam said, aware his pushing might lead somewhere he didn't like, but pursuing it all the same. He needed to know what was real, even while he hated the jealousy in his voice.

Nathan shook his head. “Not true, but we let him believe it. I'm sure Sheldon thought he had me skewered.”

“He said something else about an insurance policy—a double indemnity clause.” It had been one of the most convincing aspects of Sheldon's accusation, rounding off an already sinister motive with a shiny, selfish polish.

“That
is
true. But he probably didn't know we'd both decided to get one, to be on the safe side.”

“He might have left that out,” Sam said sheepishly.

Nathan rubbed Sam's arm. Either the concussion or the conversation had made Sam a little nauseous.

“Let's get you back into bed,” Nathan said.

Sam followed Nathan into his bedroom. He couldn't stop thinking about the night at the station, after Nathan's arrest. All of the things Sheldon told him had seemed so plausible, but now he saw the conversation for what it was—an attempt to find out what Sam knew. Sheldon wouldn't have hesitated to kill Sam if he'd shown the least bit of knowledge about what had really happened. All of that bullshit about wanting to keep Sam out of trouble. Yeah, Sheldon had wanted that, all right. Wanted to make sure Sam believed Nathan was a cold-blooded killer so he wouldn't try to help. Little did Sheldon know he was the one being set up, and Sam bought right into it, because he trusted the guy.

Nathan sat on the bed next to Sam and smoothed the covers. “Are you okay?”

“I can't get over the fact that I believed him. A part of me did, at least. He said he cared about me, but he didn't. He didn't give a shit.”

The silence stretched out for a moment, and Sam wondered what was going on behind Nathan's dark eyes. Even after all of this, he remained an enigma.

“I don't know if that's true. I think one of the reasons you're still alive is because he cared enough to warn you away.”

“Don't stand up for him. What he did—”

“I'm not trying to,” Nathan interjected. “I only mean that motivations aren't always black and white, even in bad people. That's what makes them so hard to understand.”

Sam frowned. “He didn't give a shit, and I fell for it.”

“Okay.” Nathan stroked Sam's bare arm, and the touch sent a distracting shiver up his spine. “But why wouldn't you have? He used your trust. And it was for the best, really. It kept you safe. Well, it would have.”

Maybe. Sam wasn't so sure. He understood why Nathan had needed to keep quiet about Patricia, but nothing had been worse than thinking a man he'd grown to care for had been responsible for murder. It never would have happened if he'd really known Nathan at all.

“Sam, you look pale. Maybe you should take a nap.”

Sam shook his head. He didn't want to think anymore, but his brain kept circling like a car on a racetrack. “So, did you ever find out what Emma said to Sheldon?”

Nathan sighed raggedly. “She confronted him about the undigested pills. That's when he sent Hoff and Petersen to find out what else she knew. He's admitted as much.”

Another thought made Sam's heart lurch. “Shit. Nathan. I was asking her about the toxicology. I asked her to talk to Sheldon about Feldman. What if I—”

“No.” Nathan silenced him with a firm tone. “Emma was a cop, Sam, and she wanted to be a detective. She was following her own lead. And Sheldon was like a father to her.”

The words punched Sam right in the gut. So this was it, the final proof Emma had been talking about Sheldon on her last day—not Nathan and not herself. She'd been trying to decide what to do with the evidence that her boss and mentor was a crook and complicit in murder. Maybe she knew she was living on borrowed time. Sam could only imagine what Nathan must feel, taking care of Sam even as he dealt with his own grief.

“She never let on Patricia told her anything,” Sam said. The memory was still fresh enough to be frightening.

“What?” Nathan's eyebrows drew together, and the question hung in the air.

“I overheard the two of them talking when I was tied up—Hoff and Petersen. Hoff said he was convinced Emma didn't have any evidence. She protected Patricia even though it meant….” He couldn't complete the thought. His throat was dry. She'd protected him as well. “And all the time, it was hidden right under their noses.”

Nathan's eyes glistened. “I think she figured no one would ever think to look. No one except you.” For a moment he looked as lost as the first time Sam had gone to his house and found him in the backyard, drinking himself into oblivion.