Fatal Deception (28 page)

“Will you ask Tornquist about his connection to Patterson?”

“Let’s see where our conversation leads. I’ll play that one by ear.”

“Got it.”

“Hang on one sec.” Sam reached for her phone and scrolled through the recent calls to get Hill’s number. When she had him on the line, she said, “You know what else we need to look into?”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“The doctor who implanted the GPS device in Maeve Kavanaugh. Where the hell has he been since word broke of the kidnapping?”

“Good thought. I’ll take care of that.”

“Great, see you later.” Before Sam jammed the phone back in her pocket, she dashed off a text to Nick to let him know Angela was in labor. “Let’s go,” she said to Freddie.

They found Tornquist’s office at the end of a long corridor on the third floor. Inside was a beehive of activity, with staffers on the phones, at computers and walking between cubicles and the congressman’s office.

Sam flashed her badge to the congressman’s assistant. “Lieutenant Holland, Metro P.D. My partner, Detective Cruz. We’d like to speak to the congressman.”

“Do you have an appointment?” the perky blonde asked.

“You know we don’t.”

“He’s tied up all afternoon, but I could get you in tomorrow morning around eight thirty? Would that work?”

Freddie grunted out a laugh as Sam leaned forward, placing her palms on the desk and her face two inches from Blondie’s upturned nose. “We’re cops. We want to talk to your boss. Now. Got me?”

Blondie’s eyes bugged, and her head bobbed. She bolted from her seat and disappeared into the congressman’s office.

“I love when they say stuff like that,” Freddie muttered. “In my head, I count down. Five, four, three... You never make it past three, incidentally.”

“I’m pleased to be predictable.”

Blondie returned, looking red-faced and distressed. A group of men and women in suits followed her from the room, each of them eyeing Sam and Freddie with nervous interest. When they were clear of the doorway, Blondie said, “He’ll see you now.”

“I love that kind of cooperation,” Sam said. “Don’t you agree, Detective Cruz?”

“You know I do, Lieutenant.”

Sam enjoyed watching Blondie swallow hard as they brushed past her on their way into the congressman’s office. He was short and round with dark hair and horned-rimmed glasses. Not the fashionable kind of horned-rims, but the old-fashioned kind that made him look like the class nerd.

Sam handled the introductions. “We appreciate you clearing your schedule for us,” she said in a sweet tone that was so not her, almost daring Cruz to laugh again.

Tornquist gestured for them to take a seat on a sofa and lowered his corpulent body into an armchair that groaned when he landed. “Of course. I’m always happy to accommodate the Metropolitan Police Department. Now, what can I do for you today?” He folded his hands over his beer belly as if he were settling in for a pleasant chat over iced tea and cucumber sandwiches.

“We’re investigating the murder of Victoria Kavanaugh.”

“Ah.” Tornquist clucked with dismay. “Such a sad thing. I know Derek Kavanaugh, and I can’t imagine his terrible grief.”

Sam held out a sheet of paper. “You wrote this letter of recommendation for Victoria, when she was known as Victoria Taft, when she applied for a position at the lobby firm Calahan Rice.”

Tornquist took the page, scanned it and returned it to her with a sanctimonious smile. “That’s my electronic signature. Do you know how many of these my office handles every year for ambitious young Ohioans who come to the Capitol looking to begin a career?”

“Then you didn’t know Ms. Taft?”

“I did not.”

“So you write these letters for your constituents regardless of whether or not they’re qualified for the positions they’re applying for?”

“It’s not my job to determine whether or not they’re qualified. I assume the employer takes care of vetting potential employees. I merely vouch to their character.”

“How could you do that when you’d never met Ms. Taft? How do you know you’re vouching for a worthwhile character?”

“Lieutenant, I’d think that in light of your marriage, you’d have a better-than-average understanding of how these things work.”

Freddie cleared his throat, a sure sign he was trying not to laugh. She’d bet her life he was counting down in his head again.

“Congressman, let me tell you how things work in my world. People vouch for people they know. They don’t vouch for people because they had the good sense to be born in the great state of Ohio.”

“Surely your husband—”

“We’re not talking about my husband! We’re talking about you! Did you or did you not know Victoria Taft when she requested a recommendation from you?”

A bead of sweat suddenly appeared on the crown of the congressman’s head as his face twisted with discomfort. “Do I need a lawyer?”

Sam loved when they asked that question. Nothing screamed of something to hide quite like a request for a lawyer. “You tell me. Do you need one?”

“I didn’t know her,” Tornquist said hesitantly.

“But?”

“I know someone who did,” he said, “and he asked me to write the letter.”

“I find it very interesting that you remember a letter you wrote years ago for a woman you say you didn’t know. Don’t you find that interesting, Detective Cruz?”

“Absolutely, Lieutenant. I mean you gotta figure he writes a lot of letters. Why is it that he remembers anything about this one?”

As they held their private conversation, Tornquist continued to sweat and fidget.

“So,” Sam said, returning her attention to Tornquist, “are you going to tell us who asked you to write the letter for Victoria Taft?”

His face turned that unappealing shade of purple that Sam usually associated with Lieutenant Stahl. Releasing the top button of his shirt, he pulled his tie free and seemed to be struggling to breathe.

Sam and Freddie exchanged glances.

“Congressman,” she said, “are you all right?”

“I-I don’t know. My chest hurts, and I’m having trouble breathing all of a sudden.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake
, Sam thought. Just when we were getting somewhere. She reached for her radio and called for an ambulance. Then she helped the congressman onto the floor, tugged his tie off and released two more buttons on his shirt. “Cruz, let the staff know to be on the lookout for the bus.”

“On it.”

“Am I having a heart attack?” Tornquist asked as he gasped for breath.

“Let’s hope not.”

Since he was conscious and breathing, Sam didn’t have to get up close and personal with rescue breathing or anything else that would force her to put lips or hands on his sweaty body.

“What did you do to him?” Blondie asked as she came running into the room.

Freddie was right behind her.

“We didn’t do anything,” Sam said. “One minute we were talking to him, and the next he was turning purple. How’s that our fault?” She was getting sick and tired of being blamed for doing her damned job.

“Congressman, are you all right?” Blondie asked, squatting next to him.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, Melody. Don’t worry.”

Melody
, Sam thought.
How fitting
.

Ten minutes passed in uncomfortable silence as Tornquist fought for every breath. When the paramedics came rushing in, Sam and Freddie stood and stepped back to make room for them.

After taking a minute to assess the congressman’s condition, the paramedics strapped him onto a gurney. On his way past, Tornquist reached out to Sam.

“Talk to Christian Patterson. He asked me to write the letter.”

And that, Sam realized as the paramedics whisked the congressman from the room, was the first major break in the Kavanaugh case.

* * *

Sam and Freddie followed the paramedics from the building and watched them load Tornquist into the ambulance.

“Do you think he’s in on it?” Freddie asked.

“He knows something. That cardiac event came on awfully suddenly.”

“That’s what I was thinking too. It was almost convenient.”

“What do we do about what he told us?”

“We dig into Christian Patterson.” She took off toward the car. “Can we talk about how I called this one?”

Freddie groaned. “Do we have to?”

“Yes, we have to. Not even thirty minutes ago, I said, ‘Gee, I wonder if Arnie Patterson had anything to do with this,’ and not five minutes ago, Tornquist hands us the man’s son on a platter.”

“Do you know what my first thought was when he said the name Patterson?”

Sam was practically skipping on the way to the car. She gave a little shake of her hips for emphasis. There was nothing more thrilling than a big lead in a confounding case. “I haven’t a clue. Why don’t you tell me?”

“I thought, ‘Oh my God, she’s going to talk about this
forever
.’”

That made Sam laugh—hard. “How well you know me, my friend.” In the car, she pulled out her phone and called HQ. “Put me through to the pit.”

“The what?” the dispatcher asked.

Sam sputtered with exasperation. “Are you new?”

“Who is this?”

“Lieutenant Holland. Connect me with the homicide unit, please.” She rolled her eyes at Freddie. “Don’t they tell them these things in orientation?”

“Apparently not.”

The phone rang and rang. “Carlucci.”

“Oh, good, you’re still there. I need an address for Arnie Patterson’s local office.”

“The Arnie Patterson? The bazillionaire candidate?”

“One and the same.”

“I’m looking it up.”

Sam could hear the clicking of computer keys in the background.

“Looks like New Hampshire at R Street, near Dupont Circle.”

“Got it, thanks Carlucci. Do me one more favor—do a run on Christian Patterson, Arnie’s son.”

“Hang on.”

After some more clicking of keys, Carlucci said, “Let’s see, Google has him listed as a top adviser to the campaign, a vice president in his father’s investment firm. He was an all-American football player at Ohio State. He’s married to a former Miss Ohio, and they have two sons, ten and twelve. Looks like his father—tall and blond with the toothy smile.”

“That’s what I needed. Are you guys almost done?”

“Getting there.”

“I won’t keep you. Thanks for the help.”

“No problem, Lieutenant.”

Sam ended the call and shared what she’d learned with Freddie.

“I take it we’re heading to New Hampshire Avenue, then?”

“Let’s stop by the gym on the way. I want to cover all the bases.”

“What gym was it?”

“Fitness Emporium on Mass Ave.”

“Hey, Elin used to work there! Years ago.”

“Did she know Victoria?”

He shook his head. “She would’ve said so. At least I think she would’ve.”

“Call her. Ask.”

“Um, okay.”

Freddie withdrew his cell phone from his pocket and placed the call. “Hey, hon. Yeah, everything’s fine. Sam and I were wondering if you remember a client named Victoria Taft when you were at the Emporium.”

Sam listened intently, trying to hear what Elin was saying.

“They sign an agreement when they start that they can’t talk about the clients of the gym. Ever. She can get sued.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Freddie held the phone to the side. “She’s not kidding.” To Elin, he added, “Will they talk to us if we go there?” He paused. “I was afraid of that. Okay, thanks. Appreciate the info.” Glancing at Sam, he said, “Yeah, me too.”

“Aww, does she love you?” Sam asked, making smooching noises.

“Bite me.”

“You’re not allowed to say that to me. I’m only allowed to say it to you.”

“Bite me hard.”

Sam snorted with laughter. “What’d she say about the gym?”

“We’d need a warrant.”

“Well, then, let’s get one.” As she drove to New Hampshire Avenue, she placed a call to Captain Malone.

“Are you back in the ER again?” Malone asked when he answered.

“You crack yourself up, don’t you?”

“Indeed, I do,” he said, chuckling. “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

“First of all, you need to tell your new dispatcher what the pit is.”

“I’ll get right on that.”

“And when you’re done with that, I need a warrant for Victoria Taft’s records at the Fitness Emporium on Massachusetts Avenue. Cruz’s girlfriend used to work there, and they’ve got a strict confidentiality policy.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Any word from the lab on the DNA taken from Victoria Kavanaugh?”

“Not yet, but the chief put in another call an hour ago.”

“That’s good,” Sam said. “We need that info. I’m working a promising angle. If it pops, and I think it might, it’s going to be huge.”

“Isn’t it always huge with you, Holland?”

“How is that my fault?”

“Never said it was your fault. I’m only making an observation. Tell me this—what’s going on with Tyrone and McBride?”

“Um, I, uh... I decline to comment except to say that I’m handling my squad the way I see fit.”

“If they contest it—”

“They won’t.”

“Stahl is sniffing around like a dog on the path of a juicy bone.”

“Let him sniff. He won’t get anything.”

“Be careful, Lieutenant,” he said in a tone that was far more stern than she was used to hearing from him.

“Always am, Captain. Let me know when you get that warrant.”

“Will do.”

Sam slapped the phone closed. “That motherfucker.”

“I assume you’re referring to our old pal Lieutenant Stahl.”

“Who else? Why doesn’t he get a life and a real job and leave me alone to do mine?”

“Because that would be absolutely no fun.”

“Speaking of the men I love to hate, Gibson tried to off himself last night. Left a note for me, apparently.”

“Oh my God, Sam. Really?”

“Yeah. Patrol showed up at my door. Can you believe he still had me listed as his next of kin after all this time?”

“The guy doesn’t give up. You’ve gotta give him credit for that.”

“Do I?”

“Rhetorically speaking. Is he going to be all right?”

“I don’t know, and I tell myself I don’t care.”

“No one would blame you if you didn’t care.”