Fatal Flaw (24 page)

A bright light aimed at her eyes brought Sam back to reality. The searing pain that followed the flash of light made her wish she were dead. Why was he yelling at her? Why wouldn’t he stop yelling? Her stomach heaved, and Sam was forced to decide between focusing on the stabbing pain in her head or the fact that she was going to puke any second. The head pain won.

“It’s all right, Sam,” a familiar voice said. She couldn’t work up the focus to figure out who it was.

“Stomach,” she muttered as a final surge of nausea led to vomiting that nearly split her head right down the middle.

Someone held her head, which was the only thing that kept it attached to her neck. When the heaving finally stopped, Sam opened her eyes and discovered she was in the hospital, surrounded by medical personnel. The voice she recognized belonged to Captain Malone. God, this was embarrassing. He’d just watched her puke up her guts.

“Sam, can you hear me?”

She looked up at Nick’s friend, Dr. Harry. “Where’d you come from?”

“Heard they brought you in.”

Sam fought against whatever was restraining her as she tried to sit. Her head fought back against the movement. “Don’t call Nick,” she said to Harry. “Don’t let anyone call him.”

“But Sam—”

“Don’t call him.” Each word cost her everything she had. “Scotty’s day.”

“Someone needs to know you’re here.”

“Tracy. Call her.”

“Tell me what hurts,” Harry said.

“Head. Like it’s gonna explode.”

“Just relax. We’ll take good care of you.”

The next time Sam opened her eyes, her sister was hovering by her bedside. “Hey,” Sam said, her voice gravely.

Tracy reached for her sister’s hand. “Are you okay?”

“Not sure. What happened?”

“Harry says it’s a severe migraine.”

“Jesus. I had no idea they were this bad.” Sam felt a tiny bit better than she had before, but her head was still pounding. Thankfully, they’d turned the lights way down in the room. “Why would I get one now when I’ve never had one before?”

“They aren’t sure, but Harry said the fact that you’ve had two recent concussions might’ve triggered something.”

“Fabulous.” Sam tried to get more comfortable and closed her eyes when her head nearly exploded. “I guess dyslexia, a lousy stomach and infertility wasn’t enough. How’s Dad?”

“Better. Groggy and out of it but conscious.”

“At least one of us is.”

“If you’re joking, that’s a good sign.”

“No one called Nick, did they?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Harry said you didn’t want us to call him.”

“Scotty’s big day in Boston. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

Tracy patted Sam’s hand. “Don’t worry about anything. Get some rest.”

“I want to go home.”

“Harry is keeping you overnight for observation.”

“No. Give me a ride home?”

“Sam—”

“Please.”

“Let me talk to the nurse.”

Sitting in her office in the lab, Lindsey stared at the phone for a long time. If she made this call she’d be committing to an actual relationship with Terry. He’d put the ball in her court. She could make the call. Or not. The conversation with Sam earlier had been on Lindsey’s mind all day.

She’d had her heart broken once before, and it was an experience she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy. But she’d never managed to have everything with any guy. She’d never met anyone who’d come close to that for her. Until now. From the first time she ever talked to Terry she’d felt something different for him.

She picked up the phone and then put it back down. Her deputy, Byron Tomlinson, appeared at the door. “What’s up?”

“We’ve got a call. Want me to take it?”

“I thought you had a hot date tonight.”

Byron shrugged. “She knows what I do.”

Lindsey glanced at the phone one last time, relieved to have the decision taken out of her hands—at least for now. “That’s all right,” she said. “I’m not doing anything tonight. I’ll take it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

“Did you hear about Lieutenant Holland?”

Lindsey stopped short. “What about her?”

“She got really sick in her office, and they took her to the ER. I heard it was a severe migraine.”

“Oh my God. I’ll check on her later.” Lindsey grabbed her field kit and locked her office. “See you tomorrow.”

She drove to the address in the northwestern corner of the Woodley Park neighborhood, thinking of Sam and wondering how she was. Emergency vehicles had gathered outside yet another well-appointed suburban home. This was becoming a pattern lately. Nice house, regular people, no criminal connections and vexing, unexplainable murders. She had a feeling this one would be more of the same.

Detective Gonzales greeted her outside the house.

“What’ve we got?”

Gonzo led her through the nice house to the backyard where a body floated in the pool. “James Lynch, age forty. According to his wife, Amanda, who found him, he was terrified of water and stayed far away from the pool.” Another officer was comforting Amanda, who was hysterical. “Apparently, he nearly drowned as a kid, and ever since then he never went near the water.”

“So how’d he end up in the pool?”

“Good question. Because she was so adamant that he’d never go near it on his own, patrol called us in.”

Mr. Lynch was dressed in what appeared to be work clothes—dark gray slacks, a pale blue dress shirt and still had his shoes on.

Lindsey grimaced as she waded into the shallow end of the pool and made her way to the body. As she turned him over, his wife screamed and then broke down into gut-wrenching sobs.

“Jimmy!
No!
”

Lindsey glanced up at Gonzo, imploring him to get the woman out of there.

He signaled to the patrolman to take the woman inside.

“Thanks,” Lindsey said when they were gone. “Help me get him out of here.”

Between the two of them, they lifted him out of the pool and laid the dark-haired man on the pool deck. On first glance, the body showed no obvious signs of trauma or injury. Lindsey would need to transport him back to the lab to determine the cause of death.

“Why do I have a feeling this one is going to go just like the last two?” Gonzo said. “A well-liked guy who didn’t have an enemy in the world.”

“Clearly someone had a problem with him.” Lindsey examined Lynch’s eyes and mouth. “Any word on how Sam is?”

“Last I heard she was in the ER with a severe migraine.”

“Poor kid. She’s got enough going on with this crazy pen pal and her dad in the hospital.”

“I heard he’s a little better today.”

“That’s good.” Lindsey closed Mr. Lynch’s eyes. “I’m ready to transport him.” She stood and tugged off her gloves, signaling to the team that had accompanied her.

“Can you stick around for a minute, Doc?” Gonzo asked, eyeing the house warily.

“Sure. What do you need?”

“We’re short-handed today, so I’m here by myself. I could use a more senior witness to the interview with the wife than the probie who’s with her.”

“And you don’t deal well with hysterical females, am I right?”

“I never said that,” Gonzo said, feigning offense.

“Lead the way, Detective.” Lindsey followed him inside even though she’d rather be anywhere other than at ground zero of Amanda Lynch’s grief. She instructed her people to load the body in the truck and wait for her outside.

Mrs. Lynch was inconsolable.

Gonzo glanced at Lindsey, seeming to be asking for her help.

“Is there someone we could call for you, Mrs. Lynch?” Lindsey asked. “A friend or relative maybe?”

Amanda shook her head. “If I call people, I’ll have to tell them. I can’t tell them.”

“You’ll have to eventually, ma’am,” Gonzo said gently.

“Not yet.”

“Do you have children?” Lindsey asked.

“No, it was just Jimmy and me.”

“If your husband was terrified of water, I have to ask why you have a pool,” Gonzo said.

“We just moved in a month ago. We’d planned to have it drained and filled in. I fell in love with the house, so he said we shouldn’t let the pool stop us from buying it. And now…” She looked up at them, her pretty face a mask of devastation. “What’ll I do without him? He was my whole world.”

“Can you think of anyone who might’ve wanted to hurt him—or you?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Everyone loved Jimmy. He had so many friends. I had trouble keeping track of them all.”

“What did he do?”

“He’s a lawyer. A partner in a firm in Bethesda.”

Amanda’s use of the present tense pained Lindsey and made her sad to think about the journey this woman had ahead of her as she learned to live without her husband.

“What kind of law did he practice?” Gonzo asked.

She wiped new tears from her face. “Civil litigation.”

“Has he been involved in anything particularly contentious?”

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “In fact, he’d complained lately of being bored and had even said it might be time to quit his job and pursue his lifelong goal of writing a legal thriller.” It seemed to settle on her all of a sudden that he’d never reach that goal now. “How can he be gone? He was just here. This morning. We had breakfast together.”

“Where were you today?”

Amanda stared at him, her face frozen in shock. “What does that have to do with anything? I came home and found my husband dead in our pool.”

Gonzo swallowed hard, and Lindsey felt for him. He had to go down this road, but it couldn’t be easy to insinuate that the obviously devastated woman might’ve had something to do with her husband’s murder.

“We’ll need to confirm your whereabouts to rule you out as a suspect.”

Grief turned to outrage in the fraction of an instant. “That is ridiculous! I could no more harm him than I could myself!”

To his credit, Gonzo didn’t waver. “I need to know where you were so I can rule you out.”

Amanda glanced at Lindsey, as if to ask if he was for real. “It’s a formality, Mrs. Lynch,” Lindsey said. “If you can answer the question, we can get busy finding out who did this to your husband.”

Gonzo sent her a grateful look and refocused on Amanda.

After a long moment of silence, she said, “I was at the hospital having tests.” She spoke so softly they had to strain to hear. “Jimmy and I… We’d been trying for a long time to have a baby. We’re running out of time.” Her voice caught on a sob. “Because I just turned forty. I never thought… This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Did your husband know where you were?”

She shook her head. “We…I…had a miscarriage last year, and it was so devastating to both of us. I didn’t want to get his hopes up.”

“Could you please write down the name and address of your doctor?” Gonzo asked, extending his notebook and pen to her.

She scowled at him, snatched the pad from his hand and wrote down the information.

“Please also add the name and address of your husband’s firm.”

Amanda did as instructed and thrust the pad back at him.

Lindsey glanced at Gonzo. “May I?”

He gestured for her to go ahead.

“Mrs. Lynch, do you by any chance know Crystal Trainer or Raymond Jeffries?”

“Crystal Trainer’s name is familiar, but I’ve never heard of Raymond Jeffries.”

“Is it possible you heard Mrs. Trainer’s name in the media in recent days?”

“Oh, yes, she’s the mother who was killed in Chevy Chase. Such an awful tragedy.” Amanda’s eyes widened all at once. “Do you think there’s a connection between her murder and what happened to my husband?”

“We don’t know yet,” Gonzo said. “But there are some similarities that require further scrutiny before we can say for sure if they’re connected.”

“Who is Raymond Jeffries?” Amanda asked.

“He was found dead in his home last night,” Gonzo replied. “He’s a retired chemistry teacher. Taught at Roosevelt—”

“I went to Roosevelt,” Amanda said, her eyes widening. “But I don’t remember Mr. Jeffries. Then again, I never took chemistry.”

“I really need you to think if there was anyone who might’ve had a conflict with you or your husband, anyone with a score to settle or a grudge,” Gonzo said. “Perhaps someone involved with one of his lawsuits at work or someone you met through your work.”

“I haven’t worked since Jimmy and I got married six years ago. He wanted to take care of me, and I’d worked for so long by then that I was happy to let him. Of course, we thought we’d have a family by now, but that never happened.”

“There’s no one else you can think of? Someone who might’ve begrudged your happiness together—an old boyfriend or girlfriend maybe—or someone through his work.”

Amanda shook her head the whole time he was talking. “Nothing like that. We’re low-key people. We have friends we enjoy but prefer to keep to ourselves most of the time. We’re happiest when we’re together, just the two of us.”

Lindsey’s heart broke for her.

Gonzo handed Amanda his card. “If you think of anything he might’ve mentioned about problems with other people or at work, please let me know.”

“Find the person who did this to my Jimmy,” she said. “Please find them.”

“We’ll do all we can. There has to be someone we can call. I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here by yourself.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Lindsey noticed an eerie sense of calm had come over the grief-stricken woman and saw that Gonzo had tuned into it, as well. She followed him out of the house.

“I don’t feel right leaving her,” he said.

“Call Dr. Trulo,” Lindsey said, meaning the department psychologist. “He’ll be able to hook you up with grief counselors.”

“Good idea.” Gonzo looked around at the upscale suburban neighborhood. “Is it odd that she would have
no one
to call when her husband has been murdered?”

Freddie Cruz ambled up the lawn to join them. “I’ve been working on Trainer and Jeffries all day. Just heard about this one.”

“How’s Sam?” Gonzo asked.

“She was diagnosed with a severe migraine and checked herself out of the hospital against medical advice because she didn’t need to be observed overnight.”