Fatal Scandal: Book Eight of the Fatal Series (19 page)

“I don’t know. He was pretty fucking obvious about it. Nick hates his guts.”

“
That
I had noticed, and I wondered why since Nick likes everyone. It all makes sense now.”

“And it’s the last fucking thing I need right now with him starting the new job and someone targeting my department. Now I’ve got a wounded assistant and friend who thinks I pushed her toward her boyfriend to get his attention away from me.”

“Did you?”

“No! But if that happened, I wasn’t going to be sad about it.”

“I’m coming back to work. Enough of this sitting around shit. With Cruz out and the trial starting for Jeannie tomorrow, you need me.”

“I can’t let you come back until you’ve been medically cleared, Gonzo. You know that.”

“Fuck that. I’m coming back. I’ll work for free. I’ll call you when I get to the city.”

“Gonzo.”

“See you shortly.”

Sam stashed the phone in her suit coat pocket and got out of the car, dreading what she had to tell Marissa Springer, but secretly relieved to know she’d have Gonzo’s help. It was too soon for him to come back, but she’d take all the help she could get to figure this out before more damage was done to the department and the people she cared about.

As she approached the door to the house where her niece’s life was changed forever, Sam felt queasy reliving the horror of that night and the days that followed. Brooke was doing better. She was back to school in Virginia and trying to repair her life with the help of intense counseling. But she would never be the same person who’d walked into Hugo Springer’s house that night.

Sam rang the doorbell and heard it echo through the three-story townhouse. Several minutes passed before the inside door swung open to reveal the Springers’ housekeeper, Edna Chan, who’d been the one to discover the bodies of Hugo and eight of his friends in the basement.

“Help you?” the woman asked, though Sam had no doubt Edna recognized her.

Sam showed her badge. “May I please speak to Mrs. Springer?”

Edna’s brows narrowed. “How come?”

“I need to speak to her.” Sam could almost see the woman’s internal debate as she tried to decide what she should do.

Finally, she pushed open the storm door and indicated for Sam to follow her to the front living room. “Have a seat. I’ll get her.”

“Thank you.”

Sam was frankly surprised the Springers were still living in the house where one of their sons killed the other. If, God forbid, something like that ever happened in her home, she’d never be able to step foot in there again.

The woman who came into the room a few minutes later barely resembled the Marissa Springer she’d met during the earlier investigation. Her blond hair was stringy and greasy looking, her face pale and puffy. She wore sweatpants and a dirty sweatshirt.

Sam, who’d remained standing while she waited, had to make an effort to hide her shock at the woman’s disheveled appearance.

“Why are you here?” she asked in a dull, flat tone.

“I need to speak to you. About your husband.”

“What about him?”

“Can you come have a seat?” Sam gestured to the sofa.

Marissa eyed her suspiciously but did as she asked.

Sam joined her. “I’m very sorry to have to tell you your husband was found dead in his office this morning.”

“Did the tart he was screwing find him?”

Taken aback by the woman’s venomous words, Sam wasn’t sure how to respond.

“You’re surprised I knew?” Marissa said with a harsh laugh. “I knew everything that stupid, worthless man did because I’ve had him followed for years. He thought he was going to get rid of me and run away with a woman younger than his daughters? Not on my watch.”

This had not gone at all like Sam had expected it to, so she recalibrated. “Mrs. Springer, where were you last night?”

“Right here. I hated his guts, but I didn’t kill him.”

“Were you here by yourself?”

“Edna was with me. We ordered in Chinese and watched a movie. I went to bed at ten.”

“The investigator who followed your husband, could you please give me his name and number if you know it?”

“I know it. I’ve called it every day for five years.” She wrote the information in Sam’s notebook.

“What made you decide to start having him followed?”

“A combination of things. I knew Billy was up to no good and Bill kept blowing it off as a ‘boys will be boys’ thing, which infuriated me. Then I found out Bill was profiting from Billy’s illegal activities.”

“Profiting how?” Sam asked, feeling the buzz that she lived for as a homicide investigator.

“He... He knew Billy was a dealer and provided legal advice to him and his colleagues in drug dealing. I blame
him
for what happened to Hugo and his friends, not Billy. He could’ve put a stop to it years ago, but he chose to support him instead. It’s
his
fault my babies are dead.”

“Did your husband know you blamed him for the deaths of your sons?” Sam asked as she tried to process what Marissa was telling her.

“You bet your life he knew. I kicked him out of here the day after Billy’s funeral, and I haven’t seen him since.”

“The guy you had following him, I assume you didn’t call him off after you kicked him out?”

“Oh, hell no. He’s been reporting in every day.”

Sam really wanted to talk to him—like right now. “Mrs. Springer.”

“Please, call me Marissa. Mrs. Springer reminds me of the man I was married to.”

“Marissa, I can’t help but notice you seem unwell.”
Dirty
,
unkempt
and
disheveled
were more accurate words. “I know you’ve been through an awful time.”

“I hope you never know the kind of pain I’m in, Lieutenant,” she said softly. “I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

“Have you spoken to a doctor?”

She shook her head. “That would take more energy than I can seem to muster these days. I’m not sleeping. I can’t eat. It’s just...” And then tears were spilling down her cheeks. “That my son could’ve killed his brother and all those other kids. It haunts me, you know?”

Sam couldn’t begin to imagine how it must feel to have given birth to a man who was capable of what Billy Springer had done. “I have a good friend who’s a doctor. Would you like me to call him and ask him if he’d stop by to see you?”

“I...I, yes, that would be very kind of you. Thank you.” She paused before she added, “Bill hated you—and your husband.”

“Oh. Well...”

“It was only because he wanted someone to blame for what Billy did. But he—and Billy—were the ones to blame. He knew all along it was going to lead back to Billy. I asked him. That first night after we got that horrible call, I asked him if it was Billy, and he told me to shut up, that he’d kill me if I ever said that to anyone.” She wiped away more tears. “He knew it was Billy.”

Sam thought about the confrontation Springer had with Chief Farnsworth, when Sam had stopped him from punching the chief in the face. He’d been so angry about the homicide investigation leading to his son.

“Do you know how Bill and Billy found out that the homicide investigation was closing in on them?”

“They were here, both of them. Billy got a phone call and started screaming at the person on the other end. He ran out of here, and the next time I saw him was at the morgue.”

“You don’t know who called him?”

She shook her head.

“About what time was it when he received that call?”

“Around eight.”

“I really appreciate your help, and I’m sorry again for your losses.”

“Thank you for that and all you did to get justice for Hugo and the others.”

“I’ll have my friend Dr. Harry Flynn stop by to see you.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“The media is going to descend again once the word gets out about Bill. If there’s somewhere else you can go, this might be a good time to get out of town.”

“I’ll go to the house in Aspen. Tomorrow.”

“Could you please write down your phone number in case I need to reach you again?”

She took the notebook from Sam as Edna appeared in the doorway looking nervous and undone.

“Edna?” Marissa asked. “What is it?”

“They call from Mr. Bill’s office building. They say he’s dead.”

“Yes, he is. That’s what Lieutenant Holland has come to tell me.”

“It’s too much,” Edna said, shaking her head in dismay. “It’s all too much.”

“Can you tell me where Mrs. Springer was last night from around ten o’clock until this morning?”

“She was here. We got food from the China Express and we watched one of those silly TV movies. What was it called?”

“
Her Secret Stalker
,” Marissa replied.

“Yes, that’s it.”

“And neither of you left all evening?”

“No,” Edna said. “We stay home.”

Marissa sent her housekeeper a warm smile. “Edna has been my savior through all of this. I couldn’t have managed without her.”

“Thank you for your time, Marissa. I can see myself out.”

Chapter Eighteen

Sam was on the phone before she reached her car. “The wife was having him followed,” Sam told Farnsworth when she got him on the line. “I’m going to track down the investigator now.”

“Wow, that could be a big break.”

“I know. I nearly jumped out of my skin when she told me. So get this—she also said Bill Springer was well aware of his son’s illegal activities and was complicit in many of them.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Marissa said something else about the night before Billy was killed. He and Bill were at the house on MacArthur and Billy got a phone call right around eight. He apparently went ballistic and ran out of there. The next time she saw him was in the morgue. I think that was the call where he found out we were closing in on him for murder.”

“We’ve gone through all his phone records.”

“We should go through them again. We’re missing something, and now we’re able to isolate when Billy Springer received the tip.”

“I’ll pass that on to McDonald.”

“I’m having a thought.”

“Are you planning to share it?”

“Stahl.”

“Sam, come on. I know you’ve had a beef with the guy—”

“Is that what you’d call him coming to my house and trying to kill me? A beef? It’s been much more than that. Think about how many leaks we’ve had in the last year since you replaced him with me in Homicide. Think about how many times he’s tried to haul me before the rat squad only to have you intervene. Remember the phone call to the media we caught him making from HQ during the Vasquez case?”

“I remember all of it. So what’s your point?”

“He’s going down on the assault charges. There’s almost no chance that he won’t do some time with Secret Service agents as witnesses to what happened at my house and members of the department planning to testify to the hard-on he’s had for me since I took over his command.”

“Gross choice of words, but okay, so?”

“Believe me, everything about him is gross to me too. Anyway, Malone and I went to his house last night. No sign of him.”

“I’ll ask Patrol to look for him.”

“Keep this between us for now. It’s only a hunch.”

“It’s a hunch worth looking into.”

“Can you send me to the pit?”

“Hang on a second.” The phone clicked onto Hold and that awful music. She needed to talk to him about that. “McBride.”

“Hey, it’s Holland.”

“Morning, Lieutenant. Saw you on the news. You were awesome.”

“Thanks. That Monica what’s her name is a bimbo.”

“You made her your bitch.”

Sam laughed. “So listen, I need some info on a private investigator named James Donlon.”

“Let me see what I can find.”

Sam stayed parked outside the Springer home on MacArthur while Jeannie clicked away on the computer.

“He has an office on Rhode Island Avenue. I’ll text you the details.”

“Thanks. Tell Arnold I need the info from Lori’s text messages and the rest of the data dumped from her phone ASAP.”

“Got it, will do.”

“So, tomorrow...”

“Yes, tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there at some point.”

“You’ve got other stuff to do.”

“I want to be there to support you.”

“I appreciate that, but Michael and my mother will be with me, so do what you need to until you have to testify.”

“I’ll be there. Anything new to report?”

“Tyrone and I are going to talk to the people at Lori’s church this morning. I’ll let you know what we find out.”

“I’ll be in after a while, and I hear Gonzo’s coming back today because he can’t bear to sit on the sidelines for another minute.”

“Did he get medically cleared?”

“Nope, but a little detail like that isn’t going to stop him.”

“I can’t say I blame him. If I were being accused of the things people are saying about him, I’d want to do something too.”

“Same. Just don’t let on I said that. I can’t act like I approve of him coming back without the okay.”

“My lips are sealed. I’ll call you after we leave the church.”

“Sounds good.” She hung up with Jeannie and placed a call to Harry while she drove to Rhode Island Avenue.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mrs. C?” Harry asked.

“I need a favor.”

“Anything for you.”

Sam told him about Marissa Springer and asked if he’d be willing to stop by to see her.

“I can get there tonight.”

“I’m not sure what she needs, but she looks like hell. I don’t think she’s been sleeping since everything happened with her sons. And today, her husband was found dead, not that she’ll be shedding any tears over that. Apparently they were estranged.”

“Bill Springer is dead?”

“Yep, but that’s not for public consumption yet.”

“I won’t say anything. Damn. What happened to him?”

“I can’t say.”

“I understand. I’ll take care of her. Will I see you at the White House thing later?”

“I hope so.”

“Can you believe your husband went to work at the
White House
this morning?”

“He did? I somehow managed to block that out.”

His guffaw echoed through the phone. “You’re too funny, Sam. See you later.”

“Thanks again, Harry.”

“Anytime.”

The office of James Donlon, private investigator, was located in a run-down strip mall. On one side of the office was a pizza and sub shop, on the other a massage “studio.” The word made her laugh as she imagined what kind of massages went on in a storefront that had curtains pulled tight over the windows. On any other day, she’d want to take a closer look. Today, she didn’t have time.

She walked into Donlon’s office like she owned the place and came face-to-face with one of her favorite things—a receptionist.

“Help you?” the woman asked.

“I’d like to speak with Mr. Donlon.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

Sam placed her badge on the counter above the receptionist’s desk. “I don’t need an appointment.”

“One moment please.” She got up and walked to the back of the space and into a room with a door that closed behind her.

Sam tapped her fingers on the counter. She was giving him one minute to show his face before she went back there. Dropping her hand to her side, she checked her service weapon, which was exactly where it was supposed to be. Maybe she shouldn’t have come here alone.

The receptionist came out just as Sam’s deadline was about to kick in. “Right this way,” she said.

Sam walked to the back of the narrow office and into James Donlon’s paneled office. It looked a lot like Jim Rockford’s office in
The Rockford Files
. In other words, right out of the seventies. Donlon himself, however, was right out of the nineties. He was about thirty, with shaggy blond hair that needed to be cut and several days’ worth of stubble on his jaw.

“I know who you are,” he said, his brown eyes big with recognition and perhaps a bit of hero worship.

“Thanks,” Sam said to the receptionist, dismissing her. Thankfully, the young woman got the hint and left the room. “Talk to me about Bill Springer.”

Donlon’s expression changed immediately, indicating he had zero poker face. “His wife hired me to keep an eye on him.”

“So I’ve heard, and I’m sure you’re well aware of why I’m here.”

“I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re asking. I would’ve had no good reason to kill him. His wife has been keeping me flush for years now.”

“What do you know about who did kill him?”

“I didn’t actually see it happen. I was outside in my car, keeping an eye on the building. I couldn’t get much closer to him without blowing my cover.”

“Did you see anyone go into the building after nine p.m. last night?”

“This is where it gets messy.”

“How so?”

“I fell asleep. I didn’t see anything after eight thirty. I woke up at twelve thirty, saw that Springer’s car was still in the lot and went home. I heard about what happened after his wife called me to tell me he was dead. I feel awful that I didn’t see anything that can help.”

Sam felt awful too as a promising lead fizzled in the face of his incompetence.

“I had an all-night stakeout for another client the night before, so I was beat.”

“Can you tell me if you’ve seen anyone around Springer in the last few weeks who might’ve been suspicious or if you witnessed any arguments he had with anyone?”

“Only with his wife. She hates his guts. I mean, seriously, I might never get married after watching those two in action.”

“How do you mean?”

“She blames him for what happened to Hugo and Billy. She says her babies are dead because of
him
, even though he wasn’t the one who did the killing. He may as well have, she would say. You ever see that movie about the chick who boiled the guy’s bunny?”

“
Fatal Attraction
?”

“Yeah, that’s it. She reminds me of that chick. Scary mean.”

“Did you ever see her strike her husband or try to harm him in any way?”

“No, nothing like that. She did her best work with her words. I have surveillance equipment in his office, and the stuff I witnessed—”

“Wait, you have surveillance equipment in his office?”

“Yeah, why?”

“That’s where he was killed. Can you call up the video from last night?”

“I was just about to do that when you came in. I only got the call from Mrs. S about ten minutes ago.”

Sam wanted to tell him to shut up and start clicking, but she didn’t want to piss him off when he had access to information she needed. Without being invited, she got up and went around his desk to watch over his shoulder.

“So why don’t you have Secret Service?”

“Because I don’t need them.”

“It’s not required?”

“Only for the president, vice president, president-elect and VP-elect. Everyone else can decline it.” She’d answered that question no more than five hundred times since Nick became the vice president.

“That’s cool. So you got to keep your job.”

“Yep.”

“Huh, well that’s odd.”

“What’s odd?” Sam asked with a sinking feeling in her belly.

He did some more furious clicking of images on his screen that showed the hallway and reception area. And then the screen went gray. “What the fuck?” More furious clicking and more blank screens. “Someone fucked with my cameras.”

Sam should’ve known it was too good to be true. “Who else knew they were there?”

“Besides me? Only Mrs. S.”

“You’ve been very helpful. Thank you.”

“What the hell could’ve happened to my cameras?”

“I’ll leave you to figure that out.” Sam walked out of his office and strolled past the receptionist, nodding to the woman.

“Excuse me. Mrs. Cappuano?”

Sam gritted her teeth, bit back the nasty retort and had to remind herself that she was, in fact, Mrs. Cappuano, even if she’d prefer to be Lieutenant Holland on the job. “Yes?”

“Do you think I could have your autograph? My friends are never going to believe I met you.”

The only thing that could’ve made this better was if Freddie had been there to laugh about it with her afterward. “Um.” In that moment she thought of Nick and how much he did to support her career. Would it kill her to do something to support his? It might. It truly might. “Sure. What’s your name?”

“Destiny.”

“Of course it is.” Sam took the piece of paper and pen that Destiny provided and wrote, “To Destiny, it was nice to meet you. Samantha Cappuano.” She handed it over to Destiny, who’d withdrawn her phone from her purse. Sam drew the line at selfies. “Take it easy.” She was out the door before the request could be made. On the way to her car, she took a call from Marissa Springer.

“I was wondering if you might stop by again. I thought of a few more things that might be useful to the investigation.”

Since she had a few more questions for Marissa after interviewing Donlon, Sam said, “Sure, I’ll come by in a few.”

“Thank you so much.”

She got into her car and called Harry, grimacing when his voice mail picked up. “Hey, it’s Sam again. If you get this message, never mind about Marissa Springer. I’ve changed my mind about her deserving Dr. Flynn’s brand of TLC. See you at the White House.”

At a red light, she took advantage of the opportunity to reply to a text with a photo from Nick.
It’s surreal that this is my office now. How’s the day going? Will you be able to make the reception?

Before him, before
them
, she never would’ve left an investigation as hot as this one was getting to attend a party. But how many times would he start a new job in the White freaking House? She was going to that reception.

I’ll be there with bells on, she wrote. Will they let me in?

He wrote right back. They’d better. You’re the second lady!

Do they know that? Haha!

Come with Scotty and his detail. That will make everything easier. The SS showed me to my office today. I wouldn’t have had a clue where it was without them.

Got a few things to do before I head home. Will see you at the WH. Love you, Mr. VP.

Love you too, babe. Hope you’re being careful out there.

I’m always careful.

The light turned and she hit the gas, anxious to tie up some loose ends so she could get to the party. This would be her first official duty as second lady. Hopefully she wouldn’t fuck it up in some massive way that would give the White House press corps something to talk about forever.

She never had changed out of the suit she’d worn for the TV appearance. Hopefully, that would be good enough for the White freaking House too. Sam drove back the way she’d come and turned on to MacArthur Boulevard a few minutes later. After she turned off the car, she glanced at her phone to see if Nick had texted again. There was nothing from him, but there was one from Gonzo.

I’m back in town. What can I do LT?

I’ve got one quick thing to do and then I’ll be back at the house. Will see you then.

Sounds good.

Sam tossed her phone into the passenger seat, got out of the car and headed up the sidewalk to Marissa Springer’s home. After she asked Marissa if she had monitored the cameras in her husband’s office the night before and heard whatever it was Marissa needed to tell her, she’d be on her way to HQ to reconnect with her team before she had to leave for the party.