“You were protecting your wife.”
“She’s the only one who’s ever truly had my back, you know? How could I let that monster do what he said he’d do to her? And he would’ve done it. I have no doubt about that. I’ve known that son of a bitch for a lot of years. I know what he’s capable of.”
“I get it. We all get it.”
“You think Vanessa Marchand’s daddy gets it?” The six-year-old had been gunned down while leaving a playground near her home.
“Mr. Marchand knows who was behind his daughter’s killing, and he blames Curtis.” Joe cleared his throat, determined to stick to the agenda for this visit. “Could I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Conky.” He nearly choked on Conklin’s familiar nickname but was determined to keep things light with Wallack.
“What about him?”
“You know Leslie reported your disappearance to him and he sat on it for two weeks, right?”
“Yeah, I heard that. He said he was worried I was on a bender and wanted to find me himself. I don’t blame him for keeping it on the down low. He was looking out for me. He knows better than anyone how bad it got when I was drinking. Without him as my sponsor and protector, I would’ve lost my job and my pension back in the day.”
“I need to ask you something, and I need to ask you cop to cop, not as Conklin’s friend. I also need you to keep the fact that we had this conversation between us. Can you do that?”
“Whatever I can do for you is the least of what I owe you all.”
“It’s extremely important that you not share what I’m about to tell you with Conklin. I need your word as a man and as a cop.”
“You have it.”
Joe hoped he was doing the right thing by confiding in one of Conklin’s closest friends, but he was counting on Wallack’s need for redemption to guide his actions. “We have reason to believe that Conklin knows more about what happened to Skip Holland than he’s disclosed thus far.”
Wallack’s expression registered genuine shock.
Joe told him about the witness who’d given Conklin a statement the day of the shooting and then checked in with him every year on the anniversary. “He didn’t tell any of us about this guy Davis or the annual calls.”
“Wh-why would he do that?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. I wondered if you might have any insight as one of his close friends.”
“I can’t begin to imagine what he was thinking.”
“Did he ever talk to you about Skip’s shooting?”
“Only about the horror of it. We all talked about that after it happened. He was no less affected than everyone else who knew Skip or considered him a friend. Of course, he was the top captain in line to take Skip’s place as deputy chief when he was medically retired. I don’t remember him mentioning anything about that, but it was a long time ago.”
“Sometimes it feels like yesterday. Other times, I have trouble remembering him before the shooting.”
“I’m really sorry for the loss. I know you two were tight.”
“We were like brothers.”
“I can’t believe Conky would do anything intentional to impede an investigation that affected his close friend.”
“Neither can I, and yet, the evidence suggests he did just that.”
“Have you talked to him?”
Joe nodded. “He says he wasn’t at the scene that day and has never met Davis. We’ll be talking to the people who were there to see if they recall seeing him.”
“And if they do?”
Joe let his grimace speak for itself. “If you think of anything that might be relevant, call me. Even if you think it’s something small or trivial. Call me.”
“I will. Of course I will. But I don’t think he’d be capable...”
“We’d all like to think that of our friends and colleagues, but we’ve both seen enough to know better.”
“True.”
“Again, this conversation is confidential.”
“I promise it won’t go any further.”
“I appreciate your discretion.”
Wallack responded with a harsh laugh. “I appreciate yours. What I did... I put a stain on the department that I’ll be ashamed of for the rest of my life.”
“No one else sees it that way.”
Wallack raised a brow. “No one?”
“No one who matters.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
AFTER HAVING BREAKFAST with the kids, Sam headed out for work. The story about the Secret Service providing protection to Aubrey and Alden was the lead in the Star and the Post, but Nick had told her not to worry about it. His office would handle it. Because she had more than enough of her own stuff to worry about, she planned to push it out of her mind and let him deal with it.
She’d woken to a text from Lilia, her chief of staff at the White House, who was dating their close friend, Dr. Harry Flynn. I know you have so much going on and it might be too soon after losing your dad. However, Harry and I would like to invite you and the vice president to a dinner party at my home on Saturday night. It will be a small group of close friends, including Andy and Elsa Simone, Derek Kavanaugh, Terry O’Connor and Lindsey McNamara. If it’s too soon to socialize, we totally understand, but we wanted to invite you anyway.
Sam had responded, Thank you for the kind invite. Right at this moment, we’d love to join you, but I reserve the right to renege later if I’m not feeling up to it. Is that okay? Let me know what time and what to bring. It would be good for Nick to have some time with his friends, which he had so little of now that he was vice president and everything had to be planned so far in advance.
Absolutely fine and just yourselves. Seven o’clock. Would it be okay to invite Shelby and Avery? She’s become a friend since I met you. Lilia had also provided her address in the Adams Morgan neighborhood.
Of course, Sam had replied, looking forward to an evening with friends and to trying to get things back to normal, whatever that was now.
Excellent. I’ll take care of coordinating with the vice president’s detail.
Thank you. A casual night out with friends was anything but when you were the vice president. Sam was thankful to Lilia for handling that detail for them. Sam texted Nick to fill him in on the plans for Saturday night.
That sounds like fun, he replied. A date with my best girl and some time with my best friends. Sign me up.
Already did! Sam replied, including heart and kiss emoji.
Thanks to rush-hour traffic, she had plenty of time to think about her next move in her father’s case. Celia, Tracy and Angela had promised to keep looking for the messenger bag at the house, and Sam tried to think about where else it might be at HQ. Lost and found, maybe? How long would they keep things that went unclaimed? Was it someone’s job to discard unclaimed items after a certain amount of time had passed? If so, how did she apply for that job? She’d vastly prefer it to hers lately.
Between the drive-by shootings, the home invasion that had left Alden and Aubrey’s parents dead, her father’s death and the shooting of Agent Connolly, she’d had about enough of death. Most of the time, she rolled from one case to another without letting the details overwhelm her. But these last few cases had been rougher than usual. Toss her father’s death in on top of everything else, and a lot became too much.
Lost and found.
Her brain jumped around from one thing to another and landed back where it started. After being shot, her dad had been transported to the George Washington University Hospital. How long would they keep something in their lost and found? Had the bag still been slung across his chest when he was shot? Probably not, but it was worth checking. Turning the car toward 23rd Street, she flipped open her phone and put through a call to Freddie, all while zigzagging through traffic. At times like this, it was a good thing she was a cop who didn’t have to worry about traffic violations while on the job. Otherwise, she’d probably be in jail.
“Morning.” His morning perkiness usually got on her nerves, but today she was glad one of them was feeling perky.
“I’m heading to GW to check their lost and found for the messenger bag.”
“Oh, good thought. Want me to meet you?”
“That’d be good. Let Malone know where we are and hit me up when you get there.”
“Will do. I’m on my way.”
When she arrived at the hospital, she parked in the emergency department lot and ran inside, hoping to find Dr. Anderson. They’d had far too many encounters that involved him coming at her with needles, but he’d been useful to her in the past and she hoped he would be again. At the desk, she asked for him while ignoring the people in the waiting room whispering about her.
She wished she could whirl around and tell them to mind their own goddamned business, but she couldn’t do that to Nick, who would have to explain why his wife had been a bitch to his adoring public.
The nurse working the desk placed a call to request that Anderson come out to the desk.
Ten long minutes later, he came through the swinging double doors, seeming surprised to see her. Youthful and blond, he had warm brown eyes that lit up with amusement at the sight of the people in the waiting room gawking at her. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a nonbloody visit?”
He was funny. She’d give him that, even if his humor was often at her expense. “I need a favor.”
“Come on back.”
Sam followed him to a small office tucked between patient cubicles. “Is this where the magic happens?”
“Nah, this is where I hide when I need to take ten.”
“I know that feeling.”
“Did you catch the Connolly case yesterday?”
“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “I had the special joy of notifying his wife of three months.”
Anderson winced. “So fucking tragic.”
“Incredibly.”