32

“Darling, how are you?” Sylvia answered on the second ring.

Adam let out his breath. And realized he’d been holding it. “I’m glad I caught you at home… I wasn’t sure if I should try your cell.” He swung his feet up onto his hotel bed, leaning back against the headrest.

“Of course I’m here, where else would I be?”

Adam tried not to think of an answer to that. “I tried to reach you last night, but you weren’t answering. Were you working?”

“What’s wrong, Adam? You sound tired.” Sylvia’s voice rose a notch as she spoke. “Did something happen?”

“I’m fine. I am… well, I got shot last night.”

“What—”

Adam cut her off. “I’m fine. I didn’t even spend the night in the hospital. The bullet grazed my arm. It bled a lot, but no permanent damage. I tried to reach you…” He shifted against his pillows, then inhaled sharply as pain shot through his arm and up into his shoulder. He grimaced as he glanced at his sling, tossed on a chair in the far corner.

“Don’t worry about me,” Sylvia scolded him, “tell me about you. You sound like you’re in pain. What happened? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“We brought one of the suspects in last night. He’s involved in the drug trade. We think there might be a connection between him and someone on the ambassador’s staff.” Adam heard Sylvia’s gasp. At the connection with the ambassador, no doubt, not that they caught a drug dealer. “We’re not sure.”

“How did you get shot?”

Adam started to shrug, then caught himself in time. “He didn’t want to come in for questioning. We did it the hard way.”

“My love, I can’t believe you were shot…” Sylvia’s voice trailed away, and he could picture her, standing in their apartment. Tears running down her face. Well, he was imagining the tears part. He’d never actually seen her cry.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“And you caught the killer?”

“The drug dealer. The guy who shot me. Yeah. Not sure yet if he killed Jay.”

Sylvia took a deep breath. “This is good news then.”

“I guess…” Adam shivered as he accidentally moved his arm. “If you can call this good.”

“It means you were successful in your assignment. You can come home. And you’re a hero.” Sylvia spoke with finality.

A sharp rap on the door prevented him from asking if he’d’ve been welcome back home if they hadn’t caught the guy.

“Room service,” a voice called out from the hallway.

“Go, eat, take care of yourself.” Sylvia’s voice held nothing but concern. Adam wished he could see her face. “Get better and come home, darling.”

“I will, I just… I was going to tell you… something happened to Julia.”

“Is she all right?”

“She is now, yes.”

“Call me later then, after you’ve rested more. Go now. Please.”

Adam hung up, telling himself that her concern was for his health, nothing more. As he opened the door for the food delivery, he realized she never told him where she was the night before.

Settling back on his bed with the tray of food balanced next to him, Adam turned back to his phone. Julia took a little longer to answer.

Expecting her voicemail, he was surprised to hear her answer. She sounded out of breath. “Adam? Hi, how are you?”

“I’m fine. I wanted to check in with you, see how things are going. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I spent the night with a friend, so I wasn’t home alone. Look, I’m in the middle of something. Can I call you back?” Julia’s voice was rushed, low.

“Of course, sure. You’ll let me know if you hear anything more from Pete about the break-in, right?”

“Right… um… look, I really gotta go. I’ll text you later.” Julia disconnected.

Adam lay back on his bed and stared at the now familiar piece of non-art hanging on the wall across from his bed. He wondered which friend Julia had spent the night with. Hopefully not that Danny. Adam didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. At least if this case was over, it meant he could get back to Philly. To take care of Julia like he should be doing. And to pay Sylvia the attention she deserved.

He picked up a piece of cold toast, sniffed it, and dropped it back onto his plate. He tried a sip of orange juice. A gulp of coffee.

He picked up the toast again.

Finally he picked up his phone again.

“Pete, partner, good to hear a friendly voice.” Adam took a bite of the toast.

“Hey, buddy. How’s it going?”

“Not great, man. I got shot last night.”

“What? What are you saying? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Adam laughed. “I’m bored. I’m sitting in my hotel room while the feds question the perp we brought in.”

He could hear water running in the background before Pete responded, “Is he looking good for the shooting? Of the aide, I mean… not you.”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Adam grunted as he moved his arm to grab more coffee. “I don’t know. The FBI seem to think so. A connection between the ambassador’s staff and the cocaine trade with Cote D’Ivoire.”

“International narcotics ring, eh? You sure did hit the big time on this one.”

“Yeah, whatever. I want to get off my butt and back into the investigation so I can wrap this up and come home. Listen, man, tell me what’s up with Julia’s case. Where are you on that?”

“Good, good.”

The water on Pete’s end stopped running, and Adam thought he heard a woman’s voice. “Am I catching you in the middle of something, partner? Do you want to talk later?”

“No, it’s fine. It’s good. And the case is moving, too. That lead Smiley gave us?”

“Sure, I remember, you said he tagged someone else for the break-in?”

“He sure did. And it panned out. We got him in lock-up now, holding him for twenty-four.”

Adam nodded, grateful that Pete had acted so quickly on the case. “Does it look good?”

“I think so.” Adam could hear the shrug in Pete’s voice. “He had means, motive, and opportunity. He’s known to work in that neighborhood. He’s got a record of petty theft and selling stolen goods.” Pete paused, then added. “He’s a real bastard, Adam. Julia was lucky.”

Adam closed his eyes, refusing to let the anger and guilt back in. “So you got him?”

“Yeah, he even left prints at the scene. Like he didn’t care if he got caught. He’ll talk, I’m sure of it. And if he’s smart, he’ll name his fence and Julia can get her stuff back.”

“That’s great, man, really. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. So now that you’ve got your perp and you’re the big hero, getting shot in the line of duty, when’re you coming home? Today?” Adam thought he heard a woman’s voice again, but Pete said nothing more.

“I don’t know, partner. I might try to hang around here a little longer.” He moved again, this time not surprised by the pain. “I’m not sure.”

“Not sure when you’re coming home?”

“Not sure we caught the right guy.”

Marshall slammed the newspaper down so hard, other visitors turned to look.

“Mr. Marshall,” Sam greeted him as he pushed the folded paper away from him on the concrete bench. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me.”

“Agreeing? Hah.” Marshall spun around and planted himself on the edge of the bench, the newspaper between him and Sam. “Believe me, I wanted to talk to you too, Agent Burke. Have you seen today’s papers?” He glared at Sam and leaned toward him, his hand resting on the very paper in question. “Looked at some of the blogs?”

“I’m sorry sir, I haven’t.” Sam let his eyes stray to the folded paper for a fraction of a second, otherwise keeping his eyes on Marshall.

“Hmm,” Marshall grunted. “Of course not. That’s what you all do, isn’t it? You screw things up royally, then pretend you don’t notice.”

Sam looked around at the hall in which they sat. The entrance gallery of the Library of Congress. It had seemed a reasonable enough place to ask Marshall to meet him, but now Sam was regretting how public it was.

After his initial outburst, Marshall kept his voice low. More of a growl than a whisper. Perhaps the curious visitors who had turned their way earlier would move along. As long as Marshall didn’t do anything else to attract attention.

“What’s going on, Mr. Marshall? What’s wrong?”

“The damn rags are already reporting a connection between Lisa and Towne. Look at this nonsense.” Marshall gestured again to the newspaper that still lay between them. “Senator’s colleague implicated in murder. Friend of Senator Marshall attacked and arrested.” His voice mimicked the headlines, mocking them. He stared at Sam. “She’s all over the news, in print and online. That’s why she wanted me to talk to you now. Can’t you see why we’re concerned? After what she went through after Debbie’s death…” Marshall shook his head and his voice trailed away.

“I heard about your daughter, sir. I’m truly sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Marshall waved Sam’s concern away with his left hand. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over. Lisa got through that just fine. But this—” He jabbed his finger into the newsprint, his voice rising once more. “This is now. We can’t let it happen again. If I could get my hands on the assholes who hide behind their pansy anonymity on those blogs…”

“The best way for us to stop it is to find the truth. You know that as well as I do, sir.”

“Hmm,” Marshall grunted again. A regular part of his vocabulary, apparently. “Someone needs to find the truth.” He raised an eyebrow at Sam. “I have my doubts that it’ll be you.”

Sam bowed his head to acknowledge the truth. “I’m not working on this alone—”

“Right,” Marshall cut him off. “Kaminski. The detective from Philly.”

“And the FBI, sir, and Diplomatic Security.” Sam furrowed his brow. “We’re all working together. Anything you can tell me, anything at all you haven’t thought of, could really help. You never know what’s going to tip the scales.”

Marshall frowned as he nodded, looking around at the grand marble staircase that opened up below them, the tall stained glass windows that cut the light into this national library. “What are you looking for?”

“Well…” Sam considered his words carefully. “For starters, I wanted to talk with you about Jason McFellan. How much do you know about him?”

“McFellan? That jackass?” Marshall laughed. “He’s greedy as all hell, no doubt. I don’t think he has any secrets. He’s completely aboveboard in his willingness to break the law for a buck.” Marshall laughed again, sliding back on the bench.

“Was McFellan really alone in the morning room after you headed out?” Marshall frowned and nodded, so Sam continued, “Any chance he could have stepped out of the room? Maybe run upstairs? After you were outside, I mean?”

“McFellan?” Marshall raised his eyebrows and squinted at Sam. “Are you out of your mind? You think McFellan fired that shot? Why?”

Sam shrugged. “You never know what’s going to drive someone to murder, sir. I know your wife has agreed to work for him. Maybe he decided he didn’t want her on his team after all, but there was no legal way to get out of it.”

Marshall scowled and slid forward on the seat. “And why the hell wouldn’t he want Lisa on his staff? Hmm?”

“I don’t know.” Sam put up his hands. “I’m just speculating.”

“Well, speculate less, Agent Burke. Could McFellan have run upstairs? Yeah, I suppose so. I left the room, then…” Marshall seemed to be concentrating. Counting. He frowned, then said. “Yeah, maybe five seconds later, the shot was fired.” He looked at Sam. “McFellan didn’t do this.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Sam looked at the man sitting next to him. His elegant suit. The tip of a silk handkerchief sticking out just so from his front pocket. Everything about him shouted money. And power. He was the husband of a sitting U.S. senator, after all. What else was he?

“How’s your wife holding up under all of this?”

“How do you think?” Marshall shook his head as he spoke, his hands clenched by his side. “She’s upset. Another family losing a child. She’s getting raked across the coals in the press.” Marshall grabbed the newspaper and looked as if he were about to throw it across the room.

Sam put his hand out to take the paper and Marshall jumped as if Sam’s touch burned him.

“Keep your distance, Agent Burke. From me. From my wife.”

“I’d like to know about her.”

“Yeah? Then Google her. There’s lots of juicy stuff.”

Sam let a lopsided grin crease his face.

“Oh, so you’ve already done that,” Marshall acknowledged, then looked away. “Well, don’t trust everything you read on the Internet, Agent. Believe me.”

“I have no doubt, sir. So what should I believe?”

Marshall looked at him. “Believe that when Debbie died, it nearly killed Lisa. Debbie had been sick—” Marshall turned away again, and Sam figured it was to hide the tears that were forming in his eyes. “Debbie had been sick for a while. Damn doctors didn’t have a clue what was going on.” He turned to smile at Sam. “No better than your lot.”

“How did she die?”

“How? Who knows?” Marshall looked down at his hands, now folded neatly in his lap. “It was an accident, they said. She was accident prone. That didn’t explain why she got hurt so much. Other kids, they fall…” Marshall paused for a moment. Swallowed. “Other kids fall off the swing set, they get right back up. Debbie would have a broken leg.”

“She had some kind of disease?”

Marshall nodded, still looking down. “That’s what the doctors said. They didn’t know what. They couldn’t figure it out. She kept getting hurt. And it got worse.” He breathed in hard through his nose and held his breath, then let it out in a long exhale through his mouth. “And then it killed her.”

Sam looked at the grieving father before him. No way he was faking that kind of grief. That deep, abiding sorrow that only a parent who had lost a child could know. He looked away.

Marshall took a few minutes to compose himself. When he looked back at Sam, all the anger had faded from his face. He was pale. Exhausted.

“What can I do to help, Agent? I want this case closed. I want this nightmare to end.”

Sam watched him as he asked his next question. “Why were you at the hospital yesterday? To see Towne?”

Sam saw the surprise register on Marshall’s face. “How did you know? Never mind.” He shook his head and held a hand up to stop Sam from answering. “It doesn’t matter. I was there because of this.” He poked at the newspaper. “Because Lisa knew this was coming. She asked me to go.”

“What did you hope to accomplish? Didn’t your presence there lend more fuel to this fire, make it even more likely her name would be linked to this?”

“Hmm.” Sam was getting familiar with Marshall’s grunts, and this one seemed less definitive. More questioning. “I don’t know.” Marshall sounded defeated. “Lisa wanted me to talk to Towne. Find out what had really happened.” He looked up at Sam. “If that Philly friend of yours really had beat him up for no good reason.”

“There was a reason, Mr. Marshall. Towne tried to kill himself. Do you know why he would do that?”

“Do I?” Marshall stood. “He didn’t say anything about that to me, that bastard. Just said he was concerned about Lisa, warned me to stay away from the Philly cop. Said he was out of control.” Marshall started pacing in front of Sam. “Tried to kill himself? That bastard. It all fits.”

“What fits, sir?” Sam stood eye to eye with Marshall. “What do you know?”

“I know he’s pissed, Agent Burke. I know he’s pissed at Lisa. And isn’t guilt one hell of a good reason for suicide?”