Erica Spindler - Cause for Alarm

"Clark Russell made it personal," Luke murmured. "He crossed the line."

Kate drew her eyebrows together, something suddenly occurring to her. "Wait a minute, you're telling us that all three of these men were at one time or another your mother's lover?"

"Yes."

"And now, two out of the three are dead."

"Yes. John admitted to me that he killed Clark."

Luke sat. "If we can prove Powers killed a United States senator, I think we'd have it."

"Don't we have enough now?" Kate asked, sounding breathless to her own ears. "Couldn't we go to Morris, lay it all out for him and-"

"I don't think so. We don't have anything solid to tie Powers to the murders."

Kate made a sound of disbelief. "Even though all three were at one time Sylvia Starr's lover? Even though two of the three are recently dead and now John Powers is after Sylvia's daughter? What do they want, it delivered wrapped in a gift bow?"

"Yes, actually. That's just what they want. They want us to give them Powers, lock, stock and barrel. Right now, all we've got is speculation and coincidence." He frowned. "But I'm thinking, if we could prove there was a cover-up in the senator's death, maybe, just maybe they would make a move. It's worth a shot.

"We start with the police." He shifted his gaze to Emma, sleeping finally but fitfully, in Kate's arms. "After we get Emma to the doctor."

The homicide division of the Metropolitan Police Department, or M.P.D., was located downtown in the Henry

J. Daly Municipal Center. Besides police headquarters, Luke learned, the Daly building housed several other entities, including the Department of Motor Vehicles and the parole board. Interesting choice, combining paroled convicts and police officers in the same building. He wondered what genius had thought that one up.

Parking downtown D.C. was a nightmare so Luke had taken a cab. He paid the driver, then made his way into the building and past the uniformed guards and metal detector. Homicide was on three, accessible only from the main lobby elevators. Every police department he had ever been in possessed its own distinct character. Some were rough, some sleekly modern, some carnival-like.

But the officers themselves, as a group, varied little, whether small-town cop or big-city law enforcement. A breed unto themselves, tough but never reckless, unified. He supposed it was because they lived differently than regular folks, on an invisible edge. Seeing death changed a man. As did facing it.

If he made it through this, Luke hadn't a doubt that he would be changed, too. He stepped onto the elevator, checking his watch as he did. It was nearly five. Emma's trip to the Ready Med had taken longer than he had anticipated, though it was a good thing they had gone. By the time they'd gotten in to see the doctor, the child had gone from feeling a little warm to downright hot.

And no wonder. Emma had had a temperature of 102.5, brought on by a severe ear infection in both ears. The doctor had prescribed an antibiotic, infant's Tylenol for the fever and discomfort and plenty of rest.

The elevator glided to a stop; the doors slid open and Luke emerged from the car. The homicide division lay straight ahead, through doors that could only be accessed with a key code. He turned right and headed down the hall to the desk lieutenant's office, pausing beside a trash receptacle.

On the way downtown, Luke had had the cabbie make a quick stop at a bookstore. He'd run in and bought a copy of Dead Drop. He took it out of the bag, which he tossed in the trash, then tucked the volume under his arm.

He hoped his so-called celebrity status and a free, autographed book might encourage somebody to talk. The guys at the Houston P.D. had adopted him as one of their own, letting him into their closed circle. They filled him in on cases, their theories, why and how things went down-even when they went wrong. They did so because they knew they could trust him, because he always took care to get his facts straight and give an acknowledgment when warranted.

He didn't fool himself that the M.P.D. officers would be so welcoming.

The desk lieutenant was a woman. Luke sent her what he hoped was a winning smile. "Hi, I'm Luke Dallas. The novelist." Her expression didn't change. "I'm in Washington to research my new book, and I was wondering if I could speak with one of the detectives."

"You'll have to see Detective Peterson in Community Relations. He's on four."

The Community Relations officer was not about to give him the information he needed. Those guys always played it by the book.

Luke tried again. He flashed the woman another smile, though he could tell she wasn't impressed. "I'm only in town for the day, and I was really hoping to talk to someone currently working cases."

"Sorry." She frowned. "Department policy."

He shifted the book under his arm. Her gaze flicked to it, then back up to him. "Who'd you say you are?"

"Luke Dallas. Dead Drop. " He held up the book and recognition lit her features.

"I saw you on the ‘Today Show.' Isn't that Matt Lauer to die for?"

Luke's lips lifted in self-directed amusement. Some claim to fame. "I wouldn't know about to die for, but he's a great guy. A good buddy of mine, actually." When all else fails, lie your ass off. "I could get you an autograph."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. We play tennis together every week."

She thought for a moment, then leaned slightly toward him. "I tell you what, I'll let you talk to Detective Sims. I think he'll be able to help you out."

Five minutes later, Lieutenant Arlene Larson's full name and address in his pocket, Luke sat across from Detective Sims. Luke immediately understood why the lieutenant had chosen this detective to speak with him. He was young, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. A preppy-looking, go-by-the-books kind of guy. Definitely not the kind who would spill department secrets.

"So, you're a writer?" the detective said.

"That's right. Luke Dallas." He handed him the book. "For you, signed."

The kid stared at the book, his jaw going slack. "Holy shit, not the Luke Dallas?"

Luke smiled and relaxed slightly. "The very one."

"I love your books." Sims leaned forward, lowering his voice. "I'm a writer, too. Not published yet, but I will be. Maybe you could take a look at my manuscript?"

First Matt Lauer. Now this.

"I'm only in town for the day," Luke murmured, trying to sound disappointed. "I tell you what, you help me out with this and I'll give you my agent's name and put in a good word for you. Agreed?"

"You got it." The detective looked about ready to bust, he was so pleased with the deal. "Want to hear what my story's about? It's really good. Fast-paced. Lots of action."

"I'd love to, if I had the time. I'll just have to trust that it's great."

The detective looked crestfallen, but nodded. "Okay, so what do you need to know?"

"The scenario I'm currently working on involves the cover-up of the murder of an influential man. An important man."

"Influential? How so?"

"He's a U.S. senator."

The detective nodded. "Go on."

"Our senator is a respectable married man. He has kids.

A pillar of the community, country and church. He also has a mistress."

Sims nodded. "This is good. I like this."

"He's in bed with his mistress. An assassin enters and kills them both. Pop, one shot to the chest and the senator's history."

"Oh, wow. What's the twist? I know your stories, there's always a twist."

Luke's lips lifted. "The assassin's not after him, he's after the mistress. The senator is simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. The wife has family connections that go all the way to the president and the feds-"