Fatal Identity

“You’ve got a key?”

“Yeah.”

She nodded toward the alcove next to the elevators, which was just around the corner from the room. “What’s your take?” she asked when they were out of earshot of the room.

“I believe him. He’s legitimately terrified.”

“I agree. I think it’s time to call in the brass on this. I didn’t want to until we were sure we had something, but his fear is enough for me to involve the department. This is way above my pay grade.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that. How do we explain what we’ve done so far?”

“I’ll figure that out on the way to Farnsworth’s house.”

“You’re going to his house?”

“That’s where I’m most likely to find him on a Sunday afternoon, and PS I grew up going to his house, remember?”

“Since I wasn’t actually there, no, I don’t remember.”

“Very funny. I’m suspended, so they have to cut me out of this, but you’ll keep me in the loop, understood?”

“Of course. What do we tell Josh?”

“That I’m going to talk to my chief to figure out how to keep him safe while investigating his claims.”

“He’s gonna freak. He’s been ranting that people are going to find out the truth about Troy Hamilton and how someone’s going to kill him.”

“You think he’s mentally ill?”

“No, I think he’s truly terrified. When the calls from his father started, he did a one-eighty. Before that he was calm, we were chilling, watching TV. After the calls, he was unhinged. I’ve seen nothing that smacks of mental illness, and I’d recognize it if I saw it.” The comment was a reminder that Freddie’s father, who’d recently reentered his life after a twenty-year absence, suffered from bipolar disorder.

“I’ll talk to him and explain the plan. Your job is to keep him calm until I get back.”

“Lucky me.” They rounded the corner and Freddie withdrew the keycard from his pocket to open the door to an empty room. “Aw, shit, he’s gone.”

“Check the bathroom,” Sam said, her heart sinking.

“Gone.”

“Fuck.” She rushed out of the room and ran for the stairwell at the end of the hallway, well aware that he had a decent head start on them. Freddie’s pounding footsteps followed behind her. They went down seven flights and burst into the lobby, startling an older couple.

“You’re the second lady!” the man said.

Ignoring him, Sam said to Freddie, “Take the back.” She ran for the main doors, hoping for a glimpse of Josh before he disappeared, but there was no sign of him. Motherfucker. She jogged to the corner of Fifteenth Street, but he wasn’t there either. Goddamn it.

Freddie came out the front door and ran over to her. “Anything?”

“No.”

Sam powered up her phone and tried to call Josh, but the call went straight to voicemail. She left a message, begging him to call her, to trust her to keep him safe, and then slapped the phone closed.

“So what now?”

“Now I do what I probably should’ve done on Friday,” she said grimly. “I’m going to Farnsworth.”

“What should I do?”

“Grab your stuff and anything of Josh’s out of the room and go home.. I’ll call you after I see the chief.”

“You were trying to help him, Sam. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Maybe so, but if he turns up dead, that’s on me.”

“No, it’s on the person who kills him.”

“Let’s hope we can find him before anything happens.”

“Since I’ve got nothing going on at home until later when Elin gets back, I’m heading to HQ. Hit me up there when you know what the plan is.”

“What do I tell the Rollings family if he turns out to be their son and I can’t find him?”

“We’ll find him.”

As Sam trudged to her car, her stomach aching the way it used to when she was strung out on diet cola, she wished she shared his certainty.

CHAPTER NINE (#ulink_5cf0727a-1873-505f-9294-7de7f00236a9)

JOE AND MARTI FARNSWORTH lived in a modest home in the city’s Kingman Park neighborhood, known for its brick-fronted townhouses and social activism. The chief believed in living among the people he served, and they had resided in the same house for more than thirty years. Sam and her sisters had been frequent guests there, for holidays, barbecues and even an occasional sleepover.

Uncle Joe and Aunt Marti had been like family to the Holland girls, which is why Sam didn’t think twice about going to the chief’s home on a Sunday afternoon. Marti answered the door, her face lighting up with pleasure at the sight of Sam. They’d last seen each other at Nick’s inauguration.

Sam returned Marti’s warm embrace.

“What a lovely surprise! Joe and I were talking about you and Nick last night. We heard he was in the hospital! Is he all right?”

“He’s much better. He and Scotty have been laid low by the flu.”

“Aww, the poor guys.”

“The good news is I finally have definitive proof that Nick is not superhuman.”

Marti laughed as she linked her arm through Sam’s to lead her into the family room where Joe was face-first in the Redskins game. “Earth to honey, we have a visitor.”

Joe tore his gaze off the TV and did a double take when he saw Sam with Marti.

“Sorry to bother you at home, sir.”

“Oh, stop that, Sam,” Marti said. “He’s Uncle Joe here.”