Fatal Series 01 - Fatal Affair

market for some personal training of a different sort.
    In the meantime, he needed to go into that house and ask Patricia Donaldson if her son was John O’Connor’s son, if she’d continued a sexual relationship with the senator and if so, what kind of sex she’d had with him. The thought of asking those questions of a woman he’d never met made him sick.
    Even if he sat there all night, he’d never be fully prepared. And since Sam was waiting for him to get this information and get it back to her, Freddie emerged from the rental car and headed up the flagstone walkway. With one last deep breath to settle his nerves, he rang the bell. Chimes echoed through the house. He waited a full minute before a fragile-looking blonde opened the door. Her blue eyes were rimmed with red, her pretty face ravaged with exhaustion. If this woman hadn’t recently lost someone she loved, Freddie would turn in his badge.
    “Patricia Donaldson?”
    “Yes?”
    “I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am. I’m Detective Freddie Cruz, Metro Police, Washington, D.C.” He showed her his badge.
    She took the badge from him, examined it and handed it back to him. “This is about John.”
    “Yes, ma’am. I wondered if I might have a few minutes of your time?”
    With a weary gesture, she stepped aside to let him in.
    Freddie followed her to a comfortable family room, noting the photos of the handsome blond boy scattered throughout the house. The place appeared to have been professionally decorated, but had retained a warm, cozy atmosphere.
    When he was seated across from her, Freddie said, “You were acquainted with Senator John O’Connor?”
    “We’ve been friends for many years,” she said softly.
    “I’m sorry for your loss.”
    Her raw eyes filled with tears. “Thank you.” She brushed at the dampness on her cheeks.
    “You were just friends?”
    “Yes,” she said without hesitation.
    Freddie reached for a framed photo on an end table. “Your son?”
    “Yes.”
    “Handsome boy.”
    “Thank you.”
    “I can’t help but notice his striking resemblance to the senator.”
    She shrugged. “Maybe a little.”
    Freddie returned the photo to the table. “Is your son at home?”
    “He went to do an errand at school. He’s a junior at Loyola.”
    Relieved to know the boy wasn’t in the house, Freddie pressed on. “In the course of our investigation, we’ve uncovered a series of regular monthly payments Senator O’Connor made to you for the last twenty years.” Even though he knew the facts by heart, Freddie consulted his notebook. “Three thousand dollars, paid by check, on the first of every month.”
    Her hand trembled ever so slightly as she reached for the gold locket she wore on a chain around her neck. “So?”
    “Can you tell me why he gave you the money?”
    “It was a gift.”
    “That’s a mighty big gift—thirty-six thousand dollars a year, totaling more than seven hundred thousand over twenty years.”
    “He was a generous man.”
    “Ms. Donaldson, I realize this is a very difficult time for you, but if you were his friend—”
    “I was his best friend,” she cried, her hand curling into a fist over her heart. “He was mine.”
    “If that’s the case, I’m sure you want us to find the person who killed him.”
    “Of course I do. I just don’t see what you need from me.”
    “I need you to confirm that your son Thomas is John O’Connor’s son.”
    “Do you, Detective?” she asked softly. “Do you really need me to confirm it?”
    Her easy capitulation flustered Freddie. He’d expected to have to work for it. “I’d appreciate if you could tell me about your relationship with the senator, from the day you met him through to his death.”
    She paused for a long moment, as if she were making a decision, and then began to talk so softly that Freddie had to strain to hear. “My family moved to Leesburg the summer before eighth grade. I met him on the first day of school. He was nice to me when no one else gave me the time of day, but that was John. It was just like him to make the new girl feel welcome.” Lost in her memories, she seemed to have forgotten Freddie was there.
    He took notes, knowing Sam would expect every detail.
    “We became friends—unlikely friends.”
    “Why unlikely?”
    “His father was a United States senator, a multi-millionaire businessman. Mine worked at the post office. We weren’t exactly from the same universe, but John was the least status-conscious