Fatal Series 01 - Fatal Affair

his question obviously caused her.
    “Yes,” she said through gritted teeth. “But my son doesn’t know that, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
    “It didn’t bother you? That he was with other women?”
    “Of course it bothered me, but I didn’t expect him to be celibate the other twenty-seven days a month.”
    “Did you discuss the other women in his life?”
    “We did not.”
    “Not even when he was with Natalie for three years?”
    “He had his life, and I had mine,” she snapped. “One weekend a month, we belonged to each other.”
    “Have you ever been married?”
    She laughed. “Where do you think I would’ve stashed my husband on the third weekend of every month when my longtime lover came to visit?”
    “So that’s a no?”
    “I’ve never been married.”
    “When he was here,” Freddie said, trying not to stumble over the words, “you had sexual relations with him?”
    “I don’t see how that’s relevant to the case.”
    “It’s relevant, and I need you to answer the question.”
    “Yes, I had sex with him! As much and as often as I could! Are you satisfied?”
    “Was there anything, um, unusual about the kind of sex you had with him?”
    She stood up. “We’re finished here. I won’t allow you to come into my home and debase the most important relationship in my life.”
    Freddie stayed seated to give her the perceived advantage as he dropped the final bomb. “Did he ever try to get you to have rough sex or anal sex with him?”
    She stared at him, astounded. “I want you to leave. Right now.”
    “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you can answer the question here or I can take you back to Washington so you can answer it there. It’s your call.”
    Her hands on her hips, her eyes shot daggers at him. “John O’Connor was never anything but a perfect gentleman with me. Every woman should have a lover as gentle and sweet. Now if there’s nothing further, I want you to leave my home.”
    “Will you be attending the funeral in Washington?”
    “Since there’s no longer an O’Connor in office, I can’t see any reason for my son and me to hide out anymore. We’re planning to go. John’s attorney called me today to tell me we need to be at the reading of the will the day after the funeral. I’m sure Graham and Laine are thrilled about that.”
    “Have they ever had any contact with Thomas?”
    “Not since the day after he was born.”
    “The media will be all over you.”
    He admired the courageous lift of her chin. “John suffered over the fact that he couldn’t acknowledge his son. The least I can do for him is rectify that now that he’s gone.”
    “I’m sorry again for your loss, Ms. Donaldson, and I’m sorry to have upset you with my questions.”
    She shrugged off his apology. “If it helps the investigation, then I guess it will have been worth it.”
    “You’ve been a big help.”
    At the door, she said, “Detective? Get the person who did this to my John.” Her eyes filled with new tears. “Please.”
    “We’re doing everything we can.”

Chapter 25
    The Watergate lobby was mobbed, but when Nick walked in the mob went silent, parting to allow him passage to the elevator. He recognized some of the faces—his grandmother, his father, Mr. Pacheco from seventh grade science, Lucy Jenkins who’d lived next door and Graham O’Connor. Why was he here? With the vote this afternoon, John wouldn’t have time for one of their regular lunches.
    Nick tried to tell him John was busy, but Graham wouldn’t listen. He just smiled, like he knew something Nick didn’t know. Behind him, was that…Sam? Sam Holland? She hadn’t returned his calls, but that was a long time ago. He’d always wanted to see her again. Reaching out, he tried to get to her.
    She smiled and slipped away.
    “No! Not again. Come back. Sam!”
    John’s sister Lizbeth cried and clawed at him, her face red and swollen. “John’s hurt! Help him, Nick. Help him!”
    Nick ran for the elevator, pushed the up button frantically, but the doors wouldn’t open. Banging on the metal doors until his hands were bruised, he finally bolted for the stairs and ran up six flights. Gasping for air, he emerged into the hallway. A woman dashed from John’s apartment carrying a bloody knife, her face covered by a knitted scarf.
    “John!” Nick sprinted into the apartment.
    “Hey, Cappy,” John said, emerging from the bedroom, blood coursing from the open wound in his neck. “What’s