Fatal Exposure

chapter 5



“I don’t know what you did,” Delgado warned as Parker tossed his jacket over the back of his desk chair half an hour later. “But you’ve really pissed the Colonel off.”

No kidding. The hush that had followed in his wake as he’d walked the gauntlet through his office had already clued him in.

“Your timing sucks, too.” Delgado leaned back against the cubicle’s upholstered wall, a smirk on his dusky face. “What with that gang leader’s release from prison and all.”

Parker shot him a scowl, annoyed at his gleeful tone. Bad enough that Delgado had charmed his way up the career ladder, getting promoted over far more deserving men. But listening to the smug man crow... “Old news, Delgado.”

“And it just got worse. The media’s on a witch hunt, claiming we’re incompetent since we haven’t brought him in.”

Parker bit down hard on a curse. Bad timing didn’t begin to describe it. Last week a prisoner named Markus Jenkins, the leader of the notorious Ridgewood gang, had mistakenly been released from the Roxbury Correctional Institution in western Maryland—then disappeared. The pressure to recapture him had been extreme. If the media had started bad-mouthing the police, the Colonel would go berserk. He’d crucify anyone who caused another problem and put his reputation at risk.

Realizing it was futile to postpone the inevitable, Parker left Delgado gloating beside his cubicle, crossed the hallway into the new building, then rode the elevator to the Colonel’s floor. The receptionist waved him through, her eyes wild as she tried to deal with the ringing phones.

“Come in,” Hugh Hoffman’s deep voice boomed out when Parker knocked on his office door.

Parker squared his shoulders and went inside. The C.I.D. chief stood at his corner window, peering through the open slats on the miniblinds. A shade under six feet tall, Hoffman was built like the lineman he used to be with a thick, stocky neck, massive shoulders and thighs, and a barrel chest padded with fat. He’d worked his way up the ranks of the police force, his unflagging work ethic and passion for fighting crime earning him widespread respect. Even Senator Riggs had recognized his potential and had begun grooming him for a future congressional run.

He turned at Parker’s approach. “Detective.” His eyes were devoid of warmth.

Stopping beside a chair, Parker braced himself for the coming storm. He didn’t have long to wait.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Hoffman demanded.

Parker stiffened his spine. This didn’t bode well. He’d seen Hoffman in a lot of moods but never this livid before. “Sir?”

“Don’t act dumb. Lieutenant Lewis called me. She says you’ve been looking at the Walker girl’s file.”

“I was exploring a lead that didn’t pan out.”

Hoffman’s face turned a mottled red. A vein bulged in his florid cheek. He gripped the back of his desk chair, as if it cost him to stay in check. “Do you have any idea who that kid was? Erin Walker. Daughter of Dean Walker, head of Walker Avionics.”

Which sold weapon systems to the military, both home and abroad. Parker’s heart took a nosedive. “Big money,” he guessed.

“Big?” Incredulity rang in the Colonel’s voice. “We’re talking billions of dollars a year. And he’s a bundler for Senator Riggs, the single biggest donor to his campaign. And in case you haven’t been paying attention, the senator’s up for reelection next year.”

Parker closed his eyes. Hell. No wonder the Colonel was ticked.

“Now you listen to me,” Hoffman continued, his voice a dangerous growl. “Because I’ll only say this once. That case is closed. That girl took drugs and died—whether by accident or suicide, we’ll never know. Now leave it alone. That family doesn’t need you stirring things up after the grief that they’ve been through. And neither do I! If Walker gets a whiff of this, all hell is going to break loose. And I’ve got enough trouble right now with the media breathing down my neck.”

“I understand.”

“You’d better. I’m giving you an order, Detective. Leave that case alone. And I don’t think I need to remind you what will happen if you don’t.”

Parker’s face burned. “No, sir.” The message couldn’t be clearer. Hoffman would fire him if he disobeyed.

Hoffman held his gaze, letting his warning sink in. Then he pulled out his desk chair and sat. Parker fixed his gaze on the window, his pride still smarting as he waited to be dismissed.

But Hoffman seemed determined to make him squirm. He unwrapped a roll of antacids and popped several into his mouth. An eternity later, he sighed. “Sit down, Detective.”

Expecting another lashing, Parker lowered himself into a chair. The Colonel continued to watch him, as if debating what to say. Then he reached down and pulled a folded newspaper from his desk drawer.

“Since you seem to have time on your hands, I’ve got a project for you. A favor, if you will.” Shifting his big body forward, he held the paper out.

Curious, and relieved that the Colonel’s temper had run its course, Parker took the paper and opened it to the front page.

On it was the photo of Brynn. Parker forced himself to breathe.

“The woman in that picture,” the Colonel continued. “She goes by a pseudonym, B. K. Elliot. But her real name is Hoffman.”

Parker jerked his gaze to his. “You’re related?”

“She’s my stepdaughter.”

Parker’s jaw dropped. He stared at the C.I.D. chief, too stunned to speak.

Hoffman folded his hands, his eyes turning pensive now. “You’ve probably heard the stories. She ran away from home when she was twelve. She was a troubled kid, to say the least. We tried everything—tough love, counseling...but nothing we did seemed to help. God knows we tried. She snuck out at night and lied, accused us of all sorts of terrible things. The situation got ugly, I’m afraid.”

He let out a heartfelt sigh, as if the memories still caused him pain. “She directed most of her anger at me. That was normal enough, I suppose. I was her stepfather—I’d taken her father’s place when he died.

“She’s the reason I started that camp. I was determined to help these kids, even though I’d failed with her.”

Feeling completely staggered, Parker tried to process this news. Everyone knew the C.I.D. chief’s story. Hoffman’s walls were covered with the awards he’d won for his work with troubled teens. But to think Brynn was that runaway stepdaughter...

“She’s a photographer now,” the Colonel said, nodding toward the newspaper in Parker’s hand. “Quite a good one from what I’ve read. But she’s still unstable. A mental illness like that doesn’t go away on its own. And that’s where you come in.”

“Me?”

“I’m worried about her, Parker. She’s a very troubled young woman. And she needs help—counseling, medication... Now that she’s finally surfaced, I want you to bring her in. Quietly, of course. I don’t want to scare her off. And none of us needs the publicity right now. But it would mean the world to her mother and me.”

Parker grappled with what to say. The Colonel wanted him to find Brynn. He obviously didn’t realize that Parker had already contacted her. But if Brynn was his missing stepdaughter...

Still unable to believe it, he gave his head a shake. “She’s the girl in my brother’s photo. The one we found in his shoe a few years after his death. You saw it. You reopened the case and searched for her. You never mentioned the relationship then.”

Hoffman winced. “I figured you’d make the connection.” He heaved himself from his desk chair and went to the window again. Twisting the wand on the miniblinds, he adjusted the slats to maximize the dwindling light.

“You’re right, of course. I knew who she was at once. But you have to understand how desperate I was. She was sick and needed help. And I didn’t believe for a minute that she’d killed your brother. At least I hoped not. She manipulated people and lied, but stooping as low as murder...”

He turned around with a sigh. “I didn’t want to think she’d sunk that far. It would have killed her mother if she had. I figured I’d bring her in, then turn the case over to someone else on the off chance that her testimony could help. I doubted it would do any good, though. She never told the truth, even when she wasn’t high on drugs.

“But when we couldn’t find her...well, it didn’t seem important to mention it then.”

He retook his seat, his expression pained. “In hindsight, it was a mistake, one of my many regrets. I should have revealed who she was. It wasn’t fair to you to keep a secret like that. If I could do things over...” He spread his beefy hands.

Parker dropped his gaze to the photo, not knowing what to think. He could hardly criticize Hoffman for making a mistake. He’d made plenty of errors of his own. But deliberately concealing that Brynn was his stepdaughter... It wasn’t a minor detail. Parker couldn’t help but feel betrayed.

And why hadn’t Brynn told him who Hoffman was? She knew he ran that camp. What kind of game was she trying to play?

Hoffman opened his desk drawer again. He pulled out a bulging accordion folder and slid it across the desk. “I’d like you to help me find her. Quietly, off the record. We’ll ask her about your brother when we bring her in, but, frankly, you shouldn’t get your hopes up about that. Even if she remembers, she’ll probably lie.”

“Right.” Aware that the Colonel was waiting for an answer, Parker managed a nod. “I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will. I respect that about you, Parker. I took a chance on you back when you were a rookie, and you haven’t let me down so far.”

“I appreciate that.” Hoffman had been one of the few officers willing to go out on a limb and vouch for Parker when his father’s criminal activities had threatened to sink his budding career. And he hadn’t stopped there. He’d helped Parker make detective, followed his progress through the force. And when Parker had applied to join the homicide cold case squad, he’d made sure that he got in.

The Colonel cleared his throat. “I’ve done some preliminary research and found out that she has an agent, Joan Kellogg. The agent lives in Old Town Alexandria. You might start your inquiries there.”

“I will.”

“Report your progress directly to me. I don’t want any risk of this leaking to the press. Those damned hyenas are already out for blood. And with her high profile, we’d have reporters hounding us from around the globe. We’ll release a public statement after we bring her in. Now you’re dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.” Parker stuck the newspaper into the file and rose. Still dumbfounded by the bombshell, he crossed the office, the industrial carpet absorbing his steps.

“Oh, and Detective?”

Parker turned around.

“I mean what I said. Leave that other case alone. If word gets out...”

Parker would lose his job. “I understand.”

“Good. Now get to work.”

Parker exited the C.I.D. chief’s office. Ignoring the curious gazes of his fellow officers, he made his way back to the older section of the building and his cubicle on the sixth floor.

Brynn Elliot was Hoffman’s stepdaughter.

What the hell was going on?

Feeling completely off-kilter, he tossed the file onto his desk and slumped into his chair. He stared at the stains on the ceiling, the Colonel’s words still spinning through his mind. Then, determined to get some answers, he opened the accordion folder, pulled out the contents and began to read.

The file chronicled Brynn’s childhood from kindergarten on, which was when her father had died. It contained elementary school report cards, notes from parent–teacher conferences and psychologists’ reports. By middle school it included records of truancy and repeated attempts to run away.

And every report stated the same thing. Around age seven, when her widowed mother had remarried, Brynn had become angry, unstable. A liar, but stated in more socially acceptable terms. She disrupted class, picked fights with her classmates and refused to do her work. And her problems worsened as she aged—stealing, skipping school, running away from home. The documents didn’t leave room for doubt. The Colonel’s stepdaughter, Brynn Katherine Hoffman, had been a severely troubled child.

Was she any more trustworthy as an adult?

Parker’s doubts increasing, he worked his way through the file. He read articles about the C.I.D. chief. The groundbreaking ceremony at High Rock Camp. Interviews with Hoffman about his stepdaughter. His public pleas for her to come home. Photos of him receiving awards the camp had won. A photo op with Senator Riggs.

An hour later, his head pounding with a vengeance, Parker shoved the file aside. He leaned back in his chair and massaged his eyes, unable to deny the facts. The evidence supported Hoffman’s allegations about Brynn. She had a volatile history. She’d run away, resisted everyone’s efforts to help her and refused to tell the truth. All the experts agreed.

And everything Parker knew about Hoffman backed that evidence up. He waged a tireless war on crime. His reputation was superb. He’d even fought for additional funding to beef up this homicide cold case squad, determined that no murder, no matter how old, would remain unsolved. And no one had done more than he had for at-risk youth.

Whereas Brynn...

Parker opened his eyes on a sigh. She’d obviously concealed the truth from him. To be fair, she probably didn’t know he worked for her stepfather. Parker’s business card only listed his rank—detective—not the office where he worked. And even if she nosed around, asking questions, no one would give that information out. But she knew her stepfather ran that camp. He’d founded the place for her sake! So why hadn’t she told him that?

Unless she had a hidden agenda...

He stilled. Was that what this was about? Was she using him to carry out a personal vendetta against the Colonel? Was she investigating that Walker girl’s death, hoping to uncover some sort of wrongdoing that would bring her stepfather down?

And what if she was? Could he honestly help her damage the Colonel’s career? Hoffman had supported him, giving him a chance to prove himself when he was a rookie, despite his father’s crimes. How could Parker betray that trust?

Feeling manipulated from both sides, he slipped the file folder into his desk, snapped off his desk lamp and rose. Then he stalked through the nearly empty office, his heavy footsteps echoing in the gloom.

He knew what he should do. He should tell Hoffman the truth—that he’d already located Brynn—and let him handle her. That way there’d be no ambiguities, no subterfuge or guilt. He’d just follow the Colonel’s orders and turn her in.

But he couldn’t erase that niggle of doubt. Because the truth was, the Colonel had misled him before. He’d withheld information about Brynn when they’d found that photo in Tommy’s shoe. And even if his intentions had been altruistic, even if he regretted his actions now, Hoffman had clearly lied.

And what if Brynn was right? What if those irregularities in the Walker girl’s file signified something bad? What if the C.I.D. chief was hiding something important, suppressing details about her death—just as he’d hidden his relationship with Brynn? Could Parker take that chance?

He pushed open the door to the parking lot and stepped outside. Still thinking hard, he stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and headed across the deserted lot toward his truck. On the surface, the case seemed straightforward. Erin Walker had suffered a relapse, taken drugs and died, just as the autopsy said.

But Hoffman couldn’t afford any scandals. That camp was the cornerstone of his budding political career. At the slightest whiff of any wrongdoing, Senator Riggs would withdraw his support, and Hoffman would go from rising political star to pariah overnight.

Which provided Hoffman a motive to keep anything unflattering from coming to light.

But did Parker dare defy the Colonel’s order and continue to investigate this death? He’d have to lie to his boss about his activities. He’d have to hide his relationship with Brynn. He’d risk arousing the anger of the dead girl’s parents, the wrath of a powerful senator. If he got caught, his career would end.

He’d also have to deceive Brynn. Because if she learned that he worked for her stepfather—and that he’d asked him to bring her in—she’d never trust him again.

And he’d give up his chance to discover the truth about Tommy’s death.

He unlocked his truck, feeling trapped. Because if he was going to be brutally honest, there was another factor at work—beyond his sworn duty to an innocent victim, beyond his loyalty to Hoffman, beyond his promise to find out how his brother had died.

The truth was that he liked Brynn Elliot—or whatever her real name was. And not only because of the unruly attraction tying his gut in knots. He admired her amazing talent, her attempts to help those runaway kids.

And damn it, he wanted to believe her, no matter what proof Hoffman tossed his way. He wanted to believe that she’d cared about Tommy, that she understood his loss and pain, that the compassion in her eyes was genuine.

Grimacing at his gullibility, he climbed into his truck and slammed the door. She’d gotten to him, all right. But both Brynn and the Colonel were keeping secrets.

And he’d be damned if he’d play the fool.