Fatal Reckoning (Fatal #14)(88)

As Sam read, June continued to add articles to Sam’s folder from her workstation behind the main desk. Sam opened a story from the Star, dated two months before Steven died, that showed a political rally for Roy Gallagher. In a photo that accompanied the article, Steven stood behind Gallagher on the dais, wearing a suit and an earpiece. He’d been named in the caption, which was why June’s search for the name Coyne had yielded the photo.

Had he provided security for Gallagher? And why had Gallagher needed security?

“Hey, June? Would it be possible to get everything from Roy Gallagher’s first run for city council?”

“Of course. I’ll add that to your folder.”

“Excellent. Thank you.” Sam had a new respect for June the librarian, who was proving extremely useful.

She read for hours about Gallagher, his meteoric rise to political power on the District’s city council. Gallagher was a Democrat raised by working-class parents in the city’s Foxhall Village neighborhood, located blocks from Georgetown University. He’d been elected an at-large member of the council and was still there, making him the longest-serving member—and its most powerful member as the council chairman for the last sixteen years. Sam read how the council members each receive a salary of $132,990 with the council chair paid $190,000 annually.

“Damn. I’m in the wrong business.”

“Did you say something, Lieutenant?”

“I’m marveling at how well paid the city councillors are compared to the rest of us.”

“They do have a sweet deal.”

What would someone like Gallagher do to protect that sweet deal? She read about his business interests—several five-star restaurants in the city, one of which had been a favorite of hers and Nick’s back when they’d been able to move more freely. In addition, he owned several high-end apartment buildings and a boutique hotel.

Where in the hell did a guy with a working-class background who made $190,000 a year from his day job get the capital for all those businesses?

She rolled her chair to a computer workstation next to the microfilm machine and called up the search function on a browser and typed in Gallagher’s name, looking for more information about his personal life and his businesses. The search returned a treasure trove of articles, most of them proclaiming him a genius when it came to business with just about everything he touched turning to gold.

A photo with one of the articles showed him with his gorgeous blonde wife, Crystal Sands Gallagher, the daughter of Maurice Sands, who’d done time in federal prison in the 1970s for gambling and racketeering. Before his death thirty years ago, he’d been rumored to have ties to organized crime, but that had never been proven.

Tingling sensations spiraled down her backbone, always a sign that she was onto something. But what?

Rubbing her tired eyes, she tried to put the pieces together, but they refused to yield anything that made sense. The first thing she wanted to know was more about Steven Coyne’s connection to Gallagher and whether he’d done private security for Gallagher when he was a candidate for the council.

“Thanks again for your help,” she said to June.

“Anytime.”

Sam went back to her office, closed the door and picked up the phone to call Alice.

She answered on the third ring.

“Hi, it’s Sam Holland. I had another question for you.”

“Of course. Whatever I can do.”

“Tell me about Steven’s relationship with Roy Gallagher.”

“They were good friends from the academy.”

“Did Steven do private security for him during his first campaign for the council?”

“Not that I ever knew. He went to some of the rallies and fundraisers, but I wasn’t aware of any formal role.”

The earpiece Steven had been wearing in the picture was the only clue Sam had that he’d been providing security of some sort. “Would he have told you if he was working for Gallagher on the side?”

“I think he would have. We didn’t keep secrets from each other.” She let out a gasp. “Wait. The money.”

“What money?” Sam held her breath, waiting to hear what Alice would say next.

“About two weeks before he died, he came home one night with a wad of cash that he said he’d found on the street.”

Sam took frantic notes.

“I asked him why he hadn’t reported it. He said he did, and when no one claimed it they said he could keep it.”

“They being?”

“I assumed it was MPD officials.”

“How much was it?”

“Ten thousand dollars. That money paid my rent for six months after Steven died.”

“And you never heard anything more from the department about the money?”

“No, nothing. Should I have?”

“I don’t think so. I was just wondering.”

“No one ever said anything to me, but about four months after Steven was killed, I came home one day to a package on my front porch that had another ten thousand dollars in cash. I…I didn’t report it to anyone because I needed it so badly.”

“Have you ever told anyone about the money?”

“I was afraid if I did, someone might ask me to give it back.”

“This has been really helpful, Alice.”