He told her about Christina trying to reach John, beginning at seven, and of coming to the apartment expecting to find the senator once again sleeping through his alarm.

“So this has happened before?”

“No, he’s never been murdered before.”

Her expression was anything but amused. “Do you think this is funny, Mr. Cappuano?”

“Hardly. My best friend is dead, Sergeant. A United States senator has been murdered. There’s nothing funny about that.”

“Which is why you need to answer the questions and save the droll humor for a more appropriate time.”

Chastened, Nick said, “He slept through his alarm and ringing telephones at least once, if not twice, a month.”

“Did he drink?”

“Socially, but I rarely saw him drunk.”

“Prescription drugs? Sleeping pills?”

Nick shook his head. “He was just a very heavy sleeper.”

“And it fell to his chief of staff to wake him up? There wasn’t anyone else you could send?”

“The senator valued his privacy. There’ve been occasions when he wasn’t alone, and neither of us felt his love life should be the business of his staff.”

“But he didn’t care if you knew who he was sleeping with?”

“He knew he could count on my discretion.” He looked up, unprepared for the punch to the gut that occurred when his eyes met hers. Her unsettled expression made him wonder if she felt it, too. “His parents need to be notified. I’d like to be the one to tell them.”

Sam studied him for a long moment. “I’ll arrange it. Where are they?”

“At their farm in Leesburg. It needs to be soon. We’re postponing a vote we worked for months to get to. It’ll be all over the news that something’s up.”

“What’s the vote for?”

He told her about the landmark immigration bill and John’s role as the co-sponsor.

With a curt nod, she walked away.

An hour later, Nick was a passenger in an unmarked Metropolitan Police SUV, headed west to Leesburg with Sam at the wheel. She’d left her partner with a staggering list of instructions and insisted on accompanying Nick to tell John’s parents.

“Do you need something to eat?”

He shook his head. No way could he even think about eating—not with the horrific task he had ahead of him. Besides, his stomach hadn’t recovered from the earlier bout of vomiting.

“You know, we could still call the Loudoun County Police or the Virginia State Police to handle this,” she said for the second time.

“No.”

After an awkward silence, she said, “I’m sorry this happened to your friend and that you had to see him that way.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to answer that?” she asked of his relentless cell phone.

“No.”

“How about you turn it off then? I can’t stand listening to a ringing phone.”