OUTSIDE THE INTERROGATION ROOM, Freddie said, “How’re we playing this?”
“Follow my lead.”
“That doesn’t tell me much.”
“It tells you what you need to know, Detective.”
His scowl would’ve made her laugh if she hadn’t been trying to bring her badass persona into the room with her. A little intimidation went a long way in situations such as this.
Two detectives from the Gang Unit were keeping Simmons company in the room.
“We’ll take it from here, gentlemen,” Sam said. “Appreciate your assistance.”
“Yes, ma’am,” one of them said. “We’ll be outside if you need us.”
The meaningful way he said that, as if he was certain they would need them, spiked Sam’s anxiety.
Simmons glowered at her from his seat at the table. He had one of those tattoos that came out of the collar of his T-shirt and went up around his neck. A serpent maybe. How anyone got the big idea to tattoo their neck and face was beyond her. Did they ever consider they might one day apply for a job in which face tattoos were discouraged? Although, a banger like Simmons probably didn’t need a job to make a living.
“I ain’t saying a word to you until my lawyer gets here.”
“Great,” Sam said. “Let’s go get some lunch, Detective Cruz.”
“Did someone say lunch?” Freddie asked, following her lead with his usual perfection.
“Wait,” Simmons said. “How long is that gonna take? I got shit to do.”
“Depends on when your lawyer shows up. You should know how this works by now.”
His scowl spoke volumes.
Before he could say anything more, Sam herded Freddie out of the room. To the two Gang Unit detectives, she said, “He lawyered up. Let us know when or if his attorney arrives.”
“Will do.”
Freddie followed her back to the pit. “Um, don’t get me wrong because I’d always rather eat lunch than deal with thugs, but could I ask why you didn’t try to get him to talk now the way we usually do?”
“It’s like this, young Freddie. If he’s our shooter, he’s off the streets for now.”
“Ah, gotcha.”
“It won’t kill us to wait an hour or two or ten, especially since we know he’s never going to tell us anything willingly. Let’s get some food before the warrant we requested for his place comes in.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” His appetite was the stuff of legends.
They left HQ and went to one of their favorite sub shops where she got a small veggie while he had a large meatball.
“It’s so not fair that you can eat anything you want and not gain a freaking pound,” she said, eyeing his lunch with lust in her heart.
“What can I say? I’m metabolically blessed.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” he said around a mouthful of meatball.
“Right at this moment, I actually do hate you.”
“What were you brooding about in the office earlier, and don’t tell me it was nothing. I know it was something.”
“Forrester wants to see me tomorrow at two.”
“Oh.” He took a drink from his extralarge soda and wiped the sauce off his face. “Did they give any indication...”
Sam shook her head. “They just asked me to be there for the meeting.”
“I’m sure it’s going to be fine.”
“I wish I was as confident as you and my attorney are.”
“Come on, Sam. There’s no way regular people are going to indict you for punching that loudmouth when he so totally had it coming.”
“It still counts as assault. Last time I checked, assault is a crime.”
He popped a fry bathed in ketchup into his mouth. “They won’t indict you. The citizens of this city want you doing what you do best—tracking down real criminals.”
“Let’s hope so.”
Her phone buzzed with a text from Malone. Got your warrant.
“The warrant is in. Eat up.”
* * *
OVER THE NEXT five hours, they tore apart the town house in Southeast where Trace Simmons lived with his sister and her two young children, who’d been asked to leave the house while the police were there. The sister had put up such a fight that Patrol had taken her in, and the kids were in the custody of the Simmons’s mother.
“That was Captain Harrison,” Freddie said when he ended a call. “Nothing in the way of black sedans in Simmons’s group of known associates.”
Sam growled with frustration.
“Doesn’t mean they didn’t get their hands on one and drove around the city shooting people,” Freddie said. “It only means they don’t own one.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Sam’s phone rang and she took the call from a number she recognized as Minnesota. “Lieutenant Holland.”
“This is Robert Brinkley, Caroline’s father.”
“Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”
“My wife and I are on our way to Washington and were hoping we might see our daughter.”
“I’ll ask the Chief Medical Examiner, Dr. Lindsey McNamara, to get in touch with you to make that happen.”
“Thank you.” After a pause, he said, “Have there been any arrests?”
“Not yet, but we are working the case and following several leads.”
“Okay.”
“We’ll see you when you get here.” After she ended the call, she said to Freddie, “Write down this number.” She dictated Robert’s number.
“Did you know that on smartphones, you can share the contact, and there’s no need to write anything down?”
“Stop being a smart-ass and call that number in to Lindsey. Ask her to get in touch with Caroline Brinkley’s parents, who want to see their daughter when they get here.”
“Yes, ma’am. Whatever I can do to help.”
Sam went to confer with Haggerty, the Crime Scene lieutenant overseeing the search. “Any sign of a nine millimeter?”
“We haven’t found any weapons.”
“Keep looking.”
“That’s the plan.” He went to rejoin his team while Sam cooled her heels, waiting for something, a thread to pull that would lead them to their shooter.
She took a call from Captain Malone.
“Anything at Simmons’s place?”
“Not yet.”
“Patrol has a lead on a possible car. Campus police at American University reported they found it in one of their lots without an AU parking sticker. They noticed what might be gunpowder residue on the passenger-side window frame. I’ve sent a team to pick it up and bring it to the lab.”
“Have you expressed the supreme urgency to the slow-as-shit lab?”
“I have.”
“Do we know who it belongs to?”
“We do.”
“Let’s go get him!”
“The owner reported it stolen two days ago. I’ve sent someone to collect their prints so we have them.”
Sam deflated. “At least we can dust it for the shooters’ prints and other evidence.”
“There is that.”
“But that’ll take time.” She glanced at the sun, which sank toward the western horizon as her anxiety spiked. Would the shooters strike again tonight? “We need to put out the word that people have to stay off sidewalks tonight. No sidewalk service at restaurants or cafés, no gatherings on street corners or stoops. Residents need to stay inside until we know for sure this is over.”
“I agree. The chief and I were just saying the same thing. Tough time of year to tell people to stay in.”
“Tough choice—do I dine al fresco and possibly get shot or do I stay the hell inside and not get taken out by someone who’s clearly shooting to kill? Such a tough decision...”
“Your sarcasm is one of your most charming attributes, Lieutenant.”
“What’re some of the others?”
His loud laughter echoed through the phone. “I’m gonna take the Fifth on that one.”
“Hey, Cap... So, um, I got a call from Forrester’s office. They want me there at two tomorrow.”
“Did they say—”
“Nothing more than they want to see me.”
“Ugh. Let’s hope the grand jury did the right thing.”
“What if they didn’t?”
“Don’t go there, Sam. Just don’t even think about it until or unless you have to.”
“Got it. Denial. I’m following that strategy a lot these days.”
“Whatever works.”
“Do me a favor and don’t say anything about this to the chief or anyone else until we know what it’s going to be, okay?”
“I won’t say a word, but please let me know as soon as you hear anything.”
“I will. After we’re finished here, I’m going to call it a day until we have more on the car. You’ll take care of issuing the statement to the public?”
“We’ve already got the Public Affairs people working on it.”
“Good. Don’t let them screw it up.”
“I’ll see if we can avoid that.”
“Call me if anything pops tonight.”
“You’ll be the first to know.”
“Lucky me. I hope I don’t talk to you later.”
“I hope not either.”
Sam slapped her phone closed and updated Freddie on what the captain had told her about the car found at American University.
“What now?”
“Let’s finish up here and call it a day. Hopefully, the lab will have something for us from the car by the morning. They know it’s urgent, and perhaps they might actually treat it as such for once.”
“We can only hope. Does finding the car mean it might be over?”
“Nothing stopping them from grabbing another one. We’ll have to wait and see if they’re done with us. The PAO is putting out a release to warn residents and visitors to stay off the sidewalks. If they’re out hunting again tonight, hopefully people won’t make it easy for them.”
His deep sigh said it all. In a big, vibrant city like theirs, it was almost impossible to expect everyone to stay inside and off the sidewalks. “So that’s it? We’re just going home?”
“Well, our tour is up, and we’ve done everything we can for now. Simmons has lawyered up, and since his lawyer didn’t arrive by the end of our shift, he can be our guest overnight. Let Harrison know that.”
“Will do.”
Haggerty came out a short time later to let her know they were done with their search. “We didn’t find any weapons, but we uncovered a drug stash that may result in a parole violation for our friend Mr. Simmons. You can let the family come back.”
Sam glanced into the house that had been turned upside down by the search and felt for people who’d be returning home to such a mess, even if the sister had been a huge pain in the ass. “Let’s make it so they can walk in the door at least,” Sam said.
She and Freddie went into the house and spent thirty minutes clearing a path through the destruction. When they’d done what they could to restore some order, they walked out together.
“I feel bad for her coming home to this,” Freddie said.
“That’s what she gets for letting her felon brother live with her and her kids.”
“I suppose.”
“Can I drop you at HQ?”
“Nah,” he said. “I’ll hop on the Metro and leave my car at work for the night.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yep. I’ll see you at zero seven hundred?”
“If not before.”
“Let’s hope not.”
“I’ve got my fingers and toes crossed for a quiet night—but not my legs.”
“Ewww, gross.”
“Nothing gross about it, my friend.”
“On that disgusting note...” He waved and jogged off toward the Metro.
Sam drove home thinking about the families of her four victims and wishing they’d made more concrete progress that day, but investigations like this required methodical police work that didn’t happen quickly. The Secret Service waved her through the Ninth Street checkpoint, and she parked in her assigned space in front of their home.
Since the street was devoid of black SUVs, Sam decided to pop into her dad’s before she headed home. “Where are they?” she asked Eric, the agent on duty at the door.
“On the way home from the Feds game.”
“Okay, thanks,” Sam said, glad to hear Nick had been able to arrange the last-minute outing for himself and Scotty. She walked to the house three doors down from hers, dashed up the ramp and gave a quick knock on the door before going in. “Anyone home?”
“Back here, Sam,” her stepmother, Celia, said.
Celia and Skip were at the kitchen table eating dinner while watching the news. Sam kissed them both and helped herself to a bottle of water from the fridge, downing half of it in one big gulp.
“Tough day at the office, dear?” Skip asked.
“Yeah.” Sam took a seat at the table. “I’m totally dehydrated, sweaty and frustrated.”
“We saw the warning the department issued asking people to stay inside,” Celia said as she fed Skip a bite of chicken. “It’s such a shame that people need to be afraid like this.”
“Believe me, I know. It’s infuriating to all of us, but until we get these bastards, we have to take precautions.”
“Any leads?” Skip asked.
Sam told them about Tamara Jackson’s connection to Trace Simmons, the search of Simmons’s home and finding the car at AU.
“It’s a start,” Skip said.
“It’s slow going.”
“Always is with this kind of thing. You have to dot the Is and cross the Ts one step at a time.”
“I hate that. I want to figure it out and lock them up right now.”
“My poor, impatient baby girl,” he said with an indulgent smile.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s me. Couple of other developments today,” she said, telling them about Stahl and the Alford plea as well as the meeting with Forrester.
“Forrester’s office didn’t give any indications?” Skip asked.
Sam shook her head, took a roll from the basket on the table and tore off a bite. “Just be there at two tomorrow.”
“I’m not worried about an indictment, and you shouldn’t be either,” Skip said.
“That’s good to know, but until I hear him say the words, I’m sweating it.”
“Try not to lose any sleep over it.” Celia patted Sam’s hand. “You’ll know one way or the other tomorrow.”
“Imagine those headlines in addition to all the others,” Sam said with a wry smile.
“What’re you thinking about Stahl?”
“That I’m not settling for anything less than an admission of guilt, even if that means I have to live through a trial to get it.”
“Good,” Skip said, “because I’ll let you accept that plea over my cold, dead body.”
“I speak for Celia and the rest of your family when I say we don’t want to talk about your cold, dead body.”
“What she said.” Celia used her thumb to point to Sam.
“That son of a bitch needs to own up to what he did, not slink off to prison without having to admit it.”
“Couldn’t agree more, Skippy. Glad we’re on the same page, as usual. I’d better get home and see what my boys are up to.”
“Scotty was here earlier,” Celia said. “He’s in a full-on depression over the start of school.”
“I used to feel the exact same way,” Sam said. “Remember?”
“All too well,” Skip said, half his face lifting into a smile. “You went into a funk every year around this time that lasted for weeks. Especially before the dyslexia was diagnosed.”
“School was the seventh circle of hell for me.”
“And somehow you ended up with a high school diploma, a college degree and a graduate degree,” Skip said, the expressive side of his face beaming with pride. “I have no doubt that our Scotty will find his stride and go all the way. He’s one of the smartest, sharpest kids I’ve ever known. He actually reminds me a lot of his mom at that age.”
Sam smiled and bent to kiss his forehead. “That’s nice to hear. I often think he’s just like Nick.”
“He’s a lot like you too,” Celia said. “Nurture is every bit as important as nature.”
“You guys are good for my morale.”
“We love you,” Celia said bluntly.
“Love you too.” Sam kissed her stepmother’s cheek as she left the kitchen to head home, thankful for the family that surrounded her in good times and in bad. She’d been back in touch with her mother recently after a twenty-year estrangement that had stemmed from her parents’ contentious divorce. Sam and her sisters had helped to see their mother through the aftermath of a lumpectomy for Stage 1 breast cancer earlier in the summer. Fortunately, the doctors had gotten it all and had recommended no further treatment. Brenda had spent a day with them at the beach, and it had gone well. Sam’s relationship with her was slowly but surely improving.
Brenda was now settled in a townhouse in Arlington, Virginia, so she could be close to her three daughters and her grandchildren. It was still somewhat odd, Sam thought as she walked to her own house, to be back in touch with her mother after all this time, but it was nice to put that negativity in the past where it belonged. One thing she had learned was that no one knew what went on inside a marriage except for the two people in it, and that included her parents.
Speaking of marriage, Sam was thrilled to see the street lined with black SUVs, which meant her husband and son had gotten home while she was at her dad’s. She went up the ramp to their house, and Eric opened the door to admit her.
“Thank you,” she said to the agent. In the kitchen, she found Nick leaning against the counter, drinking a beer. His face lit up with pleasure at the sight of her.
“This is a nice surprise,” he said, reaching for her. “I didn’t expect to see you until much later.”
Sam snuggled into his embrace and brought him up-to-date on the latest with the case. “We’ve done all we could today. Now we wait for the lab and to see if the shooters will strike again.”
“I heard about the warning to citizens. Pretty hard-core.”
“Had to be done.”
“You like the gangbanger for the shootings?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t add up. If he was intent on getting Tamara back, killing her brother would put a damper on the romance. Plus, there’s nothing to indicate he has above-average skills with a gun.”
“True.” His hand made a soothing circle on her back.
“What’ve you done with the boy child?”
“I sent him to take a shower and get his backpack ready for tomorrow.”
“How’d he take that directive?”
“As you might imagine.”
Sam laughed.
“I used to love the first day of school,” Nick said.
“You were one of the dorks who ruined the curve for the rest of us, weren’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“How many times did you make the honor roll?”
“May I decline to answer out of fear of being mocked for the rest of my life?”
She looked up at him. “How. Many. Times?”
“All the times?” he said with a weak smile.
“Oh my God! How did I not know this before I said, ‘I do’?”
“You knew I got an academic scholarship to Harvard. How do you think that happened?”
“I’ve honestly never thought about how, but now that I know, this may be grounds for an annulment.”
“Nice try, babe,” he said with a laugh. “As if I’d ever let you go for any reason, and besides, I think you can only get an annulment before the marriage is consummated. Since we’ve consummated ours about six thousand times, I’d say you’re screwed in more ways than one.”
Sam laughed. “You think you’re so smart.”
“I know I’m smart, and now you know it too.” Looking down at her, he said, “By the way, that’s twice you’ve mentioned leaving me in one twenty-four-hour period. Should I be worried?”
“Not even kinda.” She closed her eyes, laid her head on his chest and let out a deep breath, relieved to be back in his arms after a hellish day. He always made her feel better, even when boasting about his impressive academic record. “If we ever have biological kids, do you think they’ll get my school brains or yours?”
Only because she was pressed so tightly against him did she feel his entire body go rigid over the fraught subject of babies.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Hopefully, we’ll get the chance to find out.”
“What if we have a kid who’s just like me? A classic underachiever in school. Wouldn’t that make you crazy?”
“Not at all. I’d be so in love with any kid of ours that I’d be more afraid of spoiling him or her rotten than what kind of grades they get.”
As usual, he said the perfect thing. “That’s good to know.”
“Anything you want to tell me, babe?”