AS SAM APPROACHED her car, she noticed Darren Tabor from the Washington Star leaning against it, typing madly on his smartphone.
“Get off my car, Darren. You’ll scratch the paint.”
“I see the vacation didn’t do anything to sweeten you up, Lieutenant.”
Though his comment amused her, Sam didn’t let him see that. “What do you want?”
“You know what I want. The whole world is waiting for a comment from you or the vice president about what’s going on with Nelson and how you guys feel about the possibility of becoming president and first lady.”
“You’re going to have to continue waiting. I’ve got nothing to say.”
“Come on, Sam. You’ve got to be worried about it. How could you not be?”
“The only thing I’m worried about is the really good kid who was just gunned down in my city. He has my full attention.”
“How’re you going to do this job if you become first lady?”
“I asked you nicely to get off my car, Darren. I’ve got work to do, and you’re in my way.”
He pushed himself off the car. “Will you give me something when you can?”
“Have a good day, Darren.”
“I thought we were friends, Sam. Friends give friends a break.”
Sam laughed at that. “And what will you do for me, as my friend?”
“I’d write a nice story about what a fantastic president and first lady you guys would be. A hell of a lot better than what we have now. That’s for sure.”
“I thought the press was supposed to be impartial?”
“Come on, Sam. You guys gotta say something!”
“No, we actually don’t. If you want to do me a favor, Darren, write me a front-page story about the good kid who was killed here today and how senseless gun violence is.”
“If I do that, will you give me something on the Nelson thing?”
“See you later.” Sam got into the car, started the engine and drove away, leaving him glaring at her. She was so sick and tired of people trying to get them to comment on the Nelson situation. What did they expect them to say? We hope the president, whose son threatened to dismember the children we love and had my ex-husband tortured and killed, manages to hold on to his presidency so we don’t have to deal with it?
In truth, Sam wasn’t sure what to hope for. Half of her wanted Nelson and his entire family behind bars for what Christopher had put her family through with the horrific threats that had been levied against Scotty, her beloved nieces and nephews and Nick’s much-younger half-brothers. The far more rational side of her hoped that maybe Nelson could somehow prove he’d had no idea what his son was doing and hold on to his presidency.
She and Nick were painfully aware that the DNC expected him to be their candidate in the next election, but they had a couple of years before anything had to be decided for certain, and they’d hoped to enjoy those years in relative peace and quiet that had been badly disrupted by Christopher Nelson’s shenanigans.
“Here I am obsessing about that crap again when I have far bigger things to worry about.” She placed a call to her commander, Captain Malone, to report in about the new case.
“Welcome back, Lieutenant. I’d tell you we missed you, but of course you know that.”
Sam rolled her eyes at the predictable comment from her friend and mentor. “I’m sure you enjoyed the vacation from me as much as I enjoyed the vacation from all of you.”
“You hurt my feelings, Lieutenant.”
“Ha! You have to have feelings before they can be hurt.”
His low guffaw made her smile. “To what do I owe the honor of this Sunday night phone call?”
“I got called back early for a drive-by shooting of a fifteen-year-old in Southeast.”
“Ah damn. What’ve you got?”
Sam filled him in on what they knew so far, which wasn’t much. “The next step is reviewing the film to see if there’s anything we can use to track down the car.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Will do. I’ll give it a couple more hours tonight and then pick it up in the morning.”
“Sounds like a plan. Hope it was a relaxing time off for you.”
“As relaxing as it can be when your husband is caught up in the lead story in every newspaper and on every news station in the country.”
“I can’t even imagine the stress you guys have to be dealing with.”
“We’re trying to pretend it’s not happening until we have to.”
“And how’s that going?”
“Easier said than done.”
“I’ll bet. It’s such an unbelievable thing. How could Nelson not know what his son was up to? Even if he could somehow prove he wasn’t involved, I’m not sure I’d believe him.”
“I know. Privately, we feel the same, but we’re hoping that somehow he can hang on.”
“I’m not sure how either of you are sleeping at night.”
“We’re finding ways to exhaust ourselves so we’ll sleep like babies.”
“Jesus, Sam,” he said with a huff. “I’m your boss, for Christ’s sake.”
She busted up laughing. “Just looking for some comic relief.”
His low chuckle echoed through the phone. “You’re too much, Holland.”
“I hear that a lot. Speaking of too much, any rumbles from U.S. Attorney Forrester and the grand jury?”
“Not that I’ve heard, but you know how hush-hush that process is.”
“Yeah, true. I just wish we could get an answer one way or the other. Imagine if Nelson resigns, Nick becomes president and I get indicted for assaulting Ramsey all in the same day.”
“Your imagination has run wild. No one thinks you’re going to be indicted. You and your husband are among the most popular people in the country. Forrester knew what he was doing, taking your case to the people. They’ll never indict you.”
“I hope you’re right. And PS, I’d do it again if I had it to do over.”
“No, you wouldn’t, because you’re a highly decorated police officer who’s above such behavior as punching a fellow officer, even if he deserves it.”
“I’m really not above it,” she said with a snort.
“Yes, you are. That’s my final word on the matter. Hit me up later with an update on the drive-by.”
“Will do.” Sam slapped her phone closed and tossed it on the passenger seat. The subject of her colleague Sergeant Ramsey always rankled, especially as she twisted in the wind for months waiting to hear if she would be indicted for punching him in the face and knocking him backward down a flight of stairs. A concussion and broken wrist were the least of what he deserved for what he’d said to her about deserving the torturous attack Lieutenant Stahl had perpetrated on her.
Sam’s rise through the department ranks hadn’t come without her fair share of enemies, who believed she’d gotten to where she was because of her father. Skip had been deputy chief when he was shot by an unknown assailant three months shy of retirement. Her failure to close that most important case of her career was something that hung over every day of her life. She would neither rest nor retire until her father’s shooter had been caught.
That was just one of many reasons to sweat the current situation with Nelson. How would she continue to track down leads and follow up on her father’s case if she were taken off the job? She shuddered at the thought of being sidelined. That couldn’t happen. It wouldn’t happen. She’d see to that.
At HQ, she entered the building through the morgue entrance and stopped first to check in with Lindsey.
Sam strolled into the examination area, where antiseptic smells and gruesome sights greeted her. Under the bright lights Jamal’s injury was even more devastating than it had appeared on the street. “At least he died instantly.”
“There is that.” Lindsey held up an evidence bag containing the bullet. “Nine millimeter. I’ll send it to the lab for analysis.”
“Anything else I need to know?”
“Not yet. I’ll have my report to you in the morning.”
“Thanks for coming in on a holiday weekend,” Sam said.
“This job doesn’t recognize weekends or holidays, as you well know.”
“Or vacations,” Sam added. “I’m back early to work this one.”
“I hate when it’s a kid,” Lindsey said. “That makes it a thousand times worse.”
“I know. He’s only two years older than Scotty.” Sam cringed at the thought of losing her own son so senselessly.
“Your son is surrounded by Secret Service who’d never let anything happen to him,” Lindsey said, reading her mind.
“That’s the one major benefit of Nick being VP.”
“Not too many others lately, huh?”
“Nope.” Sam took another long last look at Jamal, vowing to get justice on his behalf no matter what she had to do. “I’d better get to it.”
“Good to have you back even if the circumstances suck.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
Sam left the morgue and ran into Freddie, who walked toward her from the detectives’ pit. “What’s up?”
“I was coming to check in with Lindsey, but looks like you’re one step ahead of me as always.”
He fell in beside her as they made their way to the pit. “You say that like it’s a surprise that I’m always one step ahead of you.”
“Actually, it’s the story of my life.”
“Why does hearing that bring me such unmitigated pleasure?”
“Because you’re a coldhearted woman, Lieutenant.”
Sam pretended to dab at her eyes. “You flatter me, Detective.”
His snort of laughter helped to lighten the dark mood that always descended upon her when someone was murdered in her city, especially a child.
“Only you would take that as a compliment.”
“That’s why you love me so much.”
“Whatever you say. What’s the plan?”
“I want to start my murder board and see what Archie was able to grab off the video feed. After that, I’ll brief Carlucci and Dominguez and turn it over to them. We’ll pick it up in the morning.”
“Um, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Carlucci and Dominguez are off tonight. It’s Sunday.”
“Damn it. Whose idea was it to give them time off?”
“I believe the union mandates that we all get two days a week off from this nuthouse.”
“Bloody unions. Who’s covering Homicide tonight?”
“Um, we are?”
“No, we’re not. I’m technically still on vacation, and you’re supposed to be off today too.”
“I don’t mind staying for a while to figure out what we’ve got and what we need to do next.”
“Fine. I’ll stay to help with that, but we’re not working all night.”
“You’re the boss, LT.”
“Yes, I am. Let’s go see Archie.” They went up the same stairs Ramsey had fallen down to get to the second-floor home of IT, which was lit up like a weekday, and SVU, which was dark. That meant there was no chance she might run into Ramsey while she was up there.
“How did I know I’d be hearing from you guys?” Lieutenant Archelotta asked, grinning at them from his post in front of a massive monitor. Several other IT detectives were working in cubicles.
“We’re predictable that way.” Sam was still grappling with the fact that her brief relationship with him had been made public during the investigation into her ex-husband’s murder. Her current husband had been none too happy to hear that she’d once been involved with the handsome IT detective, even if it was only a brief fling after her first marriage ended. “What’ve you got from the scene?”
“Not much, unfortunately. Take a look.” He clicked onto a different screen and played the video feed that showed a fast-moving car and a flash of light that had to be the gunshot, but the details were fuzzy because of the car’s rate of speed.
“Anything on other cameras in the area?” Freddie asked.
“We’re combing through that footage now. I’ll let you know if we see anything that might be helpful.”
“Thanks, Archie.”
“Wish I could do more to help, but we’ll keep trying. I hate when crap like this happens to kids.”
Sam squeezed his shoulder. “We all do. Thanks for your help.”
“Sure thing.”
“Well,” Sam said to Freddie when they were on their way back downstairs, “that takes us right back to square one without a thread to pull.”
“Let’s set up the board. That always leads to threads.”
“You read my mind, Detective.”
They went into the conference room and turned on the lights. Sam stopped short at the sight of the murder board for her ex-husband that hadn’t yet been dismantled, even though Peter’s case had been closed for several weeks.
“We weren’t sure if you wanted us to take care of that or if you wanted to do it yourself,” Freddie said.
Sam’s gaze landed on the postmortem photo of Peter’s bruised and battered face. He’d been tortured by Christopher Nelson’s henchman in an effort to gain information about Sam and Nick that could be used to discredit them. It still amazed her that despite their tumultuous history, Peter had tried to protect her in the end. That was the least of what he’d owed her, but it surprised her nonetheless.
“You guys can take it apart tomorrow. We don’t need it anymore.”
“Will do.” He went to a second dry-erase board and wrote Jamal Jackson, 15 across the top in red ink. Then he pinned a photo of Jamal to the left side of the board.
“Where’d you get that?” Sam asked, taking in the smiling face of the boy who’d been murdered.
“Off his Instagram account.”
Next to that, Freddie pinned a photo of Jamal taken from the crime scene and made notes about the time of death and the information Vincent and Corey had given them about the shooting. Then he drew a line from Jamal to a listing of his mother and sisters’ names.
“You can add that he was shot with a nine-millimeter weapon,” Sam said. “Lindsey is sending the bullet out for analysis.”
Freddie made a note of the bullet information. “What else?”
“That’s all we’ve got for now.”
“Where do you want to start?”
“While every instinct I have tells me this was random, we have to make sure of that. So we dig into his life, the friends’ lives, the mother’s life, the sisters’ lives.”
“Why the mother and sisters?”
“If someone had a beef with one of them, taking out Jamal could be retribution. Nothing would surprise me.”
“It’s a thread,” Freddie conceded.
“We’ll start with the people closest to him and work our way out.” She checked her watch and saw that it was after nine o’clock. “I don’t think we should go to the Jacksons’ house tonight. The morning will be soon enough.”
“Agreed.”
Sam was about to suggest they call it a night when Gonzo came into the conference room wearing a grim expression.
“We’ve got another fatal drive-by.”