CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WITH FREDDIE RIGHT behind her, Sam climbed the stairs to the house, noting with interest that a ramp had been installed on the other side of the porch. Having some experience with ramps, she took a closer look and saw that it had been hastily assembled, not at all like the one Nick had professionally built at their house so her dad could visit. She rang the doorbell and pulled out her badge, ready to show it to Dwayne Rogers.
A black man came to the door. He was tall and muscular with sleeve tattoos and diamonds in both ears. Before they could show their badges, he identified them as cops. “What do you want?”
Flashing her badge, Sam said, “Lieutenant Holland, Detective Cruz. Could we have a few minutes of your time, Mr. Rogers?”
“Who sent you here?”
“That’s not important,” Sam said. “We’d like to talk to you. We can either do it here or downtown. Up to you.”
He glowered at her but stepped aside to admit them.
As a policy, Sam never turned her back on a person of interest in an investigation. “After you,” she said, gesturing for him to lead the way into his home.
They followed him through the foyer to a hallway that led to the kitchen.
Sam stopped short at the sight of a familiar face. Roberto Castro, the man she’d met while undercover with the Johnson family. Roberto had been left paralyzed by the crack-house shootout that had killed young Quentin Johnson, an event that still haunted Sam almost two years after it happened. Sam had convinced Roberto to go straight and had helped him land a job as a clerk with the city. She hoped his presence here wasn’t an indication that he’d gone back to his old ways.
“Well, well, well,” Roberto said, smiling. “If it ain’t my favorite second-lady cop.” He’d added the word second to his usual name for her.
Sam grimaced at the title and returned his fist bump. “How you doing, Roberto?”
“Livin’ the dream. Nothing fancy like you, but gettin’ by.”
“You know her?” Rogers asked.
“Me and her go way back, don’t we?”
“We do,” Sam said. “How do you guys know each other?”
“First cousins,” Roberto said. “Our mothers are sisters.”
“You’re not working today?”
“Takin’ a little break from work. Had a setback that put me in the hospital for a coupla weeks. I’m still on medical leave.”
Sam was relieved to hear that he hadn’t left or lost the job. “Sorry to hear that.”
Roberto shrugged. “Is what it is. What’re you sniffin’ out now?”
“Peter Gibson.”
“Who?” Roberto asked, his brows furrowed.
“The mattress guy,” Rogers said.
“Oh yeah! He squared me and my Angel away with a sweet deal on a new sack. What about him?”
“He’s been murdered.”
Both men looked at her in legitimate shock, the kind that couldn’t be faked.
“No way,” Rogers said. “He was here for poker last week. Lost big, but he usually does.”
“Did he say anything about beefs or issues?”
“Nah,” Rogers said. “But we weren’t tight like that. We played cards and drank beer. That’s about it.”
“How’d he come to be part of your game?” Freddie asked.
“Another guy brought him,” Rogers said. “Anton. He knew him from a game he was in.”
“Where can we find Anton?” Sam asked.
“You ain’t gonna tell him I sent you, are you?” Rogers asked.
“Not if we don’t have to.”
He glanced at Roberto, who nodded.
“She’s cool. She’ll protect ya.”
Sam appreciated his endorsement. He’d helped her out with the Reese case last year, filling in some blanks for her—blanks that she’d hoped would lead to a break on her father’s unsolved shooting, but like every other lead they’d had in that case, it had turned out to be another dead end.
Reluctantly—or so it seemed to Sam—Rogers said, “Anton works at a market on 11th Street Northwest. He’s a butcher.”
“His last name?”
“Williams.”
“What’s he look like?”
“Tall, black, built like me kinda,” Rogers said. “Got a neck tat and a pierced lip.”
“Appreciate your help,” she said.
“This had better not come back at me,” he said.
“We’ll do what we can to keep you out of it.” To Roberto, she said, “Could I have a word in private?”
“Yeah, yeah. Knew you was gonna say that.”
“I live to be predictable.” Sam led the way to the front porch. To Freddie, she said, “Give me a minute with him.”
“Sure. I’m going to apologize to my car for letting you drive it.”
“You do that.” Sam held the door for Roberto, who rolled out behind her.
“You gonna give me a lecture, lady cop?”
“Nothing like that. I just want to know how you are. Really.”
“Me and Angel... We had a coupla bumps, but we’re working it out.”
“What kind of bumps?”
He seemed pained when he said, “They ain’t sure I can have kids, and she really wants them. She took off for a while, but she came back. Not sure if she’s back to stay or not, but we’re workin’ it out. Day at a time.”
That news saddened Sam. Roberto had once referred to Angel as his will to live. Without her, she feared he might veer off course again. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you guys can work it out. And there’re all sorts of ways to have kids these days. I’ve had my own issues with that.”
“I know. I saw your speech a coupla months ago. I had no idea you’d been through all that shit.”
“I have a son now. We adopted him, but it doesn’t matter how we got him. What matters is that he’s ours and we’re his.”
“I feel ya. We been talking about that.”
“If I can help at all, you know how to reach me.”
“Y’all fancy now. I’d be afraid to call you.”
“Don’t be stupid. My husband’s fancy. I’m the same old bitch I always was.”
“Sure ya are,” he said, snorting with laughter. “Ya might be the same old bitch, but you’re hangin’ at the White House these days.”
“Call if you need me, Roberto. I mean it.”
“I’ll do that. You’re okay for a cop.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“The guy that was iced, he was your old man back in the day, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah. Way back.”
“Not sure if I should say sorry or not.”
“Thanks. If you hear anything, anything at all, let me know.”
“I got my ear to the ground. You know me.”
“Yeah, I do, and I want to see you back to work at city hall. Don’t do anything stupid, you hear me?”
“Yeah, lady cop. I hear ya.” He flashed a charming smile. “I’m on best behavior at all times.”
“You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.”
“How’s your dad getting on?”
“A little better. He had surgery to remove the bullet, and he’s got some tingles here and there.” She left out the part about how painful those tingles had been.
“Glad to hear he’s doin’ good. He’s straight up.” Sam had gotten them together last winter, and her dad had enjoyed meeting Roberto.
She returned his fist bump. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“See ya on the news, fancy pants.”
“Fuck you,” she shot over her shoulder as she went down the stairs.
“That ain’t no way for the second lady to talk,” he called after her.
She flipped him off and smiled at the sound of his laughter. Somehow they’d both survived their time with the Johnson family and had come out of it scarred but resilient.
Sam got into Freddie’s car, giving the passenger door an extra-hard tug when it didn’t want to close.
“Be gentle with her,” Freddie admonished. “She cooperates when you’re nice to her.”
“That’s me being nice. And PS, I happen to know you make enough money to afford a car that actually works.”
“Be quiet! Don’t say that in front of her! You’re a monster.”
“And this is news to you?” Sam handed him the tablet. “Before we take off, do a run on Anton Williams to see if he’s in the system.”
“You know, you could do this while I drive and we could save some time.”
She put the seat back and closed her eyes. “Nah, it’s better when you do it.”
“Better for who?”
“Me, of course.”
A couple of minutes later, he said, “A few misdemeanors years ago. Nothing recent.”
“Excellent. Now drive me to 11th Street Northwest, and hurry up about it.”
“Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say, ma’am.” He tucked the tablet between the seats, eased the car into traffic and headed toward the city’s northwestern quadrant. “What’d Roberto have to say?”
“He and Angel have been having some problems. The doctors aren’t sure he can have kids, and she wants them. They split for a while, but she’s back now.”
“That’s a tough one.”
“He said he saw my speech, and it helped them.”
“That’s nice to hear.”
“Yeah.”
“He’s staying straight?”
“So he says. He’s going to keep his ear out for anything about Peter.”
“That’s good.” After a long pause, he glanced over at her. “What’re you thinking?”
“What Rogers said about Peter losing big and how he always does...”
“What about it?”
“I’m thinking it might be worth having Vice nose around the gambling circuit. Maybe he was into bigger things than Rogers’s card game and someone got tired of waiting to be paid.”
“I agree it’d be worth a look. You want me to call Robach?” he asked, referring to the Vice squad captain.
“Nah, I’ll do it.” Sam placed the call to HQ and waited for Dispatch to pick up.
“Metro PD, please hold.” Before Sam could say a word, she was listening to hideous music.
“She just put me on fucking hold. What if this was an emergency?”
“Um, you would’ve called 911 and not the switchboard?”
“Don’t be a smart-ass.”
“I’m not!” he said, laughing. “I’m serious. You didn’t call the emergency number, so she can put you on hold.”
“She should know it’s me and not put me on hold.”
“Oh, um, well...of course she should. What was I thinking?”
“You weren’t, but that happens with you sometimes. I should be used to it by now.”
“What. Ever.” Under his breath he added, “You couldn’t function without me.”
“What was that you said? I could’ve sworn you said I couldn’t function without you, which we both know is ludicrous. I functioned for years without you.”
“But the job was nowhere near as fun as it is with me.”
“You said that, not me. What the ever-loving fuck are they doing for all this time? I’m going to hang up and call back if she doesn’t get to me in five, four, three—”
“Metro PD. How can I direct your call?”
“Robach in Vice.”
“Please hold.”
“Ugh, that music! I can’t bear it!”
“You keep saying you’re going to replace it with your Bon Jovi soundtrack.”
“That’s so happening. I’m going to sneak in there and just do it.”
“Let me know how that goes.”
Sam heard a click on the line. “Robach.”
“It’s Holland. I was wondering if I could request an assist from you guys on the Gibson investigation.”
“What do you need?”
“I want to know how deep he was into the local gambling scene. I’m picking up some vibes that are leading me in that direction.”
“We’ll look into it for you.”
“Thanks.”
The line went dead.
Sam held the phone away from her ear and looked at it. “Was it something I said?”
“What do you mean?”
“He was kind of...abrupt.”
“Might just be busy.”
“I’m sure that’s all it is, because it couldn’t possibly be the other vibe I’m picking up lately that some of my MPD colleagues have had enough of me and the circus that surrounds me since I got married.”
“I haven’t heard a peep about that.”
“You wouldn’t. They’d never say it in front of you, because they know we’re tight.”
“We’re tight? Really?”
“Shut up, Freddie, and focus!”
He laughed. “I am focusing, and I would’ve heard if people were beefing. Someone would’ve told me.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because they’ve told me other stuff when they felt we needed to know. Little things here and there. I always pass it on to you. I swear, I’ve heard nothing of the sort about people being fed up with you. Other than myself, of course, which makes perfect sense since I’m the one stuck with you most of the time.”
“You used to be such a nice boy,” Sam said with a sigh. “What happened?”
“You happened. You ruined me.”
A smile lit up her face as she dabbed dramatically at her eyes. “That might be the nicest compliment you’ve ever given me.”
“You’re a mess,” he said with a chuckle.
“I would be if it wasn’t for you and this,” she said, swinging a hand between them to indicate their usual banter. “Thanks for keeping it real today.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
Sam watched the city go by outside the passenger-side window, thinking of Peter and her checkered history with him. It would be easy to focus exclusively on the bad stuff he’d done—and he’d done plenty of bad stuff. Her mind wandered to some of the good times they’d had, and there’d been a few of those mixed in with a lot of bad.
In many ways, she blamed herself as much as she blamed him for the disaster their marriage had been. With her heart yearning for another man, she never should’ve allowed her friendship with Peter to turn romantic, and she certainly never should’ve married him. That was on her, and he’d always known that she didn’t love him the way a wife should love her husband. Perhaps that’s why he’d become such a psychotic in his efforts to have her all to himself.
Her phone rang, and she happily took the call from her husband. “Hi there.”
“Hey, babe, good news. Brant just told me they’ve arrested LeRoy Nevins. They think he’s good for the threat.”
“They think, but they don’t know for sure?”
“They’re still making the case, but they found quite a lot of stuff in his office and on his computer that indicated his extreme displeasure with the current vice president.”
“But they can’t pin that letter on him?”
“Not yet, but the FBI is liking him for it.”
“Hmm.”
“What does that mean? ‘Hmm’?”
“I was hoping for a slam dunk so we could be sure it was him and get on with our lives.”
“You know better than anyone that there’re rarely any slam dunks in situations like these.”
“What’s being done with the prisoners in the bunker?”
“The Secret Service is going to brief everyone, tell them what we know—and what we don’t know—and give them the choice as to whether they want to remain under protection or go back to their lives.”
Sam couldn’t argue with that plan. “And Scotty?”
“We’re going to bring him out, but no more camp until we know more.”
“Ah, damn, he’ll be heartbroken!”
“I know, and I feel terrible, but the Secret Service isn’t bending. They feel he’s too vulnerable out in the open on those fields.”
Sam could hear the agony in Nick’s voice because his job was going to cause that level of heartache for their son. “I’m so sorry, babe. I can only imagine how you must feel.”
“I feel like shit.”
“He’ll understand that his safety is at risk.”
“Will he? Will he really?”
“We’ll talk to him together when I get home. We’ll help him see what’s at stake. Maybe we can set up something really cool where he’ll get to go into the dugout to meet the Feds or something.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll ask around about how to make that happen.”
“You’re the vice president, Nick. They’ll bend over backward to make that happen.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I hope it’s enough for him.”
Sam wanted to crawl through the phone and wrap her arms around him. “It’ll be okay. We’ll make it okay for him. I promise. He loves you so much. He’d never hold something like this against you.”
“Not this time, maybe, but what if it keeps happening? How many disappointments will he have to bear because of me and my job?”
“Let’s take them one at a time and figure this one out. Okay?”
“Yeah, okay. What’re you up to?”
“Working the case, following the leads. I’m hearing Peter was into gambling. We’re trying to find out just how deep he was in. It’s a thread to pull, if nothing else.”
“You’re being extra careful, right?”
“Yes. Don’t worry.”
“You may as well tell me not to breathe, my love.”
Sam’s heart still skipped a beat when he called her that. “I’ll see you at home, okay?”
“I’ll be there. Love you.”
“Love you too.” Sam ended the call, closed her eyes and put her head back against the seat, trying to figure out what they could say to Scotty to make him understand why he couldn’t go back to camp.
“Tough one,” Freddie said.
“Yeah.”
“He’s a good kid. He’ll understand.”
“Nick’s worried about how he’ll feel if this stuff keeps happening. The disappointments pile up.”
“Knowing Scotty, he’d still choose to live with you guys every day, no matter what disappointments might come with life in the spotlight.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so. He loves you guys—much more than he loves baseball camp.”
“Thanks. That helps.” Sam agreed that Scotty loved them more than he loved camp, but he’d still be terribly disappointed, and that broke her heart. She never wanted him to be unhappy or disappointed about anything. Ever.