by Marie Force
“Welcome aboard,” Carlucci added.
“Good to be here,” Green said.
Sam watched the three of them interact, having the wildly inappropriate thought that the tall, blonde, stacked Carlucci would make pretty, pretty babies with Green. Although, petite Dominguez with her olive skin, dark hair and eyes was a head-turner too.
Thinking about that foolishness kept her from obsessing about the massive bloodstain on Vanessa Marchand’s sunflower dress. Compartmentalization. It kept her sane.
“What’ve you got for me, ladies?” Sam asked her third-shift detectives.
“Simpson, the former SEAL who was shot in the head in Afghanistan, is still at Walter Reid undergoing extensive rehabilitation,” Dominguez said. “We were able to speak to him and rule him out as a possible suspect.” She glanced at her partner, who nodded in confirmation. “He no longer has the physical abilities to carry out this kind of crime. He’s in a wheelchair and is obviously impaired.”
“We can’t find Vega,” Carlucci said. “We tried the address on file for him and were told he hasn’t lived there in more than a year and left no forwarding address. We came back to dig a little deeper on him.”
“Good work,” Sam said. “Keep me posted on what you find out about Vega. We’re following up with Sergeant Offenbach and retired Captain Wallack.”
“Dylan Offenbach?” Carlucci said.
“Yes, do you know him?”
“We were in the academy together.”
“Impressions?”
“Hardworking, by the book, family man. He and his wife have, like, four kids at last count, I think.”
“He’s supposedly at a conference in Philly,” Sam told her.
“Then I’m sure that’s where he is.”
“We’re confirming it to close the loop. But I want nothing in the reports about investigating our own people.”
“Right. Understood.”
“Green, let’s find Detective Cruz and go pay retired Captain Wallack a visit.”
“At two-thirty in the morning?” Green asked.
“We’ve got murderers killing innocent people,” Sam said. “I don’t give a crap what time it is.”
“Well, alrighty then,” Green said, smiling.
“Welcome to Homicide,” Dominguez said. “Where you never have to wonder what your lieutenant is thinking.”
“I can hear you people talking about me behind my back,” Sam said as she went into the office to get her keys.
As they headed toward the morgue, Freddie came downstairs with Archie. “Ah,” Freddie said. “There she is. You can tell her yourself.”
“Tell her what?” Sam asked.
“I’m not comfortable with tracking the phone belonging to a member in good standing of this department without a damned good reason,” Archie said.
“Come with me.” Sam set off toward the morgue, the three men following her into the cold, antiseptic-smelling space where Lindsey performed the autopsy on Vanessa Marchand. Her chest had been blown wide-open by the bullet.
Sam turned to face Archie. “She is my damned good reason.”
“What’s going on, citizens?” Lindsey asked without looking up from her work.
“Lieutenant Holland wants Lieutenant Archelotta to track the cell phone belonging to Sergeant Offenbach to make sure he’s actually in Philadelphia and not possibly participating in the series of drive-by shootings,” Cruz said. “Did I forget anything?”
Sam glared at Archie, who glared right back at her, said, “Nope. That about sums it up. Everyone is a suspect in this case until they aren’t. Track the fucking phone, Archie.”
“I’ll do it, but when this comes back to bite us in the ass, it’s your ass that’s getting bitten, not mine.”
“Understood. My ass and I can handle it.” As she said the words, she tried not to think about the fact that he was the one colleague who’d ever actually seen her bare ass.
Archie stormed out of the room.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“CHECK ME OUT,” Sam said. “Making friends everywhere I go.”
“It’s your special gift,” Freddie said.
Green snorted with laughter that he covered by clearing his throat.
Sam forced herself to look at Vanessa’s face, to remember why she was doing everything necessary to catch the people who’d taken the little girl’s life, even if it meant infuriating her colleagues.
“Have you got anything for me?” Sam asked Lindsey.
“One interesting thing. The bullet went right through her.”
“So it’s out there somewhere.” Sam reached for her phone and placed a call to Lieutenant Haggerty, commander of the Crime Scene unit working the scene of the Marchand shooting. When he answered, Sam said, “The bullet went right through her. You guys need to find it for me.”
“We’re on it.” He sounded harried and stressed. A dead kid did that to the best of police officers.
“Keep me posted.” Sam slapped the phone closed. “Let’s get going.”
Freddie and Green followed her from the morgue out into the swampy heat that hit them like a blast from an oven when they walked outside.
“We need a big, fat thunderstorm to get rid of this humidity,” Sam said, leading the way to her car.
“Is there any such thing as a skinny thunderstorm?” Freddie asked as he got into the passenger seat while Green got in the back.
“You know what I mean,” Sam said. “This goddamned heat is sucking the life out of me.”
“I’ve asked you not to take the Lord’s name in vain, Lieutenant,” Freddie said in the stern tone he used when he chastised her.
“And I’ve told you that I’ll goddamned say what I want when I want.”
Freddie clucked in disapproval as he turned the AC to blast. “You’re going straight to hell.”
“I’ll be in good company there.”
The ongoing argument helped to alleviate the stress of the case. Bickering with him beat thinking about how Vanessa had looked on the autopsy table.
“If you’re going to make me work all night, you’re going to have to feed me at some point.”
“Didn’t you eat dinner?”
“That was hours ago. As you well know, I’m a growing boy with insatiable appetites.”
“Disgusting,” Sam muttered.
“Are you two always so entertaining?” Green asked, sounding amused.
“Huh?” Sam asked, baffled by the question.
“I believe he’s saying we’re funny,” Freddie said, speaking slowly, like you would to someone very old, very young or seriously impaired.
“Huh,” Sam said. “This is just us being us.”
“It’s funny,” Green said.
“You think it’s easy being me?” Freddie asked.
“Whatever,” Sam said. “You’ve got the best gig in the department.”
“Oh, okay. If you say so, Lieutenant.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, which made her unreasonably proud. She’d taught him everything he knew about the fine art of sarcasm.
“I say so, and as we all know, what I say goes.”
Freddie glanced at Green in the back seat, rolling his eyes dramatically. “She’s a little full of herself,” he whispered. “You’ll get used to it. Eventually.”
“And he’s forgotten the meaning of the word insubordination. But he’ll figure it out. Eventually.”
Green continued to laugh at their back-and-forth.
Sam glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “I hope you know that the levity is in no way intended to be disrespectful to our victims. It’s how we cope.”
“I understand completely. I used to be the same way with my partner in Fairfax. It gets you through the day.”
“Exactly.” Sam hesitated before she said, “I als
o hope you’ll find that same rapport with Sergeant Gonzales, but it’s apt to take some time. He’s better than he was after Arnold was first killed, but he’s a long way from who he used to be.”
“I can’t begin to imagine what he’s been through, having that happen right in front of him the way it did.”
“It was also the first time he let Arnold take the lead in approaching a suspect,” Freddie added.
“Jesus,” Green muttered.
“Language, Detective,” Freddie said.
“Our boy Cruz is a card-carrying Christian,” Sam said.
“You say that like being a Christian is an STD or something,” Freddie retorted.
“I did not! Did I make that sound like being a Christian was the same as having an STD?” Sam asked Green.
“I’m not touching that one.”
“You should ask Detective Cruz about his vow of chastity sometime,” Sam said. “It’s a really interesting story.”
“Shut up, Sam,” Freddie said on a low growl.
“What? I’m just helping our new colleague get to know us.”
“Then you ought to tell him how you had crazy monkey sex with a material witness in a Homicide investigation, and then you married him.”
Sam snorted with laughter, because that was a good one. “Well played, Detective.”
“I can see that I have a lot more to learn than I thought,” Green said, smiling widely.
“We’re not good about behaving in front of new people,” Sam said. “I apologize in advance for the hundreds of ways I’ll probably traumatize you in the first month.”
“I’m not easily traumatized. I have four older sisters. Do your worst.”
“Yikes,” Freddie said. “Four older sisters? That had to be hell.”
“You have no idea. There’s nothing you can do or say to shock me.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure,” Freddie said. “Our lieutenant is fairly gifted at the art of shock and awe.”
“Wow,” Sam said, dabbing at pretend tears. “I’m so touched. I had no idea you thought so.”
“Are we there yet?” Freddie asked disdainfully.
“Almost. By the way, Detective Green, save next Saturday night for young Freddie’s bachelor party. We’ve got quite a lineup that includes midget strippers, a latex suit for the groom, some involuntary manscaping to get him ready for the wedding night, a sex toy demonstration because our boy Freddie is new to such things, lap dances and other fun stuff you won’t want to miss.”
“After that description, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“I won’t be there,” Freddie said. “Have a great time.”
“You’ll be there,” Sam said.
“No, I won’t.”
“He forgets who’s the boss of him.”
“You’re not the boss of my life. We’ve had this conversation.”
“And I believe I reminded you that I’m the boss of you, period. Thus, you will be where I tell you to be when I tell you to be there or you’ll be working road details for the rest of the sultry summer.”
“I hate you.”
“He used to be such a nice Christian boy, Detective Green. I don’t know where I went wrong with him.”
“Yes, you do,” Freddie said. “Because you are what went wrong with me.”
“He loves me so much he asked me to be the best-man woman in his wedding.”
“Biggest mistake of my life.”
Green rocked with laughter in the back seat.
“Please tell me we’re almost there,” Freddie said. “This ride is feeling torturous.”
“Yep.”
Sam pulled up to the address they’d been given on a side street off Montana Avenue. She glanced out the passenger window at the clapboard townhouse, which was completely dark at just after three in the morning. “Let’s do this.”
They walked through an open gate to the sidewalk that led to the front door where Sam rang the doorbell and knocked on the door. “Metro PD,” she said, hopefully loud enough for anyone inside to hear. When no one answered the door, she rang the bell and knocked again.
After about five minutes, the porch light came on and locks disengaged. The door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman wearing a robe. She took one look at them and began to scream.
Sam exchanged glances with Freddie, reached for the storm door, opened it and caught the woman as she pitched forward. What the hell? Freddie helped her to stop the woman from falling out the door, and they wrestled her back inside while she continued to shriek.
“Kenny! Oh God, did you find him? Tell me you found him! Is he dead?” She grabbed onto Sam’s shirt with a grip so tight she heard stitches give way in the neckline.
Freddie intervened, prying the woman’s hands free and getting her settled in a chair. “Ma’am, you have to calm down.”
“Please just tell me,” she said, whimpering now. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“If you’re referring to Captain Kenneth Wallack, MPD retired,” Sam said, “we have no information to indicate that he’s dead. We were hoping to speak to him.”
The woman stared at Sam as if she had spoken in a foreign language. “But he’s missing. I reported it two weeks ago.”
A sinking feeling overtook Sam, sending her belly into freefall. “Who did you report it to?”
“Conky.”
Hearing the nickname for Deputy Chief Conklin, the freefall turned to nausea.
“Start from the beginning,” Sam said. “Tell us your name and everything you told Deputy Chief Conklin.”
“My name is Leslie Wallack, and Kenny, my husband, he… He’s missing. I haven’t seen him in more than two weeks.”
“And it’s unusual for him to disappear like that?”
“Oh yes! He never goes anywhere without telling me where he’s going and when he’ll be home.”
“Where was he on the day he went missing?”
“He leads an Alcoholics Anonymous group on Tuesday mornings. He left around nine and never came home. I tried calling him all afternoon, and when it started to get dark, I called Conky. Kenny always told me to call him if I ever needed anything and he wasn’t around.”
“What happened then?” Sam’s heart raced and her hands went sweaty as the potential implications made her chest constrict.
“He came over, and I told him everything I just told you. He said I shouldn’t worry, that he’d take care of it.”
“Have you talked to him since?” Sam could feel the tension coming from Freddie and Cameron, which only added to hers.
“He’s checked in with me every day. He said the department is doing everything it can to locate Kenny, and that it’s going to be okay. But then you came in the middle of the night, and I thought… I thought the worst.”
“I’m sorry if we frightened you,” Sam said.
“You said you wanted to talk to Kenny,” she said haltingly. “Why would you come here to find him if you knew he was missing?”
Great question, Sam thought as she struggled to find an answer that would satisfy her. “I’ve been away on vacation and hadn’t gotten the word that he’s missing.”
“Oh.”
“We won’t take any more of your time right now, but I’ll make sure someone is in touch with you the minute we know more.”
“I’d appreciate that. I… I’ve always wanted to meet you, but I never thought it would happen like this. Kenny… He spoke so highly of you—and your father.”
“That’s nice to hear. My dad thinks the world of him too.”
Leslie grasped Sam’s arm. “Find him. Please find him.”
“We’ll do everything we can,” Sam said.
They left the house, and as soon as she heard locks turning, Sam said, “What the hell just happened?”
“Uhhh, I was
hoping you could tell me,” Freddie said.
“Conky is Deputy Chief Conklin, I presume?” Cameron asked.
“The one and only.”
“What the hell do we do with this?” Freddie asked.
“I don’t know yet. Let me think.” She walked away from them, head down, mind racing. Advice her father had given her the day she graduated from the academy came to mind. “If you stumble upon something your superior officers ought to know,” he’d said, “tell them the minute you know it. If you wait, you’re putting yourself and your career at risk.” With Skip’s voice in her head, she called Captain Malone.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Something weird just happened.”
“Define weird.”
Sam relayed the encounter with Leslie Wallack to her captain.
Dead silence.
“Captain? You heard me?”
“I heard you.”
“Did you know Wallack was missing?”
“I did not.”
“Why would Conklin take that report and not tell anyone?”
“I have no idea. How soon can you be back to the house?”
“I’m ten minutes out.”
“Meet me in the chief’s office.”
“Is he there?” Sam asked, surprised to hear the chief was in the building in the middle of the night.
“He came in after he got the call about the child being shot.”
“I’ll be right there.” She wanted to ask Malone if he was worried this Conklin situation would blow up into something huge, but she refrained from voicing the question. She’d find out soon enough.
“What’d he say?” Freddie asked.
“He asked me to meet him in Farnsworth’s office when we get back. The chief came in after he heard about Vanessa.”
“Damn,” Freddie said. “I’d like to be a fly on the wall for that meeting.”
“I hope it goes without saying that neither of you can say anything about this to anyone. It’s up to the chief to determine how he wants to handle it.”
“No one will hear it from me,” Freddie said.
“Or me,” Cameron added.
“Thank you. When we get back, go see if Carlucci and Dominguez have made any headway in tracking down Carlos Vega, and then expand our sharpshooter search beyond the District.”
