by Marie Force
While they waited for more news from the doctors overseeing Brooke’s care, Sam sat with Tracy, who continued to sob uncontrollably.
“I knew something like this was going to happen,” Tracy said. “This is why I sent her away. I just don’t understand what she’s doing here.”
“That’s the first thing I’m going to find out,” Sam said. “What’s the name of the headmaster at the school?”
“Gideon Young. He’s been so nice to us and so accommodating with weekly reports on how she’s doing.”
“Do you have the main number for the school?”
Tracy retrieved her phone from her coat pocket and found the number.
Sam wrote it down. “I’ll call there shortly. I also need to know the names of her friends here in DC. We talked once about a girl you didn’t like. I can’t remember her name.”
“Hoda,” Tracy said disdainfully. “I don’t know her last name. According to Brooke, she’s just Hoda, like Pink or Cher.”
“And this kid is seventeen?”
“Or eighteen. She was at Wilson with Brooke.”
“I’ll check with the school to get more info about her. Is there anyone else I should be looking at who might know where she was tonight?”
“It’s embarrassing to admit that I don’t know a lot of her other friends. When things between us began to go bad, she kept her friends away from us because she knew we wouldn’t approve.”
“I’ll figure this out, Trace. I promise.”
Harry emerged from the treatment area through double doors. “They’re ready to do the rape exam, and since she’s a minor, they need a parent or parents’ designate in there for that.”
“I can’t,” Tracy said as tears rolled down her cheeks. “I can’t hold it together, and that’s what she needs.”
“I’ll do it,” Sam said, glancing at her brother-in-law, who nodded in agreement. Her stomach knotted with fear and nerves as she remembered holding the hand of her detective and friend Jeannie McBride through a rape exam after a vicious assault earlier in the year.
“Are you sure?” Tracy asked.
“I got it, Trace. Try to calm down. When she wakes up, she’s going to need you.”
“I know.” Tracy wiped the tears from her face. “You’re right.”
Mike put his arm around his wife, who turned into his embrace.
Sam stood and wiped sweaty palms on her jeans.
Nick came over to her. “Are you sure about this, babe?”
“Hell, no, but I’d like to make sure it gets done right.”
“Harry’s in there and can make sure it gets done right. They can designate him as easily as they designated you.”
Sam shook her head. “She needs her family with her right now.”
“Harry said she’s totally out of it.”
“What if she comes out of it in the middle of a rape exam? She needs someone there with her.”
Her cell phone chimed with a text from Freddie. Six dead teens, all of them naked and stabbed while having sex. Drug stuff and booze all over the place. Two vics ID’d: Hugo Springer, son of home owners William and Marissa Springer, and Michael Chastain. More to come.
Sam’s entire body went cold with fear for her niece as she read and reread the text.
“What is it?” Nick asked.
She showed him the text.
“Jesus. You don’t think...Brooke...”
Sam blew out a deep breath. “I don’t know what to think right now. William Springer is a lawyer. He’s always defending the scumbags I arrest, and now his kid is dead, and my niece is in the hospital.”
“Babe, listen to me. I know you feel like you have to do this for Tracy and for Brooke, but you don’t. As much as you love her, she’s not your kid, and I hate to see you put yourself through such an ordeal.”
Sam wanted to snap at him, but the concern she saw on his face had her biting back a nasty retort. “Tracy does everything for me. She always has. This is something I can do for her. Look at her. She’s hysterical. She can’t handle it.”
“But what about you? What about the toll it’ll take on you?”
“I can deal with it,” Sam said with more confidence than she felt. “I appreciate your concern, but I need to do this.”
Harry returned to the waiting room. “Sam? Are you coming?”
She squeezed Nick’s arm and followed Harry through the doors to the corridor that led to the exam rooms where she’d spent far too much time in the last year. Sam, who despised needles and all things medical, discovered a totally different set of frazzled nerves was involved when someone she loved was lying in one of the beds.
Brooke’s face had been wiped clean of blood, which made it easier to see how bruised her left cheek and lips were. At first glance, it looked to Sam as if someone had punched her. The skin that wasn’t black or blue was as white as the bed linens with only her freckles standing out in stark relief. A trail of grayish drool stained her mouth and chin.
“Was the sheet she was wrapped in bagged?” Sam asked.
“This is MPD Lieutenant Holland,” Harry said to the medical professionals tending to Brooke. “She’s the patient’s aunt.”
One of the nurses gestured to a paper bag that sat on a metal table off to the side of Brooke’s bed.
“Thank you,” Sam said, eying the evidence bag with trepidation. What would the lab uncover about Brooke’s involvement, if any, in what happened tonight on MacArthur Boulevard? Whose blood had been all over her? What would she do if her investigation placed the blame for mass homicide on her own niece? No, she thought, dismissing that notion the second it registered. That couldn’t happen.
“Any word on the tox screen?” Sam asked the doctor in charge.
“She’s hopped up on Molly,” the doctor said, “with a side of GHB and vodka, or so we think from the smell. Her BAC was 0.16.”
Molly, Sam thought, as she desperately tried to remember the details of the briefing they’d had at work recently about the drug that was running rampant among young people, even resulting in several deaths. MDMA, she recalled, the main chemical found in Ecstasy.
As the nurses prepped Brooke for the rape exam, Sam moved to the head of the bed where she could be close by if Brooke needed her but still able to watch what the nurses were doing.
“We’re going to begin by photographing her injuries and scraping under her fingernails,” the nurse in charge of the exam explained to Sam. “We’ll clip the nails to preserve them as evidence. We’ll swab her mouth and use a special light to check for semen and swab any samples. Hair samples will be taken so we have a baseline for her DNA, and we’ll comb her hair and pubic regions for any stray hairs. We’ll do an internal exam to check for injuries and take fluid samples from the vaginal and anal areas. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask at any time.”
Sam nodded in acknowledgement as she braced herself for what she knew would be hours of painstaking work to collect evidence. It had been the right thing to keep Tracy away from this, but that didn’t make it easy for her to watch.
Fortunately, Brooke was still unconscious as two nurses settled her feet in stirrups and raised the sheet to expose her genitals for photographs of her injuries.
Sam flinched with every flash. She knew from having been through this once before that the exam could be every bit as invasive as the attack itself. They turned Brooke over and photographed her from all angles until Sam wanted to scream that they certainly had enough photos. But she held her tongue and let the experts do their jobs. After nearly thirteen years as a cop, Sam was painfully aware that an entire case could come down to a single eyelash or fiber.
Brooke remained still through it all, so still that Sam had to watch the rise and fall of her niece’s chest to ensure she was breathing. However, when
the nurse inserted the speculum, Brooke came to, screaming and thrashing.
Sam took hold of her shoulders as Harry and one of the nurses each took an arm and a leg. “It’s okay, Brooke. It’s Auntie Sam. I’m here and the doctors and nurses are trying to help you.”
Her entire body convulsed with twitchy movements and violent trembling. “It hurts! Make them stop! What’re they doing?”
The ER doctor asked for Ativan, which was administered through the IV.
“Brooke, honey, you have to relax and try to be still,” Sam said, using all her strength to restrain her niece while trying not to add to her injuries. “You’ve been assaulted, and we need evidence—”
“No!” Brooke screamed at the top of her lungs, straining mightily against the hands that held her in place. “Don’t touch me!” Between outbursts, she was grinding her teeth and licking her lips frantically.
“The Ativan will kick in momentarily,” the doctor said. “Let’s wait for it.”
While they waited, Brooke continued to scream and sob and struggle and grind her teeth as Sam tried to soothe her.
Sam used her sleeve to wipe away the tears that blinded her as she tried to provide comfort to the girl. “It’s okay,” Sam said, smoothing the hair back from Brooke’s sweaty brow as she caught Harry’s gaze.
He nodded, silently encouraging her to keep talking to Brooke.
“You’re okay.” She was so damned relieved that Brooke was awake and talking that she could handle the screaming and the crying if need be, even if every scream and every tear broke her heart.
“Sam, make them stop,” Brooke said between sobs. “They’re hurting me.”
“They aren’t the ones who hurt you, honey, but what they’re doing will help us to find out who did. It’s really important, or I wouldn’t ask you to go through it. Is it okay if they finish?”
Brooke looked up at Sam with wild eyes, but she bit her lip and nodded as tears slid from the corners of her eyes.
Sam watched as the nurse practitioner worked quickly but efficiently, taking swabs and samples and cataloging Brooke’s injuries.
Brooke screamed again when the speculum was removed, and Sam caught a glimpse of blood smeared on the plastic instrument.
Wrung out emotionally, Sam pressed her lips to Brooke’s forehead. “The worst part is over, honey.”
“She’s going to need some sutures,” the doctor said, debunking Sam’s theory that the worst was over.
“No,” Brooke said, tears streaming down her face. “Don’t let them touch me there again, Sam. Make them stop!”
“Can we sedate her for that?” Sam asked.
“Yes.”
“It’s okay, Brooke. You won’t be awake for it. It’ll be over before you know it.”
She looked up at Sam again with big, frightened eyes. “Why is this happening to me, Sam?”
“I was hoping you might be able to tell me why.”
Chapter Three
It was after three in the morning by the time Brooke was transferred from the emergency department to a room in the Intensive Care Unit. Sam had stayed by her side throughout the entire ordeal, including when she was sedated for the procedure to stitch the wounds in her vagina. Thankful for the sedation that had knocked the girl out, Sam dropped into a chair next to the bed and texted Tracy to let her know what room they were in.
While she waited for the others to arrive, Sam took a moment to collect herself after hours of hell. Her hands were trembling, her legs and back were aching and her legendary cop cool had been shot straight to hell. Everything was different when crime and violence struck close to home. Someone had had very rough sex with Brooke, but whether she’d been a victim or a willing participant remained to be seen.
Harry had kept Brooke’s parents informed throughout the evening, so when Tracy, Mike, Angela and Nick came into the room a few minutes later, Sam was spared from having to take them through the whole thing again.
Nick came right over to her while the others surrounded Brooke.
Sam stood, stepped into his welcoming embrace and let him lead her into the hallway.
He kissed the top of her head and held on tight, which went a long way toward addressing the trembling that had besieged her.
“How are the ribs?” she asked.
“Fine. I’m far more concerned about you.”
“I’m better now that she’s sedated and settled in a room.”
“We could hear her screaming from the waiting room.”
“It was pretty brutal in there. She came to in the middle of the rape exam, freaking out over what they were doing to her. As far as I know, that was her first pelvic exam. Hopefully, she won’t remember it tomorrow.”
“The press has picked up on the MacArthur murders.”
“Shit.” Sam ran her fingers through her hair, attempting to comb some order into it after the long night. “So we’ve already lost control of the story, and we haven’t even begun to dig into what happened there.”
“Luckily, it’s not your problem this time around.”
She kept her voice down in an attempt to keep their conversation private from the nurses who eyed them with recognition and interest as they walked past. “What do you mean?”
“You’re on vacation.”
“Um, my vacation was canceled the minute I found my niece naked and bloody on my front porch. And it was definitely canceled the second we learned of six teenage murder victims in my city.”
“There’s no reason your team can’t handle this case without you.”
“There’s every reason they aren’t going to handle it without me. Do you have any idea how hot this case is going to get with six dead kids strung out on drugs, stabbed while having sex in the basement of a prominent lawyer’s house?”
“What if we’d left tonight to go to France or Italy or somewhere else?”
“I’d be on my way back.”
He dropped his arms from her shoulders and took a step back from her, his displeasure obvious.
“What do you want me to say? This is my job. She’s my niece. I have to know what happened to her. I have to know for her and for Tracy, and I have to protect her from whatever this investigation may uncover.”
“It doesn’t have to be you, Sam.”
She blew out a deep breath that was equal parts exhaustion and disbelief. “Have you met me?”
“What the hell kind of question is that?” he asked, no longer making an effort to keep his voice down.
“A direct one. If you knew me at all, and I usually think you know me better than anyone, you wouldn’t question my need to run this case.”
“I do question it. Everyone needs a break, even you. We need a break. I’m so freaking sick of the treadmill we live on. I want off for one goddamned week, and I want my wife with me. We had plans.”
“You’re married to a goddamned homicide detective, Nick. You know the drill. How in the world do you expect me to take a step back from this of all cases?”
“I expect you to keep your plans with me.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this. I never would’ve expected this from you.”
“Sam, come on,” he said imploringly. “We’ve had the year from hell with nonstop work and insanity. We’ve been in a car wreck, lost a baby, nearly got blown up in our own house, had numerous injuries—some of them serious—lost several of our close friends, been stalked by the media, ran a campaign, got married and adopted a son. How am I out of line to desperately need a week completely off with my family after all of that?”
“You’re not out of line.” When he recited the list, she couldn’t exactly argue with his logic. “But there’s no way I can relax and enjoy a vacation with six dead kids on my conscience and a niece who’s been drugged and sexually
assaulted lying in the hospital when who knows what has been done to her. I’ll go crazy if I can’t work this case.”
“You do what you’ve gotta do. I’m going home to our son. Tell Tracy and Mike I’ll help Celia take care of Abby and Ethan for as long as they need me.”
Sam took hold of his arm, rocked by the rare disagreement. “Nick, come on. Don’t leave mad. Please?”
He kissed her forehead and then her lips. “I’m not mad. I’m fed up. I’ve been living for this time with you, and I need it, babe. I really need it. But I guess it’s not going to happen. I’ll see you when I see you.”
Sam watched, incredulous, as he walked away from her without telling her he loved her or asking her to be careful or any of the things he usually said to her. She could tell by the way he walked that he was in pain, and the set of his shoulders indicated he was angry, too, despite his claims to the contrary.
Awesome. That was just what she needed right now. She took a deep breath and went into the room to speak to her sisters and brother-in-law. “I’m going in to work to try to figure out what went on last night. Will you call me when she wakes up?”
“We will,” Tracy said, her gaze fixed on Brooke as she stroked the girl’s long dark hair.
“She didn’t say anything about what happened?” Angela asked.
Sam shook her head. “She was too agitated and out of it for most of the time I was with her. She had a few lucid moments, but for the most part, she couldn’t process what had happened, and I didn’t give her more information than she needed.”
Mike came over to hug Sam. “Thank you so much for being in there with her.”
“Sure, no problem.” Sam tried not to think about the huge problem this case was already causing between her and Nick. “Nick said to tell you he’ll help Celia with Abby and Ethan for as long as you need him.”
“That’s great. Thank you.”
“I’m going to see if I can start to make some sense of all of this.”
“Will you let us know what you find out?”
“Yes, of course.” She eyed Brooke in the bed, pale and sick and changed forever by the events of the previous evening. “Do the names Hugo Springer or Michael Chastain mean anything to you?”
