Fatal Jeopardy

by Marie Force

  Mike shook his head. “Should they?”

  “They’re two of the kids who were found dead in the Springer home last night.”

  “What’s that got to do with Brooke?”

  “I don’t know yet. Maybe nothing. Maybe something.”

  “Sam...what aren’t you saying?”

  “She was naked, stoned, bruised, possibly raped and had blood all over her that wasn’t hers. An hour later, six other kids roughly her age are found stabbed to death in a local home. All of them naked, stoned, bloody and killed while having sex. I’d love to think there was absolutely no connection between these two events, but...”

  His already pale face lost all remaining color. “How can they not be connected?” he asked in little more than a whisper.

  “Exactly.”

  “What does this mean for Brooke?”

  “I wish I could say. Let me do my job and get some answers for all of us.”

  “I feel like I’m coming out of my skin. I don’t know what to do. Tracy... She’s a wreck, and I want to comfort her, but I’m so damned mad with Brooke. I’ve been mad with her for such a long time, sometimes I forget that I used to love her more than just about anything.” Mike’s voice caught on a sob. He covered his eyes with his hands. “I feel like a monster for even saying that out loud, but what she’s done to our family...”

  Sam put her arms around the brother-in-law who’d been like a big brother to her for fifteen years. “You’re not a monster. You’re human, and she’s been a huge pain in the ass by anyone’s standards. We’ve all seen it over the last year or two.”

  “I thought this school was the answer to our prayers.”

  “I thought so, too, and you can bet I’m going to find out what happened there.” Sam stepped back from him. “The best thing you can do right now is be here with Tracy and help her through this. Brooke is going to feel like death when she comes to, and it’ll be a long road for her. They’re both going to need you.”

  Mike nodded, wiped his eyes and ran a hand over his close-cropped dark blond hair, which had begun to go gray in the last year. “Nick seemed pissed earlier. Out of sorts. Not at all himself. Is everything okay?”

  “It will be.” Sam hoped she was right about that. They didn’t have much experience with being at serious odds with each other. “He’s hurting from the hit to the ribs. Between that and everything with Brooke... We’re all out of sorts. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Keep me posted on how she’s doing.”

  “We will.”

  Sam hugged both her sisters and promised to be back soon.

  “Find out what happened, Sam,” Tracy said with new tears in her ravaged eyes. “Please find out what happened to my baby.”

  “I will.” Sam was in the elevator when she remembered she didn’t have a car. Normally, she would’ve called Nick for a ride, but since he was furious with her at the moment, she called Freddie. “Hey, where are you?”

  “Still at MacArthur.”

  “Can you take a break to pick me up at GW? I’d like to take a look at the scene.”

  “Yeah, I can do that.”

  “I’ll be at the ER entrance.”

  “See you in a few.”

  As Sam paced back and forth in the waiting room, she ignored the curious stares directed her way by the handful of people sitting in chairs, waiting to be seen. She focused on the television, where special coverage of the MacArthur murders was the lead story.

  “Police are being tight-lipped about what transpired inside the MacArthur Boulevard townhome of prominent Washington attorney William Springer, his wife, Marissa, and their son Hugo, who is rumored to be among the victims found murdered in the home around midnight. According to information obtained from police communications, at least six individuals are believed dead inside the home. Mr. Springer and his wife reportedly were in Aspen, where they own a second home, and are on their way back to the District at this time.” They showed a photo of the lawyer Sam had faced off against many times in court. “Mr. Springer’s biography on his company’s website lists Hugo as the youngest of his five children. The other four no longer reside at home.”

  If the news outlets were relying upon Springer’s website and bio to fill airtime, her people had done a good job of keeping a lid on the details. Staring at the TV, she watched Freddie come out of the house. The second he stepped under the crime scene tape, he was mobbed by reporters. He ignored them all and kept his head down as he headed for his car. They gave chase but didn’t catch him.

  “That’s the way,” Sam said softly. “Don’t give them anything until we’re ready to.”

  “What’s going on?” a voice behind her asked.

  Sam turned to face Harry. “Homicide on MacArthur Boulevard. Six teenagers.”

  “Oh, Christ. How?”

  “Stabbed while drunk, high and in the midst of having sex.”

  His eyes widened with comprehension. “You don’t think...”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know anything. But I’m going to find out.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  “What’s being done with the evidence collected from Brooke?”

  “It’s awaiting pickup.”

  “I could take it. I’m heading to HQ now.”

  “I don’t recommend that, Sam. If there’re any chain-of-custody issues, it could be a problem for you.”

  “Yes, you’re right, and I know better. I’m not going to lie to you. I’m a little freaked out by where this investigation might lead.”

  “With good reason.”

  “Is that supposed to be comforting?”

  “Sorry. I don’t mean to add to your worries.”

  Sam blew out a deep breath. “You didn’t. I’m all over the place right now.”

  He squeezed her shoulder affectionately. “It was tough in there. I could barely stand to watch that, so I can only imagine how it was for you. Go easy on yourself. Contrary to press reports, you’re not superwoman.”

  “Don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my image.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Thanks for coming tonight. Both times.”

  “No problem. Is that your ride?”

  Sam looked out the glass doors to see Freddie’s rattletrap Mustang sitting outside. “Yep.”

  “Good luck with the case.”

  “Thanks. I’m going to need all the luck I can get. I’ll see you.” Sam went out through the double doors into the chilly pre-dawn, zipping her coat as she made her way to Freddie’s car.

  Freddie leaned over to open the door for her. It made a creaking noise as it opened.

  “Is this tin can roadworthy?”

  “Fit as a fiddle.” He glanced over at her as he put the car into drive. “How is she?”

  “Not so good. She was high on Molly of all things, sexually assaulted or abused or roughed up or something that required stitches.”

  Freddie winced. “Holy crap. Is she awake? Could she tell you anything?”

  “She was awake for the rape exam, but I couldn’t really grill her then. They sedated her for the stitches, thank God. I’ll go back to talk to her later when she’s awake. Did you guys get anything at all from the canvas of my neighbors before you got called to MacArthur?”

  “Nothing useful. No one saw or heard anything. We didn’t bother your dad and Celia, though. We figured they’d let us know if they saw anything.”

  “Why do I have the sick feeling this entire thing is going to lead right back to my niece, who wasn’t even supposed to be here?” As she spoke, Sam pounded her fist against the car door, expelling hours of frustration and agony.

  “Um, it’s not outside the realm of possibility that the door could fall right off if you keep that up.”

  “God
damn it, Freddie. What the fuck was she thinking? Leaving school? Taking drugs?”

  “I can’t begin to know.” The fact that he didn’t take her to task for using the Lord’s name in vain or swearing told her he understood how upsetting this was for her. “But we’ll figure it out.”

  “I’m sorry about the vacation.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Nick is pissed with me.”

  “How come?”

  “He’s mad about the vacation getting messed up by another case.”

  Freddie gave her a side-eye look. “And he gets that your niece is possibly tied up in that case?”

  “Yeah, he knows. He’s still pissed.”

  “Elin’s not too thrilled either, but it’s what we do. It’s who we are.”

  “That’s right, and if he can’t see that then he doesn’t know me at all.”

  “Yes, he does, Sam. He knows you as well as anyone. You can’t blame the guy for wanting a break from the madness.”

  “I don’t blame him, but how can he ask me to choose between him and Brooke? I’d always choose him. But this... This is different.”

  “It’s personal.”

  “Right.”

  They arrived at MacArthur Boulevard just as the sun began to rise over the capital city. The area was still surrounded by emergency vehicles, two medical examiner’s trucks and hoards of media. Satellite trucks lined the street, which was completely impassable. They had to park more than a block from the scene.

  “What a fucking circus,” Sam said as she pulled her phone out of her pocket and called her mentor and boss, Captain Malone.

  “I thought you were on vacation,” Malone said when he picked up the call.

  “Murder has a way of screwing up plans.”

  “I was over there earlier. Unreal.”

  “So I’ve heard. I’m about to experience it firsthand. Patrol has completely lost control of the area, however. Can you get someone over here to kick them in the ass?”

  “Sure thing. So you’re going to take this one?”

  The argument with Nick was still fresh in her mind as she walked with Freddie toward the yellow crime scene tape. Take Brooke out of the equation and she would’ve been fine with handing the case over to Gonzo to run. But with a possible connection to her family, Sam wasn’t leaving anything to chance. “Yeah, I’m on it.” Tell him about Brooke. Sam’s conscience picked a hell of a time to rear its ugly head. You have to tell him. Not yet I don’t. Yes, you do.

  “It’s going to be a hot one with the Springer kid involved. Keep me posted.”

  “Will do.” Sam stashed her phone in her coat pocket just as a bloodcurdling scream came from the crowd of people gathered outside the tape. She tipped her head at Freddie, and they changed course toward the screamer, who was being restrained by patrol officers.

  “What’ve we got?” Sam asked one of them.

  “A Mrs. Chastain. Has reason to believe her son, Michael, is among the victims.”

  “Please come with us, Mrs. Chastain,” Sam said, taking the woman by the arm and guiding her under the tape. “I’m Lieutenant Holland. This is my partner, Detective Cruz.” To Freddie, she said, “Where can we take her to get her away from the cameras?”

  “The next-door neighbors have been great about letting us use their living room.”

  “My Michael,” she said between hiccupping sobs as Sam led her up the concrete stairs to the neighbors’ townhouse. A woman greeted them at the door, her eyes sad and sympathetic as she wordlessly led them to a comfortable seating area. “He didn’t come home last night, and he always calls if he’s going to stay with one of his friends. He always calls. And then I saw on the news that something had happened at Hugo’s house. The reporters... They said there’re dead kids in there. That’s not true, is it?” She clutched Sam’s arm. “Tell me it’s not true.”

  In that moment, Sam hated her job with every fiber of her being—not only because she had to decimate the woman currently clinging to her, but also because of the way it managed to screw up her own life on a regular basis. But right now, Mrs. Chastain’s needs trumped her own and they would until Sam could get answers for her and every one of the parents who’d be receiving unimaginable news on this sunny morning.

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you it is true.”

  The other woman’s wails would stay with Sam long after she closed the book on this case. She kept her arm around Mrs. Chastain as she guided her to a sofa. “Please no. Not my Michael. He always calls. He’s a good boy.”

  “We haven’t positively identified the victims yet,” Sam said, although her words were little comfort to a mother who knew the grim truth even if Sam couldn’t yet confirm her worst fears. “When was the last time you heard from Michael?”

  “Around ten. He called to say he was staying with Hugo.”

  “Did you know Hugo’s parents were out of town?”

  “No! I had no idea. I never would’ve allowed him to come here if I’d known that.”

  “From what we were able to ascertain from the Springers’ maid,” Freddie said, “Hugo told his parents he’d be staying with you and your son while they were away.”

  “I never heard from Marissa about that,” she said, wiping tears off her face.

  “And would you have?” Sam asked. “Normally?”

  She nodded. “Hugo has stayed with us before when his parents were away. That’s not unusual. But Marissa wouldn’t leave town without talking to me first. I don’t understand.” She looked up at Sam with heartbreak in her eyes. “How could this have happened?”

  Sam wasn’t about to tell a grieving mother that her teenage son had pulled one of the oldest tricks in the book to get a night alone with his friends.

  “The maid, Edna, she’s been with the Springers for years. She would know my Michael. Did she say he was here? That he was...”

  Sam glanced at Freddie, who nodded.

  “I’m afraid Michael was among the victims the maid was able to identify. We were coming to tell you this morning.”

  Mrs. Chastain broke down again, and Sam did her best to offer comfort to the grieving mother.

  “We’re so sorry,” Sam said. “We’d like to figure out what happened here, and to do that we could use your help. I know this is so intrusive at such an awful time.”

  “I’ll tell you what I can.”

  “Where does Michael go to school?” Sam asked, using the present tense intentionally. She’d learned from experience that family members who’d just been informed of a loved one’s death weren’t ready yet to refer to them in the past tense.

  “Wilson. He’s a senior this year and planning to go to college. He’s a good boy. He’s never been in any trouble.”

  “And where does Hugo go to school?”

  “Sidwell Friends.”

  The prestigious Quaker day school on Wisconsin Avenue was well known in the capital region.

  “How do Michael and Hugo know each other?”

  “They were our next-door neighbors in Friendship Heights until Bill’s career took off. They moved here and sent Hugo to private school, but the boys have remained close friends. Even more so since they’re both driving now and can see each other any time they want.”

  “Do either of them have girlfriends?”

  She shook her head. “They both date a lot, but they joke about not tying themselves down. They’re too young for that.” Her face crumpled when she seemed to realize neither of them would ever get any older or fall in love or have a chance to give a committed relationship a try.

  “There were three boys and three girls,” Freddie said. “Do you know who the others might’ve been?”

  When it appeared to dawn on her that other young people she probably knew had been murdered, Mrs. Chas
tain shook her head. “Six of them. Good Lord. Who would do such a thing?”

  “That’s what we’d like to know too,” Sam said. “Can you give us an idea of who might’ve been with Michael and Hugo?”

  “Todd Brantley was another of their close friends.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “He’s tall and very muscular with brown hair and eyes. He’s captain of the football and hockey teams at Wilson.”

  Sam looked up at Freddie, who shook his head.

  “Oh, thank goodness.”

  “The girls... Any ideas of who they might be?”

  “No. I teased Michael and his friends that they changed girls more often than they changed their underwear.”

  Looking exhausted and unusually pale, Gonzo stepped into the house looking for them. “Dr. McNamara is ready to begin transport, Lieutenant,” he said, eying the woman sitting next to Sam on the sofa.

  “Mrs. Chastain, I’d like to have you taken home until we have more information for you. Is there someone you could call?”

  “I...I can call my neighbor. She’ll come.”

  “Detective Cruz will stay with you until she arrives. We’ll need your address and phone number so we can get back in touch when we know more.”

  “Thank you for your kindness, Lieutenant. I’ve read about you and your husband. You seem like good people.”

  “Thank you.” Sam never knew how to take comments like that when on the job. If she had her druthers, no one would know who she was married to. “I’ll be back in touch as soon as I know more.” She followed Gonzo next door and down the stairs to view the crime scene before the bodies were removed. “Holy Christ,” she whispered as she took in the bloody carnage, the chaos, the drugs, the booze, the utter waste that was being systematically recorded and bagged by crime scene detectives.

  The thought of Brooke in the middle of something like this... Had she been here? If so, who had gotten her out before she could be killed too? And how close had she come to being murdered?

  “Thought you were on vacation,” Lindsey McNamara said to Sam.

  “I did too. Do me a favor and hold off for a short time on removing bodies. The mother of one of the vics is next door, and she doesn’t need to see that. Malone is sending over additional patrol officers to move the press back too.”