by Marie Force
“We’ve had an APB out for the car since last night, and Archie is trying to get a read on the phone.”
“Airports, bus stations, train station?”
“All being checked.”
“I ordered vice back to the house to air out what went down.”
“So I heard.”
“Roback is pissed.”
“Just a little. Most captains don’t appreciate being pushed around by lieutenants.”
“It’s not my fault that his people screwed this up.”
“If you could attempt to be diplomatic, I’d appreciate it.”
Freddie’s snort indicated that he could hear the chief’s end of the conversation.
“I’ll try.”
“Do that.”
“We’ll be back in five to meet with vice. It would help if you could be there in case we get push-back.”
“In case?”
“When we get push-back.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Now that you’ve disposed of Stahl,” Freddie said, “it’s probably time to start making some new enemies.”
“We wouldn’t want to get bored.”
“God forbid.”
“What’re you hearing about Stahl?” she asked. “Things have been oddly quiet on that front.”
“I haven’t heard a word. The quiet has me worried though. It’s not like him to go down with a whimper rather than a bang.”
Sam wouldn’t confess to having had the same thought because she didn’t want him to worry about her. And he would. If there was one thing Sam knew for sure, it was that she hadn’t seen the last of her nemesis. But she had bigger concerns right now, and she wouldn’t give that scumbag any of her precious brain cells.
The reporters outside HQ were clamoring to know when they could expect an arrest in the MacArthur murders. They screamed questions about that and about Nick as Sam and Freddie walked by them, keeping their heads down and their mouths shut.
Sam headed straight for the main conference room, which was a steaming cauldron of seething testosterone at the moment. Chief Farnsworth, Deputy Chief Conklin and Detective Captain Malone were the only friendly faces in the room.
Twenty men glared at her with unfettered hatred, no one more so than their commander.
“Gentlemen,” Sam said. “Still no women in vice?”
“You’re wasting time we could be spending looking for Billy Springer,” Roback said.
“Ahhh, speak of the devil,” Sam said. “How about you tell us how you managed to lose track of our prime suspect in a mass homicide.”
“Allow me, Captain,” a muscle-bound officer said as he strode forward to meet Sam’s steely gaze with one of his own. He had close-cropped blond hair and ice-blue eyes. “I’ve just spent the last six months of my life deep undercover with Billy Springer, who is the most arrogant, self-involved, narcissistic douchebag I’ve ever met in my life. I’ll never get back those six months, and you’ll have to pardon me if I wanted twelve hours to make sure all that time counted for something.”
“And you are?”
“Cole McDonald. Lieutenant Cole McDonald.”
“Lieutenant.”
“It was my call. No one else’s.”
“You still haven’t mentioned how he got away.”
Frosty blue eyes met icy blue eyes in a standoff for the ages. McDonald made Sam’s day by blinking first.
“He said he was going upstairs to take a shower. We think he went out through a bathroom window.”
“Did he make you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Did someone tip him off?”
“I don’t know that either.”
“Where was the rest of your team when he escaped through a window?”
“They were preparing to take down several of his associates who were due to accept a big delivery of Molly last night.”
“Did the delivery happen?”
“It did not.”
“So he got away and his associates are still running free?”
“For the moment.”
“And the operation you spent six months orchestrating?”
“Has been compromised.”
“And you don’t know how?”
“Not yet I don’t, but you can bet I’m going to find out.”
In a way, Sam felt for the guy. He’d put a lot of work into the case to have it blow up in his face. She’d once been exactly where he was. She’d gotten her guy, but not before a barrage of gunfire had left her subject’s young son dead. Memories of Quentin Johnson lying bloody and dead in his screaming father’s arms still had the power to reduce Sam to a quivering disaster area. She shook off those disturbing thoughts to focus on the task at hand.
“You’ve spent the most time with him recently,” Sam said. “Where would he go?”
“We’ve already looked in all the usual places.” Frustration and exhaustion clung to him.
A knock on the door cut into their tense exchange. Lieutenant Archelotta walked into the room. “Sorry to interrupt,” Archie said. “I thought you might like to know we were able to get a ping from Springer’s cell phone.” He handed a sheet of paper to Sam, who scanned it quickly and was grateful to be able to clearly read the words that often appeared jumbled to her. “Who does he know who lives in Manor Park?” Sam asked McDonald.
“His maternal grandmother.”
“I assume you haven’t checked there yet?”
“No, it didn’t occur to me that he’d be there because he never visited her in all the time I spent with him.”
“I want SWAT on this,” Sam said to the chief as she handed over the address she’d already committed to memory.
“Done.”
“He’s not getting away this time.” She turned and walked out of the room with Freddie in tow. In the pit, she said, “Listen up, everyone. We’ve got a lead on Billy Springer. I want everyone in full armor to support SWAT. Suit up and let’s get moving.”
Chapter Fifteen
While the others scurried around gathering their belongings and body armor, Sam did the same in her office.
Located to the east of Rock Creek Park, the Manor Park neighborhood was in the city’s north end, next to Tacoma. The working-class neighborhood boasted many older homes, built in the early 1900s. Sam hadn’t been up there in ages as it tended to be a quiet part of the city.
Gonzo and Jeannie rode with Sam and Freddie, the four of them quiet with their own thoughts as they headed north until Sam said, “I still don’t know how Springer found out we were eying him for the murders.”
“You think one of our people told him?”
“I really hope not,” she said. “But I can’t wait to get Springer into interrogation to find out.”
While Freddie drove, Sam read over the information her team had gathered on Billy Springer, who was twenty-four, a graduate of Wilson High and a dropout from Catholic University. He’d worked as a plumber’s apprentice, a store clerk and a bartender since leaving college three years ago. He had a sealed juvenile record along with several drug possession arrests that had been adjudicated with probation. Clearly, he’d been escalating since he dropped out of college.
They arrived to find the SWAT team already assembled, with Farnsworth, Conklin and Malone on the scene, as well. The house was an older stand-alone brick-front structure with two stories and a wide front porch.
“Everyone ready, Lieutenant?” Farnsworth asked when her team was in place.
“Yes, sir.”
He had raised his radio to give the order to go in when shots rang out from the house. They dove for cover behind their cars. Sam took a head count on her team and noted with horror that Gonzo had been hit. She was gripped by fear as she crawled on her bell
y to get to him with Freddie right behind her. Jeannie and Arnold were with Gonzo, applying pressure to a wound on his neck.
“Is he breathing?” Sam asked.
“Rapidly,” Arnold said, his face devoid of color as he held a hand to Gonzo’s neck.
“Call for a bus,” Sam said to Jeannie, whose hands trembled as she fumbled with her radio.
The cackle of “officer down” over the radio sent a bolt of fear through Sam’s body as she watched Gonzo struggle for every breath. Around them, Sam was aware of the SWAT team receiving orders to go in and take the bastard, but her gaze was riveted to Gonzo and the pool of blood forming under him.
“Alex,” Gonzo said haltingly. “Tell her to take care of him.”
“Don’t talk that way,” Jeannie said as she blinked back tears.
“Christina,” Gonzo said between ragged breaths. “Tell her...”
“You can tell her yourself,” Arnold said, his voice tinged with hysteria he was trying hard to hide from his partner. “You’re going to be fine.”
“He’s got an arsenal in there,” the SWAT team commander said on the radio. “We believe he’s holding at least one civilian hostage as well, and we can’t confirm he’s the only shooter. We need to regroup.”
“Where’s that ambulance?” Sam asked as her anxiety level peaked in the red zone.
“The paramedics won’t come in here with an active shooter,” Malone said.
“We can’t move him with a neck wound,” Sam said. “We need a backboard.”
“I’ll go get it,” Freddie said.
“No way,” Sam said, grabbing his arm. “You’re not exposing yourself with Springer shooting at cops.”
Freddie shook her off. “If someone doesn’t go, he’s going to die. I’ll be right back.”
Fear beat a steady cadence through Sam’s bloodstream as she watched her partner move in a crouch behind the cars until there were no more cars to provide cover. All they could do at that point was hope the shooter was too preoccupied to pay attention to the officer sprinting down the street toward the waiting ambulance.
“Let’s establish a connection,” Farnsworth said. “Call his cell phone.”
Reading from the same page Archie had provided with the GPS information, Conklin placed the call and kept his phone on speaker so they could all hear.
Someone answered the call, but didn’t speak.
“Billy, this is Deputy Chief Conklin with the Metro PD. The house is surrounded, and we’d like to get you out of there without anyone else getting hurt.”
“I want to talk to that chick cop who’s always in the news.”
“Lieutenant Holland?”
“Yeah. Her.”
Conklin looked at Sam, who shrugged as she reached for the phone, all the while keeping an eye out for Freddie’s return. Maybe if she kept Billy busy, he wouldn’t notice them getting Gonzo out of there.
“This is Lieutenant Holland.”
His total silence had her on edge as she saw Freddie returning with the backboard tucked under his arm. She held her breath until he ducked behind the row of cars.
“Billy? Are you there?”
“Everyone lied to me. Cole pretended to be my friend, and he was a cop. The whole time, he was a fucking cop! And now my real friends want me dead because I let a cop get close to us.”
“I understand this has been a difficult time for you. Can you tell me who else is in there with you?” As she continued to talk to him she kept an eye on her team as they loaded Gonzo on the board and began to move him toward the waiting ambulance. Arnold’s right hand was still pressed against Gonzo’s wound. Sam had never been a religious person, but she said a prayer right then for Gonzo and the others who were risking themselves to get him the help he desperately needed.
She leaned in closer to Conklin. “Tell them to stay put after they get him to the bus. They’re not to come back.”
Conklin nodded in agreement and conveyed her orders via radio.
“My grandma is here and two of my cousins,” Billy said.
Sam pushed at the knot of pain that pulsated between her eyes. “How old are your cousins?”
“Six and nine.”
Sam closed her eyes and blew out a deep breath. “I’m sure you love them all very much and would hate to see them get hurt.”
“I never wanted anyone to get hurt! It’s all Hugo’s fault! He screwed up everything.”
Watching her team clear the row of cars and break into a run for the ambulance, Sam held her breath until they had safely delivered Gonzo. Arnold and Cruz climbed in the back with him while the others took cover in a parking lot at a nearby apartment complex.
“What did Hugo do?”
“He stole some stuff from me. Important stuff.”
“Is that why you had to kill him and his friends?”
“I didn’t want to hurt him, but when I got there... It was all gone. They’d taken almost all of it, and I needed it. I owe people money.”
“I understand how things can spin out of control. I really do. But there’s no sense in letting it get any worse by allowing your grandma and cousins to get hurt. Would you mind letting them leave?”
“No. They can’t leave. If they do, you’ll kill me.”
“You have my word that we won’t kill you. If you hold your fire, so will we.”
Farnsworth nodded at her with obvious approval. Hostage negotiation wasn’t her forte, and she was trying to remember lessons learned more than thirteen years ago in the police academy.
“I want my dad.”
“He can’t come right now. I saw him a little while ago, and he’s busy.” Telling Billy his dad was locked up wouldn’t help anything, so she kept that detail to herself. “I really want to help you, Billy. Do we have a deal? Will you let the others go so we can get everyone out of there safely?”
“No. No deal.”
“Why not, Billy?” She remembered it was important to keep using his name so he’d know she thought of him as a person. It showed compassion and a sense of connection. At least that was the goal.
“It’s not going to matter. I still owe those guys money, and they’re going to come after me to get it.”
“We can help you with that too, but you have to help us. Let the others go, and we’ll figure out what we can do for you.”
“The grandmother and cousins are in a bedroom in the back of the house,” the SWAT commander reported over the secure frequency they used during incidents. “Springer is pacing in the front room. Do you want us to go in?”
Sam looked at Farnsworth, who weighed the decision silently.
“Are you still there?” Billy asked, sounding like a frightened young boy rather than a full-grown man who’d made all the wrong choices that led to this moment.
“I’m here. I want to help you, Billy. Will you let me?”
They all waited breathlessly to see what he would say. “I can’t,” he said softly.
“Take him,” Farnsworth said into the radio.
SWAT officers burst into the house through every door and window. A hail of gunfire greeted them, but they were ready for him.
“Hostages are secure.”
“Suspect is deceased.”
Sam sighed deeply at the thought of poor Mrs. Springer having to bury yet another son. She reached for her cell and placed a call to Freddie. “How is he?”
“I don’t know. It’s bad, Sam. He’s lost a lot of blood, and he’s not conscious.” Her partner sounded like he was on the verge of an emotional breakdown so she didn’t push him for additional details other than to ask where they were taking him. “GW Trauma. You should call Christina.”
“I’m doing that right now. I’ll be there in a few.” She didn’t bother to update him about the cas
e, because there’d be time for that when their friend and colleague was out of the woods. Her heart beat fast, and her entire body broke out in a cold sweat as she placed the call to Christina.
“Hey, Sam, what’s up?”
“Christina...I’m sorry to have to tell you that Tommy’s been shot.”
The other woman’s scream ripped through Sam’s heart. “Listen to me. He’s alive. It’s serious, but he’s alive. They’re taking him to GW. Where are you?”
“I’m...I’m at home. With Alex.”
“I’m sending someone to pick you up. Bring the baby with you, and I’ll meet you there. Okay?”
Conklin heard what she’d said and called in the request to patrol.
“Sam... Is he going to die?”
“I don’t know. I really hope not.”
“Oh, please God... No.”
“Get ready, Christina. Patrol will be there in a few minutes to pick you up, and I’ll be at the hospital shortly after you arrive.”
“Okay. Okay.”
Sam’s next call was to Nick. “Gonzo’s been shot,” she said. “It’s bad.”
“Oh my God. Does Christina know?”
“I just talked to her. She’s on her way to GW with patrol and so am I. I thought you might want to be there with her.”
“I do. I’ll be there in a few. Is he...”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything other than he was hit in the neck and has lost a lot of blood.”
“Jesus. I’m coming, babe. Hang in there.”
“Love you,” Sam said as she wiped away tears that couldn’t be thwarted despite her intense desire to hold it together for all the people who’d be looking to her for leadership and guidance. The last thing she wanted was to break down in front of her brass or other colleagues, but this was Gonzo they were talking about.
“I love you too, baby. I’m on my way.”
His softly spoken words wrapped around her like the hug she needed so badly right then.
“Go, Lieutenant,” the chief said when she ended the call. “See to your squad. We’ll clean things up here.”
Paramedics were tending to Springer’s distraught grandmother and cousins. The medical examiner had been called, crime scene was coming, and there was nothing left to do for the homicide commander, so she heeded the chief’s orders and took her leave.
