Fatal Chaos
“I got the call, and I’m on the way. But aren’t you off duty until midnight?”
“They called me, gave me the choice, and I’m on the way too.”
“Oh good. I hate cases involving kids. I’m glad you’ll be there.”
“Do you have anything more about the kid who was killed?”
“I know as much as you do.”
“All right. I’ll see you in a few.” Sam tossed the phone to the passenger seat and pressed down on the accelerator, eager to get back in the game. She couldn’t imagine any other life for herself than one that included chasing down murderers and throwing their guilty asses in jail.
If things went sideways with Nelson and Nick became president, would she be forced to give up her job? When he became vice president, they learned that only the president, vice president, president-elect and vice president-elect were required to have Secret Service protection. That was how she’d managed to hang on to her job, for now, without a detail in tow. But being first lady would be a whole new ballgame, and she was under no illusions about what that would probably mean for her.
“Take your own advice and don’t think about that until you have to.” The very thought of being sidelined in the gilded cage that was the White House made her break out into a cold sweat that had her turning off the AC and opening the window to let in the stifling humidity.
The unusually heavy traffic was indicative of a home game for the DC Federals baseball team, one of several possible explanations for gridlock on the Sunday night of a holiday weekend.
Sam drove into the Penn Branch neighborhood, made up of a mix of middle-class single-family homes and poverty-ridden housing projects. The neighborhood formed a triangle between Pennsylvania Avenue Southeast and Branch Avenue Southeast. Sam pulled onto Hilltop Terrace Southeast. Rows of townhomes lined the street, which was currently filled with emergency vehicles. She parked behind a squad car and took off toward the epicenter of action half a block away.
Patrol had taped off the area where a crowd had formed around the covered body. From the other side of the street, Sam saw Chief Medical Examiner Dr. Lindsey McNamara working her way through the large crowd with her deputy, Dr. Byron Tomlinson.
Sam zeroed in on a wailing black woman being supported by two equally distraught young women. Her gut clenched with empathy for the woman, who had to be the victim’s mother. How anyone survived losing a child to violence was beyond her. She could barely stand to work cases that involved kids.
“What’ve we got?” she asked Officer Beckett, who greeted her at the tapeline.
He held it up for her to go under. “Jamal Jackson, fifteen, picked off in a drive-by as he was walking home with friends.”
“Do we have the friends?”
Beckett nodded toward the stairs of a nearby townhouse where two traumatized teenage boys sat on the stoop under the care of another Patrol officer and two EMTs.
“The mom was all over him when we arrived,” Beckett said, letting her know their crime scene had been compromised.
“Let me see.” She followed Beckett to the covered body and squatted for a closer look as he lifted the fabric to reveal the handsome boy who’d been struck in the right side of the head by the bullet. A tragic waste of a young life.
Sam glanced up at Lindsey, noting her red hair was up its customary ponytail and her hazel eyes brimmed with compassion. “Let me get the mom out of here before you get started, Doc.”
“Good idea. And welcome back. We missed you.”
“Wish I could say the same.” Sam stood. “What do we know about the family?” she asked Beckett.
He consulted his notebook. “Danita Jackson, single mom of three. Jamal was her youngest. Those are her daughters, Misty and Tamara, with her. Misty told me he’s never been in any trouble. Honor roll student, hard worker, plays basketball in a rec league and at school.”
“Son of a bitch,” Sam muttered.
“You said it, LT.”
“How’d they hear about it?”
“One of the friends called Tamara.”
She took a deep breath and sought the fortitude she needed to talk to Jamal’s devastated mother and sisters. “Mrs. Jackson.” Sam showed her gold shield. “I’m Lieutenant Holland, MPD.”
“We know who you are,” one of the daughters said.
Sam had become accustomed to that response since Nick became vice president. “May I have a word with you across the street?”
“This way, Lieutenant,” Sergeant Tommy “Gonzo” Gonzales said as he arrived on the scene with Freddie. They cleared a path for Sam to escort the three women to the other side of the street and down the block, away from the fray of first responders, neighbors and reporters who’d begun to arrive.
“I’m so very sorry for your loss.” Sam kept half an eye on the reporters who were being waylaid by Beckett and the other Patrol officers.
“I don’t want your sympathy,” Danita said between sobs. “I want the person who killed my baby!” She began to wail, and her daughters tried to comfort her through their own distress.
“I want that too, and I’ll do everything in my power to find the person who did this.” Sam withdrew the notebook from her back pocket. “Can you tell me where he was coming from?”
“They went to see the new IMAX movie at the Air and Space Museum.” Danita wiped tears from her face. “My baby wanted to be an astronaut. He was obsessed with space and flying. He was going to make something of himself.”
Sam’s heart broke as she took notes. “Did your son have any conflicts with anyone?”
“Not that I knew of. Everyone liked him. He had lots of friends.”
“And no involvement with gangs?”
“Absolutely not! He knew I’d have his ass if he even talked to those people. I stayed on top of him. I always knew where he was and who he was with. I did everything I could to keep him out of trouble. How could this have happened to my son?” She broke down again, and her daughters tried to comfort her as tears ran down their faces. In a softer tone, she said, “He was a good boy, Lieutenant. A son any mother would be proud of.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss, ma’am. We’ll do everything we can to get justice for Jamal.”
“What will it matter?” Tamara asked bitterly. “It won’t bring him back.”
“No, it won’t, but it’ll ensure that whoever did this can’t do it to anyone else. I’ll need contact information for each of you.” She handed her notebook and pen to Misty. She wrote down the information and returned the notebook to Sam.
Sam gave her a business card. “If there’s anything I can do for any of you, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call. My cell number is on there.”
“Thank you for your kindness,” Danita said. “I so admire you and your husband. I never dreamed that this is how I might meet you.”
Sam squeezed her arm. “Please call me if I can help.”
She nodded and Sam left them to cross the street, ducking back under the tape. “Tell me about the friends,” she said to Beckett.
Consulting his notes, he said, “Vincent Andina on the left and Corey Richie on the right. I ran all three boys, and only Richie popped up as being in the system for a misdemeanor that was adjudicated in juvie. EMTs checked them out, and they’re as okay as they can be under the circumstances. A little shell-shocked, but that’s to be expected.”
“Good work, Beckett. Thank you.” She approached the two boys who sat together on the stairs of a townhouse. “I’m Lieutenant Holland, Metro PD.”
“You’re the chick that nailed that guy at the parade,” Vincent said. Like Jamal, he was black but had dyed his hair blond.
“Yeah, that was me.”
“That was cool.”
“Glad you thought so. I’d like to speak to you separately, if you don’t mind. Vincent, can you please come with me?”
He exchanged glances with Corey, who was Hispanic. “I guess so.”
Sam walked him a hundred feet from where his friend sat on the stoop. “Can you tell me what happened today?”
“We went to the movies at the Air and Space. Jamal... He liked that space shit and begged us to go with him so he wouldn’t have to go by himself. It was pretty cool.”
“How’d you get there?” Sam asked.
“Took the bus,” Vincent said, “and we was walking home when this car came flying down the street. It was going so fast that we kinda jumped out of the way cuz we were afraid it might hit us. Then there was a loud boom and Jamal... He just went down.”
“Did you get a good look at the car?”
He shook his head. “It happened so fast,” Vincent said. “The car was long gone by the time we realized Jamal had been shot.”
“Think about it. Was it a regular car or a truck or an SUV? Any detail you can give us would help.”
For a long moment, he was quiet as he tried to remember. “I think it was black. And a regular car. Not a truck or an SUV. But I can’t be sure. It was like a flash flying by us, and when we heard the boom, I got kind of confused about what was happening. I was on the inside. Jamal was closest to the street and Corey was in the middle.” Vincent wiped a tear off his face. “Why would anyone want to hurt Jamal? He was the nicest kid.”
“It’s very possible,” Sam said, “that these guys, whoever they are, were looking to hurt someone, and it didn’t matter who it was.”
“That’s so fucked-up,” Vincent said.
“I agree. I have to ask if any of you had any contact with gangs or friends who are in gangs.”
“We all know people who are into that shit, but we aren’t.”
“Did Jamal or either of you have any beefs with anyone?”
“Nah,” Vincent said. “Nothing that would get us shot. Some chirping and crap on Twitter. Whatever. No one wanted us dead. Least not that we knew about.”
“You’ve been very helpful.” She handed him her card. “If you think of anything else, call me. Even if it’s the smallest detail that comes back to you tomorrow or the next day or chatter you see online. Call me.”
He nodded in acknowledgment.
“I’m really sorry about your friend.”
“Thanks,” Vincent said, wiping more tears from his face.
She had a similar conversation with Corey, who didn’t add anything new to what Vincent had told her. Sam went to talk to Beckett. “Have their parents been called?”
“They’re on their way.”
“Don’t bring them down here. Meet them at the corner or something. They don’t need to see this.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Beckett ushered the boys to the far end of the street.
“What’s the plan, Lieutenant?” Gonzo asked as Sam took a good look around at the nearby houses.
“We need an APB for a fast-moving black sedan. Make sure they know these people are armed and not afraid to shoot.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Gonzo said.
“What do we have for cameras around here?”
“There’s one at either end of the block, and I’ve already asked Archie to pull the feed,” Gonzo said of Lieutenant Archelotta, who ran the IT squad.
As Lindsey wheeled Jamal’s body to the Medical Examiner’s truck, Sam said, “Let’s canvass the crowd and go door-to-door to see if anyone else witnessed the shooting. When we get back to the house, I want to go through all their social media accounts. My gut is telling me this is random, but we need to check all the boxes.”
They spent the next hour talking to each person at the scene and knocking on every door on the street but didn’t find any other witnesses to the shooting. A few had heard the boom of the shot and had rushed outside to see what’d happened. None of them reported seeing the car or the shooter.
When they’d done what they could, they turned things over to the Crime Scene detectives. “Let’s pick it up at HQ and see what Archie has for us.”
CHAPTER FOUR
AS SAM APPROACHED her car, she noticed Darren Tabor from the Washington Star leaning against it, typing madly on his smartphone.
“Get off my car, Darren. You’ll scratch the paint.”
“I see the vacation didn’t do anything to sweeten you up, Lieutenant.”
Though his comment amused her, Sam didn’t let him see that. “What do you want?”
“You know what I want. The whole world is waiting for a comment from you or the vice president about what’s going on with Nelson and how you guys feel about the possibility of becoming president and first lady.”
“You’re going to have to continue waiting. I’ve got nothing to say.”
“Come on, Sam. You’ve got to be worried about it. How could you not be?”
“The only thing I’m worried about is the really good kid who was just gunned down in my city. He has my full attention.”
“How’re you going to do this job if you become first lady?”
“I asked you nicely to get off my car, Darren. I’ve got work to do, and you’re in my way.”
He pushed himself off the car. “Will you give me something when you can?”
“Have a good day, Darren.”
“I thought we were friends, Sam. Friends give friends a break.”
Sam laughed at that. “And what will you do for me, as my friend?”
“I’d write a nice story about what a fantastic president and first lady you guys would be. A hell of a lot better than what we have now. That’s for sure.”
“I thought the press was supposed to be impartial?”
“Come on, Sam. You guys gotta say something!”
“No, we actually don’t. If you want to do me a favor, Darren, write me a front-page story about the good kid who was killed here today and how senseless gun violence is.”
“If I do that, will you give me something on the Nelson thing?”
“See you later.” Sam got into the car, started the engine and drove away, leaving him glaring at her. She was so sick and tired of people trying to get them to comment on the Nelson situation. What did they expect them to say? We hope the president, whose son threatened to dismember the children we love and had my ex-husband tortured and killed, manages to hold on to his presidency so we don’t have to deal with it?
In truth, Sam wasn’t sure what to hope for. Half of her wanted Nelson and his entire family behind bars for what Christopher had put her family through with the horrific threats that had been levied against Scotty, her beloved nieces and nephews and Nick’s much-younger half-brothers. The far more rational side of her hoped that maybe Nelson could somehow prove he’d had no idea what his son was doing and hold on to his presidency.
She and Nick were painfully aware that the DNC expected him to be their candidate in the next election, but they had a couple of years before anything had to be decided for certain, and they’d hoped to enjoy those years in relative peace and quiet that had been badly disrupted by Christopher Nelson’s shenanigans.
“Here I am obsessing about that crap again when I have far bigger things to worry about.” She placed a call to her commander, Captain Malone, to report in about the new case.
“Welcome back, Lieutenant. I’d tell you we missed you, but of course you know that.”
Sam rolled her eyes at the predictable comment from her friend and mentor. “I’m sure you enjoyed the vacation from me as much as I enjoyed the vacation from all of you.”
“You hurt my feelings, Lieutenant.”
“Ha! You have to have feelings before they can be hurt.”
His low guffaw made her smile. “To what do I owe the honor of this Sunday night phone call?”
“I got called back early for a drive-by shooting of a fifteen-year-old in Southeast.”
“Ah damn. What’ve you got?”
Sam filled him in on what they knew so far, which wasn’t much. “The next step is reviewing the film to see if there’s anything we can use to track down the car.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Will do. I’ll give it a couple more hours tonight and then pick it up in the morning.”
“Sounds like a plan. Hope it was a relaxing time off for you.”
“As relaxing as it can be when your husband is caught up in the lead story in every newspaper and on every news station in the country.”
“I can’t even imagine the stress you guys have to be dealing with.”
“We’re trying to pretend it’s not happening until we have to.”
“And how’s that going?”
“Easier said than done.”
“I’ll bet. It’s such an unbelievable thing. How could Nelson not know what his son was up to? Even if he could somehow prove he wasn’t involved, I’m not sure I’d believe him.”
“I know. Privately, we feel the same, but we’re hoping that somehow he can hang on.”
“I’m not sure how either of you are sleeping at night.”
“We’re finding ways to exhaust ourselves so we’ll sleep like babies.”
“Jesus, Sam,” he said with a huff. “I’m your boss, for Christ’s sake.”
She busted up laughing. “Just looking for some comic relief.”
His low chuckle echoed through the phone. “You’re too much, Holland.”
“I hear that a lot. Speaking of too much, any rumbles from U.S. Attorney Forrester and the grand jury?”
“Not that I’ve heard, but you know how hush-hush that process is.”
“Yeah, true. I just wish we could get an answer one way or the other. Imagine if Nelson resigns, Nick becomes president and I get indicted for assaulting Ramsey all in the same day.”
“Your imagination has run wild. No one thinks you’re going to be indicted. You and your husband are among the most popular people in the country. Forrester knew what he was doing, taking your case to the people. They’ll never indict you.”
“I hope you’re right. And PS, I’d do it again if I had it to do over.”
“No, you wouldn’t, because you’re a highly decorated police officer who’s above such behavior as punching a fellow officer, even if he deserves it.”
“I’m really not above it,” she said with a snort.
“Yes, you are. That’s my final word on the matter. Hit me up later with an update on the drive-by.”
“Will do.” Sam slapped her phone closed and tossed it on the passenger seat. The subject of her colleague Sergeant Ramsey always rankled, especially as she twisted in the wind for months waiting to hear if she would be indicted for punching him in the face and knocking him backward down a flight of stairs. A concussion and broken wrist were the least of what he deserved for what he’d said to her about deserving the torturous attack Lieutenant Stahl had perpetrated on her.
Sam’s rise through the department ranks hadn’t come without her fair share of enemies, who believed she’d gotten to where she was because of her father. Skip had been deputy chief when he was shot by an unknown assailant three months shy of retirement. Her failure to close that most important case of her career was something that hung over every day of her life. She would neither rest nor retire until her father’s shooter had been caught.
That was just one of many reasons to sweat the current situation with Nelson. How would she continue to track down leads and follow up on her father’s case if she were taken off the job? She shuddered at the thought of being sidelined. That couldn’t happen. It wouldn’t happen. She’d see to that.
At HQ, she entered the building through the morgue entrance and stopped first to check in with Lindsey.
Sam strolled into the examination area, where antiseptic smells and gruesome sights greeted her. Under the bright lights Jamal’s injury was even more devastating than it had appeared on the street. “At least he died instantly.”
“There is that.” Lindsey held up an evidence bag containing the bullet. “Nine millimeter. I’ll send it to the lab for analysis.”
“Anything else I need to know?”
“Not yet. I’ll have my report to you in the morning.”
“Thanks for coming in on a holiday weekend,” Sam said.
“This job doesn’t recognize weekends or holidays, as you well know.”
“Or vacations,” Sam added. “I’m back early to work this one.”
“I hate when it’s a kid,” Lindsey said. “That makes it a thousand times worse.”
“I know. He’s only two years older than Scotty.” Sam cringed at the thought of losing her own son so senselessly.
“Your son is surrounded by Secret Service who’d never let anything happen to him,” Lindsey said, reading her mind.
“That’s the one major benefit of Nick being VP.”
“Not too many others lately, huh?”
“Nope.” Sam took another long last look at Jamal, vowing to get justice on his behalf no matter what she had to do. “I’d better get to it.”
“Good to have you back even if the circumstances suck.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
Sam left the morgue and ran into Freddie, who walked toward her from the detectives’ pit. “What’s up?”
“I was coming to check in with Lindsey, but looks like you’re one step ahead of me as always.”
He fell in beside her as they made their way to the pit. “You say that like it’s a surprise that I’m always one step ahead of you.”
“Actually, it’s the story of my life.”
“Why does hearing that bring me such unmitigated pleasure?”
“Because you’re a coldhearted woman, Lieutenant.”
Sam pretended to dab at her eyes. “You flatter me, Detective.”
His snort of laughter helped to lighten the dark mood that always descended upon her when someone was murdered in her city, especially a child.
“Only you would take that as a compliment.”
“That’s why you love me so much.”
“Whatever you say. What’s the plan?”
“I want to start my murder board and see what Archie was able to grab off the video feed. After that, I’ll brief Carlucci and Dominguez and turn it over to them. We’ll pick it up in the morning.”
“Um, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Carlucci and Dominguez are off tonight. It’s Sunday.”
“Damn it. Whose idea was it to give them time off?”
“I believe the union mandates that we all get two days a week off from this nuthouse.”
“Bloody unions. Who’s covering Homicide tonight?”
“Um, we are?”
“No, we’re not. I’m technically still on vacation, and you’re supposed to be off today too.”
“I don’t mind staying for a while to figure out what we’ve got and what we need to do next.”
“Fine. I’ll stay to help with that, but we’re not working all night.”
“You’re the boss, LT.”
“Yes, I am. Let’s go see Archie.” They went up the same stairs Ramsey had fallen down to get to the second-floor home of IT, which was lit up like a weekday, and SVU, which was dark. That meant there was no chance she might run into Ramsey while she was up there.
“How did I know I’d be hearing from you guys?” Lieutenant Archelotta asked, grinning at them from his post in front of a massive monitor. Several other IT detectives were working in cubicles.
“We’re predictable that way.” Sam was still grappling with the fact that her brief relationship with him had been made public during the investigation into her ex-husband’s murder. Her current husband had been none too happy to hear that she’d once been involved with the handsome IT detective, even if it was only a brief fling after her first marriage ended. “What’ve you got from the scene?”
“Not much, unfortunately. Take a look.” He clicked onto a different screen and played the video feed that showed a fast-moving car and a flash of light that had to be the gunshot, but the details were fuzzy because of the car’s rate of speed.
“Anything on other cameras in the area?” Freddie asked.
“We’re combing through that footage now. I’ll let you know if we see anything that might be helpful.”
“Thanks, Archie.”
“Wish I could do more to help, but we’ll keep trying. I hate when crap like this happens to kids.”
Sam squeezed his shoulder. “We all do. Thanks for your help.”
“Sure thing.”
“Well,” Sam said to Freddie when they were on their way back downstairs, “that takes us right back to square one without a thread to pull.”
“Let’s set up the board. That always leads to threads.”
“You read my mind, Detective.”
They went into the conference room and turned on the lights. Sam stopped short at the sight of the murder board for her ex-husband that hadn’t yet been dismantled, even though Peter’s case had been closed for several weeks.