Fatal Reckoning Page 11

  “I’m okay.” Maybe if she kept saying it, people would eventually quit asking.

  “Really, or are you telling me what you think I want to hear?”

  “Would I do that?”

  He laughed. “Never.”

  “I’m going to miss him like crazy, but I won’t miss the wheelchair or seeing him unable to do anything but lift an eyebrow. I won’t miss that at all.”

  “Understandable. He wasn’t my father, and I found it excruciating to see him reduced to what he was left with after the shooting. I imagine you’re attacking his case with fresh eyes and new leads after the call for tips.”

  “You imagine correctly.”

  “I want you to prepare yourself for the possibility of more of the same. There’s a fresh wave of interest and grief that’ll give you hope and resolve that could lead to more disappointment.”

  “I know what you’re saying, and I’m prepared for the possibility that we may never close the case. But don’t we have to try?”

  “We absolutely have to try. And if there’s anyone who can figure this out once and for all, it’s you.”

  She released a huff of laughter. “I haven’t had much luck thus far.”

  “My money is on you, kid.”

  “Thanks. Appreciate the support, and my dad did too. The department was good to him after the shooting. None of us will ever forget that.”

  “We loved him.” The simplicity of his statement brought tears to her eyes.

  “I’ve been thinking about something the last couple of days that I might want to talk to you about in more detail when things settle down.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s rough at this point, but going through the paces after my dad died, I started thinking about all the people I meet on this job who’re victims of violent crime. I’m a victim of violent crime. My family members are victims. I think about Nick’s friend Derek Kavanaugh, who lost his wife to murder, and the people who were caught up in the drive-by shootings, like Vanessa Marchand’s dad and Joe Kramer, who lost his wife. I think about my niece Brooke, who was raped the night of the Springer murders. We get justice for them, but then what? What happens to them after we close the case?”

  “It’s a good question.”

  “There’re so many of them, Doc. It seems to me like we could be doing more to support them.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but maybe some sort of support group or something that brings them together in a way that lets them know they’re not alone. I don’t know... Like I said, it’s rough at this point.”

  “I like the idea a lot.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “I think it could be a tremendous community service project for you to take on as the Homicide lieutenant and as a victim of violent crime yourself. You’re uniquely positioned to lead something like this.”

  “Whoa.” Laughing, she held up a hand to stop him. “I never said anything about leading it.”

  “Didn’t you? It’s your idea, and who better to make something like this happen than someone who not only sees the need on a daily basis but who has also been on this journey herself?”

  “I don’t know, Doc. I barely have time to see my husband and family as it is. Not sure I could take on something else.”

  “You wouldn’t be doing it alone.”

  “Does that mean you’d be interested in working with me on something like this?”

  “Absolutely. It would be my honor to help you make this happen.”

  “Let me give it some more thought and get back to you when things calm down.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Before I leave you to your work, I’ll remind you that my door is always open to you. These are difficult days for you, your squad, your family. I’m here if I can be of assistance to any of you.”

  “That helps. Thank you.”

  “I hate to bring up other wounds when you’re dealing with a new one, but with Stahl’s trial coming soon, I’d like to set up some time to talk about how we’re going to get you through that challenge.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t think I need it. I’m very resolved to testifying and helping to put him away for life.”

  “Sam... Please don’t underestimate the trauma of having to face off with the man who tried to kill you—twice.”

  “I’m not underestimating it. I’m simply refusing to give him any more of my time or attention than he’s already gotten.”

  “Fair enough, but if you should change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  “I do, and I appreciate you. I really do.”

  “I’ll let you get on with your day, Lieutenant, and I’ll wish you well in the effort to apprehend your father’s shooter. We’re all hoping for a successful resolution to his case.”

  Sam nodded and gave him a grateful smile.

  After he left, she took a minute to settle her overloaded emotions. The reminder of Stahl’s upcoming trial was just another thing on her already overflowing plate. Adding the organization of a support group for the victims of violent crime to her to-do list was probably madness. She didn’t have time to breathe most days. However, the recent drive-by shootings and the family members left behind had been weighing heavily on her mind.

  Most of the crimes they investigated were senseless. Some, like the drive-by shootings, were more so than others. Probably because the victims were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was their only “mistake.” She’d never forget Trey Marchand and his unspeakable grief at the loss of his six-year-old daughter. Sam had wondered how he was holding up in the weeks since his daughter’s death and had wished there was more she could do for him besides get justice for a little girl who was gone forever.

  Justice helped, but that was only one part of the complicated maze of grief that followed such a tragic loss. She would give the idea more thought and test the feasibility of making it happen. No, she didn’t have time for anything else, but the idea had taken root anyway, compelling her to do something with it.

  She left her office and went into the conference room, where Freddie, Cameron and Jeannie were reading case files. “How’s it going, people?”

  “Nothing new yet,” Freddie said. “I’m sifting through the tips and making some notes on the ones that might be worth pursuing. A lot of it is more condolences than actual tips.”

  “People are stupid,” Sam said.

  “Sometimes.”

  She took the lid off one of the boxes and began going through the contents.

  “Your dad’s reports put every report I’ve ever written to shame,” Cameron said.

  “He was known for having the best reports in the department. He was a great writer. Before he was shot, he used to talk about writing crime fiction in his retirement.”

  “He would’ve been awesome at it,” Cameron said.

  “Just another thing that was taken from him by whoever shot him.”

  They spent the next few hours combing through the boxes and the files on the case thus far, and parsing through the information that had come into the tip line.

  “I’d like to talk to this one.” Sam referred to a man named Frank Davis, who had called the tip line to say he’d been on G Street the day of the shooting and might’ve seen something. “More than anything I’d like to know where the hell he’s been for the last four years.”

  Freddie checked his watch. “We can get that in before our tour ends if you want to head over there now.”

  “Let’s do it. I’ll see the rest of you tomorrow. Thank you for your work today.”

  “We want to catch this person almost as much as you do, LT,” Jeannie said.

  “That means a lot. Thanks.” To Freddie, she said, “Let’s take separate cars so we can head home after.”

 
He handed her a piece of paper with the Adams Morgan address for Davis. “See you there.”

  Sam went into her office to get her keys and to lock up before leaving for the day. As she approached the morgue exit, she ran into Lindsey McNamara.

  “How’s it going, Doc?”

  “I was just coming to ask you that very question.”

  “I’m working the case, pulling the threads, doing what I do.”

  “If there’s anything I can do for you, you know where to find me.”

  “I do. Everyone is being so supportive. Well, almost everyone.”

  “Do I take it you ran into your good friend Ramsey?”

  “You would be correct. He’s very concerned about who’s going to clean up my messes for me now that my daddy is gone.”

  Lindsey rolled her green eyes. “Someone ought to take that mess right out of our department.”

  “Haven’t you heard? He has rights.”

  “He’s an asshole, and everyone knows it. Don’t let him get to you.”

  “Eh, he’s the least of my concerns. I’m going to talk to a guy who was on G Street the day my dad was shot.”

  “Where’s he been the last four years?”

  “My question exactly. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Sam... If you need anything, you have a lot of friends. I hope you know that.”

  “I do, and it helps. Tremendously. Take care, Doc.” She pushed through the double doors into the waning daylight, zipping her coat as she walked to her car. The temperature had dropped about fifteen degrees since she’d been out earlier. Winter was coming and bringing with it long nights and a deep chill.

  As she crossed the parking lot, she was struck by a memory from four years ago, on a similar late afternoon when she’d encountered her father returning from a meeting at City Hall as she left for the day.

  “Taking a half day, baby girl?” That’d been one of his favorite jokes. Anything less than twelve hours was a half day in Skip Holland’s book.

  “Haha,” she’d said, weary after a long eight hours on the job. She’d been a detective sergeant then, working under Stahl’s command while married to Peter and generally hating her life and her job.

  “How was your tour?”

  “Just another day in paradise.” She’d always been careful to avoid too much complaining to her father, who outranked her boss.

  “I hate that you’re working for that son of a bitch.”

  “I’m handling it.”

  “I wish there was something I could do to make it better.”

  “Don’t you dare. Don’t even think about it.”

  “I won’t do it, but you can’t tell me not to think about it.”

  “I am telling you. Stay out of it, Dad. I mean it.”

  “Are you being insubordinate to a superior officer by any chance?”

  “Always.” Her cheeky grin had made him laugh.

  It’d been excruciating for him at times to gracefully handle the way she was treated by Stahl and others simply because her last name was Holland. And he’d absolutely despised her husband—he’d had Peter’s number long before Sam had figured him out. It’d given Skip great joy in his final years to see her divorce Peter, ascend to Stahl’s command and marry Nick, and it gave her pleasure to know that the changes in her life had been met with his approval.

  As she drove to Adams Morgan, she thought about those last days of normal with her dad still on the job, wearing the uniform of the deputy chief. They’d met for coffee most days before work as Sam had tried to navigate the shark-infested waters that came with being the daughter of one of the department’s top officers. His support and guidance had been as critical to her then as they had been later, when she assumed command of the Homicide squad and regularly relied upon his advice and counsel.

  She wished she could ask him now how she was supposed to live without him.

  “Don’t go there.” She was determined to keep her emotions out of the equation, so she could focus on the job. That was what he’d tell her to do if he were there. He’d tell her to do the job. And today, her job was getting justice for him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SAM FOUND THE address in Adams Morgan and saw Cruz’s beat-up Mustang parked down the block. He waited for her on the sidewalk, so she double-parked and left her hazards flashing as she got out to join him.

  “That one.” He pointed to the building in question.

  “Lead the way.”

  She followed him up two flights of stairs to an apartment on the third floor.

  He knocked on the door. “Metro PD.”

  Sam rested her hand on her service weapon, wary after having recently been shot at through a closed door.

  A series of locks disengaged, and the door swung open to reveal a man with wild white hair and wilder blue eyes. He took a quick assessing look at them and then gasped. “It’s you! The VP’s wife.”

  “Frank Davis?”

  “That’s me.”

  She flashed her badge while Freddie did the same. “Lieutenant Holland, Detective Cruz. May we have a minute of your time?”

  “Yeah, sure. Come in.”

  Sam waited for Frank to lead the way before she followed him in. She tried to never turn her back on anyone on the job, which was one of many things her father had pounded into her head when she first started. Keep your eyes on them always. Never turn your back. Be ready for anything. Expect the unexpected. Don’t bring the job home with you. Everything she knew about how to do this job had come from him.

  Davis led them into a tidy kitchen that smelled of freshly brewed coffee. “Care for some?”

  “I wouldn’t mind a cup.”

  Sam scowled at her partner. She hated anything that dragged things out, especially when she was eager to go home.

  Freddie smiled and shrugged as he accepted the mug from Davis.

  “Cream is on the table. I don’t have any sugar. Not supposed to have it cuz of my diabetes, so it’s easier not to have it in the house.”

  “Cream is fine. Thank you.”

  Sam glared at Freddie before returning her attention to Davis. “You called the MPD tip line about the shooting four years ago of Deputy Chief Holland?”

  Davis nodded. “He’s your father, right?”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “Sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” Sam wanted to pound her fist on the table and tell him to get on with it, but he seemed like a nice enough man, and if he had info she needed, she didn’t want to piss him off. “What can you tell us?”

  “Like I told the officer the day it happened, I was walking on G Street after work.”

  “What officer did you speak to the day it happened?” She had long ago memorized every detail of her father’s case and had no recollection of a report about the shooting by anyone named Davis.

  “Conklin.”

  What the fuck? “Tell us what you saw.”

  “I worked then at the Government Accountability Office—GAO. We work for Congress, doing investigations.”

  “Yes, we’re aware of what GAO does.”

  “So I left work that day and saw the cop in the unmarked car pull over another car. I kept walking past where it was happening. I was about two blocks away when I heard the gunshot. I turned around and saw the officer go down.”

  Sam took frantic notes, her heart racing at the implications. An eyewitness. A fucking eyewitness she hadn’t known about for four fucking years? Her hands shook, and her heart raced. She could feel Freddie’s gaze on her, but she didn’t dare look up or venture a glance at him or do anything other than write down every word Davis was saying.

  “I called 911 and ran over to see if I could help him. He was bleeding from his neck. I did what I could to stop the bleeding, but it was bad.” He shook his head. “Real ba
d.”

  Sam realized she was talking to the man who’d probably saved her father’s life in those first few fateful moments. Where had this information been for four long years?

  “You didn’t see the other car?” Even her voice felt shaky.

  “No, it was gone by the time I ran back.”

  “And you told all of this to Conklin?”

  “Yep. He’s the deputy chief now, right?”

  “Yeah, he is.” She looked at Freddie, who was wide-eyed and equally shocked.

  Freddie got to work on his phone, produced the webpage that featured photographs of the department’s top leadership and handed the phone to her.

  “Are you sure it was Conklin?” She handed Freddie’s phone to Frank.

  While she and Freddie held their collective breath, Frank took a close look at the officers. The leadership team was more or less the same as it had been then, with one notable exception. Skip Holland was no longer the deputy chief. When he was medically retired, Conklin had moved up to deputy chief and Malone had taken Conklin’s place as detective captain.

  “That’s him there.” Davis pointed to Conklin. “He’s the one I talked to that day. I figured I’d hear something from the detectives looking into the case, but I never did.”

  Sam felt as if an earthquake had struck, tilting the ground beneath her and leaving her breathless. During the recent investigation into the drive-by shootings, they’d discovered that Conklin had kept secret the fact that a retired MPD officer and a close friend of his had been missing for more than two weeks. Sam had uncovered that detail, which had led to Conklin’s suspension. And now this... “You’ve been very helpful.”

  “I wish I could tell you more. After that day, I followed the stories about Deputy Chief Holland, and I was sad to hear he’d passed away.”

  Sam fought back the rage and disbelief. “I believe that what you did that day saved his life. It made it possible for him to marry the woman he loved, to meet two more of his grandchildren and to see me happily married. What you did made a huge difference to his entire family, and we owe you a long-overdue thank-you.”

  He shrugged off her thanks. “I did what anyone would’ve done in that situation. It’s unbelievable to me that someone could randomly shoot a guy who’s out there protecting all of us. It’s madness.”