Fatal Frenzy: Book 9 of the Fatal Series Page 16

  Waiting for someone to come to the door, Gonzo focused on drawing breath to his lungs, hoping he wouldn’t add insult to injury by vomiting or passing out or drawing attention to himself when this wasn’t about him. No, this was about Arnold and his family. He needed to be strong for them. He needed to hold up. There would be time later, a lifetime in fact, to fall apart.

  The door swung open, and Arnold’s pretty, youthful mother appeared, wearing a robe and smiling brightly at the sight of her son’s partner on the front porch. Until she took a closer look and must’ve seen the despair he was doing a poor job of hiding. And then she saw the captain standing beside him.

  She shook her head. Through the storm door, Gonzo saw her lips move in the shape of the word no. And then she was screaming.

  Malone opened the storm door and Mrs. Arnold all but fell into Gonzo’s arms.

  “No! Do not come in here and say it. Just do not!”

  “Mrs. Arnold,” Malone said, “may we please come in?”

  She never gave them permission to enter her home, but they went in anyway, with Gonzo all but carrying her to the sofa in a formal living room, the kind that was kept pristine for visitors. On the wall were old school photos of their two daughters and only son as well as another portrait of Arnold in his Patrol uniform.

  Gonzo sat with her on the sofa as she sobbed uncontrollably.

  “Is your husband at home?” Malone asked gently.

  “He… He’s in the shower.” She continued to sob as Gonzo rubbed her back. “How?” she asked.

  “He was shot while confronting a person of interest in an investigation.”

  “Were you there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you get him?”

  “I tried, but I made the decision to tend to Arnold rather than pursue him.”

  “I can assure you, Mrs. Arnold,” Malone said, “that we will not rest until the man who killed your son is in custody.”

  “Tommy…”

  “I’m so sorry. I wish there was something I could’ve done.”

  “He loved you so much. He talked about you all the time.”

  Gonzo couldn’t bear to hear that. Not now. Not when he felt so responsible for what’d happened to his partner. “He was the best partner I’ve ever had. He saved my life. I only wish I could’ve returned the favor.”

  “It… It must’ve been bad if there wasn’t anything you could do.”

  “It was. It was…bad.”

  As she began to cry again, footsteps on the stairs signaled the arrival of Mr. Arnold. “John,” she said, her voice filled with anguish.

  John Arnold stepped into the room, saw Gonzo and Malone, and came to a stop, his complexion growing ashen in a matter of seconds.

  Brenda held out her hand to her husband.

  For a long moment, he stared at her hand before he moved woodenly into the room, took her hand and sat on the other side of her. She turned from Gonzo toward her husband, who put his arms around her.

  “He’s gone, Johnny,” she said softly. “Our boy is gone.”

  “How?” John asked.

  “Shot in the line of duty,” Malone replied, sparing Gonzo from having to say it again. Once had been more than enough. “We’re so very sorry for your loss. Detective Arnold was a valued member of our team, and he will be missed.”

  “The person who shot him…”

  “Is the subject of a massive manhunt,” Malone said, “involving local and federal agencies. The FBI and the U.S. Marshal Service are involved. We will find him.”

  “I want to see him,” Brenda said.

  Gonzo glanced at Malone, asking without words how to handle the request.

  “He was badly wounded,” Malone said. “It may be better for you to hold on to the memories of him as he was in life rather than seeing him as he is now.”

  “He’s my son, my baby,” Brenda said as tears slid down her cheeks. “I want to see him.”

  “We’ll arrange it for later today if that’s convenient,” Malone said.

  She nodded.

  “Is there anyone we can call for you?” Malone asked.

  “Our daughters. We need to tell them.”

  “We’ll call them ourselves,” John said. “They’ll come.”

  “We can wait with you until they get here,” Gonzo said.

  John shook his head. “That’s not necessary. We want you out looking for the person who killed our son.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do,” Malone said, rising. “I’m sorry again to have brought you such devastating news. You’ll have the full resources of our department at your disposal for as long as needed, and an Inspector’s funeral will be held befitting your son’s honorable service to the District of Columbia.”

  “What does that mean?” Brenda asked. “An Inspector’s funeral?”

  “It’s a term that originated with the NYPD and is actually a song played by pipe and drum corps,” Malone said. “The term is now used across the country when a police officer is killed. It signifies a funeral that is worthy of the highest dignity and respect.”

  “Thank you for that.” John shook hands with both of them. “We know this is an awful loss for you as well.”

  “I want you to know…” Gonzo’s voice broke and tears filled his eyes. “I’ll never forget that your son saved my life. I only wish…”

  Brenda stood and put her arms around him. “There was nothing you could do. It was his time to go. It’s God’s will.”

  Where in the world was she getting her strength and how could he get some?

  “I’ll be in touch,” Gonzo said. “And Lieutenant Holland said she’ll be by later today to see you.”

  “That’s very kind of her,” Brenda said.

  They left a few minutes later and returned to the car. In a career filled with difficult situations, this one ranked among the most difficult of all. Gonzo felt as if he’d been skinned alive with every nerve on full alert.

  “It never gets easier,” Malone said. “I was new to Patrol when Steven Coyne was killed. I remember the utter shock at realizing that cops actually get killed. That it can happen to people I know and care about. You never really get over it, but you move on from it, wiser, more alert, more aware.”

  Gonzo knew that his captain was trying to help him to cope with the loss of his partner, but in the midst of shattering grief and overwhelming guilt, Gonzo had the presence of mind to know that he would never get over it.

  * * *

  Sam waded through the reports that had been taken from the two survivors of the knife attacks, the families of those who died and the interview Gonzo and Arnold had done at Griffen + Smoltz. This case reminded her of the Woodmansee investigation in which nothing had added up until it was almost too late.

  But now they had a name—Besozzi. It was time to go back again and re-interview everyone about any potential connections to the man who’d killed one of her people.

  A buzz of activity in the pit had Sam looking up from the reports to see the gorgeous blonde woman she’d nicknamed “Secret Service Barbie” outside her door. She wore a wire in her ear that connected to a radio on her hip.

  “Mrs. Cappuano—”

  “I’m Lieutenant Holland here, as I’ve told you before.”

  “Of course. My apologies.”

  Apologies, my ass, Sam thought. She did it on purpose, and you’d never convince Sam otherwise. “I’m busy. What do you need?”

  “Vice President Cappuano is on his way in. I’m here to ensure a secure space is available for him.”

  “This is as secure as it gets around here,” Sam said of her office.

  Melinda’s brows knitted with consternation as she took in the small, cramped space. “I suppose it’ll do.”

&nb
sp; “Great.” When Melinda continued to hover in the doorway, Sam said, “Was there something else?”

  “I just wanted to say how sorry I am about your colleague.”

  The unexpected words of sympathy brought a lump to her throat. “Thank you.”

  “We’ll show your husband in momentarily.”

  Sam nodded in acknowledgement.

  Another flurry of activity and a buzz of radios preceded Nick’s arrival in the pit. He came to her office and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The sight of him—tall, handsome, commanding, sexy and all hers brought tears to Sam’s eyes that she refused to give into. There’d be time enough for that after they caught the bastard who’d killed Arnold.

  But she wasn’t above stepping into her husband’s outstretched arms and letting him wrap her up in his unconditional love.

  “How’s it going, babe?”

  “It’s awful. He was shot in the face. Gonzo and Malone are with his parents now. I’ve got to go there at some point today, and that’s about the last thing I ever want to do. There’s no sign of the bastard who did it, and the investigation is a hot mess. Other than that…”

  He didn’t say anything. Rather he only held her closer, stroking a hand over her back.

  Sam held on to him, breathing in the scent of her love and her home, until duty called and she was forced to release him to pick up the extension on her desk.

  “Holland.”

  “Oh, you’re back,” Chief Farnsworth said. “I was expecting Sergeant Gonzales.”

  “He’s with Arnold’s family at the moment.”

  “I’m so sorry, Sam.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How’s Gonzo doing?”

  “I only spoke to him briefly, but he seems to be holding up, doing what’s got to be done. Underneath it all, I’m sure he’s not doing well at all.”

  “We’ll want to keep a close eye on him.”

  “I’ll see to it.”

  “I know you’re busy, but I just wanted to call, to say… Well, losing a member of your team is the most difficult thing you’ll encounter as a commander. Please ask for help if you need it in the upcoming days and weeks. You’re not alone in this.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll do that.”

  “On a side note, it’s good to have you back, but I’m very sorry about the circumstances.”

  “As am I.”

  “Now that Arnold’s family has been informed, we’ll need to make a statement to the media. They’ve been camped outside since the officer-down call came over the radio last night.”

  “Can you tell the PIO that I’ll take care of that?”

  “Yes, and I’ll go with you.”

  “I need about twenty minutes to get my ducks in a row, and then I’ll come find you.”

  “Sounds good. See you then.”

  When she returned the phone to the cradle, Nick said, “Do what you’ve got to do, babe. I’m here to help in any way I can even if it’s just an occasional hug.”

  “I appreciate you clearing your schedule today.”

  “I wouldn’t be anywhere else. If it would help, you can talk it through with me.”

  “It would help.”

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “Come in.”

  The door opened and Freddie Cruz came into the office. He looked tired and devastated and stressed from the all-night drive to get back to town. “I figured you must be here,” he said to Nick. “I had to go through security to get into my own office.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “No biggie.” He walked over to Sam, who stood to hug him. “I can’t believe this has happened.”

  “Neither can I.” She clung to her partner longer than she ever had before, relieved to see him, to know it hadn’t been him, that he was here to help…

  He released her and took a seat next to Nick. “Tell me everything.” In his normally amiable expression, Sam could see both rage and heartbreak.

  “You’re not supposed to be here.”

  “Screw that. I’m not going anywhere until we get the guy who killed Arnold.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “The knife attacks began on Tuesday, January sixth, with a fatal attack on Isabella Rios, a twenty-four-year-old employee at the U.S. Department of Agriculture.” Sam read from the meticulously written reports Gonzo had filed. Nick and Freddie listened intently to every word. “She and all the victims were attacked at night. Rios was outside the McPherson Metro station and died from a fatal stab wound to the jugular. Dr. McNamara has determined that Rios was attacked from behind and most likely never saw it coming. Video surveillance from around the Metro station didn’t provide a good enough look at the attacker to aid in the investigation. The next attack was two days later on a forty-eight-year-old mother of two, Deborah Gainsville, who had gotten off a city bus in Brentwood and was also attacked from behind. It’s believed that she bled out slowly on the street before she was discovered dead about an hour after the attack.

  “Next up was thirty-six-year-old Barry Scanlon, a bartender, who sensed the attack was coming, whirled around to confront his attacker and took a knife to the gut. After four days in ICU, he’s been moved to a regular room and should be released in the next few days. William Enright, age twenty-seven, is an associate at Griffen and Smoltz, a graphic design and marketing firm in the city. The report says he was on a side street in the Gallaudet neighborhood, on his way home from a night out with friends when the assailant approached him from behind, grabbed his arm, swung him around and stabbed him in the abdomen. He remained coherent enough to fight off the attacker and call for help, but sustained a life-threatening abdominal wound as well as significant lacerations to his hands and arms in the battle. He’s the one who turned us on to Besozzi, who was a former client.”

  “Why former?” Freddie asked.

  Sam read aloud from the report Gonzo had written about what Enright had told them. “Apparently Enright sounded the alarm to his higher-ups when Besozzi asked him to include chat rooms and webcam capabilities in the website for a T-shirt store. Gonzo and Arnold met with the Griffen in Griffen and Smoltz yesterday, and he said he and his partner agreed that Enright’s concerns were valid and cut Besozzi loose as a client. Because the website was close to finished when this happened, Besozzi was furious.”

  “And there’re no other connections to Besozzi among the other victims?” Nick asked.

  “Everyone is doubling back today to ask about him,” Sam said. “And Hill is working on figuring out whether Besozzi is actually an Italian citizen or if he’s just pretending to be, as one of Enright’s colleagues suspected.”

  “He’s not an Italian citizen,” Hill said as he came into the office bearing papers that he handed to Sam. “The Italian embassy was very helpful and they have no record of anyone by that name entering the U.S. in the last year.”

  “Interesting,” Sam said. “So he’s an imposter then.”

  “Have we pulled a warrant to search his place?” Freddie asked.

  “Malone was handling that. Let me check.” Sam picked up the phone and placed a call to her captain.

  “Malone.”

  “It’s Holland checking on the warrant for Besozzi’s house.”

  “We’re just leaving Arnold’s parents’ home. I’ll call to check on it.”

  “Um, how’d that go?”

  “As you’d expect.”

  Sam closed her eyes against the now-predictable rush of emotion. “How’s Gonzo?”

  “As you’d expect. We mentioned to Arnold’s parents that you’d be by later today to see them, and they seemed appreciative of the gesture.”

  She glanced at her husband. “Nick and I will head up there as soon as I brief the press.”

 
; Nick nodded in agreement, and she smiled at him.

  “That’s good of both of you. It’ll mean a lot to them. So, um, she wants to see him.”

  “Oh God, really? Did you tell her he’s in bad shape?”

  “Yes, and she said he’s her son, her baby, and she wants to see him.”

  Sam sighed deeply. “Lindsey can arrange that for us.”

  “I’ve already called her.”

  “Thanks, Cap. Keep me posted on the warrant.”

  “Will do.”

  “So his mother wants to see him?” Freddie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’d like to see him too.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a great idea. He was shot in the face, Freddie.”

  “He was my friend, Sam. I want to see him.”

  “All right. Let me brief the media, and then I’ll go with you to see him before we head out to see Arnold’s folks.”

  “I’m going to sift through the reports while you do the briefing and get up to speed,” Freddie said.

  “I’m supposed to remind you that you’re suspended and technically can’t be on the case.”

  “I’m on the case whether I get paid or not.”

  Sam would do exactly the same thing, so she didn’t argue. “I’ll be back.” On the way out of the office, she bent to kiss Nick. “You can watch the briefing on the TV in the conference room if you’d like.”

  “I’d like.” He squeezed her hand and conveyed all the love and support he could in the way he looked at her.

  Jeannie appeared at the office door holding a piece of paper. “Photo of Besozzi from Griffen and Smoltz.”

  Sam looked into the black eyes of the man who’d killed her detective and made a silent vow to Arnold that they would get justice on his behalf, no matter what. “Thank you. Can you get me some copies for the briefing?”

  Jeannie handed her a stack of copies.

  “You’re the best, thanks.” Sam grabbed her coat on the way out of the office and put it on while she walked.

  As Sam left the pit, Nick’s Secret Service detail stepped aside to let her by.

  John “Brant” Brantley Junior, the lead agent on Nick’s detail, said, “I’m very sorry for your loss, Lieutenant.”