Fatal Frenzy: Book 9 of the Fatal Series Page 17

  “Thanks, Brant.” She kept moving, putting one foot in front of the other, because she had no choice. Curling up into a ball and wailing wasn’t going to change what’d happened and it wouldn’t do a damned thing to catch Besozzi.

  The chief was waiting for her in the lobby. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  They walked outside together. The moment the door opened, reporters started screaming questions at them.

  As she always did, Sam waited for them to quiet down before she began to speak. “At eleven thirty-eight last night, after several hours of surveillance on a home in the Manor Park neighborhood, Detective Sergeant Thomas Gonzales and Detective Arnold John “A.J.” Arnold approached a person of interest in the knife assault case. Detective Arnold took the lead, and before he could finish announcing himself, the suspect opened fire, striking Detective Arnold in the face and mortally wounding him.”

  A murmur rippled through the crowd of reporters as she confirmed an officer had been killed in the line of duty.

  Sam held up the photo of Giuseppe Besozzi. “We’re looking for this man, known as Giuseppe Besozzi, in connection with the shooting of Detective Arnold and as a person of interest in the knife attacks. We have reason to believe that Besozzi is not his real name, but we have not yet been able to confirm that.”

  “What led you to Besozzi in the first place?” Darren Tabor from the Washington Star asked.

  “He was connected to one of the knife attack victims. We’re looking into whether there’re connections to the other victims, but so far we know of only one connection.”

  “Assume Arnold’s family has been notified?” a reporter asked.

  “Yes, this morning.”

  “Can you provide any more details on the shooting? Where was he shot? Was the wound immediately fatal or was he treated?”

  “I’ll only say he died almost immediately. We’re not releasing the other details at this time.”

  “Was Sergeant Gonzales wounded?”

  “No. He was able to fire several rounds, and despite that and pursuit by Patrol officers who were backing up the detectives, Besozzi managed to get away. The FBI and the U.S. Marshal Service are assisting in our efforts to locate and apprehend Mr. Besozzi. We ask the public’s assistance in helping to locate him, but we ask that no one approach him directly. If you know where he is, call us. I want to repeat that he is armed and dangerous and has already gunned down a police officer. Do not approach him.”

  “Lieutenant, you’ve been on an extended medical leave since you were attacked by Lieutenant Stahl,” Tabor said. “Did the death of Detective Arnold bring you back to work?”

  Sam gave him her best death stare. “What do you think?”

  “It’s a fair question,” Tabor added. “You’ve been out for weeks, and you’re back today of all days.”

  “Where else would I be when one of my officers has been brutally murdered in service to this city?”

  “Can you tell us what role the vice president is playing here today?”

  “He’s here in a supportive role because an officer of mine and a friend of ours was killed on the job. I would think his reasons for being here today would be rather obvious.”

  “You were seen at the White House during your leave,” one of the bottle blonde TV reporters said. “Are you taking on a more active role as second lady?”

  “Any more legitimate questions about the investigation?” Before anyone could form a question, she was walking away from the podium and into the building with Chief Farnsworth right behind her. “We have an officer killed in the line and they’re going to waste my time asking about the White House?”

  “I guess they have to get that in during the rare moments when they have access to you.”

  “It’s inappropriate. Especially today.”

  A young woman approached them. “Pardon me, Lieutenant,” she said, nodding to the chief. “I’m Tara from public affairs. We have requests from all the major networks asking for interviews about the shooting of Detective Arnold. The story is making the national news.”

  “Fantastic,” Sam said. “We’ve got a cop shooter on the loose, and I’m supposed to stop what I’m doing to give interviews to the networks who are only interested because Arnold worked for the goddamned second lady?”

  Before her eyes, the young Public Affairs officer shriveled.

  “Don’t kill the messenger, Lieutenant,” Farnsworth said. To Tara, he added, “I’ll take the interviews. The lieutenant is otherwise occupied today.”

  “Of course,” Tara said. “I’ll let them know.” She scurried off in the direction from which she came.

  “Poor girl,” Farnsworth said. “You’ve scarred her for life.”

  “She needs to learn about a thing called timing. It’s everything.”

  “She’s just doing her job, Sam, and I’ll let you get back to doing yours. If there’s anything I can do to help, just say the word.”

  “Malone has requested a warrant to search Besozzi’s house. If you could move that along, it would help.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “Arnold’s folks are coming in later to see him. It would mean a lot to them, if you have the time—”

  “Consider that done too. Just let me know when, and I’ll be there.”

  Nodding, she said, “Thank you.”

  When she would’ve walked away, he stopped her. “Sam.”

  She glanced up at his kind, compassionate eyes, the eyes of her uncle Joe as well as her commanding officer.

  “This is the toughest thing you’ll encounter in this job. You’re just off a difficult recuperation, and this is a hell of a thing to come back to. Please ask for help if you need it. We’re all standing behind you on this.”

  She had to swallow a huge lump in her throat before she could speak. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Keep me posted on where we are with the investigation.”

  “I will. Nick and I are heading up to see the Arnolds. That’s the right thing to do, isn’t it? I mean I should be out working the case, but—”

  His hand on her arm stopped her. “You’re his commander. It’s the exact right thing for you to do today. We’ve got plenty of people out looking for the person who killed him. Your job is to lead your team through the investigation as well as to guide them through the painful loss of their colleague and friend.”

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  “You know where to find me if I can help with any of it.”

  “You’ve already helped. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “I’ll be around.”

  “Don’t let the network people ask you about the vice president’s wife,” she said with a small smile.

  “They wouldn’t dare. I’ve heard she’s a real barracuda.”

  He left her chuckling as she walked back to the pit where her heartbroken detectives were waiting for direction and guidance.

  In the conference room, Nick was with Hill and Jesse Best, commander of the U.S. Marshal Service’s Capital Area Regional Fugitive Task Force. The three men were poring over a map of the city that was spread out on the table.

  “Gentlemen,” Sam said when she joined them. “Where are we?”

  Best stood to his full six-foot-six-inch height. He had blond hair and the build of the defensive tackle he’d been on his college football team. He’d turned down offers from the NFL to go into law enforcement and had risen quickly through the ranks within the Marshal Service. “My condolences, Lieutenant.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I was just explaining to Agent Hill and Vice President Cappuano that we have officers spread out in a grid formation throughout the city, complementing the effort underway by the MPD and FBI.”

  “How do we know he’s
still in the city?” Sam asked.

  “We don’t know for certain, of course,” Best said, “but we’ve got officers at the train station, bus depot, airport and we’re searching Metro video from all the stations near to where the shooting took place. We’ve got people checking with cab companies and car services.”

  “Does he have a phone registered under the Besozzi name?” Hill asked.

  “We’ve got requests into all the major carriers asking that very question,” Best replied.

  “Wow, you guys don’t mess around,” Sam said. Under normal circumstances, she’d resent the intrusion from federal authorities. But today she couldn’t muster the energy it would take to be resentful of help they badly needed.

  “This is what we do, Lieutenant,” Best said. “We find people. Our entire team is doubly motivated by the fact that the person we’re looking for killed a law enforcement officer. We’ve already had two cell companies tell us they have no one by that name in their customer database.”

  “What about the possibility that he’s operating under an assumed name?”

  “As soon as we have the warrant to search his place, we’ll get some prints to determine who this motherfucker really is,” Best said. “Then we’ll have him by the balls.”

  Sam liked this guy’s style. “I want him alive.”

  “As do we. But if it’s a choice between his life and the life of one of my people, we won’t choose him.”

  “I understand. While you oversee the manhunt, we’re going to continue to try to tie Besozzi to the knife attack victims. Please let me know what we can do to supplement your efforts.”

  “We appreciate the cooperation thus far. Your Patrol officers have been very helpful.”

  While she spoke with Best, she felt Hill watching her closely, probably trying to gauge whether she was about to fall apart. She wouldn’t give him or anyone the satisfaction of falling apart before they’d gotten justice on Arnold’s behalf. “That’s good to hear,” she said to Best.

  “Avery, I hear your mother is doing well,” Sam said, out of respect to Shelby more than anything.

  “She is, thank you.”

  “We’ll leave you all to it. Nick, could I have a word in the office please?”

  He followed her through the pit and into her office, closing the door behind him.

  “What’s it going to take to get us up to New Carrollton to see the Arnolds?”

  “If I go, we have to let the Secret Service take us. Are you sure you want to turn it into a big circus at their house?”

  “Maybe the detail could tone down the circus ever so slightly?”

  “I’ll talk to Brant and see what we can do. While you were doing the briefing, I got a text from Shelby asking if she should reschedule the final fitting for your ball gown.”

  The statement was so comically out of place in the context of this day that Sam had to laugh. “My ball gown.” She shook her head. “When is all that again anyway?”

  “If by ‘all that’ you mean the inauguration, it’s the day after tomorrow as you well know since this entire department has been preparing for months now.”

  “That soon, huh?”

  “That soon.”

  “Is it appropriate for me to appear at inaugural balls forty-eight hours after one of my detectives was killed in the line of duty?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that, Samantha. If you feel it’s inappropriate, I would understand if you didn’t go as long as you understand that I have to go.”

  “I do understand. What time are we supposed to meet Marcus?” she asked of the young designer from Virginia who’d become Sam’s go-to guy for all things formal.

  “Six.”

  “Ask Shelby to push him to nine, and I’ll meet him at the house. I’ll have to play attending the balls by ear, but at least I’ll be ready if I do go.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders. “I know this is an awful time for you, and the last thing you want to think about is the inauguration, but I need you up on the podium with me Tuesday morning. That part is somewhat nonnegotiable.”

  She reached up to caress his handsome face. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else at that moment. It’s the party aspect that may be seen as inappropriate.”

  “You know who you could ask?”

  “Who?”

  “Your chief of staff. From what I hear, Lilia is shockingly well informed about all matters of protocol and Washington.”

  “Good idea. I’ll run it by her. In the meantime, we’ve got to go to Maryland and I guess you’re driving since I’m not allowed to drive the VP.”

  “Neither am I, but in this case that’s an advantage. I’ll be able to snuggle with my wife all the way to Maryland. I hope the traffic is awful.”

  Sam couldn’t help but laugh at how adorably sweet he was and how he brought a ray of sunshine to the darkest of days.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Detective Jeannie McBride found Barry Scanlon in a private room at the George Washington University Hospital. A Patrol officer from the MPD stood watch outside the door and required Jeannie to show her badge even though she knew him.

  “Thanks, Detective,” he said. “Just following orders.”

  “Totally understand,” Jeannie said.

  “I’m really sorry about Arnold. He was a straight-up guy.”

  “Yes, he was. Thank you. What’s the situation in Scanlon’s room?”

  “The doctors were just in with him, so he should be awake.”

  “Great, thanks.” Jeannie knocked on the door and opened it just enough to peek inside. The man in the bed gestured for her to come in. “Mr. Scanlon, I’m Detective McBride, MPD.” She showed her badge and gave him a moment to inspect it.

  “I’ve already given a statement,” he said in a weak voice that didn’t match up with his broad shoulders or muscular build.

  “I have some new information I was hoping to speak to you about, but only if you feel up to it.”

  “Sure, whatever I can do to help.”

  Jeannie held up her phone with the photo of Besozzi that had been emailed to her. “Do you know this man?”

  He took a long look at the photo. “I can’t say I do.”

  “Does the name Giuseppe Besozzi mean anything to you?”

  “Not that I recall, and it seems like I’d remember that name.”

  “Yes,” Jeannie said, “I imagine you would. You’re a bartender, correct?”

  “I am.”

  “Is it possible Besozzi was a patron, perhaps?”

  “I suppose that’s possible, but I can’t remember ever meeting him at the bar or anywhere else for that matter.”

  “We appreciate your time and we hope you make a speedy recovery,” Jeannie said.

  “Sure, no problem. I’m happy to do anything I can to help catch the guy who put me here.”

  “One other thing,” Jeannie said. “Did your attacker say anything to you?”

  “Not a word.”

  “Thank you again for talking to me, and we’ll be in touch if anything else comes up.”

  “You know where I’ll be for the next week or so,” he said with a grimace. “Out of work and out of money. I don’t have health insurance. I was stupid enough to think I wouldn’t need it at my age. My bar is doing a fundraiser for me, but I have no idea how I’ll ever pay for all of this.”

  Jeannie handed him her business card. “Please let us know how we can contribute.”

  “That’s really nice of you. Thanks.”

  She patted his arm. “Hang in there. We’re working hard to get the person who did this to you.”

  “How’s he doing?” the Patrol officer asked when she walked out of the room.

  “As well as can be expected it seems,” Jeann
ie replied. “Let us know if anything changes here.”

  “I will.”

  Jeannie walked through the hallways of the hospital, trying not to think of the brutal days she’d spent there after she was attacked last year, before exiting through the main doors. She took deep breaths of the cold air to clear her senses of the antiseptic smells that brought back the horror every time she stepped foot in the place.

  Jeannie placed a call to Sam. “Nothing new from Barry Scanlon, the bartender who was attacked. He didn’t recognize Besozzi’s name or picture.”

  “Okay, thanks for closing that loop.”

  “What else can I do?”

  “Check in back at HQ. Hill and Best are there, and may have something else they want you to do. We’re on the way to Arnold’s parents’ house.”

  “God, I don’t envy you that task.”

  “And they say rank has its privileges.”

  “No kidding. Please let me know what I can do. Anything.”

  “Just keep working the case and pulling the threads. You know how something small can break this whole thing wide open. Hopefully we’ll have the warrant soon to search his place. The Marshals need prints to figure out who this guy really is.”

  “I guess I’ll see you when you get back to HQ. Good luck with the Arnolds.”

  “Thanks. Talk to you later.”

  As she got in the car, she thought about the conversation she’d had earlier with her partner, who was now standing watch over their deceased friend and colleague.

  “You okay?” she’d asked.

  Will shook his head. “This thing with Arnold…”

  “I know. It’s awful and tragic and senseless, but we have to go on. We have to keep doing the job.”

  “Do we though? Do we have to?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When does it get to be too much? The lieutenant is attacked and tortured by one of our own. Cruz got shot, Gonzo got shot, you got kidnapped, assaulted. And now this with Arnold. I can’t take it anymore, Jeannie. I really can’t take it.”

  Her partner was young, only a few months older than Arnold had been, and the two men had been close friends outside of work. “Can I tell you something I was told after my attack?”