Fatal Invasion Page 7

  “Is there any chance at all that the murders and the fire aren’t related to Piedmont and what happened to the company?” Cam asked.

  “Highly doubtful,” Hill said.

  “So the FBI’s theory is that Piedmont took them out?” Malone asked.

  Hill nodded. “Or he got someone to do it for him, so Armstrong won’t be able to testify against him in the trial that was going forward without the defendant.”

  “Wouldn’t that put the other partner, Gorton, at risk too?” Sam asked.

  “We have him in protective custody as of this morning, but he wasn’t the linchpin in our case against Piedmont. Armstrong was. Without him, our insider trading case isn’t as strong, but we still have enough to go after him on other charges.”

  “The thing I don’t get is why go to the trouble to relocate your family and change your name if you’re not going to take it all the way to full witness protection?” Jeannie asked.

  “After speaking with agents involved in Armstrong’s case, I learned that his wife resisted full witness protection. She couldn’t handle being permanently separated from her parents and sisters.”

  “Even if it meant staying alive?” Sam asked.

  “Apparently.”

  “How would Piedmont or anyone know where to find them?” Gonzo asked. “He had a new name, new city, new address. I assume they were given new Social Security numbers, passports, licenses, etc. It’s not like their family members would tell the guy who caused this where to find them. So how would he find them?”

  “We believe Piedmont would’ve been able to track Armstrong through his business contacts,” Hill said. “Armstrong continued to be involved with the software he’d founded while living here as Jameson Beauclair.”

  Sam’s phone rang, and she took the call from the fire marshal. “Holland.”

  “We found the Beauclair kids,” he said. “Alive.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SAM CALLED Special Victims Detective Erica Lucas and asked her to assist with the Beauclair children and to take the DNA sample from them that the Crime Scene investigators would need for the process of eliminating family member DNA from the crime scene. Lindsey could also use the children’s DNA to help complete the identification of their parents.

  “I’ll meet you at the hospital,” Erica said.

  The fire marshal had told Sam that the children, who’d been found together asleep behind clothing in an upstairs closet, appeared to be in good condition, but would be transported to the hospital to be checked before they were released to social services. Apparently, they’d been found on a second sweep of the house.

  “What’s being done about notifying the older son, Elijah, who’s in college at Princeton?” Sam asked Hill.

  “We haven’t gotten that far yet.”

  “That needs to be done.”

  “Let me check with our people on how best to handle that.”

  “What do we do about the kids?” Sam consulted her notes. “Alden and Aubrey. Do they have family who will want to take them in?”

  “Let me track down the older son and find out the deal with the extended family.”

  “Be quick about it. These kids will be traumatized, and they’ll need their family—if they even remember their extended family.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “Keep us in the loop on anything else regarding this case.”

  “You do the same, Lieutenant.”

  Sam turned away from him and walked into the pit. “Gonzo, you’re with me. McBride and Green, get me everything you can find on APG, Jameson Armstrong, the Armstrong family, Piedmont, Gorton, the IPO, all of it.”

  “On it,” McBride said. “Lieutenant, would it be okay to notify the maid, Milagros, that the children were found? She seemed very genuine in her affection for them.”

  “Yes, please go ahead and do that.” Sam led the way to the morgue exit, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Gonzo was with her. He had his hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans and his head down as he walked behind her.

  “First things first,” she said, ducking into the morgue to check in with Lindsey. “What’ve you got for me, Doc?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Still working, but the dental records on the male victim aren’t a slam dunk. He has some teeth missing.”

  Sam winced at the thought of the guy losing teeth during the attack. “Can you tell if that was a recent development?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “All right. We’ll get out of your hair. Call me when you have more.”

  Lindsey never looked up from her examination of the victims. “You’ll be the first to know.”

  “Ugh,” Gonzo said, taking deep breaths of fresh air when they were outside. “Fire victims are the worst.”

  “Yep. That was my third visit with them.”

  “Sorry I was late earlier. Won’t happen again.”

  “What happened, exactly?” she asked when they were in her car and heading for GW.

  “Didn’t Cruz tell you I was in an accident? I pulled out of a parking space and sideswiped a car that was in my blind spot. Took Patrol forever to respond.”

  “They never showed up when we called them to Cruz’s place.”

  “That’s fucked-up. Good thing it wasn’t a bigger deal.”

  “Agreed. I mentioned it to Malone.” She glanced over at him. “Everything all right with you?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “You seem a little...off...lately.”

  “Because I was late once I’m off?”

  “It’s not just today, and I talked to Christina—”

  “When did you talk to her?”

  “When I called to find out where you were this morning.”

  “What’d she say?”

  “Nothing, but I got the sense that she thinks something is up too.”

  “She needs to mind her own business and stay the fuck out of my job.”

  Stunned, Sam glanced at him and quickly brought her gaze back to the road. If they’d been anywhere but in the car, she would’ve been tempted to stare at him. Was this the same Tommy Gonzales who’d fallen so hard and so fast for Nick’s colleague almost two years ago? After he learned he had a son he hadn’t known about, she’d stood by him—when their relationship was still brand-new. She’d left her job to help care for his son and had again stood by them both when the baby’s mother was murdered, when Gonzo had been briefly considered a suspect in that murder and when his partner was gunned down.

  Christina hadn’t always been Sam’s favorite person, but she certainly deserved better than him thinking she needed to mind her own business and stay out of his job. Sam made a mental note to get a copy of Gonzo’s accident report.

  “It’s nine months today,” Sam said.

  “What is?”

  “Since Arnold.”

  Sam felt as much as saw Gonzo’s entire body go rigid, as if he’d been struck, proof that the topic was still a raw wound for him. Of course, it was. If, God forbid, the same thing happened to her, she’d never get over losing Cruz the way he’d lost Arnold. She couldn’t even bear to consider the possibility. She’d probably have to leave the job and find something else to do while she wallowed in her grief.

  “I know it’s hard,” she said softly.

  “You don’t know dick.”

  “Excuse me?” she said, biting back the angry retort in which she would remind him who she was to him, not that he should need reminding.

  “You heard me. Don’t give me platitudes, Sam. They don’t help. And don’t pretend to know what it’s like, because you can’t possibly know.”

  Wow. This was a whole new side to someone she thought she knew as well as anyone. She’d wanted to talk to him about covering for her while she was away, but now she wondered if she should go
at all. At the hospital, she pulled into a parking space and got out of the car. When she heard the passenger door close, she clicked the lock button on her key fob.

  “Sam.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.”

  “I said I was sorry.”

  Sam stopped walking and turned to face off with him. “What’s going on with you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re not yourself. People are noticing. You’re late for work—”

  “Once! I was late once in twelve years! Are you really going to make an issue of that?”

  “Yeah, I am, because it’s not like you to fail to show up when you’re called to a homicide. That’s not who you are.”

  “And you’re an expert on who I am?”

  Again, Sam stared at him in disbelief. “I’m your friend, Gonzo. I know you. And this hostility... It’s not you.”

  “Maybe it’s the new me. Did you ever stop to consider that?”

  “If it is, I don’t like the new you, and from the brief interaction I had with your fiancée this morning, she doesn’t like him either.”

  His eyes narrowed with fury he didn’t try to hide. “You have no right to stick your nose into my relationship. You’re my boss, not my mother.”

  “Maybe you ought to go home until you can get your head out of your ass or wherever it currently is.”

  “Pulling rank on me now, friend?”

  “Yeah, I am. I’ve got two traumatized kids on my hands who might’ve seen their parents murdered. I don’t need this shit on top of that. Go home, Sergeant. Come back when you’re in a better state of mind and ready to work.”

  “Fuck this shit,” he said as he turned and walked away from her.

  What. The. Fuck. Stunned that things with him had come to such an ugly head, Sam watched him go. Her phone rang, and she took the call from Nick.

  “Hey,” she said, walking toward the emergency entrance.

  “Hey, babe. How’s it going?”

  She paused for a second, closing her eyes and wallowing in the comforting sound of his voice. “I’ve had better days.” She told him what’d happened to Elin. “And I just had a big fight with Gonzo.”

  “Really? Over what? And is Elin okay?”

  “Yeah, she’s fine, but it might be a year or two before Freddie’s nerves return to normal. And Gonzo. I don’t know what’s up with him, but it’s nothing good. I just sent him home.”

  “Yikes, that must’ve been some fight.”

  “He said some things... I don’t know.”

  “Sometimes it’s not easy being the boss when your subordinates are your friends.”

  “Yeah. That.”

  “Are you going to be home late?”

  “I’ve got one thing to do, and then I’ll be home.” She’d had enough of this day.

  “Shelby made spaghetti. We’ll wait for you.”

  “Don’t wait if you guys are starving.”

  “We’ll wait.”

  “Did you talk to Scotty about what was up earlier?”

  “A little. I got the feeling that school is overwhelming him at the moment, so we’re going over everything he’s got to do before dinner.”

  “I hope that’s all it is.”

  “I’m on it. See you soon. Love you.”

  “Love you too.” She loved him so damned much and knowing he was waiting for her at home with their son made what she had to do next bearable.

  * * *

  GONZO KEPT HIS head down as he walked away from Sam, fuming over the altercation with someone who ought to understand far better than she did. Arnold had been one of hers. One of theirs. You didn’t just move on from something like that as if it had never happened. That’s how it seemed to him—that everyone had forgotten and moved on. Even Arnold’s cubicle was occupied by someone else now, as if he’d never been there.

  Green was a good enough guy, a great detective and a decent partner. His only “crime,” if you wanted to call it that, was taking Arnold’s place when Arnold was irreplaceable. That someone else could occupy the space in Gonzo’s life that had belonged to his young, earnest, funny, often-irritating partner, defied comprehension.

  And Sam, of all people, ought to get that. But she was just like everyone else who thought they got it when they didn’t. They didn’t get it at all. His colleagues didn’t get it, Christina didn’t get it. No one did.

  Unzipping the inner pocket of his jacket, Gonzo fished out another pill and popped it into his mouth, swallowing it without water, and then jolting when it got stuck in his throat. He swallowed frantically, until it finally dislodged and dropped into his stomach, but the disgusting medicinal taste in his mouth remained.

  He walked aimlessly, heading eventually for the closest Metro stop, intending to go home to his son, the one person who didn’t want anything he didn’t have to give lately. On the way, he popped into a convenience store to buy a bottle of water and drank the whole thing. Then he found a bench to sit on while he waited for the pill to kick in.

  His phone rang, and he fished it out of his pocket to glance at the caller ID. Christina. Gonzo declined the call. He didn’t want to talk to her. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. What good did talking do? Trulo, the department shrink, had put him through hours of pointless talking after Arnold was killed, forcing him to attend regular sessions for months to keep his job.

  He’d gone through the motions, given them what they wanted, simply because he needed the money, not because he gave a flying fuck.

  The phone rang with another call from Christina. What the fuck? Didn’t she know he was working? But then he thought of Alex and took the call.

  “Tommy.” She sounded frantic.

  “What?”

  “Alex has a hundred-and-four-degree fever! I’m taking him to the E.R.”

  His chest contracted with fear. “Where?”

  “GW.”

  “I’m near there. I’ll meet you.”

  “Tommy...”

  She wanted him to reassure her that everything would be fine, but he couldn’t do that. He’d learned that wasn’t true. Sometimes it wasn’t fine. But his little boy... He had to be fine. “I’ll meet you there,” he said again, because that was all he had.

  “Okay,” she said, her voice wavering before the line went dead.

  Legs pumping, lungs working overtime, he ran as fast as he could.

  He hoped he wouldn’t run into Sam in the hospital. He didn’t want to see her. Not now. She was probably pissed anyway, and with good reason. But what did he care? Let her be pissed. What was she going to do? Fire him? Right. She needed him. Everyone needed him, wanted a piece of him, expected things from him when his well was empty. He had nothing to give them. Couldn’t they see that? What the fuck did they want with someone who had nothing to give?

  Even his parents and sisters had been relentless lately, calling him all the time, asking how he was. How did they think he was? They asked if he was feeling better. Was he supposed to feel better? What did feeling better entail? Not thinking about Arnold every minute of every day? Not hearing the desperate, horrifying gurgling sound of him choking on his own blood as the life seeped out of him? That sound was on a never-ending loop in Gonzo’s brain, torturing him with the reminder of how fast it had happened. The poor guy hadn’t stood a chance. He was nearly dead before he hit the ground.

  And it should’ve been him. Any other time, it would’ve been him. He always took the lead. Always. Arnold was just a kid, still learning the ropes. He wasn’t ready to take the lead. Gonzo relived those last hours they’d spent together every day—sitting in the freezing cold car, waiting for their guy, Arnold bitching nonstop about the cold, the late hour, his empty stomach. Until Gonzo had made him a
deal—shut the fuck up and I’ll let you take the lead when he comes.

  Arnold’s eyes had lit up with the kind of glee you might expect from a kid being given a surprise trip to their favorite theme park. They’d walked through the steps, practiced it until he was ready—or as ready as anyone ever was to confront a suspect who’d already shown his disregard for the law.

  And then it had all gone so horribly, horribly wrong.

  Gonzo’s chest began to hurt, badly enough that he stopped running and sucked in greedy deep breaths. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he angrily used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe them away. Fucking tears. They sneaked up on him at the worst times, like in the middle of a shift with his colleagues all around him. Like when he walked into the pit and had to once again absorb the blow of Cameron Green sitting where Arnold should be, where he would be if only Gonzo hadn’t been so easily annoyed and so desperate to shut him up that he’d let his partner walk into an ambush.

  He’d certainly gotten what he’d wanted. He’d succeeded in shutting him up. Forever. A sob choked him, and tears blinded him. He fell to his knees in the grass of a park he’d never noticed before. He had no idea where he was, but what did it even matter? “Goddamn you, Arnold. How could you do this to me?” In a soft whisper, he said, “How could you leave me like this? What am I supposed to do now?”

  All he could see when he closed his eyes was Arnold’s big goofy smile and his childlike wonder at getting to do the only job he’d ever wanted. From the time he was the littlest kid, his mother had told Gonzo, A.J. had wanted to catch the bad guys.

  Overwhelmed by grief, Gonzo dropped his head and prayed for the sweet relief that should be coming any minute now. If he stayed perfectly still, the relief could find him that much faster.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHRISTINA WAITED WITH Alex in a room full of sick people that only further shredded her already-frayed nerves. She had signed the consent form and listed herself as the child’s mother. Let anyone try to question her. She’d probably rip their heads off.