Chapter Twelve
Freddie threw clothes into the suitcase with one hand, while getting dressed with the other. When he had everything packed, he went to the bed to wake Elin, who’d slept through Malone’s phone call.
“Mmm,” she said in the sleepy voice that usually turned him on. “Again?”
“Elin, honey, wake up.”
Her eyes opened and she took in the sight of him dressed. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Arnold was shot and killed tonight. I need to go home.”
“Oh my God. Freddie. God.” Tears flooded her eyes as she reached for him.
Despite the adrenaline that beat through his system, he took a moment to comfort her. “We have to go.”
“Yes, we do.” She got up from bed, went into the bathroom and came out a few minutes later dressed and carrying her cosmetic bag.
“I’m sorry to cut short our trip.”
“Please don’t apologize. Of course you have to go home. Who called you?”
“Captain Malone.”
“Did he say anything about what happened?”
“Nothing more than that Arnold was shot and killed, and Gonzo’s a mess.”
“Poor, Gonzo. And Sam has been through such a horrible ordeal, and now this.”
“Yeah.”
“Freddie.” Her hand on his shoulder made him flinch. “Could you please hold me for a minute?”
“We need to go.”
“One minute.”
He was afraid that if he stopped moving for even a minute, he’d lose his mind.
But he couldn’t say no to her, not when he was well aware that the death of one of his closest colleagues was realization of her worst nightmare.
He let her put her arms around his waist and put his around her, though everything in him wanted to get in the car and drive until he was back with his tribe.
“I’m so sorry, Freddie.”
“Thanks.” Her kindness and sympathy were nearly his undoing.
Tears burned his eyes, but he refused to give in to them.
If he started, he might never stop. Arnold had been everyone’s kid brother in the squad, the one they loved to tease and pick on.
He took it all in his stride, always smiling and up for whatever came next.
Gonzo would be wrecked by Arnold’s death, especially since it had happened right in front of him and the shooter had gotten away.
“We have to go,” Freddie said. “I’ve got to be with them.”
“I know.” She released him, grabbed her purse and went out the door ahead of him into the dark of night for the long drive home.
Officer down. Officer down. Officer down.
The words kept running through Gonzo’s mind like a nightmare that refused to end as he stood watch over his mortally wounded partner in the morgue.
Any minute now, Arnold was going to pop up and tell him it had all been another big joke.
Gonzo wanted to travel back in time to when they’d been bickering in the car.
You take the lead.
He blew out a deep breath when the sorrow threatened to overtake him. He couldn’t afford to lose it. Not while Arnold needed him to stay strong until they got the guy who’d done this. It was the last thing he’d ever do for his partner, and he wouldn’t rest until the job was done.
“Sergeant Gonzales.”
He recognized the soft voice of Lindsey McNamara. Where had she come from? Tomlinson must’ve called her in. She’d want to begin her work on the body, but he wasn’t ready. Not yet.
“Gonzo.” Her hand landing on his shoulder made him want to scream at her to leave him alone.
Just leave him alone. But things needed to be done.
Arnold’s parents had to be notified, a thought that had vomit rushing from his stomach to his throat.
He choked it back, determined to get through this, to do for his partner what he would’ve done if the roles had been reversed.
The roles should’ve been reversed. He should’ve taken the lead the way he always did. Instead, he’d sent his partner into a slaughter.
“I need something to clean the blood off his face.” Or, he should say, what was left of his face.
“I can do that for you,” Lindsey said.
“I want to do it.”
Behind him, he heard the water running, but he never took his eyes off his partner’s face, which had been mangled by the bullet.
Lindsey handed him a wet cloth, and Gonzo began cleaning up the blood from around the gaping wound in Arnold’s cheek. He wiped up the trail of blood that extended from the corner of his mouth to his neck.
Gonzo brushed Arnold’s hair back from his forehead, arranging it the way the young detective always wore it. By the time Gonzo finished cleaning his face, other than the gaping hole in his cheek and the waxiness of his skin, he looked almost like he always did.
And then there was nothing left for him to do. “I can’t leave him.”
“I’ll take very good care of him.”
Gonzo rested his forehead against Arnold’s chest, wishing and hoping to hear the distinctive sound of a heart that would never beat again. Tears leaked from his tightly closed eyes, soaking the cotton fabric of Arnold’s T-shirt. It should’ve been me. It should’ve been me.
Lindsey ran her hand over Gonzo’s back, trying to offer comfort when there was no comfort to be found.
Officer down. Officer down. Officer down.
This could not be happening. It was a dream, a nightmare he would wake up from, sweating and gasping the way he often had after Billy Springer shot him.
He was alive today only because of the actions of the partner he’d berated earlier, the partner who was now dead and cold in the morgue, because of him. Because I let him take the lead.
From somewhere deep inside, he summoned the strength to stand upright, to adjust Arnold’s hair once again, to mumble a few words of thanks to Lindsey, to leave the morgue and head for the detectives’ pit where he would find out where they were with the manhunt for Besozzi.
Then he would drive to Maryland to ruin the lives of Arnold’s devoted parents.
The pit was deserted, but the lights were on in the conference room so Gonzo went in there to find the entire squad, less Sam, Cruz and Arnold, of course.
Captain Malone was standing before them, apparently about to address McBride, Tyrone, Carlucci and Dominguez.
FBI Special Agent-in-Charge Avery Hill was also in the room, apparently back from his family leave in South Carolina, along with Chief Farnsworth and Deputy Chief Conklin.
Gonzo looked to Malone, who nodded, offering him the chance to tell the others what had happened.
For a moment, he thought about deferring to the captain, but as the acting commander of the squad, it was his news to impart.
All eyes were on him. He knew they were wondering why he had blood all over him, why they’d been called in, why his partner wasn’t with him.
It was now up to him to tell them that his partner would never again be with him.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you that Detective Arnold was shot and killed in the line of duty tonight.”
Before his eyes the others gasped and visibly crumpled.
“Oh no,” Jeannie McBride said softly, her eyes filling with tears.
“Christ,” Hill muttered.
Carlucci covered her face with her hands, and Dominguez stared off into space.
Tears ran unchecked down Tyrone’s face as he stared blankly at the wall.
“We’d been running surveillance on the home of Giuseppe Besozzi, a person of interest in the knife attacks,” Gonzo began in a flat, rote tone. It was his job to inform them of what’d happened, and he was going to do his goddamned job even if he was dying inside.
“We were there for hours. Arnold was bitching about the cold and the boredom and how our shift had ended hours ago, and I made a deal that if he shut up about those things, I’d let him take the lead with Besozzi.
We went through it a few times, what’d he ask him, how he’d respond to comments from the suspect, etc.
When we finally saw him coming, we got out of the car and approached him as planned, with Arnold taking the lead.
He said who he was and showed his badge, and Besozzi started shooting.
Arnold went down next to me, nearly taking me with him, which is why it took a couple of seconds for me to react, to pull my weapon, to get off a few rounds.
We’d had Patrol providing backup, and I ordered them to go after the suspect while I called for EMS and waited with Arnold. He was dead before EMS arrived.”
“Gonzo,” Jeannie said, preparing to offer sympathy he didn’t deserve.
“I want every asset we have on the manhunt for this guy,” Gonzo said, brushing her off. “He’s taken one of our own, not to mention whatever culpability he may have in the knife attacks.”
“What do we know about him?” Hill asked.
“Only what we’ve been told from victim William Enright and his colleagues at Griffen and Smoltz.
” Gonzo filled in the others about the falling out the designers had with their client Besozzi and the reasons for it.
“Enright said the fact that he wanted webcams and chat rooms as part of a T-shirt store retail site was suspicious. That’s what led him to take it to Griffen, the managing partner.
It was their decision to end the relationship, news that Besozzi did not take well, according to Griffen. ”
“Is he in the system?” Hill asked.
“Nothing that we could find, but one of Enright’s colleagues suspected the Italian accent and heritage could be fake, so who knows who he is.
Carlucci, you and Dominguez go back to Griffen and Smoltz in the morning and dig deeper on their files.
Ask them to produce everything they have, and if they won’t, get a warrant.
I want a photo of this guy as soon as you have it so we can put it out to the media. ”
“Speaking of the media,” Malone said, “we’ll need to brief them about Arnold and the investigation.”
“I’ll get with the PIO and do the briefing after I get back from seeing his parents,” Gonzo said.
“I’ll also request a warrant to get into Besozzi’s home,” Malone said.
“What can we do?” Jeannie asked.