Chapter Eight
On the way to HQ in the morning, Freddie grabbed a coffee and a copy of the Washington Star that had banner headlines proclaiming Second Family Taken Off the Grid Due to Threat.”
Darren Tabor had written the story that was long on speculation and short on facts, stating that neither the vice president nor Lieutenant Holland had been seen in more than two days.
The White House was refusing to confirm that Vice President Cappuano had returned from his trip to Iran, and conspiracy theorists were having a field day imagining what kind of threat could’ve led to such dramatic measures.
Freddie would’ve liked to know that himself.
As he reached for his cell phone, Freddie had many questions for Special Agent in Charge Avery Hill.
He pressed Send on the call and eased his battered Mustang into traffic.
The car backfired, making a lady on the sidewalk jump.
One of these days he needed to see about getting that fixed.
“Hill.”
“It’s Cruz. What do you know about this threat to Sam’s family?”
“Nowhere near as much as I’d like to. We’re working a lead now that I could use some help with. I was going to stop by HQ this morning.”
“What kind of lead?”
“Her ex-husband, Peter Gibson. What do you know about where he’s hanging out these days?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Wish I was. You guys have eyes on him?”
“Nothing formal, but we keep tabs.”
“Where might I find him?”
“How about you take me along with you in exchange for that info?”
“That could be arranged. Meet you at HQ in thirty?”
“I’ll see you there.” Freddie ended the call and scooted the car between two trucks, earning a loud horn blast from the one now behind him. Sam had taught him to drive offensively rather than defensively in the District, and he’d learned the lesson well.
He was stunned Avery had mentioned Gibson as a possibility in the threat investigation.
That Gibson would have the audacity to come at her again, after barely getting off on a technicality on the bombing…
You’d think he’d be scared straight after that near miss, but in Freddie’s experience with Peter Gibson, the guy didn’t learn from his mistakes.
He arrived at HQ after fifteen minutes of battling traffic and walked into the middle of something in the pit.
“I’m sorry,” Will said to Jeannie, who was crying.
“I know I promised you I’d wait until after the wedding, and I told Cruz I’d talk to Trulo before I did anything, but I can’t do even one more shift.
” He handed his gun and badge to Gonzo, who looked on with a resigned expression on his face.
“I’m sorry, Sarge. I know it was worse for you—”
“It’s not a competition,” Gonzo snapped, his jaw twitching with tension.
“Of course it isn’t. I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.” Will struggled to maintain his composure. “It’s nothing to do with any of you. I hope you guys know that. I’ve never worked with or known a finer group of people, and I’ll miss you all. I really will.”
McBride, Carlucci and Dominguez looked to Gonzo, probably hoping the same thing Freddie did—that he’d think of something to say to stop Will from throwing away his career.
But Gonzo didn’t say anything to stop Will from leaving.
Rather, he turned and went into the office, taking the badge and gun with him.
“I’m…I’m so sorry, everyone.” Will squeezed Jeannie’s shoulder and walked out of the pit.
Freddie went into the office to confront Gonzo. “You’re not going to do anything?”
“What do you expect me to do? You heard him.”
“You can at least try to stop him from making a huge mistake!”
“How do I do that when I get where he’s coming from? How do I stop him when I’d like to do the same thing? How do I convince him to give the job one more day when he’s decided it’s not worth risking his life on a daily basis for people who don’t give a flying fuck about him?”
Freddie stared at him, stunned by Gonzo’s outburst.
Lowering his voice, Gonzo said, “The only difference between me and him is I have a family to support and don’t have the luxury of quitting my job.”
“Gonzo—”
He held up a hand to stop Freddie. “It is what it is, and we’ve got work to do.
Dominguez and Carlucci found a couple of possibilities for our floater.
” Gonzo handed over a printed report that Freddie perused with interest. The third-shift detectives had identified three young women who’d been reported missing in the greater metropolitan area who fit the general profile of the woman in the river.
“So I suppose we have to go to these people and tell them we may have found their daughter,” Freddie said, “but we don’t know for sure, and then ask for dental records.”
“Exactly.”
“Before we take care of that fun task, Hill is on his way over to get some help in tracking down Peter Gibson.”
“What the hell for?”
“Apparently, Sam made a connection between him and the threat that sent them into hiding.”
“You gotta be freaking kidding me.”
“Avery asked if we’ve got eyes on him, and I told him we do. Hope that was okay.”
“Yeah, it’s fine, but I hope Sam doesn’t find out.”
“You think she’d be surprised that we decided to keep an eye on him?”
“Probably not, but that doesn’t mean she’d be happy about it.”
Avery came to the doorway of the office. “You ready to roll?”
“You’re getting both of us.” Gonzo picked up Sam’s handheld radio off the desk and then went to talk to Jeannie, who was staring off into space. “Take some personal hours and get your head together.”
“I’m fine.”
“Wasn’t a request,” Gonzo said, squeezing her shoulder. “We’ll see you in the morning.”
“Is she okay?” Hill asked.
“She’s having a rough day,” Gonzo answered without offering details.
Hill led the way to the lobby. “Where’re we heading?”
Before they went outside, Gonzo stopped walking and turned to face Hill. “I’ll give you that info, but I want something from you in exchange.”
“What?”
“My son. There’s no reason for him to be held with Sam’s family. He’s not related to them. I want him brought out of wherever they are and returned to me. Today.”
Avery met Gonzo’s intense stare and didn’t say anything for so long that Freddie was certain he was going to say no. “I’ll see what I can do.” When Gonzo began to protest, Hill held up his hand to stop him. “It’s not my call, Gonzo. I said I’ll do what I can, and I will. You have my word on that.”
Gonzo stared him down for another long moment before he nodded in acknowledgment of Hill’s offer.
“Where’re we going?” Hill asked again.
“Capitol Hill,” Freddie said.
Avery’s eyes narrowed with displeasure. “He still lives in her neighborhood?”
“Yep,” Freddie said. “After they split, he moved two blocks over to Seventh, where he was until he moved to Sixth.”
“Does she know you’ve been watching him?”
“No,” Gonzo said, “and we’d prefer to keep it that way.”
“She won’t hear it from me. What does Gibson do for work?”
“Back in the day he worked in telecom marketing,” Freddie said, “but got laid off about six months before he and the LT split up. Since then, he’s had a variety of odd jobs, the most recent at a mattress store.”
“He ought to be getting a cot and three squares courtesy of the United States government,” Gonzo added, “but thanks to us he’s walking around free as a bird after trying to kill our colleague—and her husband.”
“Why do you say ‘thanks to us’?”
“After the bombing, we jumped a warrant because we were afraid of what he had in his apartment. Turned out we were right to be concerned. The place was full of enough bomb-making materials to level a city block.”
“So you saved lives by jumping the warrant.”
“And his lawyer got him off on a technicality when we had him on a slam dunk,” Freddie said bitterly. The incident still rankled more than a year and a half later.
“Can’t say I would’ve done it any differently knowing that many lives were at risk.”
“I know we did the right thing,” Gonzo said, “but I swear to God, if he’s come at her again, we’re doing this by the book. Down to the last letter.”
“Agreed,” Hill said.
In the parking lot, they split into two cars with Hill following Freddie and Gonzo to Gibson’s Sixth Street address.
“He’s in the basement,” Gonzo said when they met up with Hill on the sidewalk outside.
“Should we call for backup?” Freddie asked.
“I think we’re good with three of us,” Gonzo said. “If you don’t mind, Agent Hill, we’d like to take the lead on this.”
“I don’t mind if you let me take the lead on questioning him about where he’s been the last few weeks and what his latest beef is with his ex-wife and her husband.”
“I can live with that.” Gonzo took the lead going down the half set of stairs that led to the basement apartment. At the bottom of the stairs, he withdrew his weapon.
Freddie followed suit, preparing to cover Gonzo if need be.
Hill hung back behind them.
Gonzo pounded on the door. “MPD. Open up.” When there was no answer, he pounded again.
“Try the door,” Freddie said.
Gonzo twisted the knob and it clicked open. He glanced over his shoulder.
“Do it,” Hill said.
Gonzo raised his weapon to lead the way and stepped into the darkened apartment.
Freddie’s heart beat hard and a bead of sweat ran down his back. What if they were walking into an ambush?
Gonzo found a panel of switches on the wall and flipped on a light.
Freddie gasped at the sight of Peter Gibson tied to a chair in the middle of the living room. He was covered in blood and had obviously been tortured. Judging by the smell, he’d been dead for some time.
“I’ll call it in,” Gonzo said, returning his weapon to its holster.