Chapter Thirteen
“You okay, boss?” Freddie asked as he headed toward Oxon Hill, Maryland, right over the line from the District’s southeastern corner.
“Sure, never better.”
“What’re you thinking?”
“My brain is all over the place. Between the threat and Peter’s murder and the floater, I can’t seem to find my mojo on any of it.”
“It’s been a strange few days for sure,” he said, glancing over at her.
“What’s on your mind, Freddie?” She didn’t want to know, because whatever it was would probably add to her own load, and she had more than enough on her plate.
“You should know that Tyrone turned in his badge and weapon and walked off the job yesterday.”
Okay, she hadn’t seen that coming. Or maybe she had. Maybe they all had in the months since they lost Arnold.
He looked over at her again before returning his attention to the road. “We knew you were dealing with Peter and everything. I’m sure that’s why Gonzo hasn’t mentioned it yet.”
Sam looked out the window, watching the world go by in a blur. “I wish I could say I’m shocked, but I’m not. He’s been different since January. His heart hasn’t been in it.”
“That’s what Gonzo said, too. Are you going to try to talk him into staying?”
“No.”
“Why not, Sam? He’s a great detective. He has a fantastic career ahead of him.”
“Not if he doesn’t want it.”
“You can’t let him quit when he’s dealing with grief. It wouldn’t be right.”
“It wouldn’t be right to talk him into continuing to do a dangerous, thankless job if he doesn’t have the belly for it anymore—and I probably could talk him into staying.
I could appeal to his sense of loyalty to the squad and me and Jeannie.
But that wouldn’t necessarily be in his best interest. He’s a grown man, and he’s made his decision.
We need to respect the guts it took to make the move. ”
“I do respect it, but I worry that once the grief begins to get more manageable, he’s going to regret it.”
“And if he does, we’ll do what we can to bring him back.
But I refuse to try to talk him out of a decision that he spent months making.
That’s not in anyone’s best interest. Do you want someone covering you on the street who doesn’t want to be there?
I can’t let Jeannie work with a partner whose heart isn’t in it. ”
Freddie’s deep sigh spoke for him. “You’re right. I know you are, but still…”
“It sucks. No question about it.”
“Poor Jeannie is distraught over it, and right before her wedding.”
“She’ll rise above it. She’s gotten past worse than this.”
“Yeah, she has.”
“I know it’s hard when things change. It’s hard for me, too. We had a great group of people that was fractured by the sudden loss of one of them, and that loss has touched us all in various ways, some more than others.”
Though he didn’t say anything, Sam could see that he was thinking about what she’d said. “I’ll talk to him, though.”
“Okay.”
“You’re a good friend and colleague to be concerned about him.”
Freddie shrugged. “He’s a good guy.”
“So are you.”
“Awww, thanks. Are you going soft in your old age or something?”
Sam scowled at him, relieved to see him smile. “Who you calling old?”
“No one. Certainly not you, Lieutenant.”
“Good answer.”
“So, um, while we’re on the subject of the squad, you probably ought to have a talk with Gonzo, too.”
“Why?” Sam had thought her sergeant was doing better lately. Was that an act?
“He said some stuff after Will resigned about wishing he could do the same thing but he has a family to support so walking away isn’t an option.”
“Fuck.”
“Language, Lieutenant.”
“I figured that news warranted a good strong fuck.”
“Um, ahhhh…”
“The word, not the act, you moron.”
“She gives and she takes away in the span of one minute.”
“I get taken off the grid for a couple of days, and you people go to hell in a handbasket without me.”
“What does that even mean? Hell in a handbasket?”
“You get the point!”
“Yeah, I do, and I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”
“That’s all I seem to get lately.”
Donny Bautista lived in an apartment building a short distance from the interstate. They took the elevator to the fourth floor and knocked on the door at unit 439.
Sam placed her hand on the butt of her gun, just in case, and watched as Freddie did the same. They never knew what would greet them on the other side of a closed door.
The sound of locks disengaging preceded the door opening. The young Filipino man’s gaze moved from her to Freddie and then back to her, his eyes bugging with recognition. He was about five-eight with a medium-sized build and dark hair. “You…you’re…”
Sam flashed her badge. “Lieutenant Holland, Detective Cruz, MPD. Are you Donny Bautista?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Answer the question,” Sam said impatiently.
“Yeah, that’s me. Why you asking?”
“May we come in for a minute?”
“Ah, yeah, I guess. If you hafta.”
Once inside the messy apartment, Sam got down to business. “You were friends with Peter Gibson?”
At the mention of Peter, Donny’s expression turned wary. “I knew him.”
“Have you heard what happened to him?”
“Only that someone shut his water off. It’s sad. He was a good guy. Didn’t deserve it. You oughta know. You were married to him.”
Sam ignored that and pushed forward. “When was the last time you talked to him?”
“Not sure. Last week sometime?”
“You got your phone handy?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Take a look and get me an exact day and time.”
He hesitated, but only for a second before he went to a coffee table covered in pizza boxes and car magazines to get his phone. “Last Wednesday. He texted me to see if I wanted to meet up, but I was with my lady.”
“And she can confirm that?”
“Wait, you think I did this? No fucking way. I liked the guy. I had no reason to kill him.”
“I simply asked if your lady can confirm that you were with her last Wednesday.”
“Yeah, she can.”
Sam pulled her pad from her back pocket and handed it to him with a pen. “Write down her name and number.”
“You gotta drag her into this?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“How’d you meet Peter?” Freddie asked.
“Through a guy I know in the city.”
“His name?” Sam asked.
“Ahh, come on! If I send cops to him, he ain’t gonna be my friend for very long.”
“If he has nothing to hide, he shouldn’t care if cops want to talk to him.”
“How do I know what he’s got to hide? We play cards and drink beer and talk shit. I have no idea what he does the rest of the time.”
“You don’t know what he does for work or if he’s married or has kids or anything else about him?”
Donny squirmed under her potent glare. “He works as a bouncer, and he’s got a coupla kids with some chick he used to bang. That’s all I know.”
“What’s his name?”
“You gonna tell him I gave it to you?”
“Not if we can avoid it, but if you don’t tell us, we’ll take you in and lock you up until you’re feeling more cooperative.”
“You can’t do that! I ain’t done nothin’.”
Sam glanced at Freddie. “Can I do that, Detective Cruz?”
“Yes, ma’am, you absolutely can lock up someone who is interfering with a homicide investigation.”
Donny held up his hands. “I ain’t interfering with you. I’m saying if I send cops to my friends, my life could be in danger.”
“What kind of friends are you hanging out with, Donny? The kind that kill people?”
“I never said that!”
“Look, we’re going in circles here,” Sam said. “We want the names of anyone you know who spent time with Peter Gibson. Either you give us that, or we take you in. It’s that simple.”
Donny thought about that for a full minute. “Okay,” he finally said. “Fine. His name is Dwayne Rogers.”
“Write down his name, number and address if you have it. While you’re at it, write down your phone number, too, in case we have follow-up questions.”
Returning her glare, he took the pad and pen from her again and used the contacts on his phone to give her the info she’d requested. He handed the pad back to her with Dwayne’s info and two more names on it.
“Now, was that so hard?” Sam asked.
“If I turn up dead, you’ll only have yourself to blame.”
“And the fact that you hang out with thugs will have nothing at all to do with it?”
“They ain’t thugs. They’re guys who look out for theirselves. You can’t blame them for that.”
“Yes, I can if looking out for theirselves includes violence.”
“I gave you what you came for. You can probably go now.”
“Thanks for your help, Donny. It’s been a pleasure. Oh and you should stay local in case we need to talk to you again.”
The door slammed behind them, the click of locks reengaging echoing through the deserted hallway.
“Pleasant sort of guy,” Sam said.
“He’s afraid of the people he hangs out with.”
“Seemed that way to me, too. Why would anyone hang out with people they’re afraid of?”
“Because they want something they can only get through them?”
“Bingo. So what do they have that our friend Donny wanted? And did Peter want it, too? Did he fuck up somehow and piss them off? Wouldn’t surprise me if he did.”
“Here’s a big idea.” Freddie held out the keys to her. “You drive and I’ll find out what we know about Donny’s crew.”
Sam snatched the keys out of his hand. “Fine. If I have to.”
“I know she’s not the same as your luxury BMW, but she gets the job done.”
“Why is your car a woman?”
“Because she purrs like a kitten one minute and screams like a banshee the next.”
“You’re not being sexist by any chance, are you, Detective Cruz?”
“Me? Hell no. I love women. I adore them. I worship them.”
Sam snorted with laughter, appreciative of the banter with him that made everything feel normal when it was anything but. “You mean you’ve worshipped exactly one of them, who you now plan to marry without ever knowing what else is out there.”
“When you find the best right out of the gate, there’s no need to continue shopping.”
They got into his car with Sam in the driver’s seat.
“Tell me you know how to drive a stick.”
“Please. I was weaned on a stick.”
“If that’s a metaphor, please don’t tell me.”
Sam looked over at him. “Thanks.”
“For what? Letting you drive my car? I fully expect to regret that.”
“No, not that.” She took a moment to collect her thoughts and find the words she needed. “For bickering with me and giving me a little bit of normal in the midst of this totally fucked-up situation.”
“Bickering with you is one of my favorite things to do. If it’s keeping your mind occupied, I’m happy to help.”
“It is and you do. Help, that is.” Sam fired up the engine, revved the accelerator, pushed the stick into first gear and lurched out of the parking space.
“Holy crap,” Freddie groaned. “Bring the transmission with us, will you, please?”
“Don’t worry about a thing. I got this.”
“Famous last words.”
“You’re never driving my car again. Ever.”
“That was totally awesome! I forgot how much fun it is to drive a stick.”
“I assume you’ll be paying for the new transmission I’ll need to acquire since you’ve ruined mine.”
Sam rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t be so dramatic. I didn’t ruin anything. I demonstrated your baby’s full potential.”
“I told you she’s delicate, and you worked her over. I’ll never forgive you for this.”
“Yes, you will. You love me.”
“Not right now I don’t.”
“Does that mean I’m not your best-man woman anymore?” Sam asked hopefully.
“I don’t hate you that much.”
“Damn.”
“This is it.” Freddie pointed to a stand-alone home on Mississippi Avenue Southeast in the District’s Washington Highlands neighborhood.
Sam pulled into a parking space and killed the engine.
Freddie immediately yanked the keys from the ignition and pocketed them. “Never again,” he muttered.
“It’s official. You’re absolutely no fun.”
“Elin would tell you otherwise,” he said, waggling his brows.
He was too cute for his own good, not that she’d ever tell him that.
Dear God, no way. “Gross.” She got out of the car, anxious to get on with the investigation.
The sooner she figured out who’d killed Peter, the sooner she could get things back to normal, or as close to normal as anything ever was for her and Nick these days.
Thinking of him made her wonder about the other ongoing investigation. She fired off a text to him.
Anything new?
He replied right away. Not yet. They’re briefing me in 30 min. Will let you know. How’s it going there?
Working the case. Nothing much yet.
Keep me posted.
I will.
How are YOU?
Hanging in. Fighting with Freddie helps.
Better him than me.
Sam laughed. Very true. Has a decision been made to let everyone out of the bunker?
That’s being discussed at the briefing. More to come.
Okay.
Love you.
You, too.
The brief conversation with Nick helped to remind her that no matter how ugly things might get out here, she always had him to go home to.
Peter had never been that kind of husband.
He’d added to her stress at the end of every long day by grilling her about everything that’d happened, where she’d been and who she’d talked to.
At first she’d thought it was out of concern, but later she’d determined it was all about control.
How she’d ever survived four years of that bullshit was still one of the greatest mysteries of her life.
And all that time, he’d known that Nick had tried to get in touch with her after their momentous night together.
It still boggled her mind that a man she had thought she loved, a man she had slept next to for years and made love to, had kept something like that from her to advance his own agenda.
She hated him for that more than anything else, even his attempt to kill her and Nick.
It would serve her well to focus on the hatred, to keep her distance from what had become of him.
She didn’t have it in her to think he deserved what’d happened, because no one deserved to be murdered.
But he’d made some bad choices that had effectively ruined his life, and she couldn’t help but wonder if one of those bad choices had led to his demise.