Chapter Fourteen
With Freddie right behind her, Sam climbed the stairs to the house, noting with interest that a ramp had been installed on the other side of the porch.
Having some experience with ramps, she took a closer look and saw that it had been hastily assembled, not at all like the one Nick had professionally built at their house so her dad could visit.
She rang the doorbell and pulled out her badge, ready to show it to Dwayne Rogers.
A Black man came to the door. He was tall and muscular with sleeve tattoos and diamonds in both ears. Before they could show their badges, he identified them as cops. “What do you want?”
Flashing her badge, Sam said, “Lieutenant Holland, Detective Cruz. Could we have a few minutes of your time, Mr. Rogers?”
“Who sent you here?”
“That’s not important,” Sam said. “We’d like to talk to you. We can either do it here or downtown. Up to you.”
He glowered at her but stepped aside to admit them.
As a policy, Sam never turned her back on a person of interest in an investigation. “After you,” she said, gesturing for him to lead the way into his home.
They followed him through the foyer to a hallway that led to the kitchen.
Sam stopped short at the sight of a familiar face.
Roberto Castro, the man she’d met while undercover with the Johnson family.
Roberto had been left paralyzed by the crack-house shootout that had killed young Quentin Johnson, an event that still haunted Sam almost two years after it happened.
Sam had convinced Roberto to go straight and had helped him land a job as a clerk with the city.
She hoped his presence here wasn’t an indication that he’d gone back to his old ways.
“Well, well, well,” Roberto said, smiling. “If it ain’t my favorite second-lady cop.” He’d added the word second to his usual name for her.
Sam grimaced at the title and returned his fist bump. “How you doing, Roberto?”
“Livin’ the dream. Nothing fancy like you, but gettin’ by.”
“You know her?” Rogers asked.
“Me and her go way back, don’t we?”
“We do,” Sam said. “How do you guys know each other?”
“First cousins,” Roberto said. “Our mothers are sisters.”
“You’re not working today?”
“Takin’ a little break from work. Had a setback that put me in the hospital for a coupla weeks. I’m still on medical leave.”
Sam was relieved to hear that he hadn’t left or lost the job. “Sorry to hear that.”
Roberto shrugged. “Is what it is. What’re you sniffin’ out now?”
“Peter Gibson.”
“Who?” Roberto asked, his brows furrowed.
“The mattress guy,” Rogers said.
“Oh yeah! He squared me and my Angel with a sweet deal on a new sack. What about him?”
“He’s been murdered.”
Both men looked at her in legitimate shock, the kind that couldn’t be faked.
“No way,” Rogers said. “He was here for poker last week. Lost big, but he usually does.”
“Did he say anything about beefs or issues?”
“Nah,” Rogers said. “But we weren’t tight like that. We played cards and drank beer. That’s about it.”
“How’d he come to be part of your game?” Freddie asked.
“Another guy brought him,” Rogers said. “Anton. He knew him from a game he was in.”
“Where can we find Anton?” Sam asked.
“You ain’t gonna tell him I sent you, are you?” Rogers asked.
“Not if we don’t have to.”
He glanced at Roberto, who nodded.
“She’s cool. She’ll protect ya.”
Sam appreciated his endorsement. He’d helped her out with the Reese case last year, filling in some blanks for her—blanks that she’d hoped would lead to a break on her father’s unsolved shooting, but like every other lead they’d had in that case, it had turned out to be another dead end.
Reluctantly—or so it seemed to Sam—Rogers said, “Anton works at a market on 11th Street Northwest. He’s a butcher.”
“His last name?”
“Williams.”
“What’s he look like?”
“Tall, Black, built like me kinda,” Rogers said. “Got a neck tat and a pierced lip.”
“Appreciate your help,” she said.
“This had better not come back at me,” he said.
“We’ll do what we can to keep you out of it.” To Roberto, she said, “Could I have a word in private?”
“Yeah, yeah. Knew you was gonna say that.”
“I live to be predictable.” Sam led the way to the front porch. To Freddie, she said, “Give me a minute with him.”
“Sure. I’m going to apologize to my car for letting you drive it.”
“You do that.” Sam held the door for Roberto, who rolled out behind her.
“You gonna give me a lecture, lady cop?”
“Nothing like that. I want to know how you are. Really.”
“Me and Angel… We had a coupla bumps, but we’re working it out.”
“What kind of bumps?”
He seemed pained when he said, “They ain’t sure I can have kids, and she wants them. She took off for a while, but she came back. Not sure if she’s back to stay or not, but we’re workin’ it out. Day at a time.”
That news saddened Sam. Roberto had once referred to Angel as his will to live. Without her, she feared he might veer off course again. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you guys can work it out. And there’re all sorts of ways to have kids these days. I’ve had my own issues with that.”
“I know. I saw your speech a coupla months ago. I had no idea you’d been through all that shit.”
“I have a son now. We adopted him, but it doesn’t matter how we got him. What matters is that he’s ours and we’re his.”
“I feel ya. We been talking about that.”
“If I can help at all, you know how to reach me.”
“Y’all fancy now. I’d be afraid to call you.”
“Don’t be stupid. My husband’s fancy. I’m the same old bitch I always was.”
“Sure ya are,” he said, snorting with laughter. “Ya might be the same old bitch, but you’re hangin’ at the White House these days.”
“Call if you need me, Roberto. I mean it.”
“I’ll do that. You’re okay for a cop.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“The guy that was iced, he was your old man back in the day, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah. Way back.”
“Not sure if I should say sorry or not.”
“Thanks. If you hear anything, anything at all, let me know.”
“I got my ear to the ground. You know me.”
“Yeah, I do, and I want to see you back to work at city hall. Don’t do anything stupid, you hear me?”
“Yeah, lady cop. I hear ya.” He flashed a charming smile. “I’m on best behavior at all times.”
“You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.”
“How’s your dad getting on?”
“A little better. He had surgery to remove the bullet, and he’s got some tingles here and there.” She left out the part about how painful those tingles had been.
“Glad to hear he’s doin’ good. He’s straight up.” Sam had gotten them together last winter, and her dad had enjoyed meeting Roberto.
She returned his fist bump. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“See ya on the news, fancy pants.”
“Fuck you,” she shot over her shoulder as she went down the stairs.
“That ain’t no way for the second lady to talk,” he called after her.
She flipped him off and smiled at the sound of his laughter. Somehow they’d both survived their time with the Johnson family and had come out of it scarred but resilient.
Sam got into Freddie’s car, giving the passenger door an extra-hard tug when it didn’t want to close.
“Be gentle with her,” Freddie admonished. “She cooperates when you’re nice to her.”
“That’s me being nice. And PS, I happen to know you make enough money to afford a car that works.”
“Be quiet! Don’t say that in front of her! You’re a monster.”
“And this is news to you?” Sam handed him the tablet. “Before we take off, do a run on Anton Williams to see if he’s in the system.”
“You know, you could do this while I drive and we could save some time.”
She put the seat back and closed her eyes. “Nah, it’s better when you do it.”
“Better for who?”
“Me, of course.”
A couple of minutes later, he said, “A few misdemeanors years ago. Nothing recent.”
“Excellent. Now drive me to 11th Street Northwest, and hurry up about it.”
“Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say, ma’am.” He tucked the tablet between the seats, eased the car into traffic and headed toward the city’s northwestern quadrant. “What’d Roberto have to say?”
“He and Angel have been having some problems. The doctors aren’t sure he can have kids, and she wants them. They split for a while, but she’s back now.”
“That’s a tough one.”
“He said he saw my speech, and it helped them.”
“That’s nice to hear.”
“Yeah.”
“He’s staying straight?”
“So he says. He’s going to keep his ear out for anything about Peter.”
“That’s good.” After a long pause, he glanced over at her. “What’re you thinking?”
“What Rogers said about Peter losing big and how he always does…”
“What about it?”
“I’m thinking it might be worth having Vice nose around the gambling circuit. Maybe he was into bigger things than Rogers’s card game and someone got tired of waiting to be paid.”
“I agree it’d be worth a look. You want me to call Robach?” he asked, referring to the Vice squad captain.
“Nah, I’ll do it.” Sam placed the call to HQ and waited for Dispatch to pick up.
“Metro PD, please hold.” Before Sam could say a word, she was listening to hideous music.
“She put me on fucking hold. What if this was an emergency?”
“Um, you would’ve called 911 and not the switchboard?”
“Don’t be a smart-ass.”
“I’m not!” he said, laughing. “I’m serious. You didn’t call the emergency number, so she can put you on hold.”
“She should know it’s me and not put me on hold.”
“Oh, um, well…of course she should. What was I thinking?”
“You weren’t, but that happens with you sometimes. I should be used to it by now.”
“What. Ever.” Under his breath he added, “You couldn’t function without me.”
“What was that you said? I could’ve sworn you said I couldn’t function without you, which we both know is ludicrous. I functioned for years without you.”
“But the job was nowhere near as fun as it is with me.”
“You said that, not me. What the ever-loving fuck are they doing for all this time? I’m going to hang up and call back if she doesn’t get to me in five, four, three—”
“Metro PD. How can I direct your call?”
“Robach in Vice.”
“Please hold.”
“Ugh, that music! I can’t bear it!”