Chapter Fifteen
Sam and Freddie pulled up to the District Market, a locally owned and operated grocery chain with stores in DC and Northern Virginia. They entered the store and were immediately met by the manager, who held up his hands to stop them.
“Do we have neon cop signs on our heads or something?” she asked Freddie.
“Um, I don’t think that’s it.”
“I know who you are,” the manager said in heavily accented English as he looked them over suspiciously. “We have no trouble here.”
“What if I was coming in to buy a sandwich? Would I be allowed to enter?”
“Is that why you are here?”
“Nope, but I’m wondering about the sandwich.”
“What do you want?”
“We’d like to talk to Anton Williams. Can you point us in his direction?”
“What do you want with him?”
“I’d like to talk to him.”
“He’s busy.”
“Yeah, you see, we get that a lot,” Sam said.
“People are busy. I’m busy. So here’s the deal—I can either go back there to the meat department where I hear he’s a butcher and have a quick conversation with him, or I can go back there and take him into custody, march him through the store in handcuffs and take him downtown for the same conversation I could’ve had here.
While I’m at it, I might take you in too for making my job harder than it needs to be. You see where I’m at here?”
His eyes narrowed into a glare that did absolutely nothing for her.
“What’s it going to be?” she asked.
He seemed to finally get that he wasn’t intimidating her in the least. “Come this way. Don’t make a scene.”
“I’m hurt,” Sam said to Freddie, who rolled his eyes at her. “What kind of scene does he think I’m going to make?”
Freddie put his arms up and pretended to dive like she had at the inaugural parade when she’d taken down a perp in the crowd.
Sam cracked up laughing. He was the best partner she’d ever had. Not only was he an ace detective, he knew how to make her laugh when she needed it—and today, she needed it.
They were taken to a break room and told to wait.
“Don’t let him bolt or I will arrest you,” Sam said to the manager when he left to get Anton. To Freddie, she said, “Keep an eye out.”
“Come see.” He looked through one of the round windows on the swinging doors.
Sam joined him and watched as the manager spoke to the tall, muscular Black man in the white butcher’s coat, pointed to the doors and appeared to argue with his employee.
After a tense standoff, or so it seemed to Sam, Anton threw down his cleaver and followed the manager to where they were waiting.
Sam and Freddie backed away from the doors before they could be hit by them as they swung inward.
“What do you want with me?” Anton asked before Sam could introduce them.
Okay, then. “I’m Lieutenant Holland, MPD.”
“You think anyone needs you to tell them that?” With his bloody hands on his hips, Sam could see he had muscles on top of muscles that strained at the confines of the bloodstained white coat.
“Just being polite. This is my partner, Detective Cruz. Are you acquainted with a man named Peter Gibson?”
Sam watched as awareness dawned on him.
“I knew him,” he said tentatively, the use of the past tense letting them know he’d heard Peter was dead. “But not well. We played some cards together with mutual friends. That’s about the extent of it.”
“How long did you know him?”
Anton shrugged. “Six months maybe.”
“In that time, did you hear of any other games or rackets he was involved in that might’ve gotten him killed?”
“Not that I knew of. Like I said, I barely knew him except to occasionally play cards together. How’d my name end up in the mix?”
“We’re talking to everyone who’s spent time with him recently,” Sam said.
“Like I said, I didn’t know him that well, so I can’t tell you anything.”
Sam handed him her card. “After someone is murdered, people tend to get chatty. If you hear anything that you think might be helpful in figuring out who killed him, we’d appreciate the info.”
He took the card from her even though it was obvious he didn’t want it. “Yeah, okay. Can I go back to work now?”
“Sure,” Sam said. “Thanks for your time.”
“You know the way out,” the manager said.
“We appreciate your hospitality,” Sam said. “We’ll remember that if anything bad ever happens here.”
His ineffective scowl would’ve made her laugh on a regular day.
They emerged from the store to find Darren Tabor from the Washington Star leaning against Freddie’s car.
“Get off my car!”
Darren stood upright. “My apologies.”
“What do you want, Darren?” Sam asked.
“A statement about your ex-husband’s murder?”
“You’ve already got everything I’m going to say about it.”
“Come on, Sam. You’ve gotta say something more or people will think you’re glad he’s dead.”
“You’d love for me to say that, wouldn’t you?”
“I’d love for you to say something, anything, exclusively to me.”
“Fine. Here it is. I’m sorry my ex-husband was murdered, and I’m trying to help figure out what happened to him. That’s all I’ve got right now.”
He took frantic notes. “That’s better than nothing. What’s the latest on the threat against you and the VP?”
“Ask the White House. That’s their story, not mine.”
“Where’d they put you guys while you were off the grid?”
“Why would I tell you that? So you can let everyone know where they take us when they’re concerned about our safety?”
“People are curious, Sam. The vice president’s entire family disappeared for days, and no one will say where you were.”
“And that surprises you? They’re trying to keep us safe, Darren. Telling the world where we are is somewhat contrary to that goal, wouldn’t you say?”
“Were you scared?”
“This is off the record, you hear me?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“No, we weren’t scared. Almost everyone we love was with us, and the top law enforcement agencies in the country were working on figuring out who made the threat. What was there to be afraid of?”
“I’m hearing the FBI might have someone in custody. Can you tell me anything about that?”
“Nope. Not my case. Talk to them.”
“Are you worried they might not have the right guy?”
“Other people are paid to worry about that. I’ve got my own job to focus on, and you’re holding me up. Gotta go.” Sam got into the car. To Freddie, she said, “Let’s get out of here before the other seagulls hear that he found us.”
“Where to, boss?”
“Back to HQ to regroup.”
They were pulling into the parking lot at HQ when Officer Beckett called Sam’s cell.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“I’m about ten minutes out with Mrs. Gibson. Wanted to give you a heads-up.”
“Thank you for that and for going to get her.”
“No problem.”
“I’ll meet you at the morgue.”
“See you there.”
Without being told, Freddie proceeded around the building and parked near the morgue entrance. “You ready for this?”
“Fuck no, I’m not ready. She hates me for divorcing him and blames me for getting him in trouble afterward. I want nothing to do with this.”
“And yet you’ll do it anyway.”
“I’m a glutton for punishment.”
“No, you’re good at your job, and you do what has to be done no matter what it might cost you personally.”
“I try.” Sam dreaded having to see her ex-mother-in-law, especially under these circumstances. “Let’s get in there before she gets here to make sure Lindsey has him ready.”
They stepped into the always-freezing antiseptic-smelling morgue, where they found Dr. McNamara seated at a computer terminal typing up notes while sipping on an iced coffee.
“Hey, Doc,” Sam said. “Anything new on Gibson?”
“Nothing I haven’t already told you.”
“His mother is on her way in. Can you make him presentable?”
“Already done. I’ll have him brought in.” She picked up the extension on her desk and made the call. “Ten minutes.”
“Thank you.”
Lindsey looked up at Sam, her pretty green eyes filled with compassion. “How’re you holding up?”
“I’m fine. This has nothing to do with me. He was ancient history.”
“Still…”
She appreciated the sentiment but had no idea what to say to people who offered compassion on behalf of her ex-husband. It wasn’t her place to accept condolences for him.
“Any leads?” Lindsey asked.
“Nothing that’s panned out yet. Early days, though.”
“You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
A chime sounded behind them as the door opened to admit Officer Beckett and Irma Gibson. She’d aged in the years since Sam had last seen her and seemed particularly frail as she clung to Beckett’s arm. Peter had been her only child. Sam didn’t want to think about how she must be feeling.
Swallowing her own anxiety, she went to meet them, uncertain as to how she should greet Irma.
Did she hug her or shake her hand or do neither?
What was the etiquette when you saw an ex-mother-in-law you’d never been close to following the murder of your ex-husband who once tried to kill you? Yeah, figure that one out.
Fortunately, Irma solved the dilemma by hurling herself at Sam. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” she said, sobbing. “Please tell me this is a bad dream.”
Sam put her arms around the older woman and patted her back, wishing for something she could say to comfort her. “I’m sorry, Irma.”
Irma let go of Sam, who took a step back to give the grieving woman some space. “Who could’ve done this?”
Lindsey provided a box of tissues, which Sam gratefully accepted. She offered them to Irma.
“We’re working on figuring that out. Would you like to see him?”
A soft whimper preceded her slight nod. She used a tissue to dab at her eyes and blow her nose.
“You let us know when you feel ready,” Sam said.
“I’ll never be ready for this. May as well get it over with.”
Sam nodded to Lindsey, and she drew the sheet back to reveal Peter’s face. The sight of his waxy remains once again hit Sam in the gut. As always, the senselessness of murder never failed to touch her, even when she’d had a complicated relationship with the victim.
Irma approached her son, reached out to stroke his hair and bent to kiss his forehead. “He was a good son.”
“That’s what you should remember,” Sam said.
“He hated you for leaving him.”