Chapter Seventeen
When Sam arrived on V Street Northeast, the keening wails of the child’s father sent a chill down her spine. If there had ever been a worse sound in the history of the world, she couldn’t imagine what it was.
Officer Beckett greeted her, his expression grim. “Fucking hideous,” he said bluntly. “They were walking hand in hand, talking about the ice cream they were going to get, and she was hit in the chest. Probably killed instantly.”
Sam sighed. “What’s her name?”
“Vanessa Marchand. The dad is Trey. Needless to say, he’s inconsolable.”
“What about the mother?”
“We can’t get anything from him. He’s out of his mind. You might have better luck.”
Sam took a deep breath, steeling herself to deal with Trey Marchand’s nightmare, and stepped under the crime scene tape that Beckett held up for her.
A tarp covered the tiny body on the sidewalk. The father leaned over her, sobbing and rocking back and forth. He was Black, muscular, handsome, the type of man who would turn female heads anywhere he went.
Looking back at Beckett, Sam said, “Where’re the paramedics?”
“On the way. They’re straight out tonight.”
“Call them again.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Where the hell was Freddie when she needed him? She assumed he’d gotten the same call from Dispatch, so what was taking him so long to get there? He’d be better at handling the distraught father than she’d ever be. But since she was the only one there, it fell to her.
“Mr. Marchand.” Sam placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m Lieutenant Holland, Metro PD. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
He shook his head. “Not my baby. Please no.” Tears drenched his face, and his hands trembled violently.
She wanted to hug him and tell him everything would be okay when it would never be okay again. Again, she wondered how people survived these things. “How about we take a walk and get a little air? Officer Beckett will stay with Vanessa until the others arrive.”
“No, I can’t leave her. She’ll be scared.”
Since he wasn’t willing to budge, Sam knelt on the sidewalk next to him and kept her hand on his shoulder, feeling impotent and useless, knowing nothing she said or did would bring him comfort.
“We stayed in last night,” he said after a long silence broken only by his sobs.
“Like they said we should. Nessa, she wanted to play. She begged me to go out.” He wiped his face as the tears continued to fall.
“I knew we shouldn’t, but it’s summer. We go to the park every night in the summer.
Why couldn’t it have been me? Why?” He broke down once again into helpless sobs that broke her heart.
Sam’s throat closed around a huge lump of emotion. All she could do was squeeze his shoulder and pray the paramedics would get there soon.
After a long period of silence, she cleared her throat and forced herself to put the emotion aside to focus on the job that needed to be done. “Did you see the car?”
He shook his head. “I heard it coming. There was a squealing sound that caught my attention, but I barely had time to look before…”
In the distance, Sam heard sirens and hoped that meant the paramedics were close. “Is there someone I could call for you? A friend or family member? How about Vanessa’s mother?”
“She left us years ago,” he said in a dead-sounding voice. “It’s just the two of us. Always has been.”
Dear God, Sam thought. I can’t do this.
At the sound of someone approaching them, she looked up with relief when she saw Lindsey McNamara.
“Isn’t there anyone I could call for you?”
“My brother,” he said. “He’d come.”
“Do you know his number offhand?”
He withdrew his cell phone and found the number. “That’s him.” He handed the phone to her. “Jamie.”
Glancing at Lindsey, Sam nodded toward Trey, asking her to watch over him while she made the call. She would’ve introduced Lindsey, but she knew it wouldn’t matter to Trey.
Lindsey nodded in acknowledgment.
Sam walked a short distance away and pressed Send to place the call.
“Yo, what’s up?”
“Mr. Marchand?”
“Yeah, who’s this?”
“Lieutenant Sam Holland, Metro PD.”
“What the hell? Where’s my brother?”
Sam closed her eyes and prayed for the strength to get through this. “I’m sorry to have to tell you that your niece, Vanessa, was shot and killed near the playground on V Street.”
“Oh my God,” he said in a whisper. “Oh God, no. Trey…”
“Can you come? He needs you.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
The line went dead, and Sam walked back over to Trey, who was being comforted by Lindsey. She handed him his phone. “Your brother will be here shortly.”
He nodded.
The paramedics showed up a few minutes later, and with Sam’s help, they convinced Trey to let them tend to him.
“I’ll be with Vanessa,” Lindsey said. “I won’t leave her for a minute.”
As the paramedics led him away, Trey looked back over his shoulder several times.
“Unbearable,” Lindsey said.
“The worst,” Sam said.
Lindsey lifted the tarp to reveal a beautiful little girl with braids in her hair. She wore a white dress with sunflowers all over it that was now covered in blood from the huge wound on her chest. “The poor baby.” Lindsey brushed away tears and signaled for her team.
Captain Malone arrived on the scene and waved Sam over.
She briefed him and watched his face harden with rage.
“They killed a baby,” he said.
“I know.”
“We have to find these motherfuckers, Sam. This has to stop.”
“I couldn’t agree more, but whoever they are, they’re good. It happens so fast, no one sees them coming.”
“What do we have for video around here?”
“That’s my next question. I’ll check with Archie and let you know.” She glanced at the back of the ambulance where Trey was being treated for shock. “He’s a single dad. She had braids in her hair and the cutest dress.”
“What the hell does he do now?” Malone asked.
Sam released a deep sigh. “I can’t begin to imagine.”
“The press is going to be even more aggressive than they were before when they hear about this one. The mayor has already called the chief—again.”
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I want to bring in Avery and his team more formally on this. We need all the help we can get.”
“I agree. Maybe the Marshals, too.”
“I’ll make the calls.”
“Let’s get everyone back to HQ to regroup when you’re finished here.”
“I’ll see you there.”
Freddie and Gonzo arrived separately and spread out to begin interviewing the people gathered outside the crime scene tape, looking for anyone who might’ve witnessed the shooting.
Sam went to talk to Trey before he was transported for observation. She handed her card to his brother, who had arrived while she talked to Malone. “Please call me if I can do anything for you or if you think of anything that might be useful to the investigation.”
Nodding, Trey wiped away more tears.
“I hope you understand that I have to ask if there was anyone in your life that might’ve wanted to harm you or Vanessa.”
“No, I’m not into anything like that. I go to work, I take care of my kid, and that’s my life. I barely have time to see my friends and family.”
Sam wondered when he would realize he had nothing but time now. It was such a cruel, senseless loss. “If you think of anything or anyone who might have a beef, even a coworker who got passed over for a promotion that you got or something as trivial as a parking dispute, I want to know.”
“I can’t think of anything, but if I do, I’ll call you.”
“I’m so, so sorry this happened to you and Vanessa. I’ll do everything I can to get justice for you both. I promise.”
He nodded again. “Thank you.”
Feeling shredded by his grief, Sam left him to the care of paramedics and his brother and went to check in with Lindsey, who was preparing to transport Vanessa to the morgue.
“Days like this make me question my career choice,” Lindsey said.
“Right there with you. We’re calling in the Feds to help us, and you know how much I hate doing that, but we’re getting nowhere fast.”
“Take all the help you can get. The goal is to stop them before they kill anyone else. Who cares how that happens?”
“You’re absolutely right.” And Sam was left to wonder if she’d called in the cavalry sooner whether a little girl with braids in her hair might still be alive.
“I’ll see you back at the house,” Lindsey said.
Sam spent an hour helping Gonzo and Freddie interview bystanders, but like the other shootings, no one had seen enough to be helpful.
“This is so frustrating,” Sam said as they returned to their cars. “We have no more after five shootings than we had after the first.”
“I like your sharpshooter angle,” Gonzo said. “I have a feeling about that.”
“I do, too,” Sam said. “Let’s see what Carlucci and Dominguez got done tonight.”
They headed for HQ in three separate cars. On the way, Sam called Avery Hill.
“Sorry to bother you,” she said, “but we’ve had another shooting. This time a six-year-old girl killed leaving a playground in Northeast.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, it was brutal. The father is a single dad, and the kid was obviously his whole world.”
“What can I do?”
“We need the cavalry. We’ve got dick, and we have to stop these people before they kill again.”
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
“Thank you.” She placed the same call to Jesse Best, local commander of the U.S.
Marshal Service. The Marshals specialized in finding people, and Sam hoped those skills could be used to hunt down the sons of bitches who were killing people in her city.
Like Hill, Best agreed to meet at HQ within the hour.
At HQ, the usual throng of reporters had quadrupled and satellite trucks lined the street. Apparently, word was out about another shooting, and the fact that such a young child had been cut down would fuel the frenzy.
Sam drove around to the morgue entrance and bypassed Lindsey’s lab for now because she wasn’t ready to see that sweet child laid out on an autopsy table. She’d have to face that horror eventually, but not right now. The pit was overrun with detectives and brass, including Chief Farnsworth.