Chapter Seventeen #2
“Everyone in the conference room in five.” Sam ducked into her office, hoping for five minutes to decompress. She got exactly one minute to herself before someone knocked on the door. “Come in.”
Chief Farnsworth came in and closed the door. “You okay?”
“I’ve been better. She was a little kid leaving the park with her dad.” Sam ran her fingers through her hair, which was still damp from the shower and the humidity. “And we’ve got abso-fucking-lutely nothing to go on.”
“The media is hungry for information about the latest shooting and the investigation. Can you do a quick briefing?”
“How about I write it up and we let Captain Norris and the Public Affairs people handle the actual briefing so it doesn’t turn into a three-ring circus about my husband?”
“I can live with that.”
“Captain Malone was on scene, and we agreed to call in the FBI and Marshals. We need all the help we can get.”
“Agreed. Encourage your team to seek counseling if they need it. This is a tough one.”
“They all are.”
“Indeed. I’ll let you get back to it.”
“Thanks for checking on me. Give me a minute to write the statement for Norris, and then I’ll be in.”
“You got it.”
Sam sat at her computer and wrote out the key facts about the latest shooting, mentioning they’d called in the FBI and U.S.
Marshal Service to assist in the investigation and reiterated the warning asking city residents to remain indoors as much as possible.
When she was satisfied with the statement, she emailed it to Norris and suggested he not take any questions because they still had no answers.
She fired off a quick text to Nick, letting him know she’d be gone all night, and then went in to join the others in the conference room. “I want to talk sharpshooters,” she said without preamble.
“Per your request,” Detective Carlucci said, “Dominguez and I have been digging into that angle based on Detective McBride’s research from earlier. We have a few names worth considering. Two are ex-military, Special Forces, and one is former MPD.”
A shiver went down Sam’s spine when she heard the MPD acronym. “Who?” she asked.
“Kenneth Wallack,” Carlucci said. “Retired five years ago as a captain after a twenty-year career spent mostly in SWAT. He was an Army sharpshooter before he joined the department.”
“I knew him well,” Farnsworth said. “He came up with Skip, Conklin and me. We were all in the academy together. He’s one of the good guys. There’s no way he’s involved in this.”
“We still need to talk to him,” Sam said. “Whoever is doing this has mad skills with a weapon. He might be able to tell us something we don’t already know. He’s first on my list for the morning.”
Carlucci slid a piece of paper across the table. “He lives in Brentwood.”
“Which is right next door to Eckington,” Sam said.
“He’s not involved,” Farnsworth said sternly. “I’d stake my badge on it.”
“I’m pointing out that he lives next to where one of the shootings took place.”
“So noted,” Farnsworth said. “Move on.”
“Who’re the ex-military?” Sam asked.
“Carlos Vega, a former Army Ranger who was a decorated sharpshooter during the Iraqi war, and Douglas Simpson, an ex-Navy SEAL who received a Purple Heart for his second tour in Afghanistan.”
“What was his injury?” Avery asked from his post next to Best in the back of the room.
“He was shot in the head and medically retired,” Carlucci said.
“Would he still have the faculties to carry out these kinds of shootings after an injury like that?” Malone asked.
“We’ll have to pay him a visit and find out,” Sam said.
“We’ll see them both tonight, if that would help,” Dominguez said.
“Go to it.”
Archie came into the room. “I’ve got a shot of the car that carried out the latest shooting.
” He went over to the computer station and inserted a flash drive.
The video appeared on the screen a few seconds later.
“As you can see, we’re looking for a red SUV this time around.
I wasn’t able to get the make or model or any distinguishing features because of the speed at which it was traveling, but the shape and size indicates SUV over sedan. ”
“Have we had any reports of red SUVs stolen in the last forty-eight hours?” Sam asked him.
“Just one, so that gives us a plate number.” Archie handed her a report on the stolen car. “I’ve already put out an APB, and we’ve got everyone looking for that car.”
“I’ll put the info out to my people,” Best said.
“Good work, Lieutenant,” Farnsworth said.
“Yes, thank you, Archie,” Sam said.
“Happy to be able to give you something to work with. I’m going back upstairs to keep looking at the film. I’ll let you know if we find anything else.”
“Let’s go talk to the people who owned the stolen car,” Sam said.
“It’s almost midnight,” Freddie said.
“I don’t care what time it is. We’ve got murderers on the prowl. No time to waste.”
“I’m with you, boss.”
“Everyone else can keep looking for more on the sharpshooter angle. Call me if you get anything.” She left the conference room and went to her office to grab her keys, meeting Freddie in the hallway that led to the morgue. “Let’s do this.”
They drove to the Trinidad neighborhood in Northeast, to an address on Florida Avenue where Mary Jane and Rod Demmers lived.
Sam didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty when she rang their doorbell at a quarter after midnight.
It took a few minutes, but the porch light came on and the inside door opened to reveal a man in his mid to late fifties, wearing pajama pants and a T-shirt.
His eyes bugged when he recognized Sam.
“Mr. Demmers?” Sam flashed her badge. “I’m Lieutenant Sam Holland with the Metro PD. We’re here about the car you reported stolen two nights ago.”
“At this hour?”
“We believe your car has been used in the perpetration of a homicide. We’re sorry to disturb you, but we’re trying to find cold-blooded killers before they strike again.”
“Come in.” He stepped aside to admit them.
Sam appreciated that kind of cooperation.
His wife came down the stairs, wearing a robe and attempting to fix her bedhead. “What is it?”
The husband brought her up to speed, and she gasped, her hand over her heart. “Oh my God! Is it the same thugs who shot those poor innocent people a few nights ago?”
“We believe so.” Sam decided not to tell them about Vanessa. They’d hear about her soon enough. “I read the report you gave our officers about the car being stolen from in front of your home, but it doesn’t say here if there were any stickers or other identifying features.”
“There’s a Feds sticker on the lower right side of the tailgate window and a Caps flag on the upper left side,” he said.
“Don’t forget the faded Towson sticker,” she said. “Our daughter went there.”
Sam recorded everything they said in her notebook.
“There’s also a dent in the backseat door on the passenger side,” he said. “It got hit in a parking lot, and we hadn’t had the chance to get it fixed yet.”
“This is all very helpful,” Sam said, making a mental note to ask Patrol to do a better job of capturing these details when cars were reported stolen.
They took so many of these routine reports that sometimes they glossed over the details.
Sam handed the wife her card. “If you think of anything else, please call me.”
“We will,” she said. “I hope you catch these people. What they’re doing is so awful. Terrorizing an entire city.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Sam said. “And we are going to get them. Sorry again to disturb you so late.”
“It’s no problem,” he said. “We’re glad we could do something to help.”
Sam had her phone out before they were through the door, placing a call to Dispatch. “This is Lieutenant Holland with some more information about the red SUV we’re looking for.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sam recited the details the Demmers had given them and asked the dispatcher to add the information to the APB.
“Yes, ma’am, Lieutenant. Right away.”
“Thank you.”
“What’s next?” Freddie asked when they were in the car.
“I want to talk to my dad about Wallack.”
“But the chief said…”
“I heard him. I still want my dad’s take.”