Chapter Three
“Crime Scene is on the way to Chevy Chase,” Captain Malone said as he stepped into Sam’s office. “What else do you need?”
She corralled her hair into a ponytail, twisted and clipped it to get it out of her way while she reported the little she knew so far to the captain. “Cruz,” she shouted.
He came to the door. “You bellowed?”
“Where are we with the dentists?”
“I’ve heard back from about seventy-five percent of them. Nothing yet.”
“What’ve we got on the victims?” Malone asked.
“Still assuming the victims are the people who lived in the house, not much of anything,” Cruz said. “They have almost no online presence, which is odd these days.”
“There has to be something,” Sam said.
“We’re digging, but we aren’t finding anything.”
“Let’s go try again with the neighbors.”
“Sounds good.”
“Give me five,” Sam said.
After Cruz walked away, Sam returned her attention to the captain. “I was going to request some time off, but now I’m not sure I should with a new case.”
“If you’re thinking we can’t function without you, Lieutenant, I assure you that’s not the case.”
“You won’t function as well without me, so don’t try to deny it.”
“I would never be so foolish as to deny the truth. What kind of time are we talking?”
“Nick wants me to go on the Europe trip with him.” Under her breath, she added, “Three weeks.”
Malone’s gray eyes went wide. “Three weeks?”
“I have the time.” She’d rarely taken so much as a day off before she married Nick, so the time had stacked up.
“I’m well aware that you have more time on the books than just about anyone in the department.”
“So, it shouldn’t be a problem if I take some of it, right?”
“You’d be back before Stahl’s trial?” he asked.
The reminder that she’d soon have to testify against her former lieutenant made her feel sweaty and sick, so she didn’t allow her mind to go there.
“Well before.” The trial was firmly stuffed into a compartment in the back of her mind that wouldn’t be accessed until it absolutely had to be. Not one second before.
“Let me run the request up the flagpole and get back to you. I assume you’d leave Sergeant Gonzales in charge of Homicide?”
Sam hesitated but only for a second. Whatever was going on with Gonzo, she’d get to the bottom of it before she left. Looking up at Malone, she said, “That’s the plan.”
Cruz came back to the office door. “Gonzo has been in an MVA. He’s fine, his car is fine, but the car he hit is pretty messed up. He’s dealing with that now and will be in shortly.”
“All right.” Sam wondered if there was more to the story. “Text him to meet us in Chevy Chase and tell Green and McBride to come, too.”
“Will do.”
Sam gathered her handheld radio and car keys. “Was there anything else, Captain?”
He looked like he might want to say something else, probably about her punching out of work for three weeks, but he shook his head.
“Catch you later, then.”
The Beauclairs’ beautiful neighborhood was marred only by the blackened frame of the house that had burned.
In most neighborhoods, emergency action of any kind drew a crowd.
Chevy Chase wasn’t most neighborhoods. A lone woman with a dog on a leash stood outside the yellow crime scene tape wiping tears.
She wore her blond hair in a ponytail and was dressed in workout clothing.
“Excuse me,” Sam said as she approached the woman while Freddie conferred with the firefighters.
The woman glanced at Sam and then did a double take when she recognized her. That happened far too often for Sam’s liking since Nick became vice president and raised their already-high profile even higher. Sam hated the added attention, but she’d gotten used to it. Sort of.
“You’re…”
Ignoring the reference to her second lady status, Sam said, “Did you know the family who lived here?”
She nodded. “Are they all gone?”
“All being who?”
“Jameson, Cleo, Alden and Aubrey. Jameson has an older son, Elijah, who’s away at college.”
Sam pulled her notebook from her back pocket and wrote down the names. “How old are Alden and Aubrey?”
“They’re five-year-old twins.”
Sam waved Green over and spoke so only he could hear her. “Let the fire marshal know we’re looking for five-year-old twins in the house.”
Green winced and nodded before seeing to her order.
“What’s your name?” Sam asked the woman.
“Lauren Morton. I live one block over. My kids play with Alden and Aubrey.”
“How well do you know the parents?”
“I don’t know Jameson well at all. He works a lot. But I know Cleo through the kids.” Lauren looked at Sam, her eyes watering with new tears. “Are they…”
“We have two adult victims, but we haven’t found the kids.”
Lauren nodded and wiped her tears. “Was it an accident?”
“We don’t know yet.” Sam couldn’t and wouldn’t divulge details that could compromise the investigation. “Do you know what they did for a living?”
“He was in some sort of international business. Cleo said he worked all the time, and I know he traveled a lot, because she was alone with the kids. She doesn’t work, but she volunteers at the kids’ school.”
“What school is that?”
“Northwest Academy on Connecticut.”
Sam made a note. “Do you know where his older son goes to school?”
“Princeton, I think.”
They needed to track down Jameson’s son so they could undertake the dreadful task of notifying him of his father’s and stepmother’s deaths after they got positive identifications. “Could you please give me your full name, address and phone number?” Sam asked, handing her the notebook and pen.
“How come?”
“In case I have follow-up questions.”
“I’ve told you what I know.”
“I like to be thorough, so if you wouldn’t mind…”
Lauren stared at the notebook for a second before she reluctantly took it and wrote down the info Sam had requested. “My husband doesn’t like when I get involved with neighborhood drama.”
“This hardly counts as drama. I’d categorize it under neighborhood tragedy. Did Mrs. Beauclair have other friends in the neighborhood?”
“A few.”
“Write down their names, addresses and phone numbers, if you would.”
Lauren used her cell phone to look up the numbers and wrote down three names with the accompanying information. “You don’t need to tell them you got their names from me, do you?”
“No.”
“Oh good. I’d rather not be involved.”
Honestly, Sam wanted to say. People are dead, and you’re worried about getting involved?
“Why are you investigating the fire?” Lauren asked after she handed over the notebook. “I thought you were a Homicide detective.”
“I am.”
“Oh, so, does that mean…”
“It means we’re conducting a full investigation.”
“I see.”
No, you don’t. “Is there anything else you can tell me about the family that might assist in our investigation?”
“I heard she fired her housekeeper yesterday,” Lauren said. “Cleo suspected her of stealing from them. The housekeeper had worked for them for years and was very hurt by the accusation, according to my housekeeper.”
“Do you know her name?”
“Her first name was Milagros. I never heard her last name.”
Sam made a note. It was the closest thing to a motive she’d heard yet and the timing lined up. “What did you know about Cleo’s background?”
“Not much. Just that she’s from out West originally. She never did say where. She didn’t talk about her life before DC.”
“And you never wondered why?”
Lauren shrugged. “People are private. I’m private. I don’t pry into areas that are clearly off-limits with my friends.”
“Did she ever express concern for her safety or that of her family?”
“No, nothing like that. Not to me anyway.”
Sam handed her a card. “If you think of anything that might be relevant, call me. My cell number is on there.”
“I will.”
“Thanks for your time.” Sam went to confer with Freddie, who was talking to another neighbor. “Anything?” she asked when the man had walked away.
“Nah, he didn’t know them. Just curious about the people who died.”
It constantly amazed Sam that tragedy drew spectators the same way sporting events did. “I’ll never understand the attraction to watching someone else’s life fall apart.”
“Makes them feel better about their own lives, I suppose.”
“I guess. I’ve got the names of some neighbors who knew the family. Let’s go see if they’re home.”
They walked a block and a half to the address Lauren had given her for Janice McMillian.
“I’m trying to imagine being able to afford to live in one of these houses,” Freddie said. “We’re in the wrong business.”
“You’re just now figuring that out?”
He laughed. “We’re in the wrong business for many reasons, not the least of which is that we’ll never be able to afford this neighborhood.”
“That may be true, but not one of these people could do what we do every day—and trust me, they’re damned glad we’re out here doing it.”
“That’s for sure.” He rang the doorbell, which chimed like church bells. “Aren’t you going to tell me that rich people have better doorbells than the rest of us? You always say that.”
“I don’t always like to be predictable.”
Freddie peered into the window at the side of the door and then rang the bell again. “God forbid you should be predictable.”
A uniformed woman came to the door. “May I help you?”
Sam held up her badge. “Lieutenant Holland and Detective Cruz to see Mrs. McMillian. Is she at home?”
The woman stared at Sam, seeming stunned to see the second lady on her employer’s doorstep.
“Hello?” Sam said, waving her hand in front of the lady’s face. “Mrs. McMillian. Is she home?”
“Just a moment.” She closed the door and walked away.
“I can’t believe she didn’t invite us in for tea and cookies while we wait,” Sam said.
“People around here aren’t used to cops showing up at their front doors.”
“Hard to believe this neighborhood is in the same city as some of the other places we frequent.”
A trim blonde woman came to the door, also dressed in workout attire. Was that the new dress code for upper-class women? “I’m Janice McMillian. You wanted to see me?”
Sam and Freddie showed their badges again as Sam introduced them.