Chapter Ten
Sam led the way through the double doors to the courtyard where the media set up shop on a regular basis. As she approached the podium, the reporters began shouting questions at her.
How are you?
How is your family?
How did the vice president learn of your father’s death?
Have you received new leads?
Why were you suspended last week?
Are the Armstrong children still living with you and the vice president?
Sam waited for them to shut the fuck up before she spoke.
“On behalf of myself and my family, I’d like to thank the people of the District, the capitol region and across the country for the outpouring of sympathy and condolences on the passing of my father.
I’d also like to thank my colleagues at the Metropolitan Police Department for their support over the last few days, as well as the men and women in blue who came from all over the country to pay tribute to my father and his service.
I’m not going to lie to you. This is a tough loss for all of us, but we’re continuing to do what he’d expect of us, and for me that includes getting back to work.
I’ll take a few questions and then I’ve got to get to it. ”
“Lieutenant,” a female reporter from one of the TV stations said, “in announcing your father’s death, you requested information on his unsolved shooting. Have you received new tips as a result of that request?”
“We have, and we’ll be pursuing each one of them.
With his death, the case has been elevated to a homicide, and my father will receive the same attention all homicide victims in this city receive from my team.
I’ll restate my earlier request that anyone with information pertaining to the shooting of Deputy Chief Holland call the department’s tip line.
” She gave the number and then repeated it.
“If you know something, now is the time to come forward to help us take a violent criminal off the streets.”
“Is it a conflict of interest for you to investigate your own father’s shooting?” another female reporter asked.
Sam wanted to punch her in the face. “I’m not the lead investigator on the case.
Detective Captain Malone is taking the lead, so no, it’s not a conflict.
We all want to see the person who shot a decorated police officer brought to justice.
My father’s life was cut short by decades as a result of that shooter.
He or she needs to be brought to justice so no one else can be harmed. ”
“You’ve been working this case for almost four years already,” Darren Tabor asked. “What’ll be different this time?”
“That’s a good question, and it’s hard to say.
Hopefully, the requests for tips will generate new leads, and it never hurts to put fresh eyes on a cold case.
We’ve added several new detectives to the Homicide squad in the last two years, and they’ll be seeing much of the information about the case for the first time. All we can do is try.”
“Can you confirm that the children of Jameson and Cleo Armstrong, also known as Beauclair, are residing with you and the vice president?” one of the male broadcast reporters asked. Their expensive suits and fastidious grooming set them apart from their newspaper colleagues.
“Per the wishes of their brother, Elijah, who is their legal guardian, they are currently under our care, where they’ll remain until Elijah finishes college in eighteen months.”
That announcement was met with stunned silence followed by more rapid-fire questions about the children, their extended family, Sam’s family and protection for the children due to Nick’s job. So many questions were fired at her in the span of two seconds that she could barely process them all.
She held up her hands to quiet them. “Thank you for the compassionate coverage of my father’s life and death and for continuing to air our request for tips in his case.
My family appreciates it. That’s all I have to say for now.
We’ll provide updates as they become available.
” They continued to shout questions at her as Sam turned and walked quickly toward the double doors.
The chief held the left side open and followed her inside. “You handled that well. Thank you for doing it.”
“Hopefully, it’ll keep the tips rolling in.” Sam dug her phone out of her pocket. “Since I confirmed that the Armstrong children are living with us , I probably ought to let Nick know there could be a shitstorm coming his way.”
“Probably not a bad idea,” Malone said. “I’ve got a couple of things to do, and then I’ll be over to help.”
“Thanks, Cap.” Sam put through the call to Nick as she walked toward the pit.
“Are you already in trouble?”
She smiled at the question. “Not yet, but I may have caused some trouble for you by confirming our temporary guardianship of Aubrey and Alden to the media.”
“And you did this willingly?”
“I was compelled by my command to feed the beast hungry for info about how I’m handling my father’s death. They asked. I answered because I figure we’ll have to eventually. Sorry I didn’t consult with you first.”
“No worries. I’ll let Terry and Trevor know. They’ll deal with it.”
“All right. I wanted to give you a warning.”
“Appreciate it, babe. Are you doing all right?”
“I’ve got a lot to do. That helps.”
“I’ll let you get to it. Be careful with my wife. I love her very much.”
“She loves you, too. See you later.”
“Call me if you need me.”
“I will.” Sam closed the phone and stashed it in her pocket, planning to put in her shift and go home to her family as soon as she could.
Her father’s case had been lingering for four years.
It wouldn’t be solved in a day of new effort.
Hell, it still might never be solved, a thought that profoundly depressed her.
When her cell phone rang, she took the call from Gonzo. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Can you come outside for a minute? Morgue entrance?”
“I’m coming.” Before heading for the morgue, she ducked her head into the conference room where Cruz, Green and McBride were sorting through boxes containing her father’s files. “I’ll be back in a few. Feel free to dive in.”
“What’re we looking for, Lieutenant?” Green asked.
“I have no idea. I hope we’ll recognize it when we see it.”
“Got it. We’re on it.”
She took off for the morgue entrance and had the spectacularly bad luck of encountering Sergeant Ramsey coming down the stairs from the second floor.
“Awww, so sad about your daddy.” His condescending tone had become familiar to her. “Who’s going to protect you now?”
Having learned her lesson after punching him once before, she resisted the urge this time and kept moving, determined not to give him the satisfaction of rattling her.
But if consequences weren’t a factor, she’d happily stab the son of a bitch through the heart with the rustiest steak knife she could find.
She pushed open the exit door by the morgue and stepped into the chilly autumn air.
Across the parking lot, Gonzo stood outside of Christina’s car, arms crossed.
Christina waved to her from the driver’s seat.
“Thanks for coming out. I didn’t think it was a good idea to go inside when I’m supposedly on sick leave.”
“No problem.” He looked good, Sam thought again, relieved by the return of the sharp-eyed gaze she remembered from before disaster struck. “Whatever they’re doing for you in Baltimore seems to be working.”
“So it would seem.”
“You’re going back?”
He nodded. “We’re leaving now, but I wanted to see you before I go.”
“I’m glad you came by.”
“I wish I could help with what I’m sure you’re working on today.”
“You need to focus on yourself and your health. That’s what I want you to do. We need you whole and healthy.”
“I’m working on it. Are you okay?”
“I’m hanging in there. It’ll help to give the case a fresh look.”
“I won’t keep you.” He stepped forward to hug her. “Take care of yourself, Sam. Ask for help if you need it. Sometimes I wonder what might’ve been different if I’d done that.”
She returned the hug. “I hear you. Thanks for being here for everything. Means a lot.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it. You know how much we all loved him.”
“I do. Your friendship meant a lot to him.”
“I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
“Let us know when you can have visitors.” She smiled. “We’ll get the Secret Service to drive us up.”
“I’ll do that.” He went around to get into the car.
Sam knocked on Christina’s window. “Call me if you need anything,” she said after Christina lowered the window.
“You do the same.”
Sam nodded and waved them off, comforted to see her sergeant and close friend seeming better.
Finally. There had been times over the last nine months when she’d had cause to wonder if he’d ever get past the awful tragedy of Arnold’s death.
She’d wondered if he would be able to continue to do the job.
Detective Will Tyrone had left the department after his close friend Arnold’s death, because he couldn’t bear to do the job anymore.
Gonzo had told Freddie that Will was lucky to be able to quit, something Gonzo didn’t have the luxury of doing with a family to support.
Now, perhaps, it was safe to hope he would get the help he needed, find a way to cope and get back on track in all areas of his life.
As she went back to the pit, she was waylaid again, this time by Dr. Trulo, the department shrink. “A word, Lieutenant?”
With him it was never a word. It was always a lot of words. Resigned to everyone wanting something from her today, she led him into her office. “I saw Gonzo. He’s heading back to rehab.”
Trulo closed the door. “I thought he seemed much better when I saw him at the funeral.”
“Agreed, but it’s early days yet. I’m taking it as a good sign that he’s willingly returning to treatment.”
“It’s a very good sign.” He gave her an assessing look, his gaze sharp and focused as always. “How’re you holding up?”
“I’m okay.” Maybe if she kept saying it, people would eventually quit asking.