Chapter Eight #3
“I haven’t seen it, but I haven’t done a full search.”
“Let’s get a warrant to search the apartment,” she said to Freddie.
“On it.” He went off to call Malone, who’d put forth the request. They had to dot the i’s and cross the t’s to make sure any evidence uncovered was done so legally.
“Any sign of forced entry?” she asked Clare.
“No, ma’am.”
“So whoever it was, she let them in. Can you please get with building security to obtain video from the building entrance and the third-floor hallway?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Clare beat feet out of there, no doubt anxious to put distance between himself and the dead woman.
Working homicide was, in some ways, like any other job once you got used to the things you saw on a daily basis, Sam thought.
You built up calluses on your soul that protected you from the reality of what you were experiencing.
Most days they did, anyway. Some days, like this one, when you were already raw, the calluses provided little protection and the pain sneaked by them, lodging itself in the places normally kept sealed off so you could function on the job.
Deep thoughts by Lieutenant Sam Holland.
She would’ve laughed if it weren’t for the dead woman on the bed and the investigation that required her to put aside her own emotions to focus on the task at hand.
“You okay?” Freddie asked, his brows knitted with the concern that had been directed her way far too often lately.
“How about we make a deal, you and I?”
“Um, if we must…”
Her little grasshopper had learned to be wary. She’d taught him well. “If I’m not okay, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, you don’t need to check on me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to smother you. I can’t help but be concerned after…well, everything.”
“I understand, and if the roles were reversed, I’d feel the same way. I can’t talk about it every minute of the day and still do what I’m supposed to do, you know?”
He immediately looked stricken. “Yeah, I get it.”
“Don’t do that either.”
“What?”
“Worry about saying the wrong thing. Let’s keep it real. That’s what I need more than anything right now.”
“I’ll do my best to keep it real while not worrying too much about how you are.”
“Thank you.” He was the best partner she’d ever had, and she knew how much he cared about her, not only as a boss and colleague but as a treasured friend and the ball-busting older sister he’d never had.
She felt the same way about him, so much so that she probably shouldn’t still partner with him.
But that was an applecart she had no desire to upset. Not now anyway.
“I’ll stop asking if you promise to tell me if or when you’re not okay. No bullshit, no evasions. Just the truth.”
“Ummm,” she said in a scandalized whisper, “you said a swearword.”
“Sam.” Displeasure radiated off him. “Be serious.”
“I promise.” She looked him in the eye as she said the words, knowing that would matter to him.
His terse nod was his only reply. “Have you ever seen so much white in anyone’s house?”
“It was definitely her favorite color.”
The conversation, the sparring, the inanity kept them sane while they waited for the ME, standing watch over their latest victim until she could be turned over to Lindsey’s team.
“This should be fairly slam dunk, right? A place like this will have the best security footage money can buy.”
Sam glared at him. “You didn’t use the words ‘slam dunk,’ did you?”
His brows furrowed with confusion. “Why?”
“Way to put a hex on us. If it was going to be an SD, it won’t be now.”
“Whatever.” He rolled his eyes as he did so often during a shift with her that she wondered how he didn’t manage to sprain his eye sockets.
They were in that room with Tara Weber’s body for a long time before Lindsey arrived with her deputy, Dr. Byron Tomlinson.
“The president’s mistress?” Byron all but salivated from the salaciousness of it.
Sam shot a look to Lindsey.
“Shut up, Byron, and have some respect. That’s certainly not all she was.”
Sam would’ve given Lindsey a high five if she’d been close enough. She couldn’t have said it better herself. There was much more to Tara Weber than the headlines she’d starred in over the last few days, and Sam was determined to make sure she didn’t become a caricature in death.
“Apologies.” Byron sounded more like his usual professional self. “I can’t believe everything that’s come out about her and Nelson and the kid.” He looked to Sam. “Is the baby here?”
“Nope.” Sam stepped back to give Lindsey and Byron access to Tara. “That’s one of many things we need to figure out. Now that you’re here with her, we’re going to get to it.”
“I’ve got her.” Lindsey gazed at their victim with the compassion that made her the best at her grim job. “What a beautiful woman she was.”
“I thought the same thing. It’s awful.”
“She was very dynamic in person,” Byron said, gaining the attention of both women.
“How do you know that?” Sam asked.
“I’ve been following the story about her and Nelson online. I watched some YouTube videos that showed her working on the campaign. She had that special something that gets people to pay attention to her. What do they call it? Je ne sais quoi?”
“Look at you, all bilingual, Dr. Tomlinson,” Sam said, amused even as her mind raced with next steps in the investigation.
Byron scoffed. “Hardly. But whatever you want to call the it factor, she had it in spades. The woman was going to be a rock star long after Nelson was out of office.”
“Thanks for the insight, Byron. It helps.” If nothing else, Byron had given her some threads to pull. Who else, besides Nelson, would have reason to want a so-called rock star like Tara dead?