Chapter Ten
By the time they arrived back at HQ, Sam was in serious pain, but made an intense effort to hide that from Freddie, Vernon and Jimmy. She had to push through this day, move the Forrester case along and get ready for tomorrow’s first lady duties. In her mind, there was no option other than to forge ahead.
Vernon and Jimmy, who normally remained outside while she was working, led the way into HQ, as if they didn’t trust that she’d allow Harry to check her before resuming the investigation.
“What’re you guys doing?” she asked them.
“Our jobs,” Vernon said.
She gritted her teeth as she walked into the morgue entrance, stopping to confer with Byron. “Any word on Lindsey?”
“Nothing yet. Terry is with her, and they promised to update us later. She asked me to get back here because we’re so in the weeds with the Stahl case.”
“Keep me in the loop if you hear anything.”
“I will.”
She left the morgue and continued the trek to the pit, which had never seemed farther away than it did now.
“What’s going on?” Freddie asked in a low tone that couldn’t be overheard.
“Nothing.”
“Sam.”
She turned her formidable glare on him. “Nothing. End it.” Thankfully, he backed off as they reached the pit, where Harry leaned against the wall outside her office, checking his phone.
“Hey,” she said. “Thanks for coming by. How’s Lindsey?”
He did a quick visual assessment and then frowned. “She’s doing okay, but you, on the other hand…”
“Hush. Come in.”
With her left hand, she fished her keys out of her right front pants pocket, which wasn’t as easy to do as it might seem.
“Jesus, Sam.”
“Please… If you care about me at all, don’t say another word out here.”
He followed her into the office and closed the door.
“I’m up against it, Harry. We’ve got the Feds trying to take over our investigation, the Canadians coming to town, and there is no way I can be out of commission right now. Can you patch me up until I get through tomorrow?”
“I can try.” He reached for a medical bag she hadn’t noticed. “Where should we start?”
“The face. Vernon put some stuff on it that stung like a bitch. What else does it need?”
Harry moved in for a closer look. “Possibly a few stitches.”
“What’s our other option?”
Sighing, he pulled something out of his bag of tricks and applied it to her cheek.
She tried not to flinch.
He handed her an ice pack. “You’re going to want to use that to keep it from swelling more than it already has.”
“Okay.”
“What’s next?”
“Um, maybe my arm? Not sure what’s up with it.”
Harry helped her out of her coat and gasped when he saw her swollen wrist and hand. “Sam, for God’s sake. Your wrist could be broken.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“I can’t treat that here. You need X-rays and an orthopedic doctor and…”
“Can you treat it at home?”
“Yes, but?—”
“Then we’ll deal with it there after my tour.”
“You can’t just walk around with a possibly broken wrist all day.”
“Yes, I can. I’ll be careful.”
“This is crazy, even for you.”
“I have a murdered U.S. Attorney who was not only a colleague but a friend. I’ve got the Canadians coming. I cannot deal with this right now.”
“You’ll need to be very careful with your hand and wrist until you can get it set. If it’s broken, the bone can burst through the skin, causing additional injuries.”
Sam nearly fainted at the thought of that happening. “I’ll be careful.”
“Do you have anything here for pain?”
Sam used her chin to point to the Motrin on her desk.
Harry shook out four pills that he handed to her with an open bottle of water that’d been sitting there for days.
Sam took the pills and chased them with the water, praying they worked to take the edge off.
“I want you to acknowledge that you’re acting against medical advice.”
“So noted. I’ll come straight to you when I get home.”
After he’d put something on the road rash on the palm of her hand, which hurt like a mother-effer, he reached into the bag and produced an Ace bandage. “You have to wear this.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“I’m not giving you the choice.”
Sam again had to grit her teeth to keep from screaming as he wrapped the torture device around her injured wrist.
“Come home as soon as possible so you don’t compound the injury.”
“I will.”
“Anything else?”
“That’s it.”
“Are you sure?”
She never blinked as she looked him in the eye. “Positive.”
“Please be careful.”
“I will. Thanks for coming.”
“Any time.”
“Don’t tell Nick about this.”
“Don’t ask me to keep secrets from my boss and friend.”
“I’m your friend, too.”
“I won’t tell him, but you should. Soon. You know how he feels about you keeping stuff from him.”
“I’ll tell him when I get home. He’s got enough on his plate without worrying about me.”
She could tell there was more Harry wanted to say, but he only nodded, grabbed his bag and left the room. If it wouldn’t have hurt more than she could bear, she would’ve removed the Ace bandage the second he was gone.
Freddie came to the door, registered that her hand and arm were wrapped in an Ace bandage, but didn’t comment. “We’ve got some new info from the others. They’re ready to brief in the conference room.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“Should you maybe go home?”
“Nope.” She gestured for him to move and then followed him into the conference room, trying not to cry from the pain radiating from multiple sources. What did it say about her that taking down one measly suspect caused so many injuries? She was getting old. That’s what it said.
A quick glance at the wall clock in the conference room showed she had forty-five minutes until her meeting with Marcus in the morgue. How in the hell had another day gotten so completely away from her?
“What are we hearing about Dr. McNamara?” Gonzo asked.
Sam assumed he was being more formal due to the presence of detectives from outside their squad. “Nothing new yet. Dr. Tomlinson has promised to update us when he hears something. Where’s the congressman?”
“He’s being booked on new charges,” Freddie said.
“I want him in an interrogation room as soon as he’s through intake.”
“I’ll see to that,” Freddie said.
He walked out of the room.
“What does everyone else have?” Sam asked.
“Are you all right, Lieutenant?” her friend Detective Erica Lucas asked.
“I’m fine.” She used her left hand to encourage them to get on with it.
“I did a thorough review of the autopsy report and found nothing more than what we already know,” Gonzo said. “Tom Forrester was killed by a single shot to the head while seated in his car on Constitution Avenue.”
Sam wanted to growl in frustration at having to review things they already knew. “What did the text messages on his personal phone reveal?”
“Nothing other than a once-a-day call to his wife at nine p.m. three days in a row during the time they were being detained by Bryant’s people.” Lucas had shoulder-length dark hair, hazel eyes and the kind of cheekbones other women would kill for. “There was a text from his dentist with an appointment reminder and one from Animal Control in Gaithersburg, checking on the Forrester’s dog. I called their office to ask if it’s routine to check on a dog injured by another dog and was told that they’re required to confirm there’s no sign of rabies in either animal. Other than texts from some personal friends talking about mundane things like the upcoming fantasy baseball league draft, there wasn’t anything else of note over the last week.”
“Thank you for your report,” Sam said. “Since it was encrypted, I’ve turned over Tom’s work phone to Agent Hill for FBI analysis.”
“We spoke with every member of Forrester’s team, one-on-one,” Harper said with a gesture to include Coheeny.
Harper had dark hair and eyes and was built like someone who spent a lot of time in the gym. Coheeny was blond and had an aura of insolence about him that immediately put Sam on edge. She had no patience for insolence, attitude, chips on shoulders or whatever his deal was.
“We didn’t hear anything helpful,” Harper said. “His people loved him and are grief-stricken over his death.”
“A lot of tears,” Coheeny added.
“We pressed them to talk about cases or situations that might’ve led to murder, but no one could think of anything specific other than the usual criminal stuff they deal with routinely,” Harper said. “But Forrester wasn’t directly involved in those cases.”
Sam processed the information, looking for threads to pull but not finding any.
Freddie returned to the room. “Bryant is in interview two.”
“Thank you,” Sam said. “Appreciate the updates, everyone. Let’s get back to it.”
After the others had left the room, Sam looked to Freddie. “Without making a spectacle of it, push me to interview two in this chair.”
“Like, roll you over there?”
“Yes.”
Sam could tell he had questions, but thankfully, he did as she asked and guided the office chair out of the conference room and down the hall to interview two. Outside the door, she said, “Stop.”
Steeling herself, she rose from the chair, gasping as the pain registered.
“Sam.”
She ignored him and waited until she had her bearings so she could open the door and barge into the room with as much moxie as she could muster under the circumstances. Seeing that Bryant had angry-looking road rash on his face made her feel a little better about her own injuries.
He gave her a filthy look. “I’m not saying anything to you without my lawyer here.”
“That makes things easier. Detective Cruz, will you make the congressman comfortable downstairs?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She made her way to the door.
“Wait.”
She gritted her teeth as she turned back. “What?”
“How long will I be down there?”
“Until your lawyer gets here. Detective Cruz will make the call for you.”
“I, uh… My lawyer fired me. I need to find a new one.”
“Do you have someone in mind?”
“Not really. Mine came with me from Wisconsin… Been together a long time. I, uh, have no idea who to ask.”
“Would you like us to notify the public defender’s office for you?”
“God, no.”
“Mr. Bryant, do you have the resources to hire your own attorney or not?” Sam took great pleasure in the scowl he directed at her when she didn’t address him as Congressman Bryant.
“As I’ve mentioned, my assets were frozen.”
“Then I suppose you’ll need to reach out to the PD’s office since you can’t pay for representation.”
“How long will that take?”
“They’re often pretty backed up. Could take a few days.”
“I want a bail hearing.”
“That doesn’t happen until we have a conversation and an arraignment, and since you’re facing new charges after being released on bail the first time, I wouldn’t hold your breath on getting out of here any time soon.”
With that, she left Freddie to deal with the congressman, who screamed something at her that she ignored.
She lowered herself to the desk chair and scooted back to her office.
As she rounded the corner into the pit, Captain Malone came toward her, stopping short when he saw her in the chair.
“Dare I even ask?”
“Please don’t.”
“What the hell happened?”
“Bryant ran from us. I stopped him.”
“Do you need the ER?”
“Harry was here, and he checked me out.”
Malone gave her a skeptical look. “You should go home, Sam.”
“I’m not going home. Too much to do here. We’re getting nowhere fast on the Forrester investigation.”
“I was coming to ask if you’d be willing to brief the media.”
“We have less than nothing. I’ll take a beating out there. Give me twenty-four hours.”
“What did Bryant have to say?”
“He wants a lawyer, but his assets are frozen, so Freddie is calling the PD.”
“So he’ll be our guest for a day or two.”
“Looks that way. I want him held, pending trial. Who knows where he was going when I crashed into him? If we let him out, he’ll disappear.”
“I agree.”
“I’ll talk to Faith.”
“How’re they holding up?”
“Soldiering through, doing the job, but heartbroken.”
“What’ve you decided to do about Cox?”
“I’m not sure yet. I really needed to talk to Bryant about him before I plan my next move.”
Gonzo came to the office door.
“What’s up?” Sam asked him.
“Rosemary Bryant and her son, Randy, who was supposed to turn himself in today, have gone dark. Their phones are going straight to voice mail.”
“Is it possible they’re on a plane?” Malone asked.
“They were booked on a flight early this morning, which landed at DCA on time, right around noon. The Patrol officers I sent to meet them said there was no sign of them. Rosemary knew our officers would be meeting them. I checked with the airline and confirmed they weren’t on the flight.”
“Shit,” Sam said. “Should we call in the marshals?”
“I already left a message for Jesse Best,” Gonzo said, referring to the agent in charge of the DC office. “I felt like the mom was playing it straight with me, but maybe when push came to shove, she freaked out about her son being charged with murder and ran.”
“What about their passports?” Malone asked.
“I’ve had them flagged.”
“Good work, Sarge,” Malone said. “Keep us posted on what you hear.”
“Will do.”
“Why can’t anything ever be simple and straightforward?” Sam asked Malone.
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
Sam glanced at her new watch and saw she had six minutes to get to the morgue for her fitting. “Gotta roll.”
“Where you off to, Speed Racer?”
“The morgue.”
“What goes on there?”
“Final dress fitting for tomorrow night.”
His lips quivered as he tried—and failed—to stop the laughter. “For real?”
“Very. Had to be done, and that’s the only way the whole place isn’t buzzing about it in five minutes.”
“Don’t let me keep you.”
“How do you feel about pushing the chair to the morgue for me?”
“Why is it that you need a ride?”
“No reason.”
“Just seems like a fun way to get around?”
“Exactly.”
She appreciated that he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he got behind the chair and wheeled her out of the pit and down the hallway toward the morgue.
“Any word on Dr. McNamara?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
As they approached the morgue, the door to outside opened, and Marcus came in, wearing a purple down coat that covered every part of him but his face. His curly blond hair was wilder than usual thanks to the brisk wind. A young woman stood next to him, holding a garment bag.
“What are you doing in that chair? And what’s on your arm?” He leaned in for a closer look. “A bandage? You’re wearing a bandage? Your face! What is happening?”
His warm brown eyes had gone wide with shock and horror.
“Relax, Marcus. All is well.”
“That is a bald-faced lie, and speaking of faces… What the hell are we going to do with yours?”
“That way,” Sam said.
The captain rolled her into the morgue as Marcus and his assistant followed.
Sam looked up at Malone. “Thanks for the lift. I can take it from here.”
“Call me if you need a ride back.”
“I will.”