Chapter 6
CHAPTER
Twenty minutes later, we watched the helicopter lift off the island carrying a gravely injured but very much alive seventeen-year-old Abigail Howard to the trauma team at George Washington University Hospital.
But there was no such miracle for Conrad Talbot, also seventeen. We knew who they were because we’d found his school ID in his wallet and hers in a small bookbag.
The District’s medical examiner was working on the scene, and as we waited for his report, a familiar figure emerged from the woods.
“Here we go,” Sampson sighed as the chief of detectives approached us.
George Pittman walked over while unwrapping a stick of gum. “I’m trying to quit smoking, so this is all I get.”
“Better than smoking,” I said.
Chief Pittman grunted noncommittally and chewed the gum for a moment.
“One dead, one alive?” he asked.
“Correct,” I said.
“Who are they?”
“Students at the Charles School in Alexandria,” I said.
“Private school. They come from cash, then, right?”
I squinted. “I suppose you can assume that. Why?”
“Because this is going to get a lot of media attention, that’s why,” the chief said, and chewed a few more times. Sampson and I filled him in on what we’d learned so far. I was surprised when Pittman recognized one of the kids’ names.
“The dead one, Talbot. I saw a story about him in the Post last spring. Captain of the lacrosse team. Good-looking too. And it turns out that guy on the bike is some Senate aide. We are going to need more manpower here.”
I thought about Tony Miller’s funeral the day before. Where was Pittman then? But this was only my second homicide case. I wasn’t going to turn down help.
The chief went on. “So, gentlemen, I’m bringing in Diehl and Kurtz to take the lead on this.”
Sampson grimaced. “Chief, we can—”
“No, Detective,” Pittman said flatly. “I can’t have two junior members of my team running an investigation like this. I’m sorry. The two of you will work with Diehl and Kurtz, and hopefully you’ll both learn something.”
I could tell John wanted to counter that with something snarky, but he held his tongue. Well, almost.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “Do you want us to notify the families? Or should we leave it to the dynamic duo?”
The chief stopped chewing, and his eyes narrowed. “You and Cross can do it. After that, report to Diehl and Kurtz and me in my office downtown, bring us up to speed. We’ll figure out what’s next.”
“Right away, Chief,” Sampson said.
Our boss studied him a moment, searching for evidence of sarcasm. After a beat, he glanced at me and said, “I’ll wait here for Diehl and Kurtz.”
We nodded and walked away. When we were back in the trees and out of earshot, Sampson said, “You know what that was really about, right?”
“He doesn’t want two Black junior detectives being the faces of an investigation into the murder of a rich white kid and the attempted murder of the kid’s girlfriend and a Senate aide.”
“Nah,” John said. “More like he doesn’t want two Black junior detectives getting the credit if they solve the murder of a rich white kid and the attempted murder of his girlfriend and a Senate aide.”