by Marie Force
“Yeah. I got off at NoMa and was walking home, hurrying because it was freezing. Someone grabbed my right arm and spun me around. The next thing I remember was pain and a struggle and blood everywhere. I didn’t realize I’d been stabbed until it was over and he was gone.”
“You’re sure it was a guy?”
“Absolutely. He was big and very muscular. I remember that much.”
“Your initial report stated that he was wearing a mask or something over his face?”
“I assume he was. I never caught a glimpse of his face.”
“Was anyone else around on the street?”
“Not that I remember, but someone must’ve come along and called EMS. The next thing I remember is being here.”
“Were you having problems with anyone in your life? Roommate, girlfriend, boyfriend, an ex, a client, a—”
“There was a client who got mad when we refused to design a website he wanted us to do.”
“What kind of client?”
“At first, he was really friendly, having us build a site for his T-shirt business, but as we got deeper into the project, I suspected the site was going to be used for something other than T-shirts.”
“Did you know what he had in mind?”
“Not really, but he kept asking me weird questions about chat rooms and webcams and stuff like that, and it rang some bells for me. I mean, what does a guy who sells T-shirts want with webcams and chat rooms on his website? So I mentioned it to the art director, who took it to the managing partner. They agreed it was weird and decided to drop him as a client.”
Gonzo experienced a burst of excitement at the first possible break in the case. This, right here, was why they went back and retraced their steps. “Can you give me his name?”
“An Italian guy named Giuseppe Besozzi. It was funny, though, one of my colleagues thought he was pretending to be from Italy. My friend has spent time there, and he swore the guy’s accent was fake, which was just another thing that nagged at me after he started asking about webcams.”
“What else can you tell me about him?”
“The managing partner at the firm could probably tell you more. He’s the one who lands the accounts and manages the clients. We just do the work.”
“Would Besozzi have known you were the one to blow the whistle on him?”
“He… Yeah, I guess he would know it came from me.”
“And does he match the physical description of the man who attacked you?”
“Giuseppe is tall but I don’t think of him as particularly muscular like that guy was, but who knows? Maybe he’s tougher than he looks.”
Gonzo took down the name and address of the firm as well as the name and contact info for the managing partner. “This has been incredibly helpful, William. I really appreciate your help.”
“You really think Giuseppe could be behind this?”
“I don’t know yet, but you can bet we’ll be looking into him. You’ve given me something I didn’t have before—a lead.”
“I hope it helps and you can find the person doing this. No one should have to go through this.”
“I completely agree, and we’re going to find him and make him pay.”
“Come back if you need me for anything else. Whatever I can do to help.”
“I appreciate that. I hope you’re feeling much better soon.”
“So do I.”
On the way out of the room, Gonzo shook hands with Enright’s father. “Thank you,” he said.
Nodding, the man said, “Get this guy.”
“We’re doing everything we can. We’ll keep you posted.” He left the room and gestured for Arnold to come with him. Clearing the ICU doors, Gonzo called Malone. “We need an officer outside Enright’s door at GW ICU in case his attacker tries to finish the job,” Gonzo said.
“What gives you reason to believe he might?”
“Some new information.” He brought Malone up to speed on what Enright had told him about his ex-client and asked him to do a run on Besozzi. “Let me know if anything pops and see if you can get me a local address.”
“On it,” Malone said. “And I’ll get someone over to GW right away. What about the other victim?”
“He’s still in the hospital, so let’s get someone on him too. I’m going to Enright’s office now.”
“Let me know what you find out, and I’ll get back to you with anything I find on Besozzi.”
Gonzo walked so fast to the parking lot that Arnold scrambled to keep up.
“Where we going now?” Arnold asked.
“To the offices of the graphic design firm where Enright works. We might finally have something.” Gonzo could only hope so. He needed to close this baffling case, not only for the affected victims and their families, but so he could finally marry the love of his life. It was also important that he make Sam proud while he was covering for her. He’d never had better incentive to close a case.
Chapter Six
Sam arrived at Harry’s office ten minutes before her appointment time. The hour she’d spent with Nick had helped to calm and center her, and noticing how exhausted he looked fueled her determination to put the episode with Stahl behind her so she could get back to normal. Or whatever passed as normal now.
Harry emerged from a room in the back, escorting an elderly patient to the checkout desk. He caught Sam’s eye and held up a finger to indicate he’d be with her shortly.
Her stomach ached the way it used to when she’d been hooked on diet cola and had come here at Nick’s insistence. Even though Harry had told her to give up the soda she loved, he had since become a trusted friend to her as well as her husband, and if anyone could help her navigate her way through this situation, he could.
“Sam?” he said. “You can come on back.”
She gathered up her purse and coat and followed him down a long hallway that led to his office. There he closed the door and greeted her with a hug and a kiss to her cheek.
He gestured for her to have a seat on the sofa and sat next to her. “You’re looking well.”
“Thank you. The bruises are finally fading, thankfully in time for the inauguration.”
“Thank goodness for small favors,” he said sarcastically.
“Right? As long as the second lady is presentable, all is well.”
“I still can’t believe you two. Vice President and Mrs. Cappuano.”
“We can’t believe it either.”
“Heard you got over to the White House yesterday on official business. I said that can’t possibly be true. The Sam I know and love would never go there willingly.”
She rolled her eyes at the predictable comment. “I met with my staff. I have a staff. Can you stand it?”
“That’s pretty funny. I picture you there and can’t stop laughing.”
She elbowed him playfully. “It’s not that funny.”
“Yes, it really is.”
“I suppose it is kinda funny.” She ran her hands over her jeans, trying to dry suddenly sweaty palms.
“What’s really going on, Sam?”
“Oh, a lot of things.”
“Could I tell you a little story?”
Right about now, she’d say yes to anything that put off having to tell her story. “Sure.”
“I don’t know if Nick told you that I put myself through medical school by agreeing to give the Army six years afterward. Those six years happened to coincide with a pretty chaotic time in our country’s history. I did tours in both Afghanistan and Iraq.”
“I had no idea. He never said.”
“It’s not something I talk a lot about because it was a tough time in my life—in the lives of everyone who served and deployed. We saw a lot of things. Unforgettable things. Things
that stay with you always, that keep you awake at night years later.”
“God, Harry. I’m sorry.”
He covered her hand with his. “Don’t be sorry. I’m thankful to have been able to make a contribution. But I know what trauma does to a perfectly healthy brain. I know how images get in there and won’t get out no matter how hard you try.”
“This is why Nick wanted me to talk to you.”
“That’s right. In addition to dealing with my own PTSD after I returned to ‘normal’ life, I’ve counseled a lot of veterans who’ve come back with a wide variety of post-traumatic issues. Without a thorough analysis and examination, I can’t say with any certainty that what you’re dealing with is PTSD, but it sounds like it might be.”
“I think it is,” she confessed for the first time. “I keep going over it and over it and over it in my mind, every misstep, every minute from the second I walked into Marissa Springer’s house for the second time that day until SWAT came swooping in. I’ve relived it ten thousand times.”
“And nothing’s changed, right? It still happens exactly the same way.”
“Every time,” she said with a sigh.
“What do you think most about?”
“How stupid I was to go in there alone.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Everything about the Springer case had been wonky from the get-go. But things were chaotic that day. Cruz was off tending to Elin after she got beat up at the gym, which we later learned was all part of the plan. Gonzo was still on medical leave and reeling from Lori’s death as well as the implication that he might’ve been behind her murder.”
“So you were down two of your closest colleagues that day, which means nothing was ‘normal.’ Am I right?”
She nodded. “I was working the case, pulling the threads, doing what I do. One of Marissa’s sons had killed his brother and a bunch of other kids. The house was heavy with grief. The first time I went there, Marissa and her maid, Edna, were so nice. They talked about how they’d been coping together, watching movies and eating takeout and trying to get through each day. It sounded as if Edna had been a source of huge comfort to Marissa, that they were more friends than boss and employee.”
Harry didn’t say anything. Rather he just waited patiently, giving her the time she needed to collect her thoughts.
“When Marissa shot Edna, I just… I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I never saw that coming. Not for one second.”
“How could you have? In all your previous dealings with Marissa had you seen anything that would lead you to believe she was capable of that?”
“No.”
“You’re the best at what you do.”
Sam began to protest, but he stopped her with a raised hand.
“You’re the very best at what you do, but you are not—and have never been—a mind reader. You’ve got incredible instincts that guide you, but they are not infallible. You are not infallible.”
“So you’re saying it was only a matter of time before something like this happened?”
“I’m saying no one, not even a superstar cop like you, would’ve seen this coming. Marissa Springer in bed with Leonard Stahl? In what plausible scenario do those two strange bedfellows come together to do what they did? The craziest of fiction writers wouldn’t have come up with that.”
As she thought about what he said, Sam looked down at the floor.
“From what I can see you made one critical mistake.”
She glanced at him. “What’s that?”
“You shouldn’t have gone in there alone—or without someone at least knowing where you were and why. That much is on you, and I suspect you’re already beating yourself up royally for that. The rest was completely out of your hands. Do you understand that?”
“I guess.”
“I want you to say it out loud. ‘What happened in Marissa Springer’s house was not my fault.’”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
“You have to, Sam. Until you do, you’re carrying around blame that doesn’t belong to you. That’s what’s holding you back from moving forward, from reclaiming your life and your career. It’s what’s keeping your husband up at night.”
“I hate that he’s so wound up about me.”
“Scotty is too. Everyone who knows you and loves you is worried.”
Sam wanted to die on the spot when tears began rolling down her cheeks. Badass cops did not cry, for Christ’s sake, but apparently mothers did. She wiped them away with violent sweeps of her hands.
“The tears piss you off, huh?”
“Hell yes they piss me off! I’m not a simpering female who can’t handle the shit that comes her way.”
“No one would ever dare accuse you of being any such thing. You went through a shocking, traumatic, painful, frightening, life-threatening experience. I have to tell you, I’m kind of relieved to see the tears.”
“I’m glad you are. I’m still pissed.”
Harry laughed. “I know.”
After another long pause in which she realized he was waiting for her to continue, she said, haltingly, “Intellectually, I know it wasn’t my fault. I get that. I really do. But emotionally…”
“You feel like you should’ve known something like this was going to happen after all the years you’ve been scuffling with Stahl.”
“Yeah.” She wiped away more tears that refused to stop despite her desperate desire to control her emotions. “Especially after he came at me on my own doorstep. But at least then I could sort of understand it. I’d been pushing his buttons for a long time by then.”
“As I recall, he was in a lot of trouble for that, suspended from the job and facing charges.”
She nodded. “And using his time, we now know, to plot his ultimate revenge against me and my squad.”
“The key words in that sentence are ‘we now know.’ There was no way you or anyone could’ve known what he was up to.”
“We could’ve kept a closer eye on him after he was arrested.”
“Was that up to you? The decision to keep a closer eye on him?”
“No. I wanted nothing to do with him. I was glad to not have to see him at work anymore.”
“That’s another thing we need to add to your not-my-fault list. By my count there’re now several things on that list.” He ticked the items off on his fingers. “It wasn’t your fault that Stahl teamed up with Marissa. It wasn’t your fault that Marissa shot Edna. It wasn’t your fault that they held you hostage, beat you, wrapped you in razor wire or tormented you for hours in which you were certain you were going to die. It wasn’t your fault that Elin got hurt or that Freddie probably did something stupid by going after the guy who hit her.”
Sam stared at him, incredulous. “How’d you know about that? It hasn’t been made public.”
“I know Freddie, and I know what I’d do if someone hurt the woman I loved as badly as Elin was hurt.”
“He did a really stupid thing and he’s suspended for a week because of it.”
“He’d probably say he’d do it again.”
“He did say that, which concerns me.”
“As much as he respects and admires you, that’s on him. Not you. He made the choice to risk his career and his reputation. You probably couldn’t have stopped him if you’d tried—or if you’d known what he intended to do, which you didn’t. Another thing you couldn’t control.”
“Control. That seems to be the key word here.”
“You’re seeing that, huh? Once or twice in every career, no matter the profession, something happens that’s outside our control and it almost always leaves a lasting mark. For me it was the young soldier in Afghanistan who suffered a miscarriage in the field, and I couldn’t save her because she bled out before we could
get her to the hospital. There was absolutely nothing I could do. We later determined that her placenta had ruptured, a very rare complication that is almost always fatal for the mother and the baby, but that doesn’t mean I don’t go over it and over it in my mind even almost ten years later.”
“God…”
“The sad part is we didn’t even know she was pregnant. She was more than six months along and not showing at all. She kept it hidden because she didn’t want to be sent home early. She wanted to finish her tour and was scheduled to go home two weeks after she died.”
“That’s so sad.”
“It was awful for all of us, and it took me a really long time to accept that there was nothing I could’ve done to change the outcome. I even met with her parents when I returned stateside and told them exactly what’d happened.”
“I’m sure they appreciated that.”
“I guess so. Didn’t bring back their daughter or grandchild, though.”
“I hear what you’re saying about control and things that are outside of my control, and it helps to clarify things.”
He reached over to squeeze her arm. “It’s hard to admit to ourselves and others that we’re not superhuman, despite how it might seem.”
That drew a small smile from her. “You’re taking shots at my reputation now.”
“It’s a formidable reputation, and one that anyone would struggle to live up to. You need to allow yourself a few moments of being as human as the rest of us before you put your cape back on and get back to being superhuman.”
“Will I get back there?”
“Back where?”
“Back to being superhuman?”
“Do you want to?”
“I think I do. I fear that my judgment is shot, that the gut that has always guided me so well let me down profoundly here.”
“There were no signals for your gut to register.”
“This entire case, from the minute we found Brooke on the front porch to Gonzo getting shot to Lori being killed to Elin getting beat up to SWAT bursting into the Springers’ basement… The whole thing was freaking crazy. I’ve never been part of anything quite like it.”