by Marie Force
He recognized the soft voice of Lindsey McNamara. Where had she come from? Tomlinson must’ve called her in. She’d want to begin her work on the body, but he wasn’t ready. Not yet.
“Gonzo.” Her hand landing on his shoulder made him want to scream at her to leave him alone. Just leave him alone. But things needed to be done. Arnold’s parents had to be notified, a thought that had vomit rushing from his stomach to his throat. He choked it back, determined to get through this, to do for his partner what he would’ve done if the roles had been reversed.
The roles should’ve been reversed. He should’ve taken the lead the way he always did. Instead, he’d sent his partner into a slaughter.
“I need something to clean the blood off his face.” Or, he should say, what was left of his face.
“I can do that for you,” Lindsey said.
“I want to do it.”
Behind him, he heard the water running, but he never took his eyes off his partner’s face, which had been mangled by the bullet.
Lindsey handed him a wet cloth, and Gonzo began cleaning up the blood from around the gaping wound in Arnold’s cheek. He wiped up the trail of blood that extended from the corner of his mouth to his neck.
Gonzo brushed Arnold’s hair back from his forehead, arranging it the way the young detective always wore it. By the time Gonzo finished cleaning his face, other than the gaping hole in his cheek and the waxiness of his skin, he looked almost like he always did.
And then there was nothing left for him to do. “I can’t leave him.”
“I’ll take very good care of him.”
Gonzo rested his forehead against Arnold’s chest, wishing and hoping to hear the distinctive sound of a heart that would never beat again. Tears leaked from his tightly closed eyes, soaking the cotton fabric of Arnold’s T-shirt. It should’ve been me. It should’ve been me.
Lindsey ran her hand over Gonzo’s back, trying to offer comfort when there was no comfort to be found.
Officer down. Officer down. Officer down. This could not be happening. It was a dream, a nightmare he would wake up from, sweating and gasping the way he often had after Billy Springer shot him. He was alive today only because of the actions of the partner he’d berated earlier, the partner who was now dead and cold in the morgue, because of him. Because I let him take the lead.
From somewhere deep inside, he summoned the strength to stand upright, to once again adjust Arnold’s hair, to mumble a few words of thanks to Lindsey, to leave the morgue and head for the detectives’ pit where he would find out where they were with the manhunt for Besozzi. Then he would drive to Maryland to ruin the lives of Arnold’s devoted parents.
The pit was deserted, but the lights were on in the conference room so Gonzo went in there to find the entire squad, less Sam, Cruz and Arnold, of course. Captain Malone was standing before them, apparently about to address McBride, Tyrone, Carlucci and Dominguez. FBI Special Agent-in-Charge Avery Hill was also in the room, apparently back from his family leave in South Carolina, along with Chief Farnsworth and Deputy Chief Conklin.
Gonzo looked to Malone, who nodded, offering him the chance to tell the others what had happened. For a moment, he thought about deferring to the captain, but as the acting commander of the squad, it was his news to impart. All eyes were on him. He knew they were wondering why he had blood all over him, why they’d been called in, why his partner wasn’t with him. It was now up to him to tell them that his partner would never again be with him.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you that Detective Arnold was shot and killed in the line of duty tonight.”
Before his eyes the others gasped and visibly crumpled.
“Oh no,” Jeannie McBride said softly, her eyes filling with tears.
“Christ,” Hill muttered.
Carlucci covered her face with her hands, and Dominguez stared off into space.
Tears ran unchecked down Tyrone’s face as he stared blankly at the wall.
“We’d been running surveillance on the home of Giuseppe Besozzi, a person of interest in the knife attacks,” Gonzo began in a flat, rote tone. It was his job to inform them of what’d happened, and he was going to do his goddamned job even if he was dying inside.
“We were there for hours. Arnold was bitching about the cold and the boredom and how our shift had ended hours ago, and I made a deal that if he shut up about those things, I’d let him take the lead with Besozzi. We went through it a few times, what’d he ask him, how he’d respond to comments from the suspect, etc. When we finally saw him coming, we got out of the car and approached him as planned, with Arnold taking the lead. He said who he was and showed his badge, and Besozzi started shooting. Arnold went down next to me, nearly taking me with him, which is why it took a couple of seconds for me to react, to pull my weapon, to get off a few rounds. We’d had Patrol providing backup, and I ordered them to go after the suspect while I called for EMS and waited with Arnold. He was dead before EMS arrived.”
“Gonzo,” Jeannie said, preparing to offer sympathy he didn’t deserve.
“I want every asset we have on the manhunt for this guy,” Gonzo said, brushing her off. “He’s taken one of our own, not to mention whatever culpability he may have in the knife attacks.”
“What do we know about him?” Hill asked.
“Only what we’ve been told from victim William Enright and his colleagues at Griffen and Smoltz.” Gonzo filled in the others about the falling out the designers had with their client Besozzi and the reasons for it. “Enright said the fact that he wanted webcams and chat rooms as part of a T-shirt store retail site was suspicious. That’s what led him to take it to Griffen, the managing partner. It was their decision to end the relationship, news that Besozzi did not take well, according to Griffen.”
“Is he in the system?” Hill asked.
“Nothing that we could find, but one of Enright’s colleagues suspected the Italian accent and heritage could be fake, so who knows who he really is. Carlucci, you and Dominguez go back to Griffen and Smoltz in the morning and dig deeper on their files. Ask them to produce everything they have, and if they won’t, get a warrant. I want a photo of this guy as soon as you have it so we can put it out to the media.”
“Speaking of the media,” Malone said, “we’ll need to brief them about Arnold and the investigation.”
“I’ll get with the PIO and do the briefing after I get back from seeing his parents,” Gonzo said.
“I’ll also request a warrant to get into Besozzi’s home,” Malone said.
“What can we do?” Jeannie asked.
“Go back and re-interview the other victim who survived,” Gonzo said. “See if you can establish any connection between him and Besozzi. It’s possible that Enright was his target all along, and he went after the others to create a sense of panic over random attacks that weren’t random at all.”
“We should dig deeper into the ones who were killed too,” Malone said. “I like the theory that Enright was his target and the others were hit to ramp up the panic and concern over seemingly random attacks.”
“I’ll put my people on that,” Hill said, “and I’ll let you know if we find anything that will help.”
“We need the Marshals Fugitive Response Team helping us to look for this guy,” Farnsworth said.
“We’ve already called them in,” Conklin said. “I’m due to brief them in thirty minutes. Were you able to get anything in the way of a description that might help before he started shooting?”
Gonzo forced his mind back to those hellish few minutes on the sidewalk. “It was dark, so I couldn’t see much beyond longish dark hair, olive-toned skin, a black coat. Everything happened so fast. I didn’t get a good look at him before he started shooting.”
“What do we have in the way of cameras in that neighborhood?” Farnsworth asked.
“We’ll get with Lieutenant Archelotta on that,” Conklin said of the lieutenant who commanded the IT division. “And I’ll have Patrol go door-to-door to see if any homeowners have outdoor security cameras that might’ve picked up something.”
“The Patrol officers who went after him,” Gonzo said. “Did they report in?”
“There was no sign of him by the time they got to the corner where he disappeared on foot,” Malone said.
“No blood or anything on the street?” Gonzo asked. “I got off a few rounds. I was hoping one of them hit him.”
“Not that they were able to see, but we’ll look again in the morning.”
“I need to go to New Carrollton to see his folks,” Gonzo said, the sick feeling in his stomach rising up all over again at the thought of what he had to do to good people who didn’t deserve it.
But then who ever deserved to have a family member murdered?
“I’ll go with you,” Malone said.
“That’s not necessary.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
“What about Sam?” Gonzo asked. “Has she been told? And Cruz?”
“The Secret Service had a fortress up around the lieutenant’s home,” Malone said. “I’ve left a message for her and expect to hear from her in the morning. Cruz has been notified and is on his way back to the District.”
“From where?”
“Florida apparently.”
For the first time since Arnold was shot, Gonzo thought of Christina, who would need to be told before the news hit the airwaves.
“What about the media?” Gonzo asked. “They go nuts anytime they hear the call of an officer down.”
“We’ve managed to fend them off, but we’re on borrowed time,” Malone said. “We need to go to New Carrollton.”
Gonzo nodded. The captain was right. He just hoped he could get through this gruesome task without vomiting.
“I want someone with Arnold around the clock until he’s buried,” Gonzo said. “I’d do it myself but as acting commander of the squad—”
“I’m his liaison officer,” Tyrone said. Every officer chose a colleague to see to the details if they happened to be killed in the line of duty. “I’ll do it.”
“Thank you.” To Malone, Gonzo said, “I need a minute and then we’ll go.” He left the room and went straight to the restroom to wash the blood off his hands and to splash cold water on his face. His stomach was a disaster, and he’d be shocked if he didn’t actually puke at some point.
Officer down. Officer down. Officer down.
Gonzo couldn’t get the image of the gaping hole in Arnold’s face out of his mind. He suspected that memory would haunt him for the rest of his life.
If you shut the fuck up, I’ll let you take the lead. I’ll let you take the lead.
His stomach burned, and there was no stopping the vomit that was coming whether he liked it or not. Bolting for a stall, he bent over the toilet and heaved up the meager contents of his stomach. It went on until dry heaves gripped him, and he broke out in a cold sweat. This could not be happening. Any second now he was going to wake up in his bed with Christina by his side to tell him it had all been a bad dream. What he wouldn’t give for that to be true.
He wiped the sweat and tears from his face with shaking hands. The sound of the gunshot echoed in his ears. It had taken just one shot to end the life of a promising detective, a young man in his prime. One shot.
Gonzo’s legs were rubbery under him as he forced himself to stand and face what had to be done. He flushed the toilet and left the stall. At the sink, he splashed more cold water on his face and rinsed the foul taste from his mouth. His hands trembled so violently that water splashed onto the countertop around the sink.
Christina. He needed to call her, so she’d hear it from him and not on the news. But how did he say the words that would devastate her? How did he tell her this horrific news without terrifying her all over again? Ever since he was shot, she was clingy and needy, and understandably so. The last thing in the world he wanted to tell her or anyone was that Arnold had been killed. But he couldn’t let her hear it from anyone but him, or on the news. So he pulled the phone from his pocket and placed the call.
He could tell by the way she said hello that she’d been sleeping. Of course she was sleeping. It was two in the morning.
“Baby.”
“Tommy. You’re working late.”
“Yeah. Baby, listen, are you awake?”
“Mmm.”
“Christina.”
“I’m awake, Tommy. What’s wrong?”
“It’s… I didn’t want you to hear… I…”
“What?”
“Arnold’s dead.”
The anguished sound that came from her went straight to his broken heart. “No. Tommy. What happened?”
“He was shot.”
“Wh-where were you when it happened?”
“Right next to him.”
“Oh, God, baby. Are you…” Her soft sobs brought more tears to his eyes. “Tommy. I’m so sorry.”
“I have to go tell his family.”
“Does it have to be you?”
“Yeah, it does.” He ran trembling fingers through his hair. “I gotta go, baby. I don’t know when I’ll be home, but I’ll call when I can.”
“I love you so much. I’m so sorry this has happened to you and your partner.”
“Thanks. Do me a favor and stick close to home with Alex until we get this guy. He’s in the wind, and I need to know you guys are safe.”
“We’ll stay home. Don’t worry about us.”
“I’ll call you.”
“Let me know if there’s anything at all I can do for any of you.”
“I will. Love you.”
“I love you too.”
Gonzo put the phone back in his pocket and took a series of deep breaths, preparing himself to deal with the horror show unfolding on the other side of the bathroom door. He had to go out there and face it. He had to go out there and provide leadership to a heartbroken squad. He had to go out there and tell Arnold’s parents what’d happened. He had to go out there and get the guy who’d killed his partner.
Only after all of that was done could he go home to his love and fall apart. Until then, falling apart was not an option. Summoning all the fortitude he could find, he walked out of the bathroom to rejoin the nightmare already in progress.
Malone was waiting for him. “You okay?”
“I’ve been better.”
“I can take care of his family on my own, Gonzo.”
Before the words were out of the captain’s mouth, Gonzo was shaking his head. “I owe it to him to do it myself. They know me. It needs to come from me.”
“We need to go out through the morgue, and we need to go now. The press is all over the main entrance, looking for info about the officer-down call. They’ve checked the hospitals, so they know it’s a fatality. The public affairs people have pleaded with them to sit on that info until we can notify the family, but we don’t have much time before someone gets itchy.”
Gonzo nodded in agreement. “The others, the squad…”
“Are doing what needs to be done to find the shooter. The activity will help.”
“Okay.”
He and Malone moved briskly through headquarters, drawing the attention of every officer they passed. No words were spoken. None were needed. Malone insisted on driving, and Gonzo didn’t have it in him to argue. They took off out of the parking lot and headed north to Maryland.
“Nothing from Sam?” Gonzo asked.
“Not yet.”
Gonzo’s heart ached at the thought of her waking up to this unimaginable news. It ached even worse at how badly he’d failed her and the rest of t
heir squad by letting this happen on his watch.
Chapter Thirteen
Sam came awake slowly, leisurely. It had been years since she’d had this much time off and she’d begun to enjoy the ability to sleep in. Although “sleeping in” usually meant eight at the latest, and it was only five now. Why was she awake? Beside her, Nick slept peacefully. She hated that he’d lost so much sleep over her, and to see him relaxed and sleeping was a huge relief.
After a few minutes, she realized she wouldn’t be going back to sleep and decided to go downstairs to get the book Tracy had given her. She got up, used the bathroom and then put her sweatshirt and sweats back on to go downstairs. Outside Scotty’s door, the agent in charge stood to greet her.
“Good morning, Mrs. Cappuano.”
“Good morning, Darcy.”
“I was asked to let you know that Captain Malone from the MPD was here to see you.”
“When?”
“Around midnight.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“We were given orders by the vice president that you were not to be disturbed for any reason except if your son needed you.”
“Right,” Sam said, recalling Nick’s final words to the agent on duty the night before. “Did he say what he wanted?”
“No, ma’am. I believe he said he would call you.”
Sam’s heart beat fast and her palms were sweating by the time she picked up the phone she’d left charging on her bedside table. The only reason the captain would’ve come to her home in the middle of the night, while she was on leave, was if something was terribly wrong.
She sat on the bed and flipped open the phone to find multiple missed calls from Malone, Cruz and Farnsworth. “Fuck,” she whispered. “God, what now?” Sam was half-tempted to close the phone and pretend, for a little while longer anyway, that she hadn’t seen the missed calls.
In truth, she was on leave and could ignore the calls without consequence. But she couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t do it. Whatever was wrong, she’d have to deal with it eventually. With that thought in mind, she returned the call to Malone.