by Marie Force
He answered on the first ring. “Lieutenant.”
His formality only ramped up her anxiety. “Captain. I’m sorry I was unavailable when you came by last night.”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you that Detective Arnold has been shot and killed in the line of duty.”
A punch to the gut wouldn’t have hurt any worse than those words did. All the oxygen left her body in a big whoosh, leaving her lightheaded and nauseated. “When?”
“Around eleven thirty last night. He was on a stakeout with Sergeant Gonzales, waiting on a person of interest in the knife attacks case. When they confronted the suspect on the street, he fired on Detective Arnold, killing him almost instantly with a shot to the face.”
Sam wiped away tears that would’ve pissed her off royally before she’d been attacked. Now she felt everything so much more acutely than she ever had, and this news hurt like a bastard. Poor Arnold. Such a great guy and a promising young detective. And Gonzo… “Is Gonzo nearby? Could I speak to him?”
“Hang on.”
She heard low voices in the background.
“Hey,” Gonzo said, the single word conveying a world of emotion.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“My fault. I let him take the lead not knowing what we were dealing with.”
“You were doing your job, part of which is to train him.”
“Wasn’t the time for training, but that’s on me.”
She’d argue that point with him later, when the shock had worn off. “His family…”
“The captain and I are on our way there now.”
“What can I do?”
“Nothing. You’re on leave.”
“Not anymore I’m not. I’ll be at HQ within thirty minutes. Tell me how I can help.”
“Shooter’s in the wind. Happened right in front of me, and I couldn’t return fire in time to take him down.”
It was going to be, Sam realized, a very long time—if ever—before Tommy Gonzales got over what had happened to his partner. “We’ll get him, Gonzo.” As she said those words, the fire in her belly that had been extinguished in Marissa Springer’s basement came roaring back to life with the power of a full-blown inferno. “We will get him. Do you hear me?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll see you when you get back to HQ. Tell Arnold’s parents I’ll be up to see them later today.”
“I will.”
“Call me if you need me, Tommy. I mean it.”
“Ok.”
She closed her phone and ran for the shower, skipping her hair so she could get to her people sooner. With the fire in her belly still burning hot and fierce, she crossed the hall to get dressed in jeans, a warm sweater and heavy socks. For the first time in weeks, she went back into her bedroom to unlock the drawer in her bedside table and retrieved her weapon, badge and cuffs.
When she was as ready as she’d ever be to face this day, she burst from her bedroom, startling Darcy.
“Is everything all right, ma’am?”
“One of my officers has been killed.”
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry. If there’s anything we can do…”
“Thank you. I’ll let you know.” Sam took the stairs to the loft two a time. She hated to wake Nick when he was getting some much-needed rest, but she couldn’t leave without speaking to him. Sitting on the edge of the mattress that covered the double lounge, she leaned forward to kiss him.
“Nick.” When he didn’t rouse, she did it again.
His eyes opened, immediately awake and on alert. “Why are you dressed?”
“Arnold was killed overnight. I have to go into work.”
“What? He was killed? How?”
“Shot confronting a suspect. The guy’s in the wind. I have to go.”
“Samantha, wait. Before you go…” He sat up and wrapped his arms around her. “Babe.”
“I know.”
“Was anyone else hurt?”
“Gonzo was right there when it happened, but he’s not physically wounded. Emotionally…”
“Yeah. Jesus. Poor Arnold. He’s just a kid.”
Sam bit her lip to keep from wailing. She couldn’t think about what had been lost. Not now anyway. Not when they had a killer to hunt down and a job to do. “I have to go.”
“I want to come with you.”
“I can’t wait for the Secret Service and all that. I have to go now. Can you catch up?”
“You want me there?”
She pulled back to gaze into his gorgeous hazel eyes. “Yeah, I want you there.”
“I’ll clear my schedule for as long as you need me.”
Sam kissed him. “Thanks. I’ll see you there. Go in through the morgue so you don’t get hounded by the media, and keep the detail to as few agents as possible.”
“I will. I’ll call Shelby and get her over here to stay with Scotty.” He twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. “Be careful out there, babe. This guy has already gunned down a cop. He’s got nothing to lose, and I’ve got everything to lose.”
“I’m always careful, and I expect I’ll be even more so now.” She didn’t have to tell him what now meant. There was before Stahl attacked her, and then there was now.
“You’re sure you’re ready to go back?”
“Nope. But he was one of mine. I’m going back for him. It’s not about me right now.”
Placing both hands on her face, he kissed her again. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Knowing that makes it easier to face this.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too.” Stealing one last kiss, Sam got up and headed downstairs, nodded to Darcy and kept going to the first floor. She grabbed a couple of granola bars and two bottles of water. At the front hall closet, she chose her warmest parka and a pair of sheepskin-lined gloves Nick had given her for Christmas as well as the warm boots he’d bought for her and was shown out the door by the agent on duty fifteen minutes after she talked to Malone.
In the BMW, she took full advantage of the heated seats as she pulled out of Ninth Street and headed for HQ.
Arnold is dead.
The words refused to register as truth in her brain. It was unfathomable. The happy-go-lucky detective who was their favorite whipping boy couldn’t possibly be gone. And Gonzo, poor Gonzo. Arnold had so recently saved Gonzo’s life after he was shot, and to have his partner gunned down right next to him…
Sam took a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions in check so she’d be able to guide her squad through the tragic loss of one of their own. Before he heard it on the news, there was one person she needed to tell, so she placed a call to her father.
Sam’s stepmother Celia answered. “Mmm, hello.”
“Celia, wake up. It’s me, Sam. I need to talk to Dad.”
“What’s wrong, honey?”
“My detective… Arnold…he was… He’s dead, Celia.”
“Oh no. Oh, God.”
“I wanted Dad to hear it from me and not on the news.”
“Of course. I’ll take the phone to him. I’m so sorry, Sam.”
“I know.” Her stepmother’s kindness brought more tears to Sam’s eyes. “Thanks.”
“Hang on for your dad, honey.”
In the background, Sam heard some rustling and shuffling before Skip Holland came on the line. “What’s wrong, baby girl?” His voice was gruff from sleep.
“It’s Arnold.” She realized she was going to have to say those words a lot before the dust settled. And it wasn’t going to get any easier the more she said the words. “He was shot and killed in the line last night. The shooter is in the wind. He was our person of interest in the knife attacks.”
“Aw, Christ. I’m so sorry. Such a
fine young man.”
“Yes.” It was all she could do not to break down into big, loud sobs at the sound of her dad’s voice on the phone. She used her coat sleeve to wipe her eyes as she drove. “What am I supposed to do, Dad? How do I get my people through this?”
“Your job is to lead and to command, to be there for your people as well as Arnold’s family.”
“I want to be out tracking this guy down and making him pay for what he did to Arnold.”
“That’s not your job in this case. I assume you’ve called in the Marshals to help locate him?”
“Yeah and the FBI.”
“Let them do the chasing. You all stay focused on building an airtight case against him that’ll hold up in court. It’ll give you something to do with the grief and rage.”
“I can’t get far enough past the heartbreak to feel anything but that.”
“There’ll be rage too. After Steven was killed, I didn’t feel comfortable around my own wife for weeks because I was so afraid I might lose control of the rage.”
“But you didn’t?”
“No, I didn’t, but it was one hell of a fight not to. As hard as it’ll be today and tomorrow and next week and the week after that, you’ll get through this, and you’ll get your people through it too.”
His confidence in her gave her a badly needed boost. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Anytime, baby girl. Take care of you in all of this, you hear me? You’ve been through a tough time, and you need to ease back in.”
“The fire in the belly is back.”
“That’s good to hear, although I’m sorry it took such an awful tragedy.”
“So am I.”
“Call me later. Let me know how you’re doing, and give my love to the squad and Gonzo in particular.”
“I will. Thanks again.” She’d no sooner ended the call with her dad when the phone rang. “Holland.”
“It’s me.” Freddie.
“Hey. You’ve heard?”
“Yeah, last night. We’re on the way back from Florida now. I’ll be at HQ soon. Where are you?”
“Almost there myself.”
“Oh, good. That’s good. Sam…”
The despair was apparent in every word he said. “I know. I know.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
She pulled into the parking lot at HQ, which was filled with trucks from TV stations with big satellite dishes on top, and drove around to the morgue entrance. Thankfully, the reporters didn’t recognize her in the new car and never gave her a second glance as she darted inside.
Her first stop was the morgue itself, where Detective Tyrone was standing watch outside the lab. His chin quivered at the sight of her. Sam hugged him for a long moment and then went into the lab where Lindsey McNamara was finishing up the exam on Arnold with a CSU detective standing by.
Sam forced herself to look at the damaged face of the handsome young man who’d reported to her for the last year. She made herself look at the hole in his face that the bullet had left behind.
“Sam,” Lindsey said. “Don’t do this to yourself.”
“Why not? He’s mine. The least I can do for him is to be here with him.” She reached out to touch his hair, the one part of him unchanged by death. “Was it fast?”
“I believe he died almost instantly.”
“So he didn’t know what was happening?”
“I can’t say for sure, but the bullet pierced his brain. If he knew, it was barely an instant before he lost consciousness.”
“Helps to know he didn’t suffer.”
“Gonzo on the other hand…”
“I talked to him.”
“Then you know he’s blaming himself.”
Sam nodded.
“Are you back to work?”
“As of today.”
“It’s good to have you back, but I hate the circumstances.”
“So do I.” Sam ran her hand over Arnold’s hair again before pulling her hand back and jamming it into her pocket. “Did you get anything we can use?”
“I was able to retrieve the 9 millimeter bullet. I’ve sent it out for ballistics testing. But there wasn’t much else to be gotten.”
“That’s something anyway. Keep me posted on what you hear from the lab.”
“I will.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
“If there’s anything I can do, Sam, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Appreciate it.” Taking the images of Arnold’s wounded face with her, Sam left the morgue and headed for the pit, ignoring the stares and curiosity from colleagues she encountered along the way. Other than her meetings with Trulo, she hadn’t been here in weeks, and people were naturally curious about what’d happened between her and Stahl in that basement. They were curious about her new role as the vice president’s wife and the celebrity status that went along with it, not that she cared about that. It was more of a nuisance than anything else, at least in her opinion.
They could have their curiosity. She would never speak of what happened between her and Stahl again, except for at his trial. There she would gladly convey the gory details of what’d happened that day—and the day he’d attacked her on her own doorstep—if it meant putting him away for life. He was facing hard time in a federal prison where the inmates wouldn’t take kindly to a cop in their ranks. If it was petty to hope that Stahl might be on the receiving end of some jailhouse justice, then she was happy to be called petty. After the way he’d tortured and beat her, it was the least of what he deserved.
She entered the pit, which was unusually quiet.
Jeannie McBride looked up from her computer, saw Sam and got up to hug her. “Thank God you’re here.”
Never one to easily accept overt displays of affection, Sam returned Jeannie’s hug because she needed the comfort as much as her detective and friend did. “How’s everyone doing?”
“Shock. Disbelief. Anger. More disbelief.”
“What’ve we got on the shooter?”
“Come into the conference room, and I’ll show you.”
Sam followed Jeannie into the room where Avery Hill was updating the murder board.
“Lieutenant,” he said, seeming surprised by her arrival. “Good to see you, but I’m sorry about the reason. I had a lot of admiration for Detective Arnold. He was a huge help to me during the Patterson case.”
“Thank you. He was showing a lot of potential. Tell me what we have so far and how I can help.”
McBride and Hill went through the events of the previous day, including what Gonzo and Arnold had learned from William Enright and his colleague at Griffen + Smoltz.
“Have we established any other connections to Besozzi among the other knife attack victims?” Sam asked.
“Not yet,” Jeannie replied, “but we’re digging deeper on all of them today.”
“What about Besozzi himself? What do we know?”
“Not much of anything, oddly enough,” Hill said. “He doesn’t exist anywhere in the system, which tells us only that he hasn’t been arrested or detained under that name. It doesn’t tell us if that’s who he really is.”
“Do we have reason to suspect he might be operating under an assumed name?”
“We have more of a hunch,” Jeannie said, “by one of Enright’s colleagues who’d thought the accent seemed fake.”
“Let’s talk to the colleague today, and see if he can tell us more about why he thought so. See if they can get us a photo of him before the press briefing.”
“We’re working on the photo.” Jeannie took a note, adding Sam’s suggestion about the coworker to a long list on the pad in front of her.
“The guy is passing himself off as an Italian citizen, correct?” Sam asked.
“Can you reach out to the Italian embassy to see if they can help us to determine whether someone of that name is currently in the U.S.?”
“I’ll get right on that,” Hill said.
“I want to see everything we’ve got so far in this investigation,” Sam said, “and I want this guy’s head on a fucking platter.”
Chapter Fourteen
As the sun began to rise outside the neatly tended home of John and Brenda Arnold, Gonzo felt like his skin was on fire from the inside at the thought of what he’d come to tell these salt-of-the-earth people who’d taken such pride in their police detective son.
In the two years Arnold had been his partner, Gonzo had been invited here to cookouts and his partner’s twenty-fifth birthday party, among other family celebrations. They’d made him feel like an extra son, and now he had to go in there and pull the rug out from under them.
He was going to be sick again. Gonzo threw open the passenger door and the rush of fresh air helped to fend off the surge of nausea.
“I can do this, Gonzo,” Malone said quietly.
“No. I have to. They know me. It needs to be me.”
“We have to go in there before they see us out here and leap to their own conclusions.”
There would be, Gonzo realized, no avoiding this nightmarish task. He had to walk up the sidewalk that was lined with pretty red flowers to the porch with the white rocking chairs and pots filled with more flowers. He would knock on the door and tell these good and decent people that their only son was dead, that he’d been murdered in the line of duty, that he was a hero. And none of that would matter to parents who’d lost their son.
If something like this ever happened to Alex…
No, don’t go there. Don’t.
“Gonzo.”
Malone’s deep voice jarred him from his tortured thoughts.
“All right. Let’s go.” His muscles didn’t want to cooperate as he got out of the car. His legs resisted his brain’s command to move, to walk, to do what had to be done no matter how much he might wish to be anywhere else on any other mission.
The four stairs to the porch felt like a hundred.
Malone pushed the doorbell.