His low guffaw made her smile. “To what do I owe the honor of this Sunday night phone call?”
“I got called back early for a drive-by shooting of a fifteen-year-old in Southeast.”
“Ah damn. What’ve you got?”
Sam filled him in on what they knew so far, which wasn’t much. “The next step is reviewing the film to see if there’s anything we can use to track down the car.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Will do. I’ll give it a couple more hours tonight and then pick it up in the morning.”
“Sounds like a plan. Hope it was a relaxing time off for you.”
“As relaxing as it can be when your husband is caught up in the lead story in every newspaper and on every news station in the country.”
“I can’t even imagine the stress you guys have to be dealing with.”
“We’re trying to pretend it’s not happening until we have to.”
“And how’s that going?”
“Easier said than done.”
“I’ll bet. It’s such an unbelievable thing. How could Nelson not know what his son was up to? Even if he could somehow prove he wasn’t involved, I’m not sure I’d believe him.”
“I know. Privately, we feel the same, but we’re hoping that somehow he can hang on.”
“I’m not sure how either of you are sleeping at night.”
“We’re finding ways to exhaust ourselves so we’ll sleep like babies.”
“Jesus, Sam,” he said with a huff. “I’m your boss, for Christ’s sake.”
She busted up laughing. “Just looking for some comic relief.”
His low chuckle echoed through the phone. “You’re too much, Holland.”
“I hear that a lot. Speaking of too much, any rumbles from U.S. Attorney Forrester and the grand jury?”
“Not that I’ve heard, but you know how hush-hush that process is.”
“Yeah, true. I just wish we could get an answer one way or the other. Imagine if Nelson resigns, Nick becomes president and I get indicted for assaulting Ramsey all in the same day.”
“Your imagination has run wild. No one thinks you’re going to be indicted. You and your husband are among the most popular people in the country. Forrester knew what he was doing, taking your case to the people. They’ll never indict you.”
“I hope you’re right. And PS, I’d do it again if I had it to do over.”
“No, you wouldn’t, because you’re a highly decorated police officer who’s above such behavior as punching a fellow officer, even if he deserves it.”
“I’m really not above it,” she said with a snort.
“Yes, you are. That’s my final word on the matter. Hit me up later with an update on the drive-by.”
“Will do.” Sam slapped her phone closed and tossed it on the passenger seat. The subject of her colleague Sergeant Ramsey always rankled, especially as she twisted in the wind for months waiting to hear if she would be indicted for punching him in the face and knocking him backward down a flight of stairs. A concussion and broken wrist were the least of what he deserved for what he’d said to her about deserving the torturous attack Lieutenant Stahl had perpetrated on her.
Sam’s rise through the department ranks hadn’t come without her fair share of enemies, who believed she’d gotten to where she was because of her father. Skip had been deputy chief when he was shot by an unknown assailant three months shy of retirement. Her failure to close that most important case of her career was something that hung over every day of her life. She would neither rest nor retire until her father’s shooter had been caught.
That was just one of many reasons to sweat the current situation with Nelson. How would she continue to track down leads and follow up on her father’s case if she were taken off the job? She shuddered at the thought of being sidelined. That couldn’t happen. It wouldn’t happen. She’d see to that.
At HQ, she entered the building through the morgue entrance and stopped first to check in with Lindsey.
Sam strolled into the examination area, where antiseptic smells and gruesome sights greeted her. Under the bright lights Jamal’s injury was even more devastating than it had appeared on the street. “At least he died instantly.”
“There is that.” Lindsey held up an evidence bag containing the bullet. “Nine millimeter. I’ll send it to the lab for analysis.”
“Anything else I need to know?”
“Not yet. I’ll have my report to you in the morning.”
“Thanks for coming in on a holiday weekend,” Sam said.
“This job doesn’t recognize weekends or holidays, as you well know.”
“Or vacations,” Sam added. “I’m back early to work this one.”
“I hate when it’s a kid,” Lindsey said. “That makes it a thousand times worse.”
“I know. He’s only two years older than Scotty.” Sam cringed at the thought of losing her own son so senselessly.
“Your son is surrounded by Secret Service who’d never let anything happen to him,” Lindsey said, reading her mind.
“That’s the one major benefit of Nick being VP.”
“Not too many others lately, huh?”
“Nope.” Sam took another long last look at Jamal, vowing to get justice on his behalf no matter what she had to do. “I’d better get to it.”
“Good to have you back even if the circumstances suck.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
Sam left the morgue and ran into Freddie, who walked toward her from the detectives’ pit. “What’s up?”
“I was coming to check in with Lindsey, but looks like you’re one step ahead of me as always.”
He fell in beside her as they made their way to the pit. “You say that like it’s a surprise that I’m always one step ahead of you.”
“Actually, it’s the story of my life.”
“Why does hearing that bring me such unmitigated pleasure?”
“Because you’re a coldhearted woman, Lieutenant.”
Sam pretended to dab at her eyes. “You flatter me, Detective.”
His snort of laughter helped to lighten the dark mood that always descended upon her when someone was murdered in her city, especially a child.
“Only you would take that as a compliment.”
“That’s why you love me so much.”
“Whatever you say. What’s the plan?”
“I want to start my murder board and see what Archie was able to grab off the video feed. After that, I’ll brief Carlucci and Dominguez and turn it over to them. We’ll pick it up in the morning.”
“Um, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Carlucci and Dominguez are off tonight. It’s Sunday.”
“Damn it. Whose idea was it to give them time off?”
“I believe the union mandates that we all get two days a week off from this nuthouse.”
“Bloody unions. Who’s covering