Sam waited for him and took a couple of deep breaths, hoping her heart would stop pounding. When he returned to the line, she gave him her number. “Feel free to call me anytime. I’m sorry that I have to ask if she had any problems with anyone that you knew of.”
“No, not at all. She has lots of friends. Everyone likes her.”
“Ask your wife when you can, and if you think of anything that might be relevant, please call me.”
“We will.”
“I’ll keep you informed about the investigation. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. We’ll be in touch. I need to see to my wife.”
“Of course.”
The call ended with a click, and Sam had to hold back the urge to throw her phone out the window so she’d never again have to make a call like that one. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, infuriated to be such an emotional basket case. A pang of anxiety struck her in the gut. Emotional outbursts were a hallmark of pregnancy for her. At least they had been in the past.
“We’re not thinking about that today.”
In the time it took to get to HQ, she got herself more or less under control and felt ready to face what promised to be a challenging workday. The usual media scrum outside the main door had doubled overnight, and since she was in no way prepared to face off with them, she drove around to the morgue entrance.
Inside, the frigid AC provided a welcome respite from the stifling humidity. Sam went into the morgue to get an update. She found Lindsey presiding over Caroline’s autopsy.
“What’ve you got for me, Doc?” Sam asked, noting their victim had been a pretty young woman with auburn hair and fair skin.
“Another nine-millimeter slug to add to our collection.” She gestured to the evidence bag containing the chunk of metal that had ended Caroline’s life.
“Gonzo said you don’t think she died instantly?”
“She definitely didn’t. The bullet nicked an artery. I’d say it took about twenty minutes for her to bleed out.”
“Would she have been conscious?”
“That’s hard to say.”
“I’m going to really hope she wasn’t.”
“She had a can of pepper spray rolled up in her hand.” Lindsey pointed to another evidence bag.
“For all the good it did her.” That little detail made Sam so mad—and so sad—for the young woman who’d seemingly done everything right.
“No kidding.” Lindsey glanced at Sam. “You call the family yet?”
“Yeah. That was loads of fun. They want to come here to see her. I told them we’d make it happen.”
“Those poor people. They got their kid to twenty-six. Thought they were in the clear, and then this happens.”
“I hate cases like this. People killing people simply for the thrill of it.”
“Is that the theory?”
“It’s all we’ve got to go on so far. Hopefully, we’ll have more by the end of the day.”
“Are you okay, Sam? You look a little...red around the eyes.”
“I...um, yeah, you know. Tough case. That’s all it is.” She’d learned the hard way to keep her suspicions about a possible pregnancy to herself. That way there were fewer people to tell when it either turned out not to be true or when it went bad. And it always went bad.
“I’m here if you need a friend. I hope you know that.”
“Of course,” Sam said, appalled when tears threatened again. For fuck’s sake. “Gotta hit it. Shoot me your report when it’s finished.”
“Will do.”
Sam headed for the pit, determined to keep her shit together and focus on the case—and only on the case. The four dead bodies in the morgue deserved her full attention, and they would get nothing less.
“I want everyone in the conference room in five,” she said on the way into her office. “Jeannie,” she said to Detective Jeannie McBride, “update the board with the Brinkley info and get Archie and someone from the Gang Unit down here.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sam unlocked her office door and flipped on the lights, immediately turning them off when the fluorescent glare hurt her eyes. She hated fluorescent light almost as much as she hated needles and airplanes.
A knock on the door preceded Malone into her office. When he closed the door behind him, Sam had a sinking feeling this day was about to get worse—if that was possible. “What’s up?”
“The chief asked me to talk to you,” he said as he made himself comfortable in her visitor chair.
Her instincts rarely failed her. “About?”
“Stahl.”
That one word could conjure up a million different thoughts for Sam—none of them good. “What about him?”
“We’ve heard from Forrester’s office,” he said of the U.S. Attorney for the District of Columbia, “that Stahl is willing to enter an Alford plea in your case.”
Sam sat because that was better than her legs going out from under her. “So, he’s willing to concede they have enough to convict him, but he’s not willing to admit his guilt? That son of a bitch.”
“We thought you might say that.” Malone leaned in, elbows on his knees. “Here’s the thing, Sam. If you agree to the plea, he’ll still go away for decades. You won’t be put through the ordeal of the trial and having to relive what happened that day in Marissa Springer’s basement.”
The words “Marissa Springer’s basement” brought it all back. The torture. The razor wire. The gasoline. The absolute certainty she was going to die at the hands of a man who’d once been her commanding officer and had come to despise her. “After what he put me through, I want to hear him say he did it. I want him to admit his guilt in a court of law, or there’s no deal.”
“I hear you, and I understand where you’re coming from. But before we pass that on to Forrester’s team, I want you to take twenty-four hours and think about it from all sides. Talk to Nick and your dad. See what they think. Just take a day, Sam.”
“I don’t need a day. I’m not going to change my mind.”
“Still, take the day. Do it because I’m asking you to. I don’t want you to have regrets later when there’s no choice but to testify.”
Affecting her best mulish expression, Sam stared at him, but he stared right back, the bastard. “Fine. If it means so much to you, I’ll sit on it for a day, but I won’t change my mind.”
“Fair enough. What’s next in the shootings investigation?”
“I’m gathering my team in the conference room to figure out our plan of attack.”
“I’ll join you.”
They walked together into the conference room, and once again Sam found herself trying to keep her mind on the case where it belonged. Goddamned Stahl. Like she didn’t have enough going on. He had to rear his ugly head too.
“Let’s walk through it from the top.”
SAM APPROACHED THE murder board and pointed to photos of each victim as she spoke of them. “Jamal Jackson, age fifteen, picked off in the Penn Branch neighborhood. He has a mother