“We would if we thought a little something would be enough for them,” Sam said. “We’ve decided to stay out of it for now.”
“I can understand that. It’s a tough situation no matter what you do.”
“Which is why we’re doing nothing but riding it out the best way we can until we know what’s going to happen. Let’s get this media briefing done so I can do some real work.”
“I hate to point out that briefing the media counts as real work,” Malone said.
“In my world, it counts as torture,” Sam said.
Farnsworth and Malone came with her as she walked out the main doors to where the usual swarm of reporters had multiplied in the twenty minutes she’d been inside. Word must’ve gotten out that she was back on the job. Awesome.
The reporters began shouting at her the minute she walked out the door. While that wasn’t an unusual occurrence, there was something about the way they came at her this time that caught her off guard. Nick was right. They were ravenous, and she was going to send them away still hungry.
She approached the granite podium that was a permanent installation outside headquarters, never more grateful for the aura of protection it provided than she was now. They continued to scream questions at her about Nick and Nelson and Nelson’s son and whether she was prepared to be first lady and if he was excited to be president and what would they do about Scotty and...
Malone put his fingers in his mouth and blew out a sharp whistle that startled Sam and shut down the screaming. “If you’ll please hold your questions, the Lieutenant will brief you on the drive-by shootings that took place tonight. She will not answer questions about the vice president or anything related to him. Am I clear?”
The assembled crowd muttered among themselves, clearly displeased with the captain’s directive.
“You and your husband have to say something about what’s going on,” one of the bottle blondes from TV said. “People have a right to know that their vice president—and his wife—are prepared to step up if need be.”
Sam wanted to punch her in the face. Of course they were prepared to step up if need be and had been since the day he took the job. That didn’t mean they wanted to.
“Take those questions to the vice president’s office,” Malone said. “Lieutenant Holland will speak only to questions about the shootings. Lieutenant?”
Sam stepped up to the microphone and went through the same recitation of facts she’d given to the chief and captain. “We believe we’re looking for a black sedan with at least two people in it. We caution city residents to be aware of their surroundings when walking on side streets after dark. Anyone who has information about the possible shooter and his or her accomplices should contact MPD. Do not attempt to approach these people on your own. They are armed and extremely dangerous.”
“Is there any indication the two shootings are related?” Darren Tabor asked.
“Witnesses at both scenes reported seeing a dark-colored sedan traveling at a rapid rate of speed. We’ll be looking into any possible connections between the victims as we begin our investigation. That’s all for now. I’ll be back to you when we have more.”
As she walked away from the podium, they began screaming their questions about Nick and Nelson again. They were nothing if not predictable. It wasn’t lost on her that the more intense Nick’s job got, the harder it became to do hers, though she’d never add to his already-formidable burden by sharing that thought with him.
“Keep us posted of any developments,” Malone said when they were inside.
“On all fronts,” Farnsworth said meaningfully.
“Will do.”
Sam was about to leave them to head for the pit when Freddie and Gonzo approached them.
“We’ve got another one,” Freddie said grimly.
* * *
AS SAM DROVE Freddie and Gonzo to Georgetown, they listened to the increasingly frantic chatter on the radio. According to reports from Patrol, the victim was a Georgetown University graduate student who’d been out dancing with his wife and had made the mistake of walking home.
Right after two a.m., they pulled onto P Street Northwest to a scene becoming all too familiar. Emergency vehicles lined the street, and the victim’s covered body had been isolated from the crowd of onlookers by yellow crime scene tape. EMTs tended to a woman who Sam assumed was the victim’s wife.
Fatigue began to tug at the edges of Sam’s consciousness, reminding her that she’d been up since dawn the day before when Nick talked her into taking a last walk on the beach to watch the sunrise before they headed home.
Twenty hours later, her tank was running on empty. She shook off the weariness to give this latest victim her full focus.
Patrolman O’Brien worked the tapeline and nodded to her as she approached. Because O’Brien worked third shift now, she didn’t see much of him around the house.
“Good to see you, Patrolman.”
“Likewise, Lieutenant. Wish it was under better circumstances.”
“Who’s our vic?”
“Sridhar Kapoor, thirty-five. I looked him up on social media and found out he’s originally from India and was a doctoral student in chemistry at Georgetown. His wife, Rayna, is also a grad student, in global infectious diseases. I wasn’t able to get much from her, except they’d been out with friends and decided to walk home. He was shot in the head from behind. The wife didn’t see the car because the shot propelled him forward, and he took her down with him. By the time she figured out what’d happened, the car was long gone.”
“Is she able to talk to us?”
“She’s hysterical. The paramedics gave her something to calm her down. They were talking about transporting her for observation. You might do better with her in a few hours.”
“I want someone with her at all times until we’re sure this isn’t an orchestrated thing.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll pass that on to the Patrol commander.”
“Any other witnesses?”
“None. The street was empty except for the two of them. A few residents heard the shot and came out to see what was going on. One of them called it in, but he didn’t see the car.”
Sam walked over to lift the tarp for a look at their victim, who’d had the back of his head blown off by the bullet. Then she stood and watched as the paramedics loaded the victim’s wife into the back of an ambulance.
“Find out where they’re taking her,” Sam said to Freddie, who jogged over to talk to the paramedics. “These guys are good, whoever they are,” she said to Gonzo as she took a long look around. “They aren’t your average punks out for a thrill if they can hit someone in the head in the dark from a speeding car.”
“What’re you thinking, LT?”
“We might be looking for a sharpshooter or someone with law enforcement or military training.”
“It’s a thread,” Freddie said when he rejoined them. “We’ll dig into that one right away.”
“Save it for the morning. Let’s get some sleep and start fresh.” To O’Brien, she said, “Knock on every door on the street. Let us know if you find anyone who saw the shooting go down.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sam hated when human frailties got in the way of her desire to work around the clock. “I’m out of gas. I’ve got to go home. Let’s pick it up at zero seven hundred at