Fatal Chaos

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 HQ.”

“I’ll take the call if anything else comes in overnight,” Freddie said. “Get some sleep.”

“Thanks.” In a past life, Sam would’ve insisted on being notified. Now she knew she’d be no good to anyone tomorrow if she didn’t get some shut-eye. “I’ll check in with you first thing.”

“You okay to drive?” Freddie asked, looking on with concern.

“Don’t hover, Mom.”

“She’s fine,” he said to Gonzo, who snickered.

“Can you guys get home from here?” she asked.

“Don’t hover, Mom,” Freddie said. “We’re good.”

“I’m out.” Sam’s legs wobbled from exhaustion as she made her way back to her car and headed for home. About halfway there, she acknowledged that she probably shouldn’t be driving. She blasted Bon Jovi and the AC, aiming the vents to direct the cold air on her face. By the time she reached the Ninth Street Secret Service checkpoint, her face was frozen, but she was still awake. Barely.

What the hell? Why was she so freakishly tired after a relaxing vacation that had included tons of sleep? As she pulled into her assigned parking place outside their house, the possible answer to that question had her heart beating faster. Any time she felt different, she wondered if maybe...

“No,” she said out loud. “It’s not that, so don’t even go there. Who can stand the disappointment?” Angry with herself and the direction of her thoughts, she got out of the car and used the last of the gas in her tank to go up the ramp Nick had had built so Skip could visit their home. The memory of that day, of realizing what he’d done for her and why, could still bring tears to her eyes more than a year later.

Jesus. Now she was weepy too? This wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all.

“Good evening, Mrs. Cappuano,” the agent on duty at the door said.

“Good evening, Eric.”

“Is everything all right?” the handsome young agent asked.

“Other than someone shooting innocent people in my city, it’s all good.”