Fatal Chaos

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.”

CHAPTER EIGHT (#u99104933-900c-57d2-b8bc-cf29aa606eb5)

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 and two older sisters who adored him. Melody Kramer, age thirty-one, taken down in Eckington while walking on Quincy on her way home. She was married to Joe and had recently learned that she was expecting their first child after trying to get pregnant for a long time.

“Sridhar Kapoor, age thirty-five, a doctoral student in chemistry at Georgetown, hit on P Street Northwest while walking home with his wife, Rayna, after a night out with friends. She was too despondent to speak to us. We’ll need to get her statement today. And Caroline Brinkley, age twenty-six, shot in the back on Woodley Road Northwest sometime after three o’clock this morning while walking home from her job at a K Street lounge. Dr. McNamara believes it took close to thirty minutes for her to bleed out. According to Caroline’s father in Minnesota, she was a hard worker who was back to school and trying to better herself.”

Sam made eye contact with everyone in the room—Freddie, Gonzo, Jeannie, Archie, Malone and the captain from the Gang unit. What was his name again? “Every one of these four people was alive this time yesterday. Jamal was at an IMAX movie at the Air & Space Museum because he was fascinated with space. Melody was walking on air because she and her husband finally had a child on the way. She joked about going to happy hour for a friend’s birthday and how it wouldn’t be quite so happy now that she couldn’t have a drink. Sridhar was brilliant. A chemistry doctoral student at Georgetown. Think about what that probably entailed. And Caroline... Doing what thousands of other people do in this city every day—walking home from work. She had a can of pepper spray rolled into her hand so she could fend off any would-be assailants.”

Sam took a moment to let that poignant detail register with the others.

Jeannie looked down at the table while Freddie stared at the back wall where Malone stood next to Chief Farnsworth.

“Witness accounts indicate we’re looking for a black sedan,” Sam said.

“I took the liberty of printing up a list of all the cars that meet that description in the DC, Maryland and Northern Virginia area,” Jeannie said, holding a half-inch thick report.

“We’ll start in the city and work our way out.” To Malone and Farnsworth, she said, “We’re going to need help from Patrol and overtime approved for our people.”

“Done,” Farnsworth said. “Whatever you need to catch these bastards before they can hurt anyone else.”

“I don’t think this is over yet, whatever it is,” Sam said.

“I’d tend to agree with you,” the Gang captain said.

His name sat on the tip of her tongue. “What’s your theory, Cap?” she asked.

“This feels like some sort of initiation ritual,” he said. “We’ve seen it before. I’ve got my team talking to their contacts and seeing what they can find out.”

“While I agree that’s a theory, to me this feels more professional. I’d like to look into a possible military or law enforcement angle.”

“What’re you thinking, Lieutenant?” Jeannie asked.

“Whoever is doing this is one hell of a good shot if they can take someone out from a speeding car and hit with deadly accuracy each time. There were no stray shots. In each case, there was only one, and it did the trick. Something tells me we’re looking at more than your average gangbangers here.”

“I’d tend to agree,” the Gang captain said. “But we’re going to put our ears to the ground anyway and see if we hear anything.”

Sam nodded in agreement with his plan. “Please keep us in the loop.”

“Will do.”

“Archie, what’ve you got from the Georgetown and Woodley shootings?” she asked.

“We’re still sifting through our footage as well as the security footage we’ve pulled from multiple other sources in all four neighborhoods. It’s a big job, and we’re moving as fast as we can.”

“I’ll let you get back to it,” Sam said.

Nodding, he said, “I’ll let you know the second we find anything useful.”

“Appreciate it.”

He left the room, and Sam returned her attention to her own team. “We need someone to sift through the social media accounts of all our victims,” Sam said.

“I did it overnight,” Gonzo said, producing a written report that he handed to her.

Sam raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said with a shrug that had her wondering if he was okay. “I didn’t see anything that stood out on any of their accounts. All routine mundane stuff. Nothing that would get them murdered.”

“Thanks for closing that loop,” Sam said.

“No problem.”

“Let’s divide up the black sedans in the District and start there.” To Malone, she said, “I’d like to borrow Beckett and O’Brien from Patrol to help us today. Detective Green starts tomorrow,” she said of Cameron Green, the detective she’d hired from Fairfax County after working with him on a case earlier in the summer. He would replace Detective A.J. Arnold, who had been killed in the line of duty last winter.