Fatal Identity

“Let me know.”

“I will.”

Malone walked her out.

“Have you been assigned to escort me from the premises?”

“I volunteered.”

“Lucky me.” She glanced up at him as they went toward the lobby and main exit. “You’ll keep an eye on my squad for me, won’t you? They’re all a bit fragile these days after losing Arnold, and Gonzo is in no condition to be put in charge.”

“We know. I’ll be overseeing Homicide until you return. What do we know about where Sergeant Gonzales is today?”

Sam had hoped he wouldn’t notice Gonzo wasn’t in the pit. She should’ve known better. “We don’t know anything, but I’m going to find out what’s up as soon as I can.”

“I’ve noticed he’s been absent a lot lately.”

“He refused to take leave after Arnold was killed, but he’s called out sick a few times, and between you and me, I suspect it’s bottle flu more than actual sickness.”

“So he’s drinking.”

“I think so, and I can’t say I blame him. What he saw, right in front of him... And he blames himself because he let Arnold take the lead to get him to shut up. In the few times I’ve actually gotten him to talk to me, he says it should’ve been him.”

“He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“We both know that, but there’s no telling him.”

“Has he been keeping his appointments with Trulo?” Malone asked, referring to the department’s psychiatrist.

“Yeah, but I don’t see where it’s doing any good. He seems to be getting more withdrawn all the time.”

Malone sighed. “I know. We’ve all noticed.”

“I’ll give him a call and see what’s up today. This is the first time he’s actually failed to show up for a shift without getting in touch with me.”

“You can check on him as a friend, of course, but not as a supervisor.”

“Believe it or not, Captain, I’ve been suspended before, and I know how this works.”

They were nearly to the door when he stopped her with a hand to her arm. “I have to tell you, Lieutenant, that in your place, after what you went through with Stahl, I probably would’ve clocked Ramsey for what he said. But—”

Sam rolled her eyes. “How did I know there was a ‘but’ coming?”

“I want to see you rise through the ranks and be rewarded for your hard work and service to the department. I can almost guarantee that’s not going to happen if you get suspended again.”

Sam thought about that for a second before she replied. “I appreciate your candor, as always, but if I never go any further than lieutenant, I will have done a thousand times better than I ever expected after coming in here with dyslexia and my father’s legacy to live up to. It’s been a great career. I wouldn’t change a single thing, even the stuff that got me suspended, because the first time I got Nick out of it, and the second time I got to deck Ramsey and then listen to him squeal like a baby. Life is good, you know?”

Malone grunted out a laugh. “You’re too much, Holland.”

“I know. You guys tell me that all the time.”

“Be gone with you, and don’t let me see you around these parts until Wednesday.”

“Ahhh,” she said with a dramatic sigh, “bubble baths and bonbons for four whole days. Punish me please. Maybe Nick can punch the president and get himself suspended from the White House. I’ll have to ask him if he’s got any scores to settle, because this would be a great time to get it done.”

“You’re taking this surprisingly well, Lieutenant.”

“I almost died in that basement with Stahl. It takes a lot to rattle my cage after that.”

“Possible criminal charges are no laughing matter. You might want to talk to one of the union attorneys while you’re off, just in case.”

“I’ll think about that. Can you imagine the headlines? Vice President’s Wife Charged With Assault. Something tells me the White House communications people have never dealt with that particular headline.”

“Safe to say they’ve never dealt with the likes of you.”

“Aw, Captain, you flatter me. I’d better get out of here before someone hears I’m still here and I get in more trouble. Take care of my people for me.”

“I will.”

Sam pushed through the double doors and into cool, crisp winter air that smelled like snow. She’d had a conversation yesterday with her son, Scotty, about how air can smell like snow. Scotty said it wasn’t possible to smell snow, even after she got him to take a few deep breaths to see what she meant. He remained skeptical, but she had a few more weeks of winter to prove her point.

“Mrs. Cappuano.”

Sam turned toward the man who’d called to her. He was in his late twenties or early thirties, handsome with dark blond hair and brown eyes. The panic she saw in his expression put her immediately on alert. “That’s me, although they don’t call me that around here. And you are?”

“Josh Hamilton.”

Sam shook his outstretched hand. “What can I do for you, Josh?”

“I need your help.”

“Okay.”

“This... It’s going to sound sort of crazy, so bear with me.” He took a deep breath. “Today I was bored at work, so I started surfing the web, you know, just clicking around aimlessly.”

As a technophobe of the highest order, Sam didn’t know because she’d never done that and certainly not at work, where she was usually too busy to pee, let alone surf.

Josh took another deep breath, and Sam’s anxiety ramped up a notch. “I saw this story about a baby who was kidnapped thirty years ago. They had this age-progression photo showing what he’d look like now, and...” He gulped. “It was me.”

“Wait. What?”

With trembling hands, Josh retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and called up a web page, zeroing in on a digitally produced photo that did, in fact, bear a striking resemblance to him.

“Those photos are produced by computers. They’re not exact.”

“That’s me! And it explains why I’ve never felt at home or accepted in my family. What if they took me?”

“Hang on a minute. What evidence do you have to suspect that your parents participated in a criminal act to bring you into their family?”