Читать книгу Fatal Identity - Marie Force - Страница 7

CHAPTER ONE

STANDING BEFORE THE Internal Affairs Board that would determine her fate, Detective Lieutenant Samantha “Sam” Holland was at peace. If they busted her down a rank or two, so be it. Her life would be a whole lot less complicated with someone else in charge of the Homicide unit. Sure, she’d rather be the boss, but having been the boss for more than a year now, she wouldn’t cry over letting someone else do it.

Of course, knowing there was no one else who could do it at the moment added to her peaceful, easy feeling. Her number two in command, Detective Sergeant Tommy “Gonzo” Gonzales, had understandably been a mess since his partner was gunned down right in front of him, and as he was the only one the brass would even consider for the top spot, Sam wasn’t worried.

Would there be some sort of hell to pay for punching Sergeant Ramsey in the face? Probably. Would she do it again if she had it to do over? Abso-fucking-lutely. He’d had it coming after what he’d said. I would’ve thought Stahl had taken some of the starch out of you... That any member of the department could make light of what their former colleague had done to her was beyond reprehensible. And besides, how was it her fault that Ramsey had fallen down the stairs, broken his wrist and given himself a concussion? The guy needed to learn to take a punch.

Deputy Chief Conklin cleared his throat, and something about the way he wouldn’t look at her made Sam nervous for the first time. “Lieutenant, we’ve reviewed the testimony provided by you and Detective Sergeant Ramsey about the incident in question. While we agree that Sergeant Ramsey’s comments were unfortunate and unnecessary, your actions amount to conduct unbecoming an officer of your rank and stature.”

Sam kept her expression blank even though her insides began to quiver like a bowl of gelatin. Crap. Here it comes, the reduction in rank. It’s okay, she told herself. It’ll be okay. This, right here, was why police officers commonly referred to IAB as “The Bureau of Proctology.”

“The board has agreed that you are to serve a four-day unpaid suspension effective immediately. Your first day back will be next Wednesday at zero seven hundred. Furthermore, you’ll be requested to make a one-thousand-dollar donation to the Widows and Children’s Fund. Finally, you should be aware that U.S. Attorney Forrester is considering criminal assault charges. That concludes this hearing. We’re adjourned.”

Conklin stood to leave the room, while Sam remained riveted in place, at once relieved and filled with dread over the possibility of criminal charges. She’d really stepped into a steaming pile this time, but she still didn’t regret punching that mouthy son of a bitch.

“Lieutenant.”

At the sound of Captain Malone’s deep voice, Sam looked up at her commander.

He took her by the elbow to lead her from the hearing room. “Could’ve been much worse,” he said in a low tone that only she could hear.

“How serious is Forrester about criminal charges?”

“The question is how serious Ramsey is about wanting to see your ass in a sling. He’s the one forcing Forrester’s hand by demanding he press charges.”

“Of course he is. As far as I’m concerned, Ramsey can kiss my ass.”

“You shouldn’t have hit him, Sam.”

“You would’ve hit him too if you’d been there.”

“Possibly.”

“Definitely.”

They walked back to the detectives’ pit where most of her squad was waiting for the results of the hearing.

Detective Freddie Cruz, Sam’s partner and close friend, jumped up when she and Malone entered the pit. “Well, what’d they say?”

“You’ll be glad to know you’re rid of me for the next four days, but like the flu, I’ll be back.”

His relieved expression was almost comical. “Thank goodness.”

“Lieutenant,” Detective Jeannie McBride said, “while you were at the hearing a man was here asking to speak with you. He said it was very important, and he would only talk to you.”

“Who was it?”

“He refused to leave his name,” Jeannie said. “But he was very insistent about speaking only to the vice president’s wife.”

“He asked for me that way?” Sam said. “That almost guarantees I won’t see him.”

“That’s what we told him. I think he’s gone now.”

“Um, Lieutenant,” Malone said, “I believe you were on your way out?”

Sam scowled at him and then went into her office to shut down her computer and grab her coat, purse and gloves. Then she closed and locked her door before addressing her squad. “Hold down the fort while I’m gone, and call me if you need me.”

“Don’t call her about police business, however,” Malone said, “because she can’t help you with that for the next four days.”

“They know that,” she said. “Don’t you?”

Mumbled replies of “yes, ma’am” followed her question.

Speaking only to Cruz, she said, “Where’s Gonzo?”

“No-show,” he said softly.

She gave his arm a squeeze. “I’ll check on him.”

“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?”

He seemed to make an effort to calm down. “They’re extremely accomplished people and so are my siblings. My brother is a board-certified neurosurgeon. He went to Harvard for undergrad and medical school. My sister is an attorney, also Harvard educated, Law Review, the whole nine yards. And then there’s me. I barely made it out of state college after having spent most of my five years there on academic probation. After four years working for the federal government, I’m a GS-9 at Veterans Affairs, where I shuffle paper all day while counting the minutes until I can leave. The only reason I have that job is because my father, who has never approved of a thing I said or did, pulled strings to get me in. They’re all Republicans while I’m a liberal Democrat who fully supports your husband. I hope he runs in four years, by the way.”

“None of that proves your parents kidnapped you.”

“Will you take my case? Please? I need to know for sure. This would explain so much of why I’ve felt like a square peg in my own family my entire life.”

Sam held up a hand to stop him. “I’m a homicide cop, not a private investigator, but if you really believe a crime has been committed, I can refer you to someone within the department—”

“No.” He shook his head. “I want you. You’re the best. Everyone says so.”

“I’m honored you think so, but I’m on a leave of absence for the next few days, so I’m not able to take your case personally.”

“It has to be you. You’re the only one I’d trust to do it right.”

“The Metro PD has plenty of very qualified detectives who could look into this for you and help determine whether a crime has been committed, Mr. Hamilton.”

“You don’t understand. It can’t be any random detective. It can only be you.”

“Are you going to tell me why?”

He took another series of deep breaths, appearing to summon the courage he needed to tell her why. “It’s... He’s... Well, my dad, you see... He’s Troy Hamilton, the FBI director.”