“I need a favor,” she called back to Nick. “Text the employment commissioner and tell him Blondie is coming.”
“What?”
Lara turned to face him as she ran. “I just saw someone who’s a threat to the commissioner. I need you to let Morton know.”
“I can’t send messages for you. You know that. Don’t mess with me. I need this job.”
He thought she was trying to cheat somehow. Crap. The commissioner’s house was only a mile or so away. Lara made a decision. She stopped, turned around, and started back toward the corner.
“Where the hell are you going?” Nick drove his cart up on the sidewalk to follow her.
“The commissioner’s house. He’s in danger.”
“You must be serious if you’re willing to blow off this marathon and a shot at the grant money!” Nick shouted to be heard over the noise of a passing vehicle.
Lara turned on Grant Street and picked up her pace. “Text Morton now!”
“I don’t have his private number.”
“Get it from Minda.”
“She won’t answer her iCom while she’s broadcasting.”
Lara tried to remember the number she’d called, but it felt scrambled. “Try 541-628-2028.” It was hard to talk while sprinting.
A few seconds later, Nick yelled back, “That was a tavern.”
She made another guess, but it was hard to think straight.
“That’s not it either.”
The Toyota had disappeared. She remembered her earlier trip to Morton’s house after he bailed her out of jail. “Where is Frontier Street from here?”
“I think we go left at Grove.”
She visualized the online map she’d studied and the turn seemed correct. “Contact the D.C. police. Ask for Detective Harper. If he’s not available, tell them to send a patrol car.”
At the corner, Nick yelled, “What’s the address?”
“I don’t know, but it’s in the middle of Frontier.” She was only a few blocks away and would get there in minutes. Blondie was probably turning down the street now. Lara pushed herself to run faster.
She heard Nick explaining the situation and realized the police were skeptical about wasting their resources. Thank god she had her gun. The thought of aiming a weapon at an armed suspect brought back a devastating memory she’d spent years trying to forget. Lara tried to suppress it, but the scene played out in her mind in full detail as she ran the last block.
She’d been called out to a homicide in the Bethel area. A father had come home to find his teenage daughter dead, her skull crushed. Lara had been given the lead and two other detectives were on site to help process the scene and question neighbors. After a couple of hours, the chaos started to settle down. The medical examiner took the body away, and the patrol cops returned to the streets. Detective Schakowski had gone to question the neighbors, and Detective Quince went to the girl’s bedroom to look through her personal items.
Lara sat down at the kitchen table with the father and began to interrogate him again. He’d been too shell-shocked earlier to provide much information. After a few minutes, she asked, “When did you arrive at home?”
“A little after four.”
“Earlier you said you came home at four-thirty.”
“It was somewhere in there.”
“Your 911 call was logged at 5:12. What did you do between the time you arrived and the time you made the call?”
“Nothing! I was in shock. I called 911.”
His anger was unexpected. “Please calm down. I have to establish a timeline. Are you saying you sat in the house with her dead body for forty minutes?”
“No. We’ve been over this!”
Something in his expression made Lara realize the man had killed his daughter. She knew she had to take him in for a videotaped interview. “Sir, please stand and put your hands on the table. I’m going to cuff you and take you in for questioning.”
The door to the attached garage bounced open and a young teenage boy walked in. He looked about thirteen and was clearly her suspect’s offspring. “What’s going on, Dad?” He looked at his father, then at Lara.
Where had the boy come from? Had he just arrived home? “Please go outside.” Lara raised her voice to be firm, but didn’t shout. Her nerves hummed and she wanted to get Chuck Sanders in cuffs.
Sanders stood as she had directed, but the boy kept moving toward his father. Suddenly, Sanders grabbed the boy and pulled him in. He had one arm around the boy’s neck and a knife in his other hand, pressed against his throat.
Lara pushed to her feet and drew her weapon in one frantic motion.
“Stay back!” Sanders stepped toward the garage door. “I’m getting out of here and I’m taking my son. If you try to stop me, the boy dies too.”
“Put down the knife and let go of the boy.” Lara calculated her options. None were good. Had Detective Quince heard the exchange? She hoped he would come running.
“You’re not taking me in.” Sanders inched toward the door.
The image of his daughter’s crushed skull flashed in Lara’s mind. She had no doubt he would harm his son, if not today, then soon. “Let go of the boy or I’ll shoot you!”
A cluster of events happened simultaneously. Sanders took another step. The boy struggled to get free. Lara fired at the suspect’s head. The sliding back door came open.
Sanders dropped like a rock and his son screamed. Behind Sanders, coming in the back door was a uniform officer, his neck bright with blood. He started to speak, then collapsed. Her bullet had passed through the suspect and killed a cop.
Chapter 35
Sat., May 13, 10:20 a.m.
Paul parked at the end of the block, not wanting his car to be spotted at Morton’s house. Grabbing his gun, he strode down the quiet suburban street, noticing not a single child was outside on a Saturday morning. If he’d had a neighborhood like this as a kid, he’d have been outside all the time. He didn’t blame them for staying inside though. The constant wind and extreme temperatures ruined most outdoor activities.
He reached the edge of Morton’s yard, trotted up the neighbor’s property line, and climbed over the hedge as he’d done before. The memory of finding Camille here that night played in his mind, but it didn’t devastate him like it had then.
He’d developed a new resilience, almost a numbness. He and Camille would be okay, but the commissioner still had to die. Paul was angry with himself for running off the job last time without finishing it. He was angry that he’d killed the wrong woman at the hotel too. Stupid! He didn’t know how to fix that, so he shoved the whole episode into the new numbness. The other woman, the paramedic witness, was still here in Washington D.C., and Paul hadn’t decided what to do about her.
He rounded the corner of the house, strode across the stone patio, and grabbed the handle of the French doors. They were unlocked, and Paul charged in. He barely noticed the spacious family room. All he saw was Morton rising from his desk. Paul aimed at his face and fired twice. He wasn’t making the same mistake this time.
Blood flew from Morton’s head and he fell to the soft beige carpet. Paul kneeled next to him, but didn’t bother to check for a pulse. The employment commissioner’s job was officially open. He stood to leave, but camera images from the NetCom caught his eye.
What the hell?
Lara spotted the white car she’d seen Blondie driving. It was parked on the corner of Frontier. Fuck! The shooter was probably in the house. She turned to the cameraman, still following her.
“Get video of that white Toyota.”
She drew her Kel-Tec and ran down the sidewalk, grateful no civilians were out and about. Sweat dripped from her face as she sprinted. She remembered Morton had a gate on his driveway and she expected it to be closed. If Blondie was on the property, she couldn’t waste a second. Lara sprinted across the neighbor’s lawn and vaulted over the short hedge separating the yards. She stumbled as she hit the ground, then caught herself. Lara raced across the grass to the front door and found it locked. She turned and sprinted toward the back and saw the cameraman coming through a break in the hedge.