“I did a thorough review of the autopsy report and found nothing more than what we already know,” Gonzo said. “Tom Forrester was killed by a single shot to the head while seated in his car on Constitution Avenue.”
Sam wanted to growl in frustration at having to review things they already knew. “What did the text messages on his personal phone reveal?”
“Nothing other than a once-a-day call to his wife at nine p.m. three days in a row during the time they were being detained by Bryant’s people.” Lucas had shoulder-length dark hair, hazel eyes and the kind of cheekbones other women would kill for. “There was a text from his dentist with an appointment reminder and one from Animal Control in Gaithersburg, checking on the Forrester’s dog. I called their office to ask if it’s routine to check on a dog injured by another dog and was told that they’re required to confirm there’s no sign of rabies in either animal. Other than texts from some personal friends talking about mundane things like the upcoming fantasy baseball league draft, there wasn’t anything else of note over the last week.”
“Thank you for your report,” Sam said. “Since it was encrypted, I’ve turned over Tom’s work phone to Agent Hill for FBI analysis.”
“We spoke with every member of Forrester’s team, one-on-one,” Harper said with a gesture to include Coheeny.
Harper had dark hair and eyes and was built like someone who spent a lot of time in the gym. Coheeny was blond and had an aura of insolence about him that immediately put Sam on edge. She had no patience for insolence, attitude, chips on shoulders or whatever his deal was.
“We didn’t hear anything helpful,” Harper said. “His people loved him and are grief-stricken over his death.”
“A lot of tears,” Coheeny added.
“We pressed them to talk about cases or situations that might’ve led to murder, but no one could think of anything specific other than the usual criminal stuff they deal with routinely,” Harper said. “But Forrester wasn’t directly involved in those cases.”
Sam processed the information, looking for threads to pull but not finding any.
Freddie returned to the room. “Bryant is in interview two.”
“Thank you,” Sam said. “Appreciate the updates, everyone. Let’s get back to it.”
After the others had left the room, Sam looked to Freddie. “Without making a spectacle of it, push me to interview two in this chair.”
“Like, roll you over there?”
“Yes.”
Sam could tell he had questions, but thankfully, he did as she asked and guided the office chair out of the conference room and down the hall to interview two. Outside the door, she said, “Stop.”
Steeling herself, she rose from the chair, gasping as the pain registered.
“Sam.”
She ignored him and waited until she had her bearings so she could open the door and barge into the room with as much moxie as she could muster under the circumstances. Seeing that Bryant had angry-looking road rash on his face made her feel a little better about her own injuries.
He gave her a filthy look. “I’m not saying anything to you without my lawyer here.”
“That makes things easier. Detective Cruz, will you make the congressman comfortable downstairs?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She made her way to the door.
“Wait.”
She gritted her teeth as she turned back. “What?”
“How long will I be down there?”
“Until your lawyer gets here. Detective Cruz will make the call for you.”
“I, uh… My lawyer fired me. I need to find a new one.”
“Do you have someone in mind?”
“Not really. Mine came with me from Wisconsin… Been together a long time. I, uh, have no idea who to ask.”