Sam reluctantly turned the baby over to his daddy.
“We need to talk on Monday.”
“What about?”
“I don’t want to disrupt your weekend.”
Sam laughed. “My husband became president of United States this weekend. There’s nothing you can say that’ll disrupt my weekend any more than that already has.”
“It’s about the investigation, which I probably shouldn’t even talk to you about since your husband’s Justice department oversees my agency.” The FBI had been brought in to investigate the Metropolitan Police Department after a series of high-profile officer arrests. Those arrests included the deputy chief, who’d been charged with withholding vital information pertaining to the shooting of Sam’s father.
“What about it?”
“You sure you want to do this now?”
“No time like the present.”
“And we’re acknowledging the potential conflict of interest here?”
“Duly noted.”
Avery shifted his weight to better accommodate the baby. “Someone mentioned we need to take a closer look at what went down with the Johnson case.”
“Someone mentioned that, did they?” Sam made an effort to hide the blast of rage she felt at knowing one of her colleagues was trying to drag that painful incident into the FBI’s probe of the MPD. Two years ago, a child was killed in a shootout after she gave the order to raid a crack house. She’d been haunted by that child’s death ever since. “I’m sure it was one of my good friends. Was it Ramsey? Or maybe Offenbach. He’s still pissed at me for outing his affair. Apparently, the mother of his five children doesn’t want to be married to him anymore, and it’s my fault because I’m the one who figured out that he wasn’t where he was supposed to be.”
“I’m just saying it came up in the context of black marks on the department.”
“An internal investigation has already determined Quentin Johnson was killed because his deadbeat father took him to that crack house, not because I ordered our people to invade it. He shot at us. We shot back. His son was killed.”
“I understand this is a sore subject—”
“Do you? When was the last time you gave an order that got a kid killed? I spent months undercover with the Johnsons, and never once did I see either of them do anything to endanger Quentin. Why in the world would he be at that house late at night when he’d never been there before?”
Sometimes when she closed her eyes at night, she could still hear Marquis Johnson’s anguished screams following his son’s death. “Are we really going to revisit that case? I’d imagine that after recent events, the department has much bigger problems than a crack house shooting from two years ago, especially when everyone involved was already found to not be at fault.”
“I’m not planning to revisit it,” Avery said. “I just wanted to give you a heads-up that it’s been mentioned.”
“Noted. I’ll be disappointed if that case gets relitigated in the media. The first time was more than enough for me.”
“We’re getting a lot of press inquiries about the investigation, but we’re stonewalling them for now. Our job is to provide a report to the U.S. Attorney at the end of this, and I’ve got no intention of mentioning the Johnson investigation in that report.”
“Thank you for the heads-up. It’s appreciated, even if it doesn’t seem so.”
Shelby came back into the kitchen, carrying a plastic bag full of plates and other paper products.
“I’ll get out of your hair, ladies. Call me if you need me to grab anything on the way back, and don’t overdo it, Mrs. Hill.” He kissed his wife and held the baby so she could kiss him.
“You boys have fun at the park,” Shelby said, “and try to make sure he gets a nap, or he’ll be a bear at the party.”
“Will do.”
“What can I do?” Sam asked Shelby.
“Start unwrapping the plates and napkins while I finish the goody bags.”
“I finished the goody bags.”
“Um, no, you started them.”