“Sorry to poke the bear.”
“No worries.” It wouldn’t be the first or last time she’d have to deal with colleagues who had questions about her new role—and Nick’s. “Let’s go notify the family,” she said to Freddie and Gonzo.
“We can do it if you want to go home,” Freddie said.
“I’m not going home until the work is done.” Notifying the family members of murder victims was the worst part of the job, and she wasn’t about to delegate it to her subordinates so she could go home to fight with her husband.
Chapter Fourteen
Sam, Freddie and Gonzo took her car to a Dupont Park address in the District’s Southeast quadrant.
“One of you do a run on Carter,” Sam said.
“I’m on it,” Gonzo said.
“I heard they released the secretary of State,” Freddie said, glancing at her from the passenger seat.
“I heard that too,” Sam said.
“Nick sounded pissed in his press conference,” Gonzo said. “Have you talked to him about it?”
“Not yet.” She wondered if he was still at the White House or had gone home. Anxiety chased through her when she thought about the reckoning she faced when she saw him.
They arrived at the address listed on Carter’s license, a standalone single-family home off Minnesota Avenue.
“I used to spend a lot of time in this neighborhood,” Gonzo said. “I played frisbee football in the park and hung out with some guys who lived a few blocks from here.”
“This was a rough part of town when I was growing up, but it’s gotten really nice,” Sam said, her heart aching when she took in the well-kept two-story home. Was she going to have to tell parents their son was dead? Or had Carter lived in this house with a partner? Either way, it would suck.
“Long list of priors for Carter—mostly misdemeanor drug stuff until recently, when he was charged with felony assault of his mother over a year ago.”
“Where does that case stand?”
“He was out on bail awaiting trial.”
“Let’s get this over with. Cruz, come with me. Gonzo, wait on the sidewalk so we don’t overwhelm them.”
“Got it,” Gonzo said.
Ever since she and Freddie had been shot at through a closed door, Sam had been a lot more cautious about approaching doors on the job. She rang the doorbell, which she could hardly hear from outside. “Now that’s how a doorbell ought to sound.” They encountered far too many that sounded like air raid sirens that would scare the shit out of her if she had to live in those houses.
As they waited for someone to answer the door, it occurred to her that living in the White House might be scarier than living in a house with an obnoxious doorbell. She made a fist, banged on the door and heard the distinctive sound of a weapon engaging.
Freddie heard it too.
They both reached for their weapons.
“Who’s there?” a man asked.
They held up their badges to the peephole. “Metro PD.”
“What do you want?”
“To speak to you about Eduardo Carter.”
“He doesn’t live here.”
“Are you his family?”