“No, you won’t. I’ll call him. Text me the number.”

“All right.”

“This helps a lot. It gives us somewhere to start.”

“When are you going public with Lori’s name?”

“Not until we absolutely have to. Where are you?”

“Almost to my parents’ place in Harper’s Ferry.”

“Stay there until you hear from me. You understand? Do not move from there.”

“I won’t.”

“We’re going to figure this out. I promise.”

“I’m counting on that.”

“I’ll call you later.” Sam stashed the phone in her pocket, grabbed her keys and coat and headed for the pit. “Cruz! With me.”

“Coming.”

“McBride!”

Jeannie McBride popped up from her cubicle. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Find me Rex Connolly.” She passed along the information Gonzo had given her about Rex’s record. “Text me a current address.”

“I’m on it,” Jeannie said.

“Everyone else, report in to Cruz in the next fifteen minutes with where you are.”

Murmured replies of “Yes, ma’am” and “Got it, LT,” from the subdued group followed her command.

Chapter Seven

Freddie donned his ever-present trench coat and ran after her, his mouth full of something. His mouth was always full of something, usually donuts or other junk that never added a single pound to his lean physique. “Where we going?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s gross.”

“If I didn’t talk with my mouth full, I’d never talk.”

Sam snorted out a laugh at that truth. “We’re going to Bowie to talk to George Phillips, owner of the car that Lori was driving.”

“Are we going to tell him she’s dead?”

“I want to know who he is to her before I tell him anything.”

“Does the brass know who the vic is to Gonzo?”

“Yep and they’re bringing in the Feds to babysit us to make sure we don’t step over any lines.”

“I feel like the Feds are underfoot a lot lately.”

“So do I, and I said as much to them, but I was overruled.”

With Sam at the wheel and Freddie punching the address into the GPS on his phone, they headed out of the parking lot and into midday traffic in the District. “Why can’t we do something about the gridlock in this city?” Sam asked.

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

“No, I’m serious. If we can put men on the moon, why can’t we figure out an efficient way to move cars through a modern, cosmopolitan city?”

“You raise a good question.”

“Why is it even like this today? It’s a freaking holiday.”

“Caps are playing at home this afternoon.”

“Awesome. It’s going to take us an hour at this rate to get to Route 50. While we’re stopping and going, see if you can track down a social worker named Justine Travers. She works for the District Court. Try Faith Miller. She’ll know how to reach her.”

“You do remember it’s a holiday, right?”

“Of course I do. I’m supposed to still be in bed with my husband right now.”

“Ew.”

“Oh my God! Like you’re one to talk, Mr. All-Sex-All-The-Time.”

Snorting with laughter, he said, “It’s not all the time.”

“Whatever you say.”

While she dealt with the aggravation of trying to get anywhere in D.C., he took to the phone, working their network to locate Ms. Travers.

“Hi, Faith, sorry to bother you. This is Freddie Cruz. Do you have a second?” After a pause, he said, “We’re trying to get in touch with a social worker named Justine Travers. Do you have a number for her?” Another pause and then he began writing. “Thank you so much. Sorry again to bother you.”

After he ended the call, Sam said, “She didn’t ask you why you wanted to know?”

“I think she was going to, but I bailed out before she could.”

“Good job. Call the social worker.”

“That’s what I was doing before you started quizzing me.”

Sam took her eyes off the road long enough to glower at him. “You got any more of those donuts?”

While he waited for Justine to answer the phone, he pulled an unopened pack of white-powdered donuts from his coat pocket and handed it to her.

“I hate you for this.”

“You don’t hate me. You love me.”

“Right now, I hate you.”

“Saint John said, ‘Whoever says he is in the light and hates his brother is still in darkness.’”

“That’s me. Empress of the dark. I do my best work in the dark.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “Hi, Justine? This is Detective Cruz from the Metro PD. I wondered if you might be available this afternoon to answer a few questions about one of your clients?”

Sam held her breath while she waited to hear what Justine had to say.

“Lori Phillips,” Freddie said. “Yes, I understand that her custody battle was with one of my colleagues. It’s important or I wouldn’t have bothered you on a holiday.” He glanced at Sam. “We’ll get a warrant. I’ll call you back when we have it.”

Before he’d ended his call, she was on the phone with Malone to get the warrant moving. “This might be a tough sell,” Malone said.

“She has more information about Lori’s life today than probably anyone else. We need her, Cap.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“Let me know.”

Forty-five minutes after they left HQ, they finally took the exit for Route 50, heading east toward the Baltimore-Washington Parkway. They arrived in Bowie twenty-five minutes later. “Who has ninety fucking minutes to spend battling traffic so they can do their goddamn job?” Sam asked as she pulled up to George Phillips’s residence.

“Language, Lieutenant,” her Bible-thumping partner said disapprovingly.

“I agree that traffic is a dirty word.”

“That’s not the dirty word I was referring to, as you well know.”

“Job. That’s another dirty word on a holiday that I was supposed to be spending with my goddamn family.”

“Sam! Come on.”

“Oh, sorry,” she said. “I got carried away.”

They headed for the front door of the white ranch house. Sam rang the bell. “I hope he’s home after we came all this way.” She pounded on the glass storm door.

The inside door swung open, and the man went from annoyed to pissed off when they showed their gold badges. “What do you want?” he asked through the door.

“A few minutes of your time,” Sam said.

“I ain’t got a few minutes. I gotta go to work.”

“We can take you into custody, which would ensure you’d miss work.”

He gave her one of those looks that would be deadly if looks could kill. She got a lot of them during a good day on the job. The door was pushed open, narrowly missing Sam’s face. “Hurry up about it.”

“Are you George Phillips?”

“Yeah, so?” His greasy hair was combed over his mostly bald head and tattoos covered his forearms. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in days, and the house smelled stale and musty.

“I’m Lieutenant Holland, and this is my partner, Detective Cruz. Metro PD.”

“You’re the vice president’s old lady.”

Freddie snorted and then covered it with a cough.

George looked around them, trying to see outside. “Where’s your Secret Service?”

Sam gritted her teeth and pressed on. “How’re you related to Lori Phillips?”

“Is she in trouble again? I told her after the last time not to call me. I’m through with her and her nonstop drama.”

“Answer the question.”

“She’s my sister. My younger sister.”

“When was the last time you saw or talked to her?”

“She was at my ma’s house on Christmas. But I didn’t really talk to her. She was all pissed off about losing custody of her kid, so I kept my distance. Why? What’s she done now?”

“Can you tell me how she happened to be in possession of a car you own?”

“What’d she do to my car? I swear to God—”

“She’s dead, Mr. Phillips. She was found strangled in your car this morning.”

“W-what? She’s dead? Lori’s dead.”

“Yes. I’m sorry to have to tell you the bad news.”

He seemed to stagger backward before he recovered his bearings and moved to a sofa in the front room. With his head in his hands, he said, “How?”