Thad,” she greeted, flirting again. Maybe it was her nature. Maybe she flirted with all the cops.
She wore a lot of makeup. Blue eye shadow, heavy mascara, caked-on foundation that embedded in the wrinkles forming around her eyes and mouth. She dyed her hair blond and used too much hairspray. Hurricane force wind wouldn’t ruin her style for the day.
He’d heard her husband had left her for someone younger. She was about twenty years older than Thad. If it made her feel good to flirt with younger men, what harm did that do? It sometimes made his stomach turn, but he could tolerate a few moments of discomfort every now and then.
“Good morning, Gladys. Is Darcy Jenkins in yet?” He always kept their interaction to business.
“Yes, he is, handsome. He’s waiting for you in the first conference room.”
Slipping the lanyard holding his badge over his neck, he nodded his thanks and strode to the double glass doors. Entering through those, he followed a sterile white hall to the conference room at the end. The door was open.
Darcy’s five-eleven frame leaned over some photos. He always wore a dress shirt and tie with slacks. Never a jacket. He looked up when Thad entered, his thick black hair cut short and dark eyes intuitive and a little haunted, but not from all he’d seen as a special victims unit detective.
Straightening, he moved around the table. “Hey.” He gave Thad’s back a firm pat.
“Does Gladys flirt with you?” Thad asked.
“She flirts with everybody. Don’t let it go to your head.”
Thad grunted a laugh, not offended by his friend’s sarcasm. They’d met at the police academy and had been friends ever since. There wasn’t anyone Thad trusted more than Darcy. Thad had trained for crime scene investigation. Darcy had grown up aspiring to become a detective. Thad wasn’t sure if it was catching killers that had drawn him as a kid, more likely it was the heroism. Reality had overruled. Darcy did the most good in Homicide, the closest to a superhero he’d ever get. Thad was more interested in the science behind solving crimes. Superheroes had never enchanted him. Maybe that was due to the fact that there had never been anyone in his childhood who’d fooled him into believing in them. As with Darcy, reality had overruled.
He looked down at the photos Darcy had studied more than once and picked up the images of the conference room where Thad’s mother had been shot.
“How’s your mom?” Darcy asked.
As one of his closest friends, Darcy knew how much these photos bothered him. “Out of ICU.” Finally. Things had been touch and go for a week. “Doctors are going to keep her a few more days.”
“That’s good news.”
There was nothing good about his mother being shot. Thad should have seen it coming. He should have been able to protect her. There had been a lot of hype about the possibility that she’d run for president. A well-liked former vice president, she was a viable candidate. That also made her an open target for anyone against her views, anyone who wasn’t sane. He should have been more vigilant, should have been aware of the danger. Had his lukewarm sentiments toward politics made him too lax?
Thad didn’t relate to his mother’s thirst for politics. It consumed too much of her time and energy for one thing, and made her skirt direct answers. His mother was a good politician. While he wasn’t fond of her chosen profession, he knew her in a way the public never would. She was his mother. He loved her with all his heart. If she’d have died, the grief would have crushed him. And he’d have never been able to get over the feeling that he hadn’t done enough to save her.
He dropped the photos onto the table and turned to Darcy. “Anything new?”
“The SAC passed along some preliminary results from the forensics lab,” Darcy answered. “Still waiting on some cytology reports they promised, but thought you’d want to see this.”
The SAC was the special agent in charge of the Washington field office of the U.S. Secret Service. In a conversation Thad had had with him, he’d indicated the government was being secretive with their investigation. They claimed to be working with the USSS and local police, but as far as Thad could see, they were only putting up a good impression. And Thad wouldn’t put it past the SAC to know more than he admitted.
Thad took a report Darcy handed him.
“The bullet is a .308 caliber from an LWRC manufactured SABR,” Darcy narrated while Thad read. “Sniper assault battle rifle. Popular for its versatility and grain. A shooter gets accuracy along with a little weight. Not overly expensive. Portable.”
“Yeah, and if a guy wanted to find one, he wouldn’t have a tough time,” Thad said.
“He gets distance, too.”
His mother had been holding a fund-raiser at a historic hotel. The twelfth-floor ballroom had two walls of windows, and there was an office building across the street. Darcy had to wait for search warrants to get into the vacant unit that Thad was pretty sure the shooter had used. Thad didn’t have to hear Darcy tell him the government had beaten them to it. “Anything on the location?”
“Yeah, and you aren’t going to like this part. I’m getting pushback from Chief Thomas,” Darcy answered. “He knows we’re doing some looking around. Said the government is taking over the investigation. I think this is the last we’ll see from them.”
“The SAC may know more than he’s letting on.” Thad verbalized his earlier thought.
“Why would they cut us out of the investigation?”
That’s what Thad would like to find out. As a crime scene investigator, he had been involved in gathering all the evidence. Federal agents from the USSS and FBI had been there, of course, and hadn’t put up too much resistance. Now they were clamping down, no longer sharing what they found. Why? The assassination attempt of the former vice president of the United States and possible presidential candidate did warrant taking care and being discreet, but Thad was Kate Winston’s son. He was also a good investigator. So was Darcy. They could help.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” he said. “It all comes down to politics.” Politics drove how the government would reveal progress of the investigation to the public. Local police made for too many hands in the fingerprint powder.
“I’m not keen on politics, either.” Darcy gathered the photos and put them in a neat stack. “But the fact is our hands are tied. We can’t work on your mother’s case anymore...not overtly.”
Thad caught Darcy’s unspoken reassurance. He’d continue to help him. Thad would carry on without him if he had to, but between the two of them, they’d make a solid team. Darcy had connections Thad didn’t, and Thad had the mind to unravel details from evidence.
His mother’s gunman was still running free, free to take another shot at her. Thad hadn’t been able to protect her. The Secret Service hadn’t been able to protect her. The gunman had shot Kate and tried to shoot her again when the first bullet didn’t kill her. Agent Dan Henderson had put himself in the line of fire and saved her life. After getting off a couple more misses, the killer had gotten away. Thad vowed to find that person.
Why had someone tried to kill Kate Winston? And who? What reason did they have?
