“I’ve been thinking about that. I’m sure they were concerned about him being marched through the streets of Russia as a fallen hero.”
“He’s dead, so what do they care about that?” Sam asked.
“Well, you have to figure he has a huge following that’ll turn him into a hero because he died for the cause. His death will energize the movement, and having his body as proof of his murder would make for an excellent prop. They probably wanted him back so they could dispose of him and keep his people from sneaking him back into the country for a hero’s welcome at home.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“Some low-level underling idiot probably screwed up by dumping him in the first place and was probably told to do whatever it took to get him back. They came up with bombing the MPD as a solution.”
“Can you imagine how panicked they must’ve been to realize they’d done the totally wrong thing by dumping him and had to find a way to get him back—fast—or get disappeared themselves?” Sam asked.
“Total freak out and a huge overreaction that’s caused a massive headache for the Russians.”
“It’s a theory.”
“What else could it be?” Freddie asked.
“Well, if Gretchen was canoodling with an old love, who might be pissed by that?”
“Besides Nick and the Russians?”
“Yes, other than them.”
“Maybe the ex-husband? Wasn’t their divorce ugly?”
“Sure was. I’d like to know where he was when Sergei was killed. We need to figure out who else might not have appreciated them spending time together.” As she said those words, a tingle of sensation worked its way down her back that came with brainstorming ideas in a case.
She was so fucking thankful that blame for the bombing wouldn’t be laid at her feet, and that she could continue to do the job she loved. It would take a while to shake off the sick feeling that’d overtaken her when she’d thought it might be tied to her in some way.
“What do we know about the people who were killed today?”
Freddie used his phone to access the information. “Malone sent a message with their names. Cora Mulligan, age fifty-three, processing clerk. Alicia Kim, age forty-two, also a processing clerk. June Mercer, sixty-one, department librarian.”
Sam gasped. “Oh God, not June! She helped me when I was investigating a link between Dad’s shooting and Steven Coyne’s.” She’d been the department’s librarian for more than thirty years.
“She was a nice lady,” Freddie said.
“She worked on the third floor! She shouldn’t have been anywhere near the lobby.”
“Maybe she was coming back from being out or something. The reporter who was killed is Audra Michaels.”
Again, Sam was shocked. “Oh no, she was one of the good ones and has young kids, if I’m remembering correctly.”
“She does. A four-year-old and two-year-old twins.”
“Good God. What a tragedy.”
“The media has already zeroed in on the possibility of Russian involvement in the bombing.”
“How would they know that?”
“It could’ve been leaked by us or the White House or both to make sure blame lands where it belongs.”
“This is so far above our pay grade it’s not even funny.”
“That may be true, but we still have a murder in our jurisdiction that puts it squarely within our pay grade, and I’m sure the Feds will be trying to take this over the minute they find out who our dead guy is.”
Sam checked her watch and saw that it was getting closer to dinnertime. She’d invited the Hills and needed to get home. “Let’s turn this over to Carlucci and Dominguez to dig in overnight and pick it up in the morning. Can you brief them on what we have so far, and I’ll talk to Malone about fending off the Feds in the murder investigation?”
