Page 13 of Return of the Spider
“Yes, sir,” he said. “Do you want us to notify the families? Or should we leave it to the dynamic duo?”
The chief stopped chewing, and his eyes narrowed. “You and Cross can do it. After that, report to Diehl and Kurtz and me in my office downtown, bring us up to speed. We’ll figure out what’s next.”
“Right away, Chief,” Sampson said.
Our boss studied him a moment, searching for evidence of sarcasm. After a beat, he glanced at me and said, “I’ll wait here for Diehl and Kurtz.”
We nodded and walked away. When we were back in the trees and out of earshot, Sampson said, “You know what that was really about, right?”
“He doesn’t want two Black junior detectives being the faces of an investigation into the murder of a rich white kid and the attempted murder of the kid’s girlfriend and a Senate aide.”
“Nah,” John said. “More like he doesn’t want two Black junior detectives getting the credit if theysolvethe murder of a rich white kid and the attempted murder of his girlfriend and a Senate aide.”
CHAPTER
7
Before we drove overto Alexandria, Virginia, to meet with Conrad Talbot’s family, I got Abby Howard’s number from Dispatch and called her house. I spoke to her mother, Lisa Howard, and informed her that her daughter had been injured and was en route to GWU Hospital. I said we’d meet her at the hospital later this morning.
When Sampson and I got back in the car, he said, “FYI, you should have asked the mother not to call Conrad’s parents.”
“Oh,” I said. “I didn’t think of that. Does it matter? Why do you think she would?”
“Well, I’m assuming Abby’s mother knew her daughter was out with Conrad last night, and she must have called his family when her daughter didn’t come home, so maybe she’ll call them now to give them an update. But I’d rather inform the family inperson. Especially in cases like this, when it’s the death of a kid with his whole life ahead of him. I see it as part of the job. Our responsibility.”
“I didn’t tell her Conrad was dead.”
“I know,” he said. “But you get the point.”
“Learning.”
“Every day.”
The Talbot family lived in a sprawling red-brick Colonial on a shaded cul-de-sac in Alexandria about two miles from the Charles School. It was ten minutes to nine when we knocked on the front door with our badges out.
We could hear raised voices inside.
A teenage girl came and looked out the side window. She was dressed all in black, from her Doc Martens to her cardigan, and wore dark eye makeup and a couple of nose rings.
I waved my badge and smiled. She rolled her eyes and opened the front door.
A man yelled, “How the hell should I know where he’d go all night in Geoff’s Bronco, Sue Ann? Am I supposed to be psychic?”
“Will, stop being dramatic! I’m on hold with the Fairfax sheriff and—”
Conrad’s mother appeared in the front hallway in a robe, her hair up in curlers, a cordless phone pressed to her ear. She took one look at us and scurried away.
The girl snorted.
“Will!” we heard the mother call. “There are two big Black men at the front door.”
“They’re the police, Mom!” the teen yelled. “They’ve got badges and everything!”
There was a brief silence, then the loud beep of the phone being clicked off. Will Talbot, a lanky blond man in his forties,came to the door. He wore tennis shorts, a Harvard Business School sweatshirt, and flip-flops. He squinted at us as we held up our badges and identified ourselves.
“Dad, I let them in,” the teenage girl said.
“And I’m glad you did,” her father said, attempting to smile at us. “What’s this all about, Officers?”
