“I’m sorry. I agree it’s unfortunate. But it is what it is. While I have you, I wanted to remind you of the commanders’ meeting at zero eight hundred tomorrow.”
“I’ll be there.” They were meeting with Special Agent in Charge Avery Hill and others from the FBI about the upcoming investigation of the department. “This job is nothing but nonstop fun lately.”
“That’s what we’re all about. Check in after you’re done at the scene.”
“Will do.” Sam closed the phone and wished it wouldn’t be such a hassle to get a new one, or she might be tempted to hurl it out the window.
The GPS on Freddie’s phone guided them to the exact address, a palatial house surrounded by public safety vehicles and gawking neighbors. Why did the neighbors always gawk? Sam wanted to ask them why they were so curious about murder.
“Get Patrol on the neighbors. I want them nowhere near here.”
As she got out of the car and made her way around the vehicles that blocked the driveway, she heard one of the gawkers say, “That’s the VP’s wife!”
“No pictures,” she said to the man who was reaching for his cell phone. Sam was always concerned about saying or doing something that would embarrass Nick in his position as VP, but sometimes she just didn’t care. She was so pissed about the situation with Gonzo that she probably shouldn’t have been let out of the house. But alas, murder didn’t wait for her to be in the right mood.
“What’ve we got?” she asked the female officer who met them at the yellow tape line. Sam noted her name tag read Phillips.
“Virginia ‘Ginny’ McLeod, age fifty-six, found in the garage by her husband, Kenneth, when he returned home from playing golf.”
“Where is he?”
“In the kitchen with my partner. I instructed him not to touch anything and to remain seated at the kitchen table until you arrived.”
“Excellent. Let me see the vic.”
“Sam,” Freddie said.
“I’ll be right with you,” she said to the officer as she stepped back to consult with her partner.
“Virginia McLeod is the woman we were talking about earlier who ripped off her friends,” Freddie said.
Sam processed that information as she signaled to the officer to lead the way. With Freddie and Jeannie following, Sam thought about what she’d heard earlier about this woman. How many people would’ve wanted her dead after she defrauded her own family and friends? Was it ten people or hundreds?
She would find out soon enough.
They walked past a navy-blue Mercedes sedan with District plates parked in the driveway.
In the garage, they encountered a bloodbath—on the floor, walls, ceiling, and splattered on the silver sedan parked on the far side. The victim was on the floor by the door that led into the house, surrounded by a massive pool of blood. The unmistakable smell of death filled the air.
“Any sign of a murder weapon?” Sam asked the officer, who was making an effort not to look at the victim. Once was probably enough.
“Not that we could find on a quick canvass.”
Whatever it was had been sharp and lethal, judging by the wounds to her face and neck. “Where’s Crime Scene?”
“On the way,” the officer said. “As is the medical examiner.”
“Good job, Officer Phillips. Watch for them while we go in to talk to the husband.”
The young officer hightailed it out of the garage, probably relieved to get away from the dead person.
“McBride, take a good look around the garage and the grounds for the weapon.”
“On it,” Jeannie said.
Sam and Freddie went into the house through a breezeway that connected the garage to the kitchen. A silver-haired man was sitting with another Patrol officer, this one a young man who jumped up when he saw Sam coming. She scanned his uniform and found his name tag. Jestings.
“Lieutenant, this is Kenneth McLeod. Mr. McLeod, Lieutenant Holland.”
“I know who she is. Everyone knows who she is.”
All righty, then, Sam thought. “Thank you, Officer Jestings. You can wait for us outside.”
The officer took off, leaving Sam and Freddie alone with the charming husband.
“If your first question is did I kill her, the answer is no, even though I had good reason to. I’m sure you know all about what she did, how she fucked over our family and friends.”
“When did you find that out?” Sam asked, taking a seat at the table while Freddie did the same.
“The same time everyone else did, when she was charged in federal court last week.”
“Prior to that, you had no idea?”
“None.”
“It must’ve made you pretty mad to find out that she’d defrauded people you call friends.”
“Mad,” he said with an ironic smile that made him look mean. “That’s one word for what I was. Do you have any idea what she did to my life? The people she stole from, some of them are my clients.”
“And what do you do?”
“I’m an attorney.”
“What kind?”
“Estate.”
“How many people were taken for a ride by your wife?”
“Hundreds.”
Sam had been afraid of that. Nothing like a murder with motive for days. “And you know them all?”
“Not all, but many of them.”
“How much money are we talking about?”
“Twenty million, give or take.”
“I’m not aware of the case against your wife beyond the basics. Fill me in on what she did and how she did it.” Sam wanted to hear the story in his words.
“She’s in finance, or she was. She puts together investment opportunities for her clients.”
“What kinds of opportunities?”
“Everything from construction to travel to tech. You name it, she’s dabbled in it. The project that got her in trouble was for a real estate business she started, to rehabilitate run-down properties. She would identify properties, get people to invest in them and then promise them returns on their investments when the properties sold.”
“Except,” Freddie said, “most of the properties people were investing in didn’t actually exist.”
“Right,” McLeod said, his expression grim.
“So what’d she do with the money?” Sam asked.
“I have no idea,” McLeod said. “That’s one of many things Ginny will take to her grave with her. However, I’ve come to believe she had a gambling addiction, so that might account for some of it.”
“Where were you today?”
“At the Potomac Country Club all afternoon. I played eighteen holes with three close friends, some of the only friends I have left because they didn’t have enough cash to make them worth her time.”
“We’ll need their contact info.”
“Why?” he asked, seeming astounded that they would check what he’d said.
“Because people lie to our faces all the time.”
“I’m not lying! I played golf.”
“Great, then you won’t have any problem giving us the names and contact numbers for the people you played with.”