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“No problem.”
Freddie stood and went to Cam’s cubicle. “I need you and Matt to go to Hershey, Pennsylvania, and pick up Pascal and Gia Cortez at this address.” He caught them up on the situation and what they had so far on the Cortezes.
“Got it. Matt, let’s go.”
“Thanks, Cam.”
“Sure thing.”
“Gonzo says we’re authorized for overtime on this one.”
“Glad to hear it, thanks,” Cam said.
“When you get there, contact this sergeant with the local police. He said they’ll provide backup. In the meantime, they’ve got eyes on them.”
Cameron took the piece of paper with the number on it. “I’ll let you know when we have them in custody.”
“They have kids, so be mindful.”
“Will do.”
After Cam and Matt left, Freddie went to the conference room, intending to look more closely at the people involved in the lawsuit.
Captain Malone appeared in the doorway a minute later. “The press is going nuts wanting an update on Blanchet. Can you brief them?”
That was another thing he’d never pictured himself doing, even if he’d done it before. Would it ever come naturally to him? Probably not. “Sure, I can do that. Let me ask you something, though.”
“What’s up?”
“We know for a fact that this wasn’t a murder-suicide, but I shouldn’t tell anyone that yet, right?”
“What’s your thinking?”
“I wouldn’t want to let the murderer know that we know the scene was staged.”
“Exactly right.”
“Okay, thanks for confirming. I’m learning to trust myself, but I’m not quite there yet.”
“You’re doing great.”
“I’ve had great training.”
“It shows.”
“Thank you, Captain. That means a lot coming from you. I’ll get outside to brief the media in a few minutes.”
“Come get me. I’ll go out with you.”
After he walked away, Freddie took a minute to go through his notes and to summarize what he would say at the briefing. When he felt as ready as he’d ever be, he stopped to get Malone, and the two of them went outside to face the media scrum that spent most of their days waiting for news that often never came. Any time he thought his job sucked, Freddie thought of them. Their job sucked way worse than his ever would.
“Monday morning, the bodies of Dr. Marcel Blanchet, age forty-two, his wife, Liliana, also forty-two, and their four children, Eloise, twelve, Abigail, ten, Violet, six, and August, known as Gus, four, were found shot to death in their Cathedral Heights home. Dr. Blanchet was an OB/GYN infertility specialist. Mrs. Blanchet was an attorney. Their children attended DC public schools, and Eloise Blanchet was an accomplished gymnast who’d won several local and regional competitions. As we always do in these cases, we are talking to the people who knew the family best and trying to ascertain what took place in the Blanchets’ home. That’s all we have at this time. We’ll conduct another briefing as soon as we have more to report. If anyone has information pertaining to the case, please call our tip line.” He recited the number twice.
“Was it a murder-suicide?”
“Where is the first lady?”
“Do you think the murders were related to the lawsuit against the father?”
