Freddie came in with Detectives Arnold, McBride and Tyrone.

“The gang’s all here,” Sam said, nodding to each of her detectives.

“The Feds have lost the game,” Farnsworth announced to groans. “The Special Response Team is handling crowd control in and around the stadium along with the FBI and other federal law enforcement agencies who were already on standby in case we needed them. It’s my belief that we’re going to need them tonight. Everyone listen up as Deputy Chief Conklin hands out assignments.”

Conklin gave out the special radio channel the Operations team would monitor during the night and mentioned the cameras the Special Response Team had trained on the stadium were showing increasing unrest in the area. He went through the roster, doling out orders. Everyone became a patrol officer on a night like this, when the city was overtaken by the unruly masses working out their frustrations over a game gone wrong.

“That’s it, people,” Conklin concluded, after he’d given other tactical instructions. “Let’s hit the streets and be careful out there.”

Sam waited until the others filed out of the room to approach the brass. Her partner, Freddie Cruz, had been sent out with McBride and Tyrone, leaving with a quizzical look for Sam.

“You forgot someone,” Sam said to Conklin.

“No, I didn’t.” He glanced at Farnsworth. “I’ll let you handle this one, sir.”

Farnsworth waited until Conklin and Malone left the room before he met Sam’s intent gaze.

“What gives?” she asked.

“I need you here, helping with command and dispatch.”

“With all due respect, sir, that’s a bunch of happy horseshit. Tell me what’s really going on.”

His steel gray eyes hardened. “I could point out that you’re being insubordinate, Lieutenant Holland. Again.”

“You could but you won’t. What’s the real story? Why am I being wrapped in swaddling clothing all of a sudden?”

“You know why.”

“Arnie Parsons is in jail! This is getting ridiculous! My husband and son have Secret Service agents following them around everywhere they go. I’m being kept off the street.”

“Because you refuse to take the threats seriously. Whether you choose to believe it or not, Parsons has a ton of supporters. Your investigation squashed their dream of seeing him in the White House. They blame you.”

“Um, hello, he’s a murdering, scheming scumbag, and he squashed their dreams.”

“You know that, and I know that, but try and tell them that.”

Arnie’s disciples had taken to the internet and social media since his arrest to denounce the detective who’d tied the murder of Victoria Kavanaugh to Arnie Parsons and his sons. Most of their vitriol had focused on Sam as the detective who’d uncovered the scheme, even though the FBI had made the actual arrests.

“Until the furor dies down,” Farnsworth said, “you’re off the streets.”

“Even if there’s a homicide?”