06 Fatal Mistake (22 page)

“Everyone was upset. People were stunned. How could this have happened? I heard that asked over and over that night. No one could make sense of it. Was there some anger? Hell, yes. I was pissed at him, and he’s my friend. The public sees us as a bunch of overpaid jocks, and we are that. For sure. But we’re also fierce competitors. We want to
win
. We’re all going to relive that moment for the rest of our lives and ask why. Why didn’t he catch that ball?”

“Anyone particularly angry?”

“I’m sure you’ve already heard that Lind was off the rails, as usual.”

“What do you mean ‘as usual’?”

“Something isn’t right with that guy. No one has ever clued me in on what it is, but you don’t have to be a doctor to know he has some anger problems, among other things.”

“What other things?”

He hesitated and cleared his throat. “Off the record?”

“If I need whatever you tell me to build a case it’s not off the record. If I don’t need it, it is.”

Sighing, Ortiz said, “He likes the ladies. At home he plays the part of the happy family guy, but on the road... That’s another story. He has a woman in every city.”

Sam thought of Carla Lind and what she’d been through trying to keep her husband healthy enough to play the game he loved, the same game that had made him wealthy. “Is that common among the players?”

“I’d like to say no, but there are a few who get around. No one quite like Lind, though. I’m not into minding other people’s business, but I feel sorry for Carla. She seems like a nice girl, and she’s totally oblivious to what he’s up to when she’s not around. I hate that.”

“Did Willie get busy on the road too?”

“Not that I ever knew about. That’s not how he rolled.”

“How did he roll?”

“He was a straight shooter. What you saw was what you got. I always like that about him. Even after he hit the big time, he was still the same guy I grew up with. I like to think that fame and fortune didn’t change either of us all that much. Outwardly, sure... We both have the homes and the cars, the
stuff
. But who we are underneath it all? That didn’t change. At least not as far as I could see.”

“There’s been some talk of a possible affair between Willie and Jamie Clark.”

“No way,” Ortiz said, his scoff audible over the phone. “Whoever is saying that is full of shit. They were friends. That’s it.”

Sam had already come to that conclusion but appreciated his take on it. “Were you aware of the problems he’d had with Carmen’s brother?”

“We talked about it a little. He asked me once if everyone in my family—and my wife’s family—are after me for money all the time the way they were with him.”

“Were they?”

“Not like Willie’s family. My wife and I have a few in both our families who aren’t shy about asking us for money, but Willie’s family—and Carmen’s—were over the top with it. They treated him like a bank, and after he cut them off, it got kinda ugly.”

“How so?”

“He had a fight with her brother Marco at spring training. He came to our facility in Fort Myers and got into it with Willie as he was coming off the field. A couple of us had to get between them to keep it from escalating.”

“Were the police called?”

“Yeah, I think someone from the team called them.”

Sam made a note to get a copy of the report from the police in Fort Myers. “Did you hear anything that was said between them?”

“Marco was hassling him about what it meant to be family and how Willie had forgotten where he came from. Willie hung out with Marco when they were kids. That’s how he met Carmen.”

As that was something Sam hadn’t heard before, she made a note of it. “Did he say anything to you about the confrontation with Marco?”

“Just that he was bummed about it, how they used to be friends before Willie became successful. Now Marco was all about the money.”

“That must’ve been tough on him.”

“It was. It’s tough on all of us. You gotta understand—we’re just regular guys who got really, really lucky to make it in baseball. A lot of guys we grew up with were just as good as we are but never made it to the big time. Those of us who did... Well, no one prepares you for how to handle being suddenly crazy rich, especially guys like me and Willie who grew up with less than nothing.”

“Did you hear anyone on the team make overt threats to Willie’s safety after the game?”

“Lind. He was pretty pissed, but then again he usually is. We don’t pay much attention to his rants anymore.”

“What did you hear him say?”

“That he’d kill that bastard if he could get his hands on him, and it was a good thing he was hiding out like the pussy he is. Stuff like that.”

“Have you spoken to Lind since the game?”

“No, but that’s not unusual. We aren’t friends.”

“Did you happen to see Lind leave the stadium after the game?”

“No, but everyone went their own way after the media crap was done.”

“Did Lind meet with the media?” she asked.

“I believe he refused to, but don’t quote me on that.”

Sam made a note to check on whether Lind was interviewed after the game. “Anyone else spouting about Willie?”

“Cecil Mulroney was pretty mad too.”

“Do you know where I might reach him in the off-season?”

“He’s at his ranch in Texas. Hang on a sec. I’ll get you the number.”

While she waited, Sam realized she’d missed the boat by allowing the ballplayers to leave town while the investigation was still active. She might not have prevailed in keeping the whole team in the city, but not trying was another thing she could blame on the fatigue of a sleepless night.

“Ready?” Ortiz said when he came back on the line.

“Go.” She wrote down the number. “Let me give you mine in case you think of anything else that might be relevant to the investigation.”

“Sure. So you won’t tell Mulroney who gave you his number, will you?”

“I can say I got it from the team.”

“I’d appreciate that. We’ve got to play together again next year, and I don’t need that kind of crap with my teammates.”

“I understand, and I appreciate your time. I’m sorry for the loss of your friend.”

“Thanks. It’s crazy when you think about how someone probably killed Willie because of a baseball game.”

“Crazy indeed. Call me if you think of anything else.”

“I will.”

Sam ended the call and sat back in her chair, feet on the desk as she stared at the wall, rehashing everything she’d learned about Willie, the team, professional sports, the culture that surrounded the games, the family members and the missing teammate. None of it added up to murder.

She’d known all along that this investigation could end any number of ways. It could turn into a cold case in which the murderer was never found. It could lead to someone Willie had known—someone who was infuriated by his failure to catch that fly ball or perhaps a family member who felt entitled to share in Willie’s riches. Or it could’ve been a completely random act of violence that occurred in the midst of a riot brought on by his error.

Over the years, Sam had learned to trust her instincts. They hadn’t led her wrong yet. Everything in her was leading her to focus on the people around the slain ballplayer. There was just too much hate and discontent in his life to write off his murder as a random act committed by an aggrieved fan. That would be too simple. As mad as the fans had been, most of them weren’t murderers. Despite that, however, she wasn’t ready to rule out the possibility of a random act either.

And then there was the fact that the team was awfully new to the city for people to care enough to commit murder over a painful loss. Other far more established baseball teams had suffered much longer losing streaks, and no one had been killed over an error on the field. If Red Sox fans allowed Bill Buckner to live after his World Series error, surely the Feds fans wouldn’t be out for blood from Willie, right?

She got up and went to the doorway to her office. “Everyone in the conference room. Five minutes. Cruz, get Charity and Archie down here.”

It was time to start over and go through it all one more time.

Chapter Thirteen

“Where are we with Vasquez’s financials?” Sam asked Charity when everyone was in the room.

“Forrester has been promised something by first thing in the morning. I’ll let you know the second I have them.”

“Good, thanks. Archie, how’s it going with the film?”

“Nothing yet, but we’re only about halfway through all of it. I’ve got three people on it, but it’s slow going.”

“We’ll have more for you from what we think is our murder scene.”

“Bring it up as soon as you have it. I’ll put some second—and third-shift people on it.” Sam glanced at Freddie, who nodded to let her know he’d take care of that.

“The restraining orders might be a dead end,” Sam said. “Most of them involve overly enthusiastic women who wouldn’t take no for an answer. The notable exception is Willie’s brother-in-law, Marco Peña. Agent Hill has gone to the Dominican Republic to track him down and hopefully have a chat with him about his problems with Willie. I’m going to take one more look at the restraining orders tonight. We also learned this afternoon that Feds closer Rick Lind hasn’t been seen or heard from since the game.”

That news sent a low murmur through the room.

“Second vic?” Gonzo asked, echoing a thought Sam had also had.

“I’m not so sure.” Sam relayed what they’d learned from Lind’s wife about his illness.

“So everyone around him knew that he was seriously ill, but they kept it quiet because he could throw a hundred-mile-an-hour fastball better than anyone in the game?” Gonzo asked.

“Apparently.”

“This case is making me want to permanently swear off all interest in professional sports,” Gonzo muttered.

“So what’s our plan where Lind is concerned?” Malone asked from his usual post in the back of the room.

“We’ve law enforcement in the Metro area looking for him, and his disappearance has hit the media. His wife couldn’t give us much insight on where he might be. I gathered from her that his disappearing acts aren’t new, and she never knows where he’s been when he resurfaces. I issued the APB only because of what happened to Willie, and because if we have a killer out to avenge the people who caused the loss, Lind might be on his or her list.”

“How do you figure?” Freddie asked. “Vasquez was the one who missed the ball.”

“Lind had plenty of chances to close out the game before that fly ball was ever hit,” Gonzo said.

“Right,” Sam said. “Most of the blame fell on Vasquez for missing an easy fly, but let’s not forget that Lind had ample opportunity to end the game and failed to get it done.”

“So if they’re both missing and say Lind is presumed murdered too, then that would rule out a random act by an enraged fan,” Freddie said.

“Exactly,” Sam said. “I’m going to have Carlucci and Dominguez track down the car service Lind used before the game to find out if they had any contact with him after. Someone had to see him leave the stadium. I’ll reach out to the team owner and have him get with his security people to figure out who was the last one to see Lind after the game.” She relayed the highlights of her conversation with Chris Ortiz. “I’ll also be reaching out to Cecil Mulroney when I get a chance.” To Arnold, she said, “Anything on the phone logs?”

“Nothing that stands out, but I’m only about halfway through the six hundred calls he received after the game.”

“How do people get the phone number of a professional baseball player?” Jeannie asked.

“Our good friend Ben Markinson at WFBR did the post-game show and put it on the radio so fans could call him to express their displeasure with his performance,” Gonzo said.

“There’s got to be something we can charge him with for doing that,” Sam said.

“I’ll think of something,” Malone said.

“Jeannie, where are we with Willie’s car?”

“CSU has gone over it and they’re taking it back to the lab. We were able to retrieve his phone, and it’s being processed for prints as well as GPS locations.”

“We need a thread to pull,” Sam said. “Let’s hope this leads to one. Thanks everyone. Keep me posted.”

While Sam gathered up her belongings, the others filed out of the room.

Jeannie hung back. “You sound frustrated,” she said when she and Sam were alone. “That isn’t like you.”

“Funny, I feel like I’m usually frustrated in this job.”

Jeannie smiled. “You hide it well. So, um, I was wondering... Could I talk to you about something personal?”

Sam experienced a twinge of anxiety. She and Jeannie had been through a lot together, especially since Jeannie was kidnapped and raped during an earlier investigation. The detective had been doing much better, but Sam was always watchful for signs of ongoing post-traumatic stress. “Of course. Do you want to close the door?”

“That’d be great. Thanks.” Jeannie closed the conference room door and turned back to Sam with a shy, hesitant look on her face. “This is awkward.”

“Spit it out. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out the way we always do.”

Rather than return to the seat, Jeannie stood behind it, her fingers digging into the vinyl. “Michael and I have set a wedding date.”

“Oh, hey, that’s great news. When’s the big day?”

“July 18. We’re going to do it out at Rehoboth Beach.”

“That’ll be really nice.”

“I hope so. The thing is... You know how this job can be. It’s all-consuming. It doesn’t leave much time for a life or friends outside of work.”

“You won’t hear any argument from me on that.”

“My sisters are going to be my matrons of honor, but I was sort of hoping that I might convince you to be an attendant too. You’ve become one of my best friends. I hope you know that.”

“Oh, wow, well... That’s very nice of you.”

“You don’t want to, do you?”

“I very much want to, and I’m honored that you would ask. I think of you as a good friend too. You know I do.”

“But?”

“I’d be concerned about the message it would send to the rest of the squad if I make such a public statement of personal friendship with you.”

“Of course. I understand. I’m sorry if I put you in an uncomfortable position.”

“You didn’t. And I’m not saying no. Since this is a first for me since taking command of the squad, let me run it up the flagpole and see what the brass has to say about it.”

“I wouldn’t want you to stick your neck out over it, Sam.”

“I’m not.” Sam got up and went around the desk to hug her detective—and her friend. “I’m very happy that everything has worked out for you and Michael.”

“Thank you,” Jeannie said, returning the embrace. “He was such a rock after what happened. It showed me everything I needed to know about who he really is.”

“You know I’m one of his biggest fans, so no matter what, I’ll be there with bells on for the wedding.”

“That means a lot. I’d better get back to work. I’ll keep you posted on what comes back from the car.”

“And I’ll let you know what the powers that be have to say about weddings and whatnot.”

Jeannie left her with a warm smile.

Sam walked out of the conference room feeling oddly elated by the conversation with Jeannie. Like Jeannie said—with so much time spent at work, there wasn’t much time for outside relationships except with her husband, son, dad, stepmother, sisters and their families.

When she was younger, Sam had a lot of girlfriends but she’d fallen out of touch with most of them because of the endless demands of her job. Jeannie, Lindsey, Charity, Faith and Hope were all colleagues, but they filled the void in some ways. Anytime she needed a female perspective, there was always one to be found at work, and they were all women she admired and respected. She supposed she should count Shelby among her new friends too. Despite the fact that she was their paid assistant, she had been a friend first.

Anxious to get home to her guys, she gathered up the stack of restraining orders and jammed the huge pile of paper into a tote bag that she unearthed from under her desk.

Cruz came in and handed her a slip of paper. “Nathan’s home number. Parents are Patty and Dave.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you going to call now?”

“I suppose there’s no time like the present. Close the door, will you?”

He pushed the door closed and took a seat in one of her visitor chairs.

Sam pressed the speaker button on her desk phone and waited for a dial tone before she punched in the numbers. As it rang, she glanced at Freddie and saw him watching the phone intently. He was such a good friend that he was as mad as she was about what had happened to Scotty at school.

“Hello?” a female voice said. She sounded like she’d run for the phone.

“Is this Mrs. Cleary?”

“It is. Who’s this?”

“Lieutenant Sam Holland with the Metro Police.”

“Oh, sure. I recognize your name. What can I do for you?”

“I’m not sure if you’re aware of the fact that your son Nathan punched my son Scotty in the stomach at school today.”

“He did what? I didn’t hear anything about that. The school never called me.”

“Only because Scotty chose not to make it an issue at school. Since it was important to him that we not involve the school, I thought perhaps you and I might work this out between us.”

“What’s there to work out? They’re boys. Boys scuffle. It’s what they do.”

Sam glanced at Freddie, who was now frowning. “It’s also assault, and in my world, that’s a criminal offense.”

“Are you
threatening
me?”

“Not at all. I’m simply telling you to tell your kid to stay far, far,
far
away from mine. And you could also mention that Scotty’s mother the cop won’t overlook it next time.”

“That sounds an awful lot like a threat to me.”

“It’s not a threat. It’s a promise. If he hits my son again, we’ll press charges—and I know how to make them stick. Any questions?”

After a very long pause, Mrs. Cleary said, “No. No questions.”

“Another thing—if Nathan makes Scotty a social pariah because of this, I won’t look fondly upon that either. Bottom line, tell your kid to leave my kid alone, and we won’t have any further reason to speak to each other. Got me?”

“I got it.” A loud click was followed by a dial tone.

Sam put down the phone. “I think that went well.”

Freddie laughed. “You made your point, that’s for sure.”

“Scotty would be mad if he knew I’d done that.”

“You can’t let some other kid assault him and not do anything about it.”

“Still...”

“You’re a great mom, Sam. You did the same thing my mom or any other mom would do in this situation. Scotty might not want you to do anything about it, but he has to know you’re not going to just let something like this go.”

“Thanks for the support. I’m ready to get out of here. Go home and get some sleep. I’ll see you bright and early.”

“See you then.”

Sam had just closed the door and was about to lock it when Archie came into the pit and pointed at her office. Her departure foiled, she went back into the office and turned on the lights. “Didn’t I just see you?”

Archie followed her and closed the door behind him. “I got back to my office to find that we’ve got Stahl screwed every which way to Tuesday.” He held up a flash drive. “Caught on camera at the time the call was made to the
Star
from the Lieutenants’ Lounge. He’s the only one in there.”

Sam’s heart beat faster as she absorbed the implications. “We have to take this to the chief.”

“Right now?”

“I’ve got nothing better to do. Do you?”

They both did, but Archie smiled anyway. “Not a thing. Shall we?”

“After you.”

As they walked to the chief’s suite in silence, Sam had to force herself to keep calm as the thought of being rid of Stahl once and for all sent hope surging through her.
Don’t get ahead of yourself
, she thought as the chief’s admin waved them into his office.

“Lieutenants,” Farnsworth said, rising as Archie closed the door behind him. “What can I do for you?”

“Lieutenant Archelotta has determined where our leak came from in the Vasquez investigation,” Sam said.

“I was able to trace the call to the
Star
from the Lieutenants’ Lounge. With the help of video surveillance, I determined who was in the lounge at the time the call was made.” He held up the flash drive and gestured to the chief’s computer. “May I?”

“By all means,” the chief said, frowning as he stepped aside to make room for Archie.

Sam’s palms were clammy as she waited for the video to pop up on the screen. When it did, Stahl was plainly visible and could be heard speaking about Willie Vasquez. “You didn’t hear this from me,” he said, “but they found the guy in a Dumpster. Someone decided to take out the trash.”

Farnsworth’s expression was positively thunderous when he reached for his phone. “Please ask Deputy Chief Conklin and Captain Malone to come in here. Thank you.”

The three of them coexisted in tense silence until Conklin and Malone arrived.

“Lieutenant Archelotta, will you please tell Deputy Chief Conklin and Captain Malone what you told me?”

Archie went through the whole thing again, from the tip received by
Star
reporter Darren Tabor to tracing the call to the Lieutenants’ Lounge to catching Stahl red-handed on the video, which was no less startling the second time Sam saw it.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Conklin said.

“The guy’s got balls,” Malone added. “You gotta give him that.”

Stone-faced, Farnsworth picked up the phone again. “Please ask Lieutenant Stahl to come in here immediately.”

Stahl arrived ten minutes later with a knock on the door. “You wanted to see me, Chief?” His eyes narrowed with displeasure when they landed on Sam. “What’s going on?”

“I’d like to know,” Farnsworth said, “if you had anything at all to do with a tip that Darren Tabor from the
Washington Star
received about the Vasquez case regarding something we were intentionally withholding from the public.”

Stahl’s face turned the unhealthy shade of purple that Sam often inspired in him. “Did
she
tell you that?” He jabbed a thumb in Sam’s direction.