06 Fatal Mistake (6 page)

Another Keystone cop met them in a lobby that was all marble and greenery and opulence. The security guy wore a well-tailored black suit and an earpiece. As Sam wondered if the earpiece made him feel more important, she noticed two other men and a woman, all in suits, all with earpieces and handheld radios. An awful lot of obvious security for a richy-rich condo building, she thought, wondering who else lived in the building.

“Right this way,” the security guy assigned to escort them said. “We figured it was only a matter of time before the angry fans found out where Mr. Vasquez lives, so we’ve ramped up security today.”

Sam appreciated that he didn’t dick around and try to stonewall them the way private security usually did. “Probably not a bad idea.”

“Is everything all right with Mr. Vasquez?” he asked with genuine concern.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that.” He’d find out soon enough that everything was not all right with Mr. Vasquez.

“I understand.” He led them past a reception desk to a bank of elevators and used a key inside to access the top floor. The elevator didn’t make a sound as it whooshed them to the penthouse that made up the seventh and eighth floors.

“Please wait here,” he said when the elevator opened into a hallway with two doors. He proceeded to the door on the left, knocking softly. He spoke in low tones to the domestic who answered the door and then gestured for Sam and Freddie to come. They were ushered into what could only be called a palace with a breathtaking view of Washington Harbor, Georgetown, the Key Bridge and Arlington National Cemetery across the river. The maid showed them to a sitting room and said she would get Mrs. Vasquez.

“Wow,” Freddie whispered as he took in the plush digs. “Baseball has been very,
very
good to him.”

“Seriously.”

A pretty, petite young woman with dark hair and red, puffy eyes came running into the room. “Are you from the team?” She spoke with a heavy Hispanic accent and looked more like a teenager than a wife and mother. “Did they send you? Were they able to find my Willie?”

“Carmen Vasquez?” Sam asked.

“Yes.” She came over to Sam and gripped her arm frantically. “Tell me you found him. Please tell me.”

Sam wished in that moment to be anywhere else in the world. “Come have a seat.”

“No, I don’t want to sit. I want to know what’s going on.”

A little dark-haired boy came toddling into the room, dragging a blanket behind him. Judging by his size, Sam gauged him to be Miguel, the older of their two sons. “Mama...
¿Qué te pasa?
¿Por qué estás triste?
¿Dónde está papá?
”

His mother picked him up, whispered to him and handed him over to the maid.

Sam glanced at Freddie and saw the same unbearable sadness etched into his expression that she was feeling. She’d learned over the years to say it quickly, to put it out there and get it over with. But this time the words got stuck on the lump in her throat.

Sensing her distress, Freddie stepped forward. “
Señora Vasquez
,
lo siento pero tengo que decirle que su marido fue encontrado asesinado
.”

Carmen screamed and clawed at Freddie’s chest. “
Por favor dime que no es verdad.
No
,
no
,
no.
”

“
Lo siento.
Ojalà pudiera.
”

Thankfully, Cruz was standing close enough to catch Carmen when she fainted. He eased her onto a sofa.

“Go find the maid,” Sam said to the security guy, who watched the scene unfold with big eyes and shock etched into his expression. He didn’t need to speak Spanish to understand what’d just happened. “Get a cold cloth and some water. Hurry.”

By the time Carmen regained consciousness a minute later, he had returned with the items Sam requested.

Freddie ran the cloth over Carmen’s tearstained face. “
Toma una respiración profunda.
”

“
Por favor
,
dime que no se verdad susurró.
” Her voice was little more than a whisper.

“
Lo siento.
”

“No,” Carmen said as she broke down again. “
Por favor
,
no.
” She glanced at Sam and thankfully switched to English. “He can’t be dead. Not my Willie. It wasn’t his fault. He made a mistake. People make mistakes all the time. How could they kill him over it?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said, “but I promise we’ll do all we can to find out what happened.” She stopped short of assuring the other woman that she’d definitely get the murderer. For the first time in her illustrious career, she’d come across a case in which tens of thousands of people—perhaps even hundreds of thousands—had a motive for murder.

Carmen fixed her gaze on Sam. “I know you. Have we met?”

Sam shook her head. “I’m married to Senator Cappuano from Virginia. That’s probably how you know me.”

“Yes, we saw you at the convention. Willie admired your husband.”

“My son admired your husband. He was very kind to him at a camp this past summer.”

“That’s my Willie.” Her eyes welled with new tears. “He’s kind to everyone. He never hurt anyone.” She looked up at Sam with watery brown eyes. “How...”

“He was stabbed in the chest. The medical examiner believes he died very quickly.”

With her hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs, Carmen shook her head as if to deny what Sam had told her.

“Is there someone we could call for you? A friend or family member?”

Carmen took a moment to collect herself, to wipe the tears from her face and to sit up a bit. “Yesterday, I would’ve been able to give you a list of friends, mostly Willie’s teammates and their wives or girlfriends. When he didn’t come home last night, I called them all to see if they knew where he was, and none of them answered. The only one who took my call was Ray Jestings.”

“When did you last speak to Willie?” Freddie asked.

“Before the game. He called about twenty minutes before it started.”

“Did he express any worries or concerns about the game, other than the obvious stress of the play-offs?” Sam asked.

“No, he was very calm all day. Determined. Focused. He spent the morning playing with the boys and left for the ballpark around two.”

“Did you attend the game?”

Carmen shook her head. “My younger son has been sick, so I stayed home with the boys.” She paused, her eyes filling again. “I’m glad now that I wasn’t there. I was so upset when it happened. I knew how awful he must be feeling, and when they started throwing trash at him...”

Sam ached at the thought of having to tell her he’d been found in a Dumpster. They’d be keeping that detail to themselves—for now.

“Did he have problems with anyone on the team?”

“No, they all loved him. They even made him one of their captains this season. He was so proud of that. He’d worked so hard for so long... He made one mistake.
One
. And someone
killed
him for it?”

“We don’t know anything yet,” Sam said.

“But that’s why! They killed him because he missed that ball! How do I tell my boys that their papa died because he didn’t catch a ball?”

Sam didn’t want to think about her own son finding out about the ballplayer’s senseless death, let alone Willie’s sons. She sat next to Carmen and took her hand. “I’ve been doing this a long time, long enough that I’ve seen the worst of humankind—and the best. The one thing I’ve never understood is how anyone can take a life. I hope I never reach the point in my career where that makes sense to me. I’ve also learned that the most obvious motive often has nothing to do with what really happened. There’s a good chance this will never make sense to you. If we do our jobs, you’ll know how it happened, but you may never know exactly why.”

“What am I supposed to do now? He was my whole world. Willie and our boys. They’re my world.” When she sagged, Sam put an arm around her, something she rarely did with strangers.

“I need to know if Willie had a cell phone.”

“Yes, he had it with him all the time in case I needed to reach him.”

“It wasn’t on him when we found him, so I’ll need the number.” Sam dropped her arm from around Carmen’s shoulders to write down the number as Carmen recited it for her.

“Could we call your family or his?” Freddie asked. “You’ll want them to know what’s happened before his death is reported on the news.”

“I’ll call my brother,” she said, defeated as acceptance began to settle in. “He’ll take care of telling Willie’s family, and he’ll come here to be with me.”

“Where is he?” Freddie asked.

“In the D.R.”

“If you’d like me to wait here with you until he arrives, I’d be happy to do that,” Freddie offered, glancing at Sam.

After the night without sleep, they were running on fumes and would have to quit soon anyway. She gave a short nod to grant her approval.

“Do you want me to call your brother for you?” Freddie asked.

“Yes, please. I don’t think I could say the words.”

“I’ll say them for you,” he said.

Before she left, she took Freddie aside. “You came here hungry. Want me to have something sent over for you?”

He shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ve lost my appetite.”

She could understand why. “When the brother gets here, go home. Meet me at HQ at zero seven hundred. You did good with her, Detective.”

“Glad you thought so. I was dying inside.”

“Me too.”

He handed over her keys. “Where’re you going from here?”

“The ballpark.”

* * *

On the way to the Federals’ stadium, which was named after a credit card company Sam had never heard of and could never remember the name of, she called dispatch.

“This is Lieutenant Holland. I need to speak to the officer in charge of patrol at the moment.”

“Just a moment please, Lieutenant.”

She waited on hold for a long time, listening to weird instrumental music that made her long for her earbuds. Finally, the call went through.

“Stahl.”

If she hadn’t been driving, she would’ve rolled her eyes to high heaven. “I asked for patrol, not the rat squad.”

“What do you want, Holland?”

“I want to speak to the officer in charge of patrol.”

“You got him.”

“What’re you doing there?”

“Covering for the lieutenant who worked all night on crowd control, not that it’s any of your business.”

“Oh that’s right, you Internal Affairs types don’t get the recall messages that the rest of us get. I hope you had a good night’s sleep while our city was being torn apart.”

“Is there a purpose for this call? If not, I’ve got better—”

“Be quiet and listen to me.” Was it possible to
hear
a person’s face turn purple? Sam smiled at the images that danced through her mind. “I need a thorough sweep of the entire Southwestern quadrant of the city, from Potomac Avenue to Independence. We’re looking for a large quantity of blood. It would be hard to miss.”

“And you expect me to devote our currently limited resources to a witch hunt for you?”

“We’re looking for a murder scene, you stupid ass. Get patrol on it, or I’ll get Farnsworth on you.”

“That’s right, all you have to do is snap your fingers, and he jumps. Are you sleeping with him, Holland? Because that would explain a lot—”

Before he could say anything else that would make her understand how someone could commit murder, Sam ended the call. “Fucking bastard.” For insurance purposes, she placed a call to her superior officer and mentor, Detective Captain Malone.

“Holland? I heard you caught a homicide.”

“What in the name of hell is Rat Face Stahl doing in charge of patrol?”

“Good morning to you too. He’s filling in. We’re extremely short-handed today after everyone worked all night.”

“Why can’t they work all day too? We are.”

“Not everyone has your squad’s dedication to duty, Lieutenant.”

“Are you patronizing me, Captain?”

“Would I be foolish enough to patronize you? What can I do for you?”

She told him what she knew so far about the Vasquez murder, which wasn’t much, and what she needed from patrol officers.

“I’ll see to it. We’re going to need to put our heads together about how to go public with this.”

“That’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. My next stop was going to be the ballpark, but if I go there we’ll tip our hand and the team is apt to take control of the story. I’d really like to see their reactions when they hear the news. So I was thinking, I’ll go over there and break the news to the team, while you all handle the media at the same time. And P.S., I’m going to take Agent Hill with me. He knows the owner, Jestings, and can smooth the way a bit.”

“I like the plan, but I’d like the chief to sign off on it. Stand by, and I’ll call you back in twenty minutes.”

“Standing by. Can you send me to Archelotta?”

“Hang on.”

The lieutenant of the IT division, also the only fellow officer Sam had dallied with romantically, picked up on the third ring. “Archelotta.”

“Hey, it’s Holland.”

“How’s it going? Heard you caught a homicide.”

“Yeah, Willie Vasquez.”

“No way. No
fucking
way.”

“Can you see if you can get a signal from his phone? It wasn’t on him when we found him.”

“Sure. Whatever I can do.”

Sam gave him the number.

“I’ll call you as soon as I have anything. Might take a while though. I heard cell service has been interrupted in some sectors because of the riots.”

“We’ll take whatever we can get.”

“Gotcha. I’ll be in touch.”

As long as she had some time, she stopped for a sandwich and treated herself to a rare diet cola. If there’d ever been a time for a caffeine boost, this was it. Thirty hours without sleep was beginning to make her muzzy around the edges. While she ate in the car, she placed a call to her dad’s house.

“We were wondering when we’d hear from you, Sam,” her stepmother, Celia, said. “Long night?”

“Very long and not over yet. We’re still at it.”