06 Fatal Mistake Read online

  Her amiable expression hardened. “I never pressed charges. I don’t see what that’s got to do with this.”

  “Was he in one of his moods then too?”

  She hesitated for a long moment, as if choosing her words carefully. “He’d blown a critical save, and it sent him into a tailspin.”

  “What did the tailspin involve?”

  “Another cocaine binge and a couple of hookers—in my house. They wouldn’t get out, so I called the cops. That got rid of the hookers, but needless to say, my husband wasn’t too happy with me for making our private life public.”

  While the incident had happened years ago, Sam could see that the outrage hadn’t lessened with time.

  “I have to ask this—as a wife and a woman—why do you stay with him?”

  “Because,” she said with a sigh, “I’m the only reason he’s still alive. When he’s not out of his mind, he’s sweet and loving and a wonderful father.”

  “You know that with the right medication—”

  Carla held up a hand. “You’re preaching to the choir. I’ve urged him for years to get help for his illness, but he’s so afraid of it ruining his career. And with such a limited amount of time to make his mark in the game and to make as much money as he can, he’s unwilling to risk it. So we live with his demons and do our best to keep them under control.”

  Freddie returned. “Archie’s on it.”

  Sam turned back to Carla. “I have to ask you... Willie’s error resulted in Rick being charged with the loss and the blown save. Would your husband have been upset enough to harm Willie?”

  Carla opened her mouth to protest but nothing came out. “You... You think he killed Willie?”

  “I asked if you thought he’d be mad enough to harm him.”

  “I...I don’t know. I wish I could say absolutely not, but...” She broke down. “I don’t know.”

  “Were they friends?”

  “They were friendly. Good teammates, but they didn’t hang out away from the ballpark or anything like that. Rick was quite a bit older than Willie. They didn’t have a lot in common outside the game.”

  “You need to give me some ideas of where we might be able to find Rick.”

  She ran her fingers through her hair repeatedly. “It depends. He could be anywhere from a seedy hotel in Chinatown to the Ritz.”

  “Hopefully his phone will lead us to him.” Sam wrote her cell number on the back of her business card and handed it to Carla. “If you hear from him, call me. Anytime, night or day.”

  “I will.”

  “I’m also going to speak with the Montgomery County police to see about getting an officer stationed here in case he comes home.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is there someone you could call to come stay with you until we get this sorted out?” Sam asked.

  “I’ll call my sister. She lives in Bethesda.”

  Satisfied that Carla would have support, Sam stood. “We’ll be in touch.”

  Sam strode out of the house. “We need an APB on Rick Lind.”

  “I already got that ball rolling with Malone.”

  “Good job.”

  “And I contacted Montgomery County about sending an officer here to keep an eye out for Lind.”

  “Are you always one step ahead of me and I don’t notice?”

  “Often.”

  “I want to talk to Bob Minor and Ray Jestings. I want to know if the team knew they had a mentally ill player in their midst.”

  “How could they not know?”

  “What do you mean?” Sam asked, taken aback by his vehemence.

  “I haven’t spent that much time with my dad since he’s been back on the scene, but it’s so obvious that he has a problem of some sort. I would’ve recognized that even if I hadn’t already known his history, you know?”

  “I do see what you mean. But your dad is doing okay now, isn’t he?”

  “He seems to be, but there are moments... Glimpses, I guess you’d call them, of the manic side from time to time that worry me. I know my mom sees it too, but we don’t talk about it.”

  They got into the car with Freddie still driving.

  “Are you worried about him?” Sam asked when they were on their way back to the city.

  “I’m more worried about my mom and what’ll become of her if he has another breakdown. She’s so happy—happier than I’ve ever seen her. I don’t want anything to spoil that, you know?”

  “Is he taking his meds?”

  “As far as I know. It’s not something that comes up over dinner. I’d love to ask him, but I don’t have that kind of relationship with him.”

  “Would your mother ask him?”

  “We don’t talk about it.”

  Sam pondered the situation with a growing sense of unease. It had been a big gamble for Freddie and his mom to accept his dad back into their lives more than twenty years after he left without a word to them. He’d confessed to hiding his bipolar disorder from them. Freddie had struggled with the situation and had reluctantly—at first—allowed his dad back into his life. Sam would hate to see him hurt again if his father was unable to maintain the relationship.

  Her cell phone rang and she took the call from Gonzo.

  “I think I’ve got your murder scene.”

  “Where?”

  He rattled off an address that Sam knew was close to the Office of Personnel Management on E Street.

  “Head for Foggy Bottom,” she said to Freddie. To Gonzo, she said, “Rope it off. We’ll be there shortly.”

  “Already done. I’ll be here.”

  On the way, Sam called Lindsey and asked her to come to the scene to get a sample of the blood so they could run the DNA to see if it was a match for Willie. Next she called Deputy Chief Conklin, who had all kinds of contacts within the federal government. “I need security film from OPM and surrounding buildings on E Street Northwest.”

  “I’ll get right on it,” Conklin said. “Assume you’ll want CSU there too, so I’ll take care of getting them dispatched.”

  “You’re the best. Thanks.” She hung up and called Ray Jestings. “Did you know Rick Lind was mentally ill?” she asked without preamble.

  “Ah, well...”

  “Yes or no. Did you know?”

  “Yes, I knew.”

  “Who else knew?”

  “The team physician, Dr. Leonard, and most of the team’s upper management. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Lind hasn’t been seen or heard from since he left the stadium the other night.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Mrs. Lind. She hasn’t heard from him since the game.”

  “Why didn’t she let us know that?”

  “Do I really have to tell you why?”

  Jestings let out a tortured sigh. “I don’t know what you want me to say. We knew he had problems. We knew he was managing his problems. The doctor paid close attention to his situation. What more were we supposed to do?”

  “Do his teammates know about his condition?”

  “They know he has anger issues, and they give him a wide berth, especially when he blows a save.”

  Once again Sam found herself marveling at the sports culture. The Feds had kept a lid on the situation and perhaps endangered his teammates, all because the guy threw a fastball like nobody’s business. “How can I reach Dr. Leonard?”

  “He’s gone to his winter home in Jamaica. I can reach out to him and have him get in touch if you’d like.”

  “I’ll let you know if I need to talk to him.”

  “Whatever we can do.”

  “I’ll be in touch.” Sam ended the call feeling exasperated by the case. “These people are ridiculous. They allow a man with significant anger issues to fill one of the most stressful roles on the team all the while they keep the fact that he has a significant mental illness a secret from his teammates.”

  “They know,” Freddie said. “If they spend any time at all with h
im, they know something isn’t right. As long as he gets the job done and doesn’t direct his anger at any of them, they don’t care any more than the management does about his ‘issues.’”

  “After we view the scene, my next call is to Chris Ortiz. He was Willie’s closest friend on the team. He might be able to shed some light on the relationships between the players.”

  “We’re spending an awful lot of time digging into the team and the management. What makes you so sure it wasn’t a deranged fan who attacked him?”

  “It very well could be, but as I said to Hill when he asked me the same question, there was just enough chaos in Willie’s life and in the lives of other people attached to the team that I’m running on a hunch.”

  “I’m glad your other partner thinks the same way I do.”

  The sarcasm came through loud and clear. “He’s not my other partner, and he’s nothing like you. I much prefer you.”

  “Right, because you can make me your bitch. Not as easy to do that to an FBI agent, is it?”

  Sam fought the urge to squirm under the weight of his accurate assessment. “I do not make you my bitch.” It occurred to her that Nick had used the same term to describe what she’d done to him in bed.

  “Oh, please. Give me a break. Only every day.”

  “That’s not my intention.”

  “Sure it isn’t,” he said, his words laced with humor.

  “Am I a jerk to work for? Tell me the truth.”

  “Shut up, Sam. You know I’m yanking your chain. Don’t go all serious on me.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “You’re not a jerk to work for, but you do like to make me your bitch. I don’t care what you say. You’ll never convince me otherwise.”

  “It’s our thing. Our groove.”

  “It’s a good groove, and I wouldn’t change a thing about it.”

  “You wouldn’t?”

  “Of course not. We’re good together. We get the job done.”

  “Yes, we do. There’s no one else I’d rather partner with. You know that, right?”

  “Even Hill?”

  “Especially Hill. He’s a good cop, but he’s no Freddie Cruz.”

  “Awww, shucks,” he said laughing.

  “Can I tell you something that you have to swear on a stack of bibles not to tell anyone else? Even Elin?”

  “You know you can trust me.”

  “Yes, I do, but this is huge.”

  “Lay it on me.”

  “I think Nick is going to Afghanistan with the president tomorrow.”

  He took his eyes off the road for an instant to look over at her. “You think?”

  “He can’t tell me where he’s going, which led me to my own conclusion.”

  “Wow. That’s so cool. He’ll get to ride on Air Force One.”

  “That’s the part he’s most excited about too.”

  “Who wouldn’t be?”

  “Me, for one. I’d much rather stay home than fly on the president’s plane—or any plane for that matter.” She paused for a long moment. “It scares me to think of him on that huge target with the Stars and Stripes painted on the side.”

  “I’m sure they’re counting on the element of surprise to get them in there without incident.”

  “No doubt. It’s not the going in that worries me. It’s the getting out. Whenever I think about that I break into a cold sweat.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine, Sam. It’s the president for crying out loud. The guy has more protection than any human being alive.”

  “Still...”

  He reached across the car to squeeze her hand. “He’ll be fine, and the trip will do wonders for his campaign and his career.”

  “I know,” she said, comforted by his assurances and the comfort of his hand covering hers. “Thanks for letting me tell you about it.”

  “Anytime.”

  They pulled up to E Street, across from the OPM building. Several squad cars were parked at the curb, and Sam was glad to see the Medical Examiner’s van too. “Let’s hope this is our crime scene,” she said as she and Freddie ducked under the yellow tape one of the patrolmen held up for them.

  Lindsey was on her knees collecting a sample from a huge puddle of blood that had darkened from exposure to the elements.

  “What’s the good word, Doc?”

  Lindsey stood and took a series of photographs. “The consistency is what I’d expect after more than twenty-four hours, and the quantity is in keeping with a blow to the aorta. The proof will be in the DNA. I’ll get it back to the lab and put a rush on it.”

  “We’d appreciate that.”

  As Lindsey walked away, Lieutenant Haggerty, who oversaw the Crime Scene Unit, approached Sam. “What’ve we got, Sam?” He eyed the blood puddle. A former Marine, he was built like a brick shithouse and wore his brown hair buzzed.

  “We’re hoping it’s our Willie Vasquez crime scene. Can you have your people do a thorough search of the surrounding blocks? I’m almost to the point where I’d pay for a murder weapon.”

  “We’ll see what we can find. What’s this about Lind being in the wind?”

  “We’re not sure yet.”

  “Is he a suspect on Vasquez?”

  “We don’t know that either. I’ll let you get to it. Keep me posted on what you find.” As she walked away from him, her phone rang. “What now, Darren?”

  “I heard on the scanner that you’re looking for Lind.”

  “What about it?”

  “Is he a suspect in Vasquez?”

  Sam’s head began to tingle and throb, a sign that she needed to get to her migraine medicine as soon as possible. “No comment.”

  “We’re going to run the fact that you’re looking for him. That’s public info.”

  “Do what you gotta do.”

  “I still can’t mention the Dumpster?”

  “Not if you want the exclusive I promised you.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, Lieutenant.”

  “Gotta go, Darren.” She stashed her phone in her pocket and checked the time. After five. She figured she had another couple of hours before Nick and Scotty would be home from the fundraiser.

  “Where to?” Freddie asked when they were back in the car.

  “HQ.” They rode for a few minutes in silence while Sam mulled over her next steps in the case—among other things. “When we get back to the house, will you see if you can get me a phone number for a Cleary family in the Capitol Hill area. They have a kid named Nathan.”

  “Sure. What’s that about?”

  “The kid punched Scotty at school today.”

  “For real?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “I hope you’re going to throw the badge around on that one.”

  “Maybe just a little.”

  Freddie grunted out a laugh. “If I get you the phone number, can I listen to the call?”

  “I suppose that would only be fair.”

  “Awesome. These are the moments I live for.”

  They walked into HQ together, and while Freddie tracked down the Clearys’ phone number, Sam called Chris Ortiz at his winter home in Florida. The woman who answered the phone didn’t speak any English. Sam fumbled through her request to speak to Señor Ortiz.

  “Un momento, por favor.”

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Chris Ortiz?”

  “Yes. Who’s this?”

  “Lieutenant Sam Holland, Metro PD.”

  “This is about Willie.”

  “It is. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “Sure.”

  “Carmen said you were his closest friend on the team. Is that a fair assessment?”

  “Yes. We came up together in the D.R. When we both ended up playing for the Feds it felt like a lucky break. It was nice to have someone from home there.”

  “Did you see Willie after the game the other night?”

  “No. I asked where he was, and I was told he was in the training room
waiting for the locker room to clear. I thought about going in there to see him, but I figured he wanted to be left alone. If it’d been me, I would’ve wanted to be alone too. I did try to call him a couple of times later that night, but his phone went right to voice mail. And then I heard what happened... I still can’t believe it. It’s so shocking. And sad. It’s really, really sad. His kids are so young.”

  “People on the team were angry with him?”

  “The whole thing is hard to fathom. Willie... He was one of the best center fielders in the game. Not much got by him, which is why it’s so impossible to believe he missed an easy fly ball. Winning that game would’ve meant so much to all of us. It’s the dream, you know?”

  “Was anyone angry enough to want to harm him?”

  After a long pause, Ortiz said, “You’re looking at someone from the team for this?”

  “We’re looking at everyone.”

  “A lot of people were mad at Willie after that game—including a lot of people who didn’t know him personally. How about the thousands of fans who took to the streets to express their anger?”

  “We’re looking at them too. What I need from you, however, is impressions about people close to Willie who might’ve been angry enough to harm him.”

  “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.”