06 Fatal Mistake Page 9

  He gestured to Sam and Avery. “This is FBI Special Agent Avery Hill, an old friend of mine from Charleston, and MPD Lieutenant Holland.”

  Bob shook hands with both of them and sat next to Ray. “What can we do for you folks?”

  “Mr. Minor,” Sam said, “I’m sorry to have to tell you that Willie Vasquez was found dead this morning.”

  “What? Dead?” Bob looked at Ray, who nodded grimly. “Oh my God. What happened?”

  “He was stabbed in the chest,” Sam said.

  “Where did this happen?”

  “We’re not sharing those details at this time.”

  “We have the right to know what happened to our friend and colleague,” Bob said, a hint of temper flashing in his blue eyes.

  “And we have the right to protect our investigation,” Sam replied. She loved when people talked about their rights, as if they trumped the rights of the victim. In Sam’s world, nothing trumped the rights of her victim du jour. “We need to know every move Mr. Vasquez made, from the time he was escorted off the field by your security personnel until the time he left the stadium.”

  Ray got up again and went to his phone. “Aaron, get Hugh up here, will you please?”

  “Mr. Minor,” Sam said, “when we spoke with Mrs. Vasquez, she told us she repeatedly tried to call you and all the other players last night when her husband didn’t come home. She said she was unable to get through to anyone other than Mr. Jestings, which led her to believe all their former friends had turned their backs on them in light of Willie’s error.”

  Bob’s face got even redder than it was naturally. “That’s not true! I got seven hundred phone calls last night. That’s seven zero zero. I turned off my phone before the game and didn’t turn it on again until this morning. If Carmen Vasquez called, that’s news to me. I’m sure our players were dealing with the same thing—a barrage of calls from their management and media requests and old friends wanting to commiserate.”

  “How would you explain that none of their spouses took Carmen’s calls either?”

  “Lieutenant,” he said in a patronizing tone that grated on Sam’s tired nerves, “people were upset about what happened in the game. Willie’s error cost this team a trip to the World Series. No matter how much we all liked him, that’s a fact. People were upset.”

  “Was anyone upset enough to kill him?”

  He maintained his composure, but his outrage at the question came through loud and clear to her. “No one on my team was upset enough to kill him.”

  After a knock on the door, a tall, blonde woman came into the room. Her blue eyes were red and raw from crying. Like the rest of the city, these people were taking a lost ball game a little too hard. “I got a message you wanted to see me?” she said to Ray.

  He introduced Jamie Clark to Sam and Hill. “Jamie is the team’s trainer.” To Sam, he said, “Um, should I tell her?”

  “Go ahead.” That made one less person Sam had to tell.

  “Tell me what?” Jamie asked, looking from Ray to Bob.

  “Willie was killed last night,” Ray said.

  Her legs buckled. “No. No, no, no.”

  Ray reached for her and caught her in his arms when she would’ve fallen. Bob scooted over to make room for Jamie on the sofa.

  Sam glanced at Hill and caught his eye. It was interesting, she thought, that Jamie’s response to the news had been almost exactly the same as that of Carmen Vasquez. Very interesting, indeed. She’d worked with Hill enough by now to conclude that he too found the reaction odd, based on the way he’d tuned into Jamie’s intense reaction as well as the subtle lift of his eyebrow.

  “Ms. Clark,” Sam said after water had been brought in for the other woman, “we’re very sorry for your loss. As you can imagine, we have a lot of ground to cover in our investigation and it would help to know anything you can tell us about Mr. Vasquez’s movements after he was escorted from the field.”

  She took a tissue from the box Ray offered and wiped her tears. “I’m not sure what transpired between the field and the training room, but I was with Willie last night after the game. I might’ve been the last member of the Feds organization to see him alive.”

  “Why do you say that?” Sam asked.

  After she took another full minute to pull herself together, she spoke softly. “Willie has battled hamstring pulls this season, so we’ve worked closely over the last few months and became friends. I usually take the Metro home to Adams Morgan after the games, but he offered to give me a ride because the city went nuts after the game.” Her voice broke, and she paused to deal with a new influx of tears. “It had to be two hours or more after the game ended when we finally left. Team security walked us to his car. Do you need the information about his car? He just got a new Lincoln a couple of weeks ago.”

  “We have it,” Sam said. “But thank you.”

  “When you left,” Hill said, “were there still a lot of people around the stadium?”

  “Some, but most of the craziness had started to move away from the stadium by then.”

  “So no one other than the security personnel saw you leave with him?” Sam asked.

  She shook her head. “I didn’t see anyone I knew in the player parking lot when the security detail walked us out.”

  “Any unhappy fans hanging around, hoping for a glimpse of Willie?” Sam asked.

  “Not that I saw. But that doesn’t mean they weren’t there. I was focused on Willie. He was so upset. I was worried he shouldn’t be driving, but he assured me he’d see me home safely.”

  “Did he mention his wife or family?” Hill asked.

  “He said he was sad that he had to face them as a failure. I tried to tell him he wasn’t a failure, that he’d had an amazing season and that no one would blame him for one mistake. He scoffed at that and said of course they should blame him. Who else should they blame? Nothing I said seemed to help him.”

  “Help me to understand something, Ms. Clark,” Sam said. “Here’s a ballplayer who is by all accounts well-liked and well-respected by his teammates. And yet, he’s leaving with you rather than one of his so-called friends on the team. Explain to me why he was with you and not one of the other players.”

  Sam could tell the other woman was dying to say something snippy but refrained, probably in deference to the law enforcement officers as well as her bosses. “After the...the error, Willie came off the field and went directly to the training room. He didn’t set foot in the locker room until everyone else had left. He couldn’t bring himself to face his teammates. When the game ended, I went back to my office in the training room. I found him there, so I stayed with him until he was ready to leave. I thought that was the right thing to do. Wasn’t it, Bob?”

  He patted her knee in an almost paternal gesture. “It was the right thing to do. Ray and I were in the training room with them for a short time after the game ended. But we both had other concerns to see to, and since nothing we said seemed to help Willie, we left to deal with the press and the rest of the team.”

  “I’m wondering why he was allowed to leave without security,” Sam said to Ray.

  “He refused our offer of an escort home. He said this was his city and these people were his fans, and he wasn’t going to hide from them.”

  “Why didn’t you insist?” Sam asked.

  “Things were happening very quickly all around us,” Ray said. “The fans were rioting. Every member of our security team was dealing with what was happening in the stadium and outside of it. I had bigger concerns at that moment than arguing with a player who didn’t want my help. Believe me, I wish now that I had insisted.”

  “I’d like a moment alone with Ms. Clark, please,” Sam said.

  “Why?” Ray asked.

  “Because.”

  When he seemed to get that Sam wasn’t going to tell him, he got up and gestured for Minor to do the same.

  After the two men left the room, Sam focused in on Jamie. “You referred to your professi
onal relationship, assisting Mr. Vasquez with his various injuries. Was your relationship with him strictly professional?”

  Her gaze darted between Hill and Sam. “I’m not sure what you mean. I said we’d become friendly. We worked together closely all season.”

  “What I’m asking,” Sam said as bone-deep fatigue set in, “is whether you were romantically involved with Mr. Vasquez.”

  Clark’s face got very red, and her eyes widened.

  When Jamie finally responded, her words were sputtered rather than spoken. “He was married with children.”

  “So?”

  “So, the answer to your disgusting question is no, we were not involved in any capacity other than professional and personal in the sense that we chatted during our training sessions.”

  “Chatted about what?”

  “The team, his performance on the field, the pain he was experiencing with the muscle pulls, his kids. The usual stuff people talk about.”

  “The conversation was focused solely on him and his work, family, etcetera?”

  “Most of the time, yes.”

  “Are you married?” Sam asked.

  “No.”

  “Engaged, boyfriend, any of the above?”

  “I’m not sure what relevance that has to what happened to Willie.”

  “That’s for us to decide.”

  “None of the above,” she said.

  “Did you have feelings for Mr. Vasquez that went beyond your professional relationship?”

  All at once, Jamie was crying again in deep sobs that made it impossible for her to speak. Sam wanted to yell at her to answer the questions so they could get the hell out of there. Instead she had to wait until Jamie could speak again.

  “I cared about him as a friend,” she said between sobs. “He was my friend.”

  “You can let the others back in,” Sam said to Hill.

  He got up and opened the door for Ray and Bob.

  “What happened after you left the stadium?” Hill asked when everyone was settled again.

  “The traffic and the crowds were really bad. He’d have to go pretty far out of his way to take me all the way home and that was going to take a lot of time, so I got out at a Metro stop.”

  “Which one?” Sam asked.

  “I, um... I guess it was L’Enfant Plaza.”

  Sam made a note to get video surveillance from the area around the Metro station. “Around what time would you say he dropped you off?”

  “It was a little before midnight. I was worried about making the last train, but Willie said they’d probably keep them running later than usual because of the game.”

  “Was he concerned about your safety in light of the rioting?” Hill asked.

  She nodded. “He didn’t want to drop me off, but I knew he was anxious to get home to Carmen, so I insisted I’d be fine. I never imagined that he wouldn’t be.”

  “Did you see him pull away from the curb?” Sam asked.

  She thought about that. “No. I darted for the station and never looked back.”

  Sam handed her a card. “If you think of anything else we should know, you can call my cell number.” She rose and Hill followed suit.

  “You’ll keep us informed, won’t you?” Ray asked, directing the question primarily to Hill.

  “We’ll do our best,” he said. “If you could ask your people to cooperate with the investigation, it’ll save us some time.”

  “You have my word that you’ll get their complete cooperation.”

  “Your general manger,” Sam said, consulting her notes.

  “Garrett Collins,” Ray said. “What about him?”

  “You said he isn’t in today. If you could get us his address, we’d like to speak to him.”

  Ray pressed a button on his desk. “I’ll have Aaron get it for you.”

  “And your security director?”

  “Hugh Bixby,” Ray said.

  Aaron came into the room.

  “Can you get Garrett’s home address? And where the hell is Hugh?”

  “He’s in the locker room dealing with the cops,” Aaron said, his gaze darting nervously around the room.

  “I’ll wait around to talk to him if you want to take Collins,” Hill said to Sam.

  “Sure, I’ve probably got one more interview left in me before I fall flat on my face. Meet me at HQ at zero seven hundred?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Sam headed for the door, but stopped when the floor seemed to move beneath her. And then Hill was there, gripping her arm, which was the only thing that kept her from falling over.

  “That’s it, Lieutenant,” Hill said, as he guided her to the elevator. “Shift’s over.”

  Sam tugged her arm free. “Let me go. I’m fine.”

  The elevator opened, and they stepped in. “You’re not fine. I’ll drive you home.”

  “That’s not happening.”

  “Don’t be stupid. You’re too tired to do anything but cause more work for your colleagues by wrecking your car on the way home. I’ll drive you, and then I’ll come back and talk to Bixby.”

  Her vision was swimming, and her muscles refused to cooperate with her fervent desire to be rid of him. “What about Collins?”

  “I’ll take care of him too.”

  “We need to get the surveillance footage over to my third-shift people, Carlucci and Dominguez.”

  “I’ll make sure they get it and let them know what they’re looking for.”

  “No, you won’t. I’ll take care of my own people.”

  “Fine. Whatever you want.”

  “What I want is to have a great big argument right now, but I don’t have the energy.”

  “We can have the fight tomorrow. I’ll look forward to it.”

  He escorted her to his car and held the passenger door for her, closing it when she was settled. As he walked around the front of the car, she thought about her own car and wanted to ask if it would be okay in the lot overnight, but that would take energy she couldn’t muster at the moment.

  Determined to stay awake until she got home and could fall face-first on her bed, Sam tipped her head back against the cushioned headrest. That was a mistake, because the next thing she knew, Hill was opening the car door and acting like he was going to lift her out of the passenger seat.

  “Hands off,” she said, smacking at him. “I can walk.”

  “Fine.”

  “Yes, I am fine. Thanks for the ride.”

  “Do you want me to pick you up in the morning?”

  “No, I do not want you to pick me up in the morning. Go away. You were supposed to go away.”

  “I’m sorry if my promotion has inconvenienced you.”

  “It has inconvenienced me, now get the hell out of here before my husband comes home and thinks you’re moving in on his territory—again.”

  “Honestly, Sam, we’re all adults here. I’m not moving in on anything.”

  “Try telling him that.” Sam told herself to stop talking, to walk away and into the house before she could make an uncomfortable situation worse than it already was.

  The front door to her house opened, and Shelby came out wearing one of her litany of pink tracksuits and sparkly pink running shoes. She came down the ramp to the sidewalk.

  “Agent Hill,” she said, smiling brightly. “Nice to see you again.”

  “You too.”

  “Are you okay, Sam?” Shelby asked, taking a close look at her.

  “I will be when I get some sleep. Later.” Sam dragged herself up the ramp and into the house, leaving the door propped open for Shelby. She trudged upstairs and headed for the shower.

  Before she hit the sack, she called Nick, anxious to hear how his talk with Scotty had gone.

  “Hey, babe. We’re on our way home. Where are you?”

  “Home with about two minutes of consciousness left in me. How’s the boy?”

  “He’s been better, but we had a good talk. Not that anything I say can make sens
e of it for him.”

  “I’m sure you were great with him. My dad wanted to see him. Would you mind dropping by there when you get home?”

  “Sure, no problem. You wouldn’t believe what else we talked about.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll save that for when you’re wide-awake,” he said with a laugh, letting her know it was nothing serious.

  “I’ll look forward to hearing all about it. Tell him I’m sorry I won’t see him tonight. I can’t stay awake.”

  “That’s okay. Go to sleep. Love you, babe.”

  “Mmm, me too.” With her final bit of energy, she put her phone on the bedside charger and turned on the TV to check what was being said about Vasquez. She forced her eyes to open when she realized that Farnsworth was about to begin a press conference she’d figured was long over by now. They must’ve been delayed by something.

  Cameras captured Chief Farnsworth, looking pale and exhausted, as he walked to the courtyard located outside the main doors at HQ. The local media had gathered, waiting like hungry dogs on the scent of a meaty bone. Every time she went anywhere near them, Sam’s hackles went up as if she were an angry dog. Angry dog versus hungry dog was never a good combination. What a relief it was to not have to deal with them this time.

  The chief stepped up to the podium. “At zero eight thirty this morning, a body was found in the area of the National Air and Space Museum at Independence and Seventh Avenues. It has been determined that the victim, a Hispanic male in his late twenties, had been stabbed once in the chest. The victim has been identified as Willie Vasquez.”

  He paused for the collective gasp that went through the crowd.

  They immediately erupted, shouting questions at the chief.

  Sam knew from experience that he couldn’t understand any of them over the roar of voices.

  He held up his hands to quiet them. “As you can probably imagine, we’ve got a very big job ahead of us to determine where Mr. Vasquez was killed and by whom. We’ve got an entire city enraged with Mr. Vasquez over an error in a baseball game. Our goal will be to quickly bring the killer to justice while keeping the city from erupting into violence again. I’ll take a couple of questions.”

  “Do you know yet when he was killed?” Darren Tabor from the Washington Star asked.