06 Fatal Mistake

by Marie Force

  She stared at him, astounded and moved and uncertain of what she should say, which didn’t happen very often. “I... I won’t forget. I won’t ever forget.”

  “See that you don’t.” He combed his fingers through wiry gray hair in a gesture filled with exhaustion and resignation. “Run Vasquez, report directly to me, watch your back and don’t take any foolish chances, you got me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Because of what he’d said, because he’d been her Uncle Joe a lot longer than he’d been her chief, because she loved him, she went around the desk, put her hands on his shoulders and kissed his cheek. “I love you too.”

  As she walked toward the door, he said, “I never said I loved you.” His gruff tone was more in keeping with what she’d come to expect from him.

  “You didn’t have to.” She smiled all the way back to the pit.

  * * *

  Ready to do battle on Willie’s behalf, Sam strolled into the pit to find it empty except for Cruz, who was sprawled out in his office chair, sound asleep. Was there something wrong with her that she took perverse pleasure in booting the chair and sending him flying into the wall of his cubicle? The look on his face when he came to and realized she’d caught him asleep in the pit was priceless.

  “Up and at ’em, Sleeping Beauty. We’ve got work to do.”

  “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Where is everyone?”

  “Home sleeping if they’re smart.”

  “Aren’t you the lucky one to be teamed up with the LT?”

  “The luck never ends. Don’t you need sleep like the rest of us mere mortals?”

  “I’ll have lots of time to sleep when I’m dead. In the meantime, let’s hit the morgue.”

  “If I’m going to be expected to work twenty-four hours straight, I need food. Real food. Not sprouts and weeds and that crap you consider food.”

  He needed a hit of grease to restore his equilibrium. Since she needed him performing at top capacity, she decided to indulge him. “I’ll feed you after we hit the morgue.”

  “That ought to do wonders for my appetite.”

  In the morgue, they found Lindsey working on Willie’s autopsy, assisted by her deputy, Dr. Byron Tomlinson.

  “Give me something, give me anything,” Sam said as she strolled into the examination room with Cruz in tow. He took one glance at the Y-shaped cut in Willie’s chest and looked away.

  “So far all I can tell you is we’re looking at a single stab wound to the chest that severed his aorta,” Lindsey said.

  “Look at the angle.” Byron pointed to the wound. “Judging by the angle of entry, my guess is the perp is a lefty.”

  “Could they have come at him from behind?” Sam asked.

  “Not likely,” Lindsey said. “I’m thinking it was a seven-to-nine-inch blade. They wouldn’t have been able to get the angle needed to reach the aorta from behind. I’m leaning toward a front-facing attack, a one-shot deal that took him out very quickly.”

  “And it would’ve made a big mess,” Byron added. “The aorta blowing would’ve been like a geyser when the knife was pulled from his chest.”

  “Let’s hope CSU gets us a murder weapon.” Sam reached for her phone to place a call to the patrol lieutenant, then cursed under her breath when she got his voice mail.

  “That would help,” Lindsey agreed. “We’re running toxicology and other labs now. We’ll let you know if we get any hits.”

  “Thanks, Doc. We’re on the street, so hit my cell.”

  “I thought you were grounded,” Lindsey said.

  “Not anymore.”

  Chuckling and shaking her head, Lindsey gave her a thumbs-up. “I don’t know how you do it, Holland.”

  “Charm, Doc. It’s all charm.”

  Cruz snorted loudly as he followed her from the morgue, earning him a glare. “Something wrong with your nose?”

  “Nothing a little sleep wouldn’t fix.”

  “Don’t act like you’d sleep if I sent you home.” He and his girlfriend Elin spent half their lives screwing like bunnies, or so it seemed as he showed up sleepy and dopey-looking to every crime scene, no matter what time of day or night.

  “I’d sleep.” He gave her the slow, lazy grin that drove the girls crazy—other girls, of course. Not her. “After.”

  “Ewww. Spare me the details and drive me to Georgetown.”

  “What’s in Georgetown?”

  “Willie’s condo.”

  “You promised there’d be food.”

  “And there will be. Soon. We have to notify the family, and I can’t do that on a full stomach.”

  “Right. Me either.”

  He understood. There was nothing either of them hated more than having to tell people their loved ones had been murdered.

  “What’s the address?” he asked as he drove her car out of the parking lot.

  Sam consulted her notebook where she’d jotted down the details from the license in Willie’s wallet. “3032 K Street, Northwest. What did you do with Willie’s wallet?”

  “Inventoried and photocopied everything and locked the wallet with the cash in the evidence locker.”

  “Good. Get Gonzo on the phone.”

  “Anything else you want me to do while I’m driving you around, your highness?”

  “That’ll do for now, but thanks for asking.”

  He grunted out a laugh and had Gonzo on speaker half a minute later.

  “Speak to me,” Sam said. “What’ve you got?”

  “You gotta stop calling me on Cruz’s phone. You’re freaking me out.”

  Despite the horrible errand they were headed to do, Sam flashed a big smile in Freddie’s direction.

  “You make her day when you say that stuff,” Cruz told his friend.

  “I can only imagine.”

  “Where are you right now?” she asked.

  “Almost to HQ.”

  “Ask Malone to figure out who owns the cameras in the area behind Air and Space and adjacent locations. I’m assuming they belong to the Smithsonian, not us, so we need to get warrants. I want as much film as we can get from the ballpark too. Especially the players’ parking lot and anything you can get from the Potomac Avenue area.”

  “Got it. Will do.”

  “Gimme what you’ve got on Vasquez.”

  “Pulling over so I can refer to the notes.” Less than a minute later, he said, “Born in Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic on February 10, 1985. Parents are Carlos and Belinda Vasquez. Willie was a standout baseball player from the time he was a child and was drafted right out of high school by the San Diego Padres. He bounced around several National League teams before being picked up by the Feds at the trade deadline during their inaugural season in 2010. Since joining the Feds he’s come into his own, hitting .325 in 2010 and .327 in 2011. This season has been his best so far with 42 home runs, 102 runs batted in and 162 hits. He was a two-time All Star and by all accounts most likely a future Hall of Famer.”

  Sam took notes as Gonzo rattled off Willie’s accomplishments on the field.

  “Married for five years to Carmen Peña Vasquez. Two kids—Miguel, age four, and Jose, age two.”

  “Shit,” Sam muttered, noting that Freddie gripped the wheel a little tighter.

  “Yeah. Sucks big-time.”

  “Financials?”

  “Not yet. A lot of his accounts were in the Dominican Republic. I’ve left messages.”

  “What’re they saying on the radio?” Sam asked.

  “People are extremely pissed. The guys on WFBR, the Feds’ radio station, are really fanning the fire.”

  “We’ll have to pay them a visit at some point.”

  “I can do that if you’d like.”

  “That’d help. Work it until sixteen thirty and call it a day. Meet up at HQ at zero seven hundred.”

  “Will do. I’ll let you know what I find out. Um, Lieutenant, could I speak to you about
something unrelated to the case?”

  “Sure.”

  “Off the speaker, if you don’t mind. No offense, Cruz.”

  “None taken.” Freddie fiddled with his phone and handed it to her.

  “What’s up?”

  “I wanted to let you know that I might need some time off in the next couple of weeks. The situation with Alex’s mother looks to be heading to court.” He filled her in on the latest developments.

  “I’m sorry, Gonzo. That sucks.”

  “Yeah. I haven’t said too much to Christina about it yet because of the campaign and how busy she’s been, so I’d appreciate it if you kept it quiet for now.”

  She got that he was asking her not to tell Nick, in particular. “I understand. Let me know if I can do anything to help.”

  “I might need some character witnesses, beginning with a decorated police lieutenant and her senator husband.”

  “Whatever we can do. You only have to ask.”

  “Thanks. It’s okay to tell Cruz what’s going on. I can use all the support I can get, but I wanted to let you know about the time off.”

  “I’ll tell him, and don’t worry about the time. We’ll cover for you.”

  “Thanks, Sam. I’ll get back to you after I hit the radio station.”

  “Talk to you then.”

  She handed the phone to Freddie.

  “Everything okay?”

  “He said I could tell you that he’s heading into what could be an ugly custody battle with Alex’s mother.”

  “Oh, crap. Can she do that? Show up months later and stake a claim?”

  “She’s his mother, and from what Gonzo said she’s apparently gone to great lengths to clean up her act.”

  “He must be freaking out.”

  “Just a little, and he’s not saying much about it to Christina until after the election.”

  “I won’t say anything to anyone. Don’t worry.”

  “You could say something to him. He’s going to need his friends.”

  “I will.” He drove the car into the parking lot and flashed his badge at the security guard. “Detective Cruz and Lieutenant Holland to see Mrs. Vasquez.”

  “What’s this in reference to?”

  “It’s personal.”

  The guard studied both their badges before returning them to Freddie. “You’re that cop who’s married to the senator.”

  “Really? I didn’t know that. Let us in. Now.”

  “No need to be cranky about it. You’ll be met in the lobby by a member of security and escorted to the Vasquez residence.”

  “Excellent.”

  Freddie put up the window and waited for the security arm to rise before he drove on.

  “I wasn’t being cranky.”

  “You’re never cranky.”

  “Why do people think I need to be told who I’m married to?”

  “Because they’re afraid you might forget?”

  “That’s always a possibility, I suppose.”

  The banter helped to keep their minds off the dreadful task that awaited them inside. He pulled into a visitor parking space and cut the engine but made no move to get out of the car.

  “I hate this,” he said.

  “I do too, but sitting here another five minutes isn’t going to make it any easier. Let’s get it over with and get back to figuring out what happened.”

  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?”

&
nbsp; 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?”