06 Fatal Mistake

by Marie Force

  “Not yet. Dr. McNamara and her team are working to establish time of death as we speak.”

  “Can you say more about where he was found?” another reporter asked.

  “Not at this time.”

  “Has the team been notified?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many arrests were made overnight?”

  “The latest number I heard was more than three hundred. We’ve filed numerous charges, ranging from arson to vandalism to malicious mischief. Our Special Response Team, along with every member of the MPD, our colleagues with the FBI and the National Guard helped to contain the violence before it got further out of hand.”

  He paused and seemed to be considering his words carefully. “I want to add that in addition to the sorrow we all feel over Mr. Vasquez’s untimely death, I find it totally appalling that supposed fans of our hometown baseball team reacted to the team’s unfortunate loss with violence. It would be my hope that in the future our citizens might consider the health and safety of their city before they take to the streets to vent their frustrations about a game. That’s all.”

  “Well stated, sir,” Sam whispered as she turned off the TV and reached for her phone to give Carlucci and Dominguez their marching orders. She got Gigi on her cell phone. “Listen up,” Sam said, her eyes closed as she told them about the video surveillance and what they were looking for. It would make for a long, boring shift for the detectives, but it needed to be done. “Make sure patrol continues to look for the blood and the car.”

  “We’ll take care of it, LT.”

  “Thanks.” She ended the call and dropped into the abyss.

  Chapter Seven

  “Is Sam okay?” Shelby asked oh-so-hot Avery Hill, who’d watched Sam walk away with an odd expression on his face.

  “She will be when she gets some sleep. She was getting kind of loopy, so I drove her home.”

  “That was good of you. So how’ve you been?”

  “Good. Fine. You?”

  “Great. Loving the new job.”

  “And how’s your other ‘project’ going?”

  Shelby frowned at the reminder of their earlier conversation when he’d come to interview her fertility doctor in an investigation and discovered that she was trying to have a baby. “Nothing to report, unfortunately.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  She shrugged. “It’ll happen if it’s meant to.” She couldn’t think about the alternative. One way or the other, she was going to be a mother. Having Scotty around had gone a long way toward easing the craving, but she had to remind herself every day that he wasn’t hers. “Sam said you might want to get together for coffee sometime.”

  “Um, sure, if you’d like to.”

  “I thought you were supposed to be moving.”

  “That was the plan, but the director had something else in mind for me that will keep me in town.”

  “I’m glad you’ll be sticking around.”

  “Oh. Well, I ought to get back to work.”

  “Thanks for bringing Sam home.”

  “It was no problem.”

  Shelby faced a rare bout of indecision. Should she push him to commit to the date or let him leave and try again the next time? He was so good-looking. Dreamy. Those eyes, that hair, that accent... She wanted to jump all over him, a thought that nearly made her giggle.

  “Well, I’ll be seeing you,” he said.

  “Don’t you want my number?” she asked, the words falling from her lips before she could decide whether it was a good idea to be any more forward than she’d already been with him.

  His face became expressionless as he studied her for long enough that she nearly squirmed. “Sure,” he finally said. “That’d be good.”

  “You thought about it long enough.”

  “It’s not you—”

  Shelby couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re supposed to say that after we go out. Not before.”

  That drew a small smile from him that did wonders for his stern countenance. “I’ll have to remember that.”

  She withdrew her phone and clicked on the text function. “What’s your number? I’ll send you mine.”

  He recited his number.

  “Got it. Next move is yours, Agent Hill.”

  “I appreciate your candid explanation of the rules.”

  “At my advanced age, I find myself rather tired of the gamesmanship involved with dating. I far prefer candor.”

  “It is rather refreshing.”

  Shelby smiled and was in the midst of forming another witty comment when Nick’s Secret Service detail came around the corner on to Ninth Street and pulled up to the curb in two big black SUVs.

  Avery stood beside her to watch the proceedings as the agents escorted Nick and Scotty from the first of the two cars.

  Nick took one look at Avery and his normally genial expression hardened with displeasure.

  What was that about? Shelby wondered as Nick and Scotty approached them.

  “What’re you doing here, Hill?” Nick asked.

  “Senator, nice to see you too. I gave your wife a ride home.”

  “Why did she need a ride?”

  “She was dead on her feet. I didn’t think it would be safe for her to drive.”

  Nick eyed the other man warily. “Is that right?”

  Avery’s lips tightened with displeasure, and Shelby could tell there was something he was dying to say but refrained.

  “How was the Capitol, buddy?” Shelby asked Scotty, hoping to ease the tension.

  “It was cool. We had ice cream in the Senate Dining Room.”

  “Wow, that sounds like fun.”

  “I’ve got to get back to work,” Avery said. “I’ll see you.”

  “Hill?” Nick called after the agent.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for giving Sam a ride.”

  “No problem.”

  After Avery got into his car and took off, Shelby glanced at Nick. “What was that all about?”

  “I don’t like that guy.”

  “How come?” Shelby asked, surprised by the unusual hostility she sensed in him.

  “I just don’t.”

  “You should have a reason for not liking someone,” Scotty told his dad.

  “I have my reasons.”

  Shelby would love to know what they were, but decided not to push it any further, especially with Scotty watching their every move. She put her arm around the boy, who was already two inches taller than her. “Ready for some dinner?”

  “What’re we having?”

  “How does spaghetti sound?”

  “Awesome.” He said what she expected but the single word lacked his usual enthusiasm for all things Italian.

  “Go wash your hands. I’ll be right in.”

  Scotty took his backpack from Nick and trudged up the ramp to the house, his head bent.

  “Is he okay?” Shelby asked Nick.

  “Have you heard about Willie Vasquez?” Nick asked.

  “No, what about him?”

  “It was just on the radio so I suppose I can tell you that he was murdered overnight.”

  “Oh, no. Oh, Lord.”

  “Scotty took the news hard. He thought a lot of Willie, especially after he met him at camp last summer.”

  “What a tragedy. All because he missed a fly ball.”

  “Sam would tell us not to leap to any conclusions until we know more.”

  “Is she working the case?”

  He nodded. “As soon as she gets some sleep, she’ll be back on it.”

  “Could I ask you something else?”

  “Sure.”

  “Agent Hill asked me to have coffee with him.” Nick didn’t need to know that she’d actually done the asking a while ago. “Would it bother you if I went?”

  “Hell, no. Go. Have a great time. By all means.” He started toward the ramp. “I’d better get in there and check on Scotty.”

  Confused by Nick’s contradictory stateme
nts, Shelby followed him inside. Men, she thought, wondering if she’d ever understand what made them tick.

  * * *

  The studios of WFBR-FM were located adjacent to the stadium on Potomac Avenue. Home of “Feds Baseball Radio,” the station broadcast all the team’s games and hosted regular interviews with the players and management. WFBR had become a critical part of the team’s presence in the city over the last three seasons.

  At the reception desk, Gonzo asked to speak to the general manager and was escorted into the office of James Settle. He introduced himself and flashed his badge.

  “What can I do for you, Detective?”

  “Willie Vasquez was found murdered this morning.”

  Settle stared at Gonzo, as if he hadn’t heard him correctly. “Christ,” he whispered. “How?”

  “He was stabbed in the chest.”

  “What is it you need from us?”

  “We heard the Big Ben show this morning and were interested in speaking with him.”

  “I’ll see if he’s still in the building.”

  While Settle made a call, Gonzo looked around at the team memorabilia on the shelves and walls.

  “He’s on his way up,” Settle said. “He’s not in any trouble, is he?”

  “I’d like to talk to him about some of the callers this morning.”

  They waited in uneasy silence until Big Ben came into the room. True to his name, Ben Markinson was big and burly with a headful of unruly curly hair and a beard that grew untamed. “You wanted to see me, Jim?” he asked in a voice made for radio.

  Settle gestured to Gonzo. “This is Detective Gonzales with the Metropolitan Police Department. He’d like to speak to you about this morning’s show.”

  Hands on hips, Big Ben scowled as he glanced at Gonzo. “What about it?”

  “Willie Vasquez was found murdered this morning.”

  “Is that right? Probably had it coming after that piss-poor performance last night.”

  Gonzo stared him down, incredulous. “So you think murder is an appropriate punishment for failing to catch a fly ball?”

  “An easy fly ball.”

  “Pardon me,” Gonzo said, his tone thick with sarcasm. “An easy fly ball.”

  Ben shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, I’m not saying he deserved to die, but jeez, Detective, how could he miss that?”

  “As I wasn’t on the field at the time the ball was hit, I couldn’t say. No one can really say what was going through his mind at that time, could they?”

  “I guess not,” Ben said begrudgingly.

  “A lot of your listeners had plenty to say this morning.”

  “They’re pissed off—and rightfully so.”

  “Any of them pissed off enough to commit murder?”

  “How the hell should I know? I talk to a lot of them regularly on the show, but I don’t actually know most of them.”

  “Have you met any of them in person?”

  “Here and there at events, but what do I know about whether or not they killed him?”

  “Are any of them regular callers who are familiar to you?”

  “A lot of them are.”

  Gonzo held out his notebook and pen. “I’d appreciate a list of any that seemed angry enough over the game to commit murder.”

  Ben snatched the notebook out of his hand. “Hope you’ve got plenty of time because just about everyone who called this morning was pretty pissed off.”

  “I’ve got all the time it takes.”

  “Give him what he needs, Ben,” Settle said.

  Ben took the notebook to the conference table and made a big production out of sitting down. “You may as well get Marcy up here too.” For Gonzo’s edification, Ben said, “She’s my producer.”

  “I’ll call her,” Settle said.

  Gonzo sat across from Ben, resigned to being there a while.

  * * *

  Since Garrett Collins lived somewhat close to Sam on Sixth Street, Avery decided to stop to talk to him on the way back to the ballpark. As general manager, Collins oversaw everything having to do with the players and their contracts as well as the coaching staff. The person in charge of fielding the team that had come so close to a championship season was probably angrier than most about the ball Willie had missed.

  Was he angry enough to commit murder? That remained to be seen.

  Collins lived in a row of high-end brick-front town houses. Avery parked in front of number 26, behind a black Mercedes SUV with a Feds decal on the back window. He noted that all the blinds were drawn inside the house, as if the occupant wanted to keep out the daylight. He strode up the steps that led to the front door and rang the doorbell.

  When no one answered, Avery tried the metal knocker. After that failed to yield results, Avery called Ray Jestings on his personal cell phone.

  “Avery? Do you have some news for me?”

  “Your GM is ignoring his doorbell. Can you reach out and get him to let me in?”

  “Yeah. I’ll do it right now.”

  “Don’t tell him about Willie. I want to do that.”

  “Okay.”

  “Thanks.”

  Avery leaned against the wrought-iron rail, arms crossed. As he fought off the fatigue that made him feel dull around the edges, he thought about the way Nick Cappuano had looked at him, as if he’d like to gut him right there on the sidewalk. Avery suspected they might’ve gotten into it if the boy hadn’t been watching his father’s every move.

  He ran his fingers through his hair wearily. Despite his best efforts to forget about her, he was just as fascinated with the gorgeous Sam Holland as he’d been the first time he met her, long before he knew she was married to one of the country’s most popular senators.

  And now, supposedly, he had a tentative date with Sam’s assistant. Fantastic. Like that wouldn’t further complicate an already complicated situation.

  The sound of locks disengaging inside the townhouse had Avery standing up straighter.

  Garrett Collins looked like hell. There was no other way to describe his appearance as he opened the door to Avery.

  “Mr. Collins, I’m Special Agent Avery Hill with the FBI.” He flashed his badge to Collins, who eyed it warily.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “May I come in for a minute?”

  “Um, that’s probably not a good idea.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “The place is a bit of a mess.”

  “I’m sure I’ve seen worse.” When Collins hesitated again, Avery said, “You can either let me in, or I’ll take you into custody for a ride downtown. Your call.”

  The statement generated the first spark of life Avery had seen yet in the other man’s eyes. “Take me into custody? What the hell for?”

  “The murder of Willie Vasquez, to begin with.” Avery tossed that out there, wanting to see what kind of reaction he’d get.

  “Willie’s dead?” Collins asked in a voice that was barely more than a whisper.

  “Can I come in, or shall we do this at my office?”

  Reluctantly, or so it seemed to Avery, Collins stepped back and admitted him into a living room that had been smashed to smithereens. Mirrors, lamps, the television... Nothing had been spared. A wooden baseball bat leaned against the wall, leading Avery to conclude it had been used to inflict maximum damage.

  Avery turned to Collins. “What the hell happened here?”

  “I was kind of... frustrated when I got home a little while ago.”

  “So you smashed the shit out of your own home?”

  “Better than going after the people who put me in the mood to smash things, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “What happened to Willie?”

  “He was stabbed in the chest. That’s all we’re saying at this time. Did you see him after the game last night?”

  “I did not.” This was said through tight lips, and it didn’t take much to deduce that Willie’s error had
led to the smash-fest.

  “Had you spoken to him?”

  “No.”

  “Did you try to reach him?”

  Avery followed Collins deeper into the townhouse to the kitchen where he went about the motions of making coffee. He held up the can, asking Avery if he wanted some.

  “I won’t say no to a caffeine boost.”

  “I didn’t try to call him because I didn’t have anything to say to him. Sixteen million dollars a year, and all he had to do was catch the goddamned ball.” Collins turned to Avery. “How could he miss an easy fly ball? The guy is a future Hall of Famer, for crying out loud.”

  “Was.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He was a future Hall of Famer.”

  “Yes,” Collins said with a sigh. “He was. He needed a few more seasons to get there.” He started the coffeemaker and turned to Avery. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m sorry he’s dead. He was a nice guy. I liked him. I respected what he brought to the game and the clubhouse. But I’m pissed off that he missed that easy catch. I’ll never get how that could’ve happened.”

  “Did you know of any problems he was having on or off the field?”

  “He’d grappled with hamstring issues all season, but that was under control. Did you talk to Jamie?”

  “Earlier. She was extremely broken up when she heard the news about Willie. Her reaction led us to wonder if there wasn’t something more to their relationship.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Was there anything romantic between them?”

  “I don’t know. They spent a lot of time together. People talked, because that’s what people do.”

  “Any other issues or problems in Willie’s life that you knew about?”

  “I don’t get why you’re asking questions like this when it’s obvious a disgruntled fan took him out.”

  Avery nodded and accepted a mug of strong-smelling black coffee. “We’re not paid to deduce the obvious. Do you know of anything that might be relevant to our investigation?”

  “Carmen’s brother has been in some trouble in the Dominican Republic. Willie bailed him out a couple of times, but then he cut off the money, which made Carmen’s family mad. Marco made some threats toward Willie.”

  “What kind of threats?”

  “The kind that resulted in Willie getting a restraining order against the guy to keep him away from his family.”