by Marie Force
“Has the brother-in-law been here?”
“I believe there was an altercation last winter, during the off-season. I don’t have the details on that, but I was notified that he had a personal issue with the brother-in-law and stadium security was aware of it too in case the guy tried to gain access to him there.”
Avery took notes as Collins spoke.
“You’re really going to look into the brother-in-law after what happened last night? You gotta figure this was someone pissed about him losing the game for us.”
“We’re looking at everything. How long did you stay at the stadium last night after the game ended?”
“I was there until about five o’clock this morning.”
“What did you do during that time?”
“Bob Minor and I met with the media. That was fun. Kind of like having a root canal without Novocain. After that, I spent some time in the locker room with the team, and then I met with Ray Jestings, the team’s owner.”
“Did you encounter anyone who was mad enough about Willie’s error that they might’ve wanted to harm him?”
Collins stared at him, incredulous. “Everyone wanted to harm him. People were furious.”
“Was anyone furious enough to act on the urge?”
“I’d like to think not, but who knows? This was as close as any of them have ever come to a World Series. They wanted it badly.”
“Was anyone particularly vocal in regard to Willie?”
“Rick Lind was pretty pissed. He’d gotten us two outs. He needed one from Willie, and Willie let him down.”
Avery wrote down Lind’s name and circled it. “If you think of anything else that might be relevant, give me a call.” He handed over his business card and drained his mug. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“No problem.”
On the way out, glass crunched under his feet as he passed through the wrecked living room. He liked sports as much as the next guy, but this was over the top by anyone’s standards. Who smashed up their own home over a baseball game? That question was on Avery’s mind as he returned to the stadium to speak with Hugh Bixby.
In the foyer to the office portion of the stadium, Avery asked the same receptionist to direct him to Bixby.
“I’ll see if I can find him,” she said.
While he waited, Avery made a call to his deputy, Special Agent George Terrell. Since Avery had been promoted over Terrell to lead the division, his deputy had been cooperative and professional, but an undercurrent of resentment existed between the two men.
“What’s up?” Terrell said.
“We’re assisting the MPD with the Vasquez investigation.”
“How’d we get roped into that?”
“I know Ray Jestings, the team owner, so I offered our assistance. With an entire city full of motive, they need all the help they can get.”
“That’s the truth.”
“The club’s GM mentioned a problem Vasquez had with his brother-in-law in the last year or so. Could you look into that for me?”
“Sure. What’s the guy’s name?”
“The GM couldn’t remember the name. Just that there was a restraining order in place to keep the guy away from Vasquez and the stadium.”
“I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Thanks.”
The line went dead, and Avery stashed the phone in his coat pocket. So he and his deputy would never be the best of friends. They could still work together when need be. It wasn’t his fault that Director Hamilton had chosen to promote him rather than Terrill. Avery hoped that eventually Terrill would realize that.
“Mr. Bixby is in the locker room,” the receptionist said.
“Where can I find the locker room?”
“Let me get someone to cover the desk, and I’ll show you.”
Ten minutes later, the young woman led him through a winding maze of hallways and down several flights of stairs that led to a tunnel. Outside a red door, she punched in a code that gave them access.
Inside the locker room, Metro PD’s Crime Scene Unit was rifling through lockers and equipment as a man in a shirt and tie watched them. He had close-cropped blond hair and his build indicated he might’ve been an athlete in another life. If his red face was any indication, Mr. Bixby was enraged.
“Excuse me, Mr. Bixby—”
“What do you want? I’m busy here.”
The receptionist recoiled from the harshly spoken words. “This is Special Agent Hill from the FBI.”
The FBI acronym did the trick, as it usually did. Bixby’s hands dropped from his hips and his expression slackened a bit. “Maybe you can tell me what the hell is going on here.”
To the receptionist, Avery said, “Thank you for showing me the way.”
“No problem.” She scurried away as if someone had set her rear on fire.
Avery found it interesting that she was somewhat intimidated by Bixby. “You haven’t spoken with Mr. Jenkins?”
“He called, but I was busy with cops invading my stadium, so I missed the call.”
“Willie Vasquez has been murdered.”
“Murdered.”
“That’s what I said.”
“How?”
“Stabbed in the chest.”
Bixby took in the scene unfolding in the locker room. “So that’s what this is about.”
“Yes.”
“What’re you looking for?”
“We won’t know until we find it.”
“If you’re insinuating that a member of our organization had something to do with it—”
“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m investigating a murder, starting with the last place Mr. Vasquez was seen alive. When was the last time you saw him?”
Bixby blew out a deep breath. “Believe it or not, it was when he missed the ball. After that, I was extremely busy getting my people ready for exactly what happened.”
“Have you been here all night?”
Nodding, he said, “I never left.” He glanced at Avery. “So why’s the FBI involved in this?”
“We offered our assistance to the Metro PD, and they accepted. It’s a big job to catch a murderer when an entire city has motive.”
“I bet it is. Do you need me for anything else? I have to go brief my staff about what’s happened.”
“Not at this time, but I’d appreciate if you’d remain available for the duration of the investigation.” Avery handed him a business card. “Call me if you think of anything that might be relevant.”
“I will.” He studied the business card for a moment. After taking a look around to make sure no one could overhear them, he glanced at Avery. “If I tell you something I heard, it won’t come back to bite me in the ass, will it?”
“I’ll do everything I can to keep that from happening, but I can’t make any promises.”
Bixby pondered that, seeming somewhat tormented. “Last night,” he began slowly, “after the dust settled, I overheard some of my guys talking about Lind.”
“What about him?”
“He was pissed at Vasquez. Seriously pissed. Apparently, he was ranting about how he’d done his job and Vasquez should’ve closed the deal for them. The loss and the blown save got charged to Lind when they should’ve been charged to Vasquez. That kind of thing.” He gestured to overturned chairs in the far corner of the room, including one that looked like it had been smashed against the cinder block wall. “Supposedly Lind made firewood out of that chair among other things.”
Avery looked up from his notebook. “What other things?”
“I didn’t hear everything they said.”
“Could you ask the people you heard talking about it to come down here?”
“That could lead to me getting bitten in the ass.”
“I’m sorry, but this is a murder investigation. All bets are off.”
Sighing, Bixby reached for the radio that was attached to his belt and summoned several people to the locker room with orders to drop what they were
doing and come. “They’ll be here momentarily.”
Avery and Bixby coexisted in awkward silence as they watched the CSU detectives comb through every inch of the locker room. Seven minutes later, four men came in through the tunnel. Of varying heights, they were all ripped with muscles and seemed annoyed to be called from whatever they’d been doing.
“What’s up?” one of them asked.
Hill nodded to Bixby, giving him permission to fill them in. “This is Agent Hill with the FBI. He’s notified me that Willie Vasquez has been murdered.”
The four men exchanged glances.
“What’s that got to do with us?” the same guy asked. He seemed to be the spokesman for all of them.
“What’s your name?” Avery asked.
“Jim,” he said tentatively, glancing at Bixby who nodded.
“Jim what?”
“Morris.”
“I heard you talking about Lind last night,” Bixby said. “About how pissed off he was at Vasquez.”
“You don’t think—”
“We don’t think anything,” Avery said. “We just want to know what you might’ve heard him saying about Vasquez.”
“He was fucking furious and rightfully so.”
“Can you tell me, specifically, what you heard Lind say or what you saw him do?” Avery asked.
“Will he find out I talked to you?” Jim asked. “I don’t want to piss him off.”
“You have to understand, Agent Hill,” Bixby said. “Our job is to protect and secure the ballpark as well as the players and to ensure the fans have a safe, enjoyable experience here. It goes against everything we believe in to speak to an outsider about one of the players.”
“I understand and respect your position. However, a man has been murdered—a man who was loved by this organization yesterday, a man who has a wife and two young children who are counting on us to give them answers. If you know something that will help us get those answers for them, this is no time to be worried about pissing someone off.”
“He said if he had a gun, he’d shoot Vasquez himself,” another of them said.
“Your name?”
“Kyle Davidson.”
Avery made a note. “You heard Lind say those words?”
“Yes, sir. He was running around the locker room, slamming doors and swearing. He was totally out of control, so Minor asked us to get down there in case there was trouble.”
Interesting, Avery thought, that Minor had failed to mention the incident with Lind during their conversation. He made another note.
“Did you have to get involved?”
Kyle shook his head. “We stood by in case we were needed, but Lind wore himself out before we had to intervene.”
“Were any of the other players spouting off?” Avery asked.
“Cecil Mulroney was pretty pissed too,” Jim said. “He’s the left fielder who grabbed the ball after Vasquez missed it.”
Avery knew who Mulroney was, but didn’t interrupt to tell him that.
“He kept saying he couldn’t believe Willie missed the ball, and how he ought to go back to Little League and learn how to catch a ball.”
“Did any of you see Vasquez after the game?” Avery asked.
“I did,” Kyle said. “I was in the detail that brought him off the field.”
“Was anything said?”
He shook his head. “What was there to say? We led him in here, and he went straight to the training room, slamming the door behind him.”
“Did you see him again after that?”
“No, he didn’t come out before I was called to the stadium to deal with the fans.”
“So he was left here unprotected?”
“He was in a locked room. I didn’t think he’d be in any danger.” Kyle looked at Bixby and then at Avery. “It didn’t happen here, did it?”
“No,” Avery said. “We’ve been able to trace his movements as far as the L’Enfant Metro station. He drove there with Ms. Clark and dropped her to catch the train.”
Jim and Kyle exchanged subtle glances, but Avery saw it.
“Something else you want to add?”
“Those two were awfully cozy,” Jim said. “Spent a lot of time together, supposedly working on his hamstring issues. People talked.”
“What did these people say?” Avery asked.
“That they seemed cozy. Speculation was that there was more to their relationship than met the eye.”
“Did you suspect a romantic relationship or something else?”
“I never suspected anything,” Jim said, holding up his hands. “I said other people did the suspecting.”
“People thought they were messing around,” Bixby said. “But to my knowledge, no one ever confronted either of them about it.” He shrugged. “They’re both adults, and if they wanted to get it on, as long as it didn’t affect their work, who cared?”
“If it got out, something like that could cause a lot of trouble for Willie and the team,” Avery said. “I find it hard to believe their relationship was common knowledge and no one cared.”
“Maybe the front office cared,” Bixby said. “But we aren’t paid to care about who the players are screwing. If we were, our jobs would be a whole lot more complicated than they already are.”
The other men nodded in agreement.
“So the players keep busy in that regard?” Avery asked.
More nervous glances followed the question.
“There’s no shortage of women who are interested in spending time with them,” Bixby said.
“How diplomatic,” Avery replied. “We’ll leave it at that for now, but I reserve the right to delve deeper into that line of questioning at a later date if need be.” He doled out cards to the four men. “If you think of anything else that might be relevant to the investigation, please call me.”
“You guys can go on back to work,” Bixby said.
“Thanks for your time,” Avery added.
When they were alone, Bixby said, “Are you going to look at Lind for this?”
“We’re certainly going to have a conversation with him.”
“Will you tell him we pointed you in his direction?”
“I don’t see the need to mention that. I’m sure there were plenty of witnesses to the meltdown. Anyone could’ve told us.”
“Good,” he said, seeming genuinely relieved. “That’s really good.”
“Are you afraid of Mr. Lind for some reason?”
“Not physically, if that’s what you mean. He wields a lot of power around here. Has the ear of the front office. If he wanted to, he could cause trouble for me and my staff.”
“I understand. I’ll do everything I can to keep your names out of the conversation.”
“I’d appreciate that, and so would they.”
Avery shook hands with Bixby. “Do you have a card in case I need to get in touch?”
Bixby produced a business card from his wallet. “Will you keep me posted?”
“To the best of my ability.”
“Thank you.”
“Hill.”
“Yeah?”
“Lind... He’s a bit of a hot head. Something’s a little off with him, if you ask me.”
“Good to know. Thanks again for your help.” Avery left the locker room and followed the exit signs through the twisting maze of tunnels that eventually led to a parking lot. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the lot where he’d left his car. As he walked around the outer shell of the stadium, he thought about what a difference twenty-four hours made. The silence was in stark contrast to the roar of the crowd and the rage of the fans that followed Vasquez’s unfortunate error.
Avery hadn’t been at the game, but he’d watched it on TV from his hotel room. One of these days, he needed to get busy finding a permanent home in the District. After this case, he told himself. Then he’d take care of getting settled.
In the meantime, he placed a call to the MPD, asking for the detectives’ pit when he reached dispatch.<
br />
“Detective Dominguez.”
“This is Agent Hill. I was wondering if I could pass along some information to aid in the Vasquez investigation.”
“Of course. What’ve you got?”
“We need background checks, including financials, on Garrett Collins, the team’s general manager and Rick Lind, closing pitcher.”
“Anyone else?”
Avery thought about it for a second. “Let’s do Jamie Clark, team trainer, and Bob Minor, the manager too.”
“You got it.”
“Anything back on Vasquez’s financials?”
“Not yet. We’re hearing there’s been a hang up with the banks in the Dominican Republic. We’re working on it.”
“Anything on the video surveillance?”
“Not yet.”
“How about his car? Any sign of it?”
“Still looking for that and the blood.”
“I’ll let you get back to work. Thanks for the update.”
“No problem. Thanks for the leads. Will you be attending the meeting at zero seven hundred?”
“I’ll be there.”
“See you then.”
Even though he’d love to go have a conversation with Rick Lind, he wanted to talk to Sam first. Tomorrow was another day, and zero seven hundred would be upon him far too soon. In desperate need of food and sleep, he got into his car and drove “home” to his hotel.
Chapter Eight
By the time Nick finally got Scotty settled and into bed it was ten o’clock. After a visit with Skip and Celia, Nick had spent the entire evening with his boy, talking about Willie and what had happened to him. Scotty was a deeply sensitive kid, an old soul in many ways, and Nick had answered as many of his questions as he could. But some questions would never be answered satisfactorily, even if Sam and her team were able to piece together what’d happened to Willie.
Nick had brought home a huge briefing book that he was supposed to go over before morning meetings, but by the time Scotty ran out of questions, he was out of steam. He planned to do a quick review in the morning before his meetings.
Christina had spent all day rearranging two days of campaign events so Nick could accompany the president on the top-secret trip to visit the troops in Afghanistan. In light of the Vasquez murder and Sam’s involvement in it—as well as Scotty’s despair—Nick wished he hadn’t committed to the trip. He hated to be away when so much was going on at home, but he had a job to do too. He couldn’t pass up the chance to visit with the troops from Virginia who were stationed in Afghanistan.