by Marie Force
“How does that happen when he has a detail?”
“Apparently, they weren’t close enough to stop a situation that escalated quickly.”
“But that’s their job.”
“I think they walk a fine line between keeping him safe and allowing him a normal school experience. Don’t worry. I ripped them new ones over it.”
“I’ll bet you did,” he said, chuckling. “So where is he now?”
“With me for the afternoon. He’s going to help me figure out who killed Willie.”
“Do you have time for that?”
“Of course I do. He’s my son.”
“Yes, he is.”
“It was kinda weird just now.”
“What was?”
“Getting a call from school that he was sick and that he’d asked for me to come get him. And then the chick at the desk calls the nurse and says ‘Scott Cappuano’s mother is here to pick him up.’ I got a little misty over that.”
“Aw, babe. That’s so sweet. You’re a mom now.”
“Finally.”
“I wish I could give you a hug.”
“That’d be nice. Rain check?”
“You got it. I have a thing after work, but I shouldn’t be too late. I could use a hug too. This has been kind of a crappy day all the way around.”
“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, surprised to hear that. He was so endlessly upbeat and cheerful.
“I’ll tell you when I see you. Love you. Tell my boy I love him too, and I’ll beat up the kid that hit him if he wants me to.”
Smiling, she said, “I already offered and was politely rebuffed.”
“Maybe at the next school function you could do that thing you do with your hands on your hips with the badge and gun showing. Make sure the kid knows who he’s screwing with.”
“I believe I’ll do just that, Senator. I like how you think.”
“I feel like we should do something.”
“I might give the kid’s parents a call.”
“That’s a good idea. Make sure you say ‘This is Lieutenant Holland with the Metro PD, and I’d like to talk to you about your son the bully.’”
“And some potential assault charges.”
Laughing, he said, “That ought to get their attention. Hey, so maybe Scotty can come to my fundraiser tonight.”
“I bet he’d love to. I could send him home with the detail to change.”
“I’ll pick him up around five thirty so we can go together.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“See you after a while. Be careful with my family.”
“I will. And P.S., I love you too.” Sam ended the call and opened the passenger side door for Scotty. “That was Nick on the phone. He offered to beat up Nathan if you want him to.”
“That might not be good for his campaign this close to the election,” Scotty said dryly, already the politician’s son.
They walked together toward the entrance to HQ. “Maybe not, but it sure would make him feel better. It would make both of us happy to give that kid a taste of his own medicine.”
“It’s cool that you guys are so mad about it.”
“We’re beyond mad. What’s the next level after furious?”
“Um... I’m trying to think of this vocabulary word we had recently. In... Incense. Something like that.”
“Incensed. That’s a good word, but we need more umph. Something like freaking pissed sounds much better.”
“Freaking is a swear.”
“It is not!”
“Is too. Ask Mrs. L.”
Sam expelled a dramatic sigh. “Her standards are way too high for me.”
“No kidding, really?” he said, rolling his eyes at her.
“Are you making fun of me?”
“Yes, I think I am.”
As Sam shared a grin with him, she was delighted to see him snapping out of the funk he’d been in when she picked him up. “Nick thought you might like to go to his fundraiser in Arlington tonight.”
His eyes lit up with delight. He loved every second he got to spend with Nick, even if they were doing something most kids would find boring. “I’d love to.”
“You’ll have to go home to change into your work clothes,” she said of the khaki pants, blazer, dress shirts and assortment of ties they’d bought him for his appearances on the campaign trail. He had dubbed them his “work clothes,” which they found hilarious.
“That’s okay.”
“I’ll talk to the detail about getting you home to change. Nick said he’d pick you up at home at five thirty so you can ride there together.”
In the lobby, they ran into Chief Farnsworth. “Hey guys,” he said, eyeing the Secret Service agents who followed them. “How goes it?” He reached out to shake hands with Scotty.
Sam rested her hands on Scotty’s shoulders. “I’ve got a deputy for the afternoon if that’s all right with you.”
“Of course. Everything okay?”
“He wasn’t feeling too good at school, but he’s a lot better now, right, buddy?”
The look of pure love he directed her way nearly made her knees buckle. “I’m a lot better now.”
“How’d you like to come with old Uncle Joe to take a look at what’s going on in the intake area? We could take your mug shot and fingerprints.”
“Can I, Sam?” Scotty asked, his eyes glowing with delight.
Sam sent the chief a grateful smile. “Are you sure you have time?”
“I’m sure.”
“Have fun and behave,” she said to Scotty.
“I always behave,” he said indignantly.
Yes, she thought as she watched him walk away with the chief’s arm around his shoulders, he was a good boy, which is why it hadn’t occurred to him to hit back when the bully struck him. Next time, however, he’d know to defend himself. She’d make sure there wouldn’t be a next time with that kid, but there were always others.
She went back to the detectives’ pit where she was surprised to see Freddie. “What’re you doing here?”
“Couldn’t sleep, so I came back in.”
“You look wrecked.”
“Thanks. Appreciate that. I’ve been helping Arnold with the phone logs. Is there something else I should be doing?”
“We need to have a conversation with Garrett Collins, and then we’ve got to talk to Rick Lind, if you’re up for it.”
“I’m up for it.”
“Give me a couple of minutes to get my shit together, and then I’ll find you.” She went into her office and sifted through a stack of messages that had nothing to do with the case so she pushed them aside.
A knock on her door had her looking up at Lieutenant Archelotta. “Got a minute, Sam?”
“That’s about all I’ve got,” she said. “What’s up?”
He surprised her when he closed the door. “I was in the Lieutenants’ Lounge earlier—”
“We have a Lieutenants’ Lounge? Where the hell is that?”
“On the third floor.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me that?”
“It’s in the lieutenant’s handbook.”
“There’s a handbook?”
“Honestly, Sam, you’re a hot mess,” he said, laughing.
“Yeah, I know. So anyway...”
“I heard Stahl talking about the Vasquez case and how Willie was found in a Dumpster.”
Sam could feel her ire rising. “What did he say about it?”
“That it was symbolic and poetic. I believe those were the words he used. Then the chief asked me to check on whether any calls were made between here and the Washington Star today. I guess you could say I put two and two together.”
“Was there a call to the Star?” Sam asked.
“One, from the extension in the Lieutenants’ Lounge.”
Sam surged to her feet. “We need to check the phone for prints.”
“Already done.”
“Excellent. You’re good, Archie. Really, re
ally good.” The double meaning hung in the air between them until Sam cleared her throat and her dirty mind. “Are you willing to tell Farnsworth what you overheard?”
“If it means getting rid of Stahl, you bet your ass I’ll tell him.”
“We’ve got to play this right so we don’t miss our chance to nail that bastard. Let’s wait until you get the prints back, and we’ll take the whole thing to the chief all sewn up in a neat package.”
“Good plan.”
“Could you see who he was talking to in the lounge?”
“Not without giving myself away,” Archie said. “I’ll keep you posted.”
“Thanks for the heads up.”
“No problem. I know he’s been after you since they gave you his command, so I figured you could use a little ammo against him.”
“You figured right.”
“I can’t believe he was stupid enough to call from a phone inside the house.”
“Arrogance, pure and simple. He never thought he’d get caught.”
“I hope we can nail him. I hate cops like him who make the rest of us look bad.”
“Me too. Thanks again, Archie.”
“Anytime.”
Before she left the office, she called Gonzo’s cell phone to check his status.
“Hey, LT. What’s up?”
“Anything to report from the field?”
“Nothing yet. We’ve got patrol officers fanned out looking for blood.”
“Did you hear anything from Carlucci about the transport of Collins?”
“Just that he pitched a huge fit. Said he hadn’t done anything wrong. He squawked about having an airtight alibi. The usual.”
“Any talk of lawyers?”
“Not that she said. Beckett has him in interrogation two, waiting on you.”
“Good, thanks. Keep me posted on the blood.” Ending the call, she walked into the pit. “Cruz, let’s talk to Mr. Collins.”
“Fill me in.”
Sam told him about Collins’ financial situation as well as the state of his home when Hill visited him there the day before.
“Who smashes up his own stuff like that?” Cruz asked.
“Let’s find out.”
When Sam and Freddie burst into the room, Collins leaped to his feet. “What the hell is this about? I talked to Agent Hill yesterday—”
“Have a seat, Mr. Collins.”
“I demand to know what is going on!”
“Have a seat, Mr. Collins,” Sam said, more deliberately this time.
He flounced into the chair, still seething.
“Now, let’s start over, shall we? I’m Lieutenant Holland. This is my partner Detective Cruz. He’s going to record our conversation.” She nodded to Freddie, who turned on the tape recorder that sat on the center of the table.
He rattled off the time and date. “Lieutenant Holland, Detective Cruz, interview with Garrett Collins, general manager of the D.C. Federals in the Willie Vasquez homicide investigation.”
“I had nothing to do with what happened to Willie! I told Hill that.”
“And he was inclined to believe you,” Sam said.
“So what’s this all about?”
“We’d like to know why the general manager of a Major League Baseball team is all but broke.” She dropped the financial report on the table in front of him.
“How do you know about that?”
“We like to be thorough. Between this financial report and the damage Agent Hill witnessed at your home, we’re wondering what you really had riding on that game.”
He squirmed ever so slightly, but Sam saw it.
“Did you wager on the game, Mr. Collins?”
“You know I can’t do that. MLB players and employees are prohibited from betting on games.”
“And yet that rule hasn’t stopped it from happening in the past, has it?”
“No.”
Sam let the silence fill the room, sending the message that she was waiting on him.
“You don’t understand,” he finally said.
“What is it I don’t understand?”
“We were supposed to win that game. We should’ve won that game. All he had to do was catch the ball. Just catch the ball. Do you know what a difference that would’ve made for all of us?”
“What kind of difference would it have made for you?”
“The team I fielded would be going to the World Series.”
“Beyond that?”
“There is nothing beyond that! I needed that to happen on every possible level.”
“Why?”
“Because it was my chance to turn things around! You have to understand... I needed to win that game.”
“So you’ve said. What you haven’t said is why.”
He took a drink from the glass of water on the table and wiped away a bead of sweat on his forehead. “I went through a really ugly divorce a couple of years ago. It wiped me out. I’ve been struggling to get back on my feet ever since.”
“You make a lot of money, Mr. Collins. How do you find yourself unable to pay your cable bill?”
He dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders heaving as he broke down.
Sam glanced at Freddie, rolling her eyes. He didn’t engage, which was unusual, but then again, he was beyond exhausted.
“Do you have a gambling problem, Mr. Collins?”
“Yes,” he said, his words muffled by his hands.
“And did you wager on the outcome of the National League Championship Series?”
His face still in his hands, he nodded.
“How much?”
“More than I could afford to lose, and now...”
“Now what?”
“I’m in really big trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Every kind. I have to come up with a lot of money that I have no way of getting, or...”
“Or what?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out.”
“Who are these people you’re indebted to?”
“If I tell you that, I’m a dead man.”
“You can either tell me who it is, or I’ll set you loose so they can find you themselves. Then you can learn firsthand what happens when you screw them over.”
“I can’t tell you, and I can’t go home, either.”
“Did you have anything to do with the death of Mr. Vasquez?”
“No! What difference did it make to me after the fact if he was dead or alive? Killing him wouldn’t have solved my immediate problem.”
Inclined to believe him and running short on patience, Sam turned to Freddie. “Detective Cruz, will you please see about getting Mr. Collins a ride home.”
Collins surged to his feet. “You can’t do that! They’re going to know where I’ve been and who I’ve been with. The minute you took me into custody, you put a mark on me. If you send me home, I won’t live through the night.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“How is that not your problem?” Spittle flew from his mouth, just missing Sam’s face as she ducked aside. “Isn’t cop an acronym for ‘care of people’?”
“I do care about people—people who help themselves by giving me the information I need. Those are the people I care about.”
“Fine!” He fell back into the chair, defeat resonating from him. “I’ll tell you. Just don’t make me leave here. Please.”
Sam recognized genuine terror when she saw it, and this certainly qualified. “I’m listening.”
“If I tell you, will you promise you’ll protect me?”
“I’ll do what I can. Depends on the quality of the information and whether it’s credible or not.”
“It’s credible. I have a bookie who places bets for me. I have his name and a phone number.”
Sam pushed her pad and pen across the table. “Write it down.”
“I don’t know the number off the top of my head. I need my cell phone. They took it from me when they brought m
e in here.”
Sam got up and went over to Freddie. “Get the phone,” she said in a low tone.
He nodded and left the room.
Sam returned to the table and reached for the pad on which Collins had written the bookie’s name. Antonio Sandover. The name set off alarm bells, but Sam didn’t know why. “I’ll be right back,” she said to Collins on her way out of the room.
Malone was in the hallway, apparently on his way to see her. “I’ve got the info you asked for on the warrants related to the team. Hope you’re not planning to sleep tonight. There’re a lot of them.”
“Great, can you leave it on my desk?”
“Sure.”
“Why does the name Antonio Sandover ring a big bell with me?”
“The FBI is looking into him. Racketeering and other charges. We got a memo on it a couple of weeks ago.”
Sam snapped her fingers. “That’s it.” She reached for her cell phone.
“Saw your Scotty getting fingerprinted by the chief,” Malone said with a smile. “Took some pictures I’ll send to your email.”
“Oh, cool. Thank you.”
“He’s a cute kid. Always polite.”
“I wish I could take some credit for that.”
“He’s probably lucky you got him later rather than sooner.”
“That’s funny. Hilarious.”
Malone didn’t try to hold back his mirth.
“You crack yourself up.” Sam found Hill’s number in her list of contacts and pressed send. When Hill answered, Sam said, “Talk to me about Antonio Sandover.”
“What about him?”
“You guys have your eye on him?”
“Yes, we’re building a case for gambling, racketeering and other potential charges. Why?”
“Collins is tied up with him. He’s into him for a lot of money. He bet on the NLCS outcome.”
“Are you kidding me? He risked a lifetime ban from baseball by betting on his own team?”
“Apparently, and now he’s so afraid of what might happen to him that he’s begging us to keep him in custody.”
“Jesus. How do people get themselves into shit like this, especially when they make the kind of coin he does?”
“He’s probably the type who’s never satisfied no matter how much he has.”
“We’re going to need to put him in protective custody. And he might be useful to us. Let me make a couple of calls. I’ll get right back to you.”