by Marie Force
“All over a baseball game.”
“I know. It’s insane.”
“Congrats on the promotion.”
“Thanks.” He headed for the main door, but stopped and turned to find her watching him go. That was embarrassing.
“Could I ask you something?” he said, zeroing in on her in that intense way he did so well.
“I guess.”
“Your assistant, Shelby.”
“What about her?”
“A while back, she asked me to have coffee with her. Since I’ll be sticking around, I was thinking I might take her up on the invite.”
Sam had no idea what to say to that. “Oh.”
“Would that a problem for you?”
“I, um... I don’t see why it would be.” As long as Shelby kept him far, far away from Sam and Nick’s house, that would be fine, right? Sam made a mental note to address that with their assistant pronto.
He nodded. “See you around, Sam.”
“Right,” she said as he went out the door and into the night. “See you.” As she went back to her workstation to continue processing arrest reports, she also tried to process the latest info on pesky Agent Hill. She’d thought him long gone to assignments out West, but instead he was not only staying in town but also thinking about going out with their assistant.
Far too close for comfort, she decided.
A few minutes later, Hill came back into the station, seeming a bit shaken. He came right over to the bull pen where she was working. “Lieutenant, I need a word in private, please.”
“My office.”
They walked in silence to the detectives’ pit where Sam gestured for him to go into her office. She shut the door behind them. “What’s up?”
“I just got a call from my friend Ray Jestings, the owner of the Feds.”
“You’re friends with the guy who owns the Feds?”
“We grew up together in Charleston. He married Elle Kopelsman.”
Sam blew out a low whistle at the mention of one of Washington’s most illustrious families. The Kopelsman family was the closest thing Washington had to royalty. As the owner of the Washington Star newspaper, Harlan Kopelsman had campaigned tirelessly for years to bring Major League Baseball to the nation’s capital and then died of a massive stroke midway through the team’s first season.
Elle was Harlan’s daughter, a blonde-about-town who’d made a name for herself as a socialite and philanthropist. When her father died, she took over the Star and her husband took control of the team.
“Anyway, Ray told me that Vasquez’s wife is frantic because she can’t reach him, and according to the team, he left the stadium quite some time ago.”
“They let him leave without security? Are they for real?”
“Apparently, he refused the offer of security, and Ray didn’t argue with him in light of what they’re dealing with in and around the stadium.”
“Can you get me the make and model of his car and the plate number? I’ll put our people on the lookout for him.”
“That’s what I was hoping you’d say. I’ll get the info for you.”
While he called Jestings, Sam tried to formulate a plan for how to go about looking for the missing ballplayer without adding to the unrest in the city.
“Okay,” Hill said when he ended the call. “It’s a black Lincoln MKZ.” He rattled off the D.C. plate number.
Sam relayed the info to dispatch and asked for an all-points bulletin for the car.
“No APB for him?” Hill asked when she put down the phone.
“You know the rules about ‘missing’ adults. Until they’re missing at least twenty-four hours, there’s not much we can do, unless we’re dealing with a mental health condition or something like that. He might’ve gone underground until the furor dies down. I wouldn’t blame him if he did.”
“Without telling his wife or team where he’d be?”
“Maybe he doesn’t want them to know. He’s probably embarrassed as all hell and going off to lick his wounds.”
“Do you really believe that?”
Exasperated with the cat-and-mouse game, Sam propped her hands on her hips. “Why don’t you tell me what you believe, Agent Hill?”
“I believe this guy is single-handedly responsible for the Feds losing the game and their first trip to the World Series. I believe there’re a lot of people in this city who’d love to get their hands on him. I believe the fact that he’s missing and not answering calls from his wife is a sign that he’s in some sort of trouble.”
“If we put out the word he’s missing, it might make things worse.”
“You don’t trust your people to keep a lid on it?”
“I wish I trusted all of them to keep a lid on it, but the temptation would be tremendous. I’m afraid to even do an attempt-to-locate bulletin with the city going ballistic at the moment. All it would take is one patrolman telling his girlfriend, and the next thing we know it’s all over Twitter and Facebook that Willie is missing. I have to weigh what’s best for the entire city over what’s best for Willie.”
“Will you be okay with that decision if something happens to him?”
Sam thought about that for a moment. “Yes, I suppose I’ll have to be. I’ll put my detectives on the lookout for him, but that’s as far as I’m willing to go.”
“I’m going to look for him too.”
“Hill...”
“You can’t tell me not to, Lieutenant. You’re not the boss of me.”
Smiling, she shook her head. “You sound like my nephew Jack. That’s his favorite thing to tell his mother.”
“How old is he?”
Sam instantly regretted sharing something personal with him. “Almost six.”
He winced. “It’s been a while since I was compared to a six-year-old.”
“I was just going to say be careful, and don’t take any chances. Things are crazy enough out there.”
“Why, Lieutenant, it almost sounds as if you care.”
“I’ve got enough paperwork to do without adding your bloody carcass to the pile.”
He grinned and shook his head. “I’m touched by your concern. I’ll let you know if I find anything. You’ll do the same?”
She gave a short nod of agreement, even though sharing info with the FBI usually went against her entire belief system. In this case, however, it seemed only fair since Hill had notified her of Vasquez’s potential disappearance.
They walked out to the lobby together and went their separate ways without another word. But as always, being around Hill left her feeling off balance and out of sorts. After she’d confronted him about his propensity to stare at her, he hadn’t denied being attracted to her.
While the attraction was definitely one-sided, knowing he had a thing for her was weird. Maybe she’d give Shelby a push—or even a shove—in his direction. Whatever it took to get his eyes off her and on to someone else before his staring issue caused her more trouble with Nick.
She sent a text message to all her detectives, letting them know that Willie Vasquez had left the stadium without security and was out of touch with his family and the team. She asked them to keep a lookout for the ballplayer, but to keep his potential disappearance to themselves. It wasn’t necessary to explain the need for discretion to any of them. They carried gold shields because they “got it” without having to be led to it.
Determined to shake off the encounter with Hill and her concerns about where Willie Vasquez might be, she put her earbuds back in and turned up the volume on Bon Jovi to drown out her disturbing thoughts. She pounded away on the computer all night until she was so stiff from sitting in one position for hours that she had to stand up and stretch. Through the main door she could see the first hint of pink and orange lighting the sky, signaling the end to what had felt like an endless night of chaos, violence, arrests and paperwork.
One of the dispatchers called her over.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“P
ossible homicide.” He handed her a slip of paper with an address on Independence and Seventh. “Body in a Dumpster.”
“Got it.” Sam took a quick look around and saw no sign of the brass. If she couldn’t find Chief Farnsworth, she couldn’t ask Chief Farnsworth, right? “Give me ten minutes to get out of here before you tell anyone else about this, got me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
They might be able to sideline her for a riot, Sam thought as she went to her office to retrieve her jacket, keys and radio, but murder was her business. No one was keeping her from that. On the way out of the building through the morgue entrance—where there was minimal chance of being stopped by the endlessly observant chief of police—Sam called Freddie.
“What a night,” he said without preamble. “I’ve never been so tired in my life.”
“Better find some caffeine because we just caught a possible murder.”
His groan was so loud that Sam held the phone away from her ear. “Meet me at Independence and Seventh, behind Air and Space.”
“Be there in fifteen. I thought you weren’t allowed out to play.”
She bit back the nasty retort that burned the end of her tongue. After all, it wasn’t his fault she’d been pulled off the streets, even if she was usually more than happy to take out her aggravations on her partner. “I’m not.”
“Yet you’re going anyway?”
“Yep.” The single word dared him to challenge her.
Fortunately, he knew better. “See you there.”
As she ended the call with him, her phone dinged with a text message from Nick.
Are they letting you out of there anytime soon?
Just caught a murder.
Oh crap. I guess we’ll see you when we see you.
Sorry. How’s the boy?
Glum, but looking forward to next season.
Tell him I love him, and I’ll see him tonight. You too.
Love you too, babe. Be careful out there.
Always.
She said what she usually did, but she had even more reason to be careful now that she had a son to consider. Months after Scotty had agreed to come live with them, Sam was still getting used to the fact that he was now a permanent member of their family. She’d wondered if the responsibility of it all would weigh on her, but it didn’t. Rather, it filled her with elation and a sense of purpose she’d craved for years.
Maybe she’d never get to have a child of her own. Since Scotty had come into their lives, the ache of that possibility didn’t seem quite so acute. She only wished they’d met him when he was much younger than twelve, so they could’ve had more time together. Regardless, she and Nick would take what they could get where he was concerned.
Driving from HQ to Independence Avenue, Sam got a firsthand view of the carnage that had been left in the wake of the riot. Trash and broken glass littered the streets, and a smoky haze hung over the city. She’d heard that the fire department had received a record number of calls overnight.
It was heartbreaking to see the damage and the wary residents venturing on to the streets to start the big cleanup job.
Something was fundamentally wrong with a society that put so much importance on the outcome of a game, Sam thought as she became increasingly infuriated by what she saw. Smoking hulks of cars, some turned on their sides, blocked her way, forcing her to take a roundabout course to her destination.
Thirty minutes after she left HQ she arrived at Independence Avenue and parked as close as she could get to the back of the National Air and Space Museum, part of the Smithsonian complex. She flashed her badge to the patrol officers guarding the scene and was waved through.
“What’ve we got?” she asked the patrol sergeant.
“A couple of my guys were dragging some crap that was blocking the street to the Dumpsters and found this.” He signaled for her to follow him to a set of garbage bins behind the hulking frame of the museum.
Sam shooed away several seagulls as she approached the most fragrant of the four bins and glanced inside to find a man, facedown. “Did you guys touch him at all?”
“Only to check for a pulse.”
Since they hadn’t identified him, Sam realized she would have to. The vic was well dressed, Sam deduced, based on the quality fabric of the gray suit he wore. From her back pocket, she tugged out a pair of latex gloves. “Did you call the M.E.?” she asked, as she looked for blood on the pavement and found none.
“On her way.”
“Good. Give me a boost.”
His brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”
“Into the Dumpster,” she said, aggravated that she had to explain herself. With her people she never had to explain. They knew. That’s why they were detectives, and this guy was still pounding the pavement in patrol. “You go like this,” she said, lacing her hands together. “Then I put my foot in, and you hoist me over. Weren’t you ever a kid, Sarge?”
“Very funny,” he grumbled. “Pardon me if I’ve never had an LT ask me to hoist her into a Dumpster before.”
“First time for everything,” she said with a big grin. “Fun never ends on this job.”
“You got a crazy idea of fun, lady.”
“I hear that a lot. Ready?”
Frowning, he laced his fingers together and bent at the waist to get low enough for Sam to put her foot into his hands. He propelled her up with more velocity than Sam was expecting, sending her flying into the Dumpster, thankfully clear of the body. She couldn’t help but wonder if the sergeant had enjoyed tossing her into the giant trash can. And they said rank had its privileges. Sure it did.
Speaking of rank...
The stench of rotten garbage hit her immediately, sucking the air from her lungs. If she’d eaten anything recently, it would’ve come right back up as she gingerly reached into the victim’s back pocket to retrieve his wallet. Since it was still there and still full of cash, she concluded that robbery hadn’t been a motive. Placing her fingers on his neck she found him cold to the touch. He’d been there a while.
She flipped open the leather billfold and drew in a deep breath that she instantly regretted due to the stink.
“Who is he?” the sergeant asked.
With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Sam stared at the District driver’s license, unable to believe what she was seeing.
“Lieutenant?”
She looked up and met his gaze. “I want everyone out of here. Seal off this alley to even our people and get the M.E. in here the second she arrives.”
“You got it.” He walked away to see to her orders.
Left alone with the remains of Willie Vasquez, Sam’s heart broke for the ballplayer, his family and all the fans who’d loved him, especially her own son, who would take this hard.
“Ah, Willie,” she whispered. “Why’d you take your eye off the ball?”
Chapter Three
Freddie Cruz arrived a few minutes later, amused to find Sam inside a Dumpster. “Wish I could have a picture of the LT in the Dumpster for the bulletin board in the pit.”
“Close your yap and take a gander at who our victim is.” Over the top edge of the Dumpster, Sam handed him Willie’s billfold.
Freddie took a quick look and then met her gaze, stunned. “Crap.”
“This might be a good time for an actual swearword, Detective.”
“Shit.”
“Better.”
“On the way over here, I was listening to WFBR and more than one caller said they’d like to have five minutes alone with Willie. You could hear the rage coming through the airwaves.”
“Interesting. We’ll have to take a look at that angle.” Sam watched as he placed the wallet in an evidence bag. Next she checked to see if Willie had anything else in his pockets that might prove useful to them. A careful search of pants and coat pockets yielded nothing. “Any sign of Lindsey?”
“Not yet. Want a hand out of there?”
“I’ll wait with him until she gets here. You got your phone?�
��
“Yeah,” he said warily. “Why?”
“Hand it over. I left mine in the car.”
“Do I have to?”
She shot him a perturbed look.
“Well excuse me if I don’t want my phone in a Dumpster,” he said as he handed it to her.
She needed to call Hill, but Freddie wouldn’t have his number. She’d do that as soon as she got back to her own phone. “I don’t want my person in a Dumpster, and yet here I am. Where’s Gonzo’s number on this thing?” she asked, fiddling with it while trying to keep her balance on top of a mountain of trash. The phone nearly flew out of her hand, but she caught it just in time, giving Freddie a sly grin.
“Do not drop it. If you do, you owe me a new one.”
“Yeah, yeah. Gonzo? Now?”
He walked her through the steps of finding Gonzo’s number.
“I don’t know why they call these freaking things smart phones. I never feel more stupid than when I try to use one of them.”
“There is so much I could say to that. So, so much.”
“And yet you wisely choose not to.”
“I heard they’re keeping the 2G network alive just for you and that old flip phone of yours.”
“Couldn’t resist, huh?”
“Nope.”
The phone rang and rang. Just when she was about to give up on Gonzo, he picked up.
“What’s up, Cruz?”
“It’s Sam.”
“Oh, Lieutenant. Sorry. What’s going on?”
“We’ve caught a homicide. Willie Vasquez.”
“Get the fuck outta here.”
Now that was the kind of language she expected from her officers at times like this. “Keep a lid on it. I’m not looking for the city to erupt again.”
“Right. Of course. What can I do?”
“I know you’re just off an overnight, but Cruz told me they’re airing out the game on the radio. I need you to monitor sports talk this morning. Get a handle on what’s being said about the game, about him, about the fans. Take note of anyone who seems a little too angry, if you catch my drift.”
