by Marie Force
“Um, nothing?”
“Yes, there is.”
Nick’s eyes watered from the effort it took to hold back the hysterical laughter that was busting to get out. He couldn’t wait to relay this conversation to Sam. “Listen, buddy, I told you the truth because you asked me an honest question, and I always want to tell you the truth, but you shouldn’t talk about this at school with the other guys, okay?”
“But I know something they don’t know now.”
“True, but a grown-up guy keeps stuff like this to himself. And I think you’re a pretty grown-up guy.”
“You do? Really?”
“I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t think you were grown-up enough to handle it.”
Scotty glowed with pleasure at the compliment, which made Nick glow on the inside.
“So why did you pick me up? Is something wrong?”
“Not with anyone in our family.”
“Then who?”
“Let’s get some ice cream at the Senate Dining Room and talk about it.”
“Okay.”
Always intuitive, Scotty was subdued as they arrived at the Capitol and were escorted by their agents to the dining room, which was largely deserted in the middle of the afternoon. After they ordered ice cream sundaes, Scotty remained unusually quiet. “Is there something wrong with the adoption?”
The question hit Nick’s heart like an arrow. Was Scotty worried about that? “No, buddy. There’s nothing to worry about there. The social workers are recommending approval, and we’re just waiting on a court date to make it official. Anytime now.” Because of who he was, Nick had been assured the date would be sooner rather than later. It was the first time he’d deliberately used his status and clout to get what he wanted, and he was perfectly fine with using it for this very good cause. “Have you been worried about it?”
Scotty shrugged. “Not really.”
Nick waited for the boy to look up at him and saw the truth in his expression.
“Kind of.”
He reached for Scotty’s hand and held on tight. “There’s nothing to worry about. I promise. If there was, I’d tell you.”
“You would? Because I was thinking you wouldn’t tell me cuz you wouldn’t want me to worry.”
“I don’t want you to worry, but I promise right here and right now that I’ll always tell you the truth about important stuff like this—and when you ask me about stuff like...”
“Blow jobs?” Scotty asked with the irascible grin that was much more in keeping with what Nick had come to expect from him.
“That too,” Nick said with a grimace that made Scotty laugh.
Fortunately, their ice cream arrived and he was saved from having to revisit that unsettling topic.
“So what’s going on?” Scotty asked between huge mouthfuls of ice cream and hot fudge and whipped cream.
Nick picked at his ice cream, unable to eat with what he had to tell Scotty weighing on him. “Remember when I said you’re a grown-up kind of guy?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Sometimes when you’re a grown-up, things happen that aren’t easy to understand or explain.”
“Is this one of those times?”
“Yes, and it’s really hard for me to tell you this, but Willie Vasquez was found dead this morning.” Nick would never forget the moment his words registered with Scotty. His spoon fell into the bowl with a loud clank.
As his face crumpled, Nick pushed back from the table and reached for him.
Scotty threw himself into Nick’s arms and broke down into heartbroken sobs that brought tears to Nick’s eyes.
When the waiter approached the table, Nick held up a hand to hold him off so he could devote his full attention to Scotty.
“I’m sorry, buddy. I know you admired him so much.”
After a long period of silence, Scotty finally raised his tearstained face from Nick’s chest. “Is it because he missed the ball?”
“We don’t anything yet. Sam is working on the case, and she’ll do her best to figure out what happened.”
“So many people are mad at him. The kids were talking about it at school today. I tried to tell them it wasn’t his fault, but they said someone who plays professional baseball should be able to catch a basic fly ball. I sort of agreed with them, as much as I feel bad for Willie.”
“And that’s probably true, but as long as a ballplayer, even a professional ballplayer, is a human being and not perfect, he’ll make mistakes just like the rest of us do.”
“You don’t make mistakes.”
“Sure, I do,” Nick said, surprised. “I make them all the time.”
“Like when?”
Nick tried to think of an example he could share. “You want to know the biggest mistake I ever made in my whole life?”
Scotty’s eyes were still watery and his face red from crying, but he nodded, and Nick was happy to share his regrets if it would help his son to feel better.
“The first time I met Sam was six years before we got married. We had a really good time together. She gave me her phone number, and I called her because I wanted to see her again. When she didn’t call me back, I was really bummed, and I assumed it was because she didn’t want to see me again. Turns out, that wasn’t true.”
“How did you find out?”
“When I saw her again many years later we talked about it. Turns out her roommate never gave her my messages because he liked her too.”
“Oh wow. That’s totally lame.”
“Right? She ended up very unhappily married to him for four years. The biggest mistake I ever made in my life was not going to find her to ask why she never called me back. I regret that we lost so much time together because of that. So everyone makes mistakes, even me and even professional ballplayers.”
“One of the kids at the old house used to say ‘shit happens.’ I know that’s a swear word we’re not supposed to say, but...”
“It’s true. Shit does happen, and sometimes there’s no good reason for it, such as that ball sailing over Willie’s head last night.”
“And now he’s dead, probably because of it.”
“Sam would tell you it’s easy to jump to that obvious conclusion, but who knows what really happened?”
“I’m glad she’s the one who’s going to find out. If anyone can do it, she can.”
“I agree. I have to ask you a favor—you can’t talk about what happened to Willie until the police make it public. Sam and I decided I should tell you so you wouldn’t hear it somewhere else. I’m sure it won’t be long before the entire city is talking about it, if they aren’t already.”
“I understand. I won’t say anything.”
Nick patted his back and kissed his forehead. “I hated having to tell you that.”
“I know.”
“You want to finish the ice cream?”
Scotty shook his head. “I don’t feel like ice cream anymore.”
“Neither do I.”
* * *
Hill was waiting for her when Sam pulled into the VIP lot. When he came over to open the car door for her, she wanted to tell him to knock it off. But he was a Southern gentleman down to his bone marrow and probably didn’t think a thing of opening a car door for a woman, even if she was perfectly capable of opening her own damned door.
“Get any sleep yet?” he asked.
“Nope. You?”
They flashed their badges to security and were waved in.
“Nope. Helluva thing, huh?”
“What’s the word for beyond insane?”
“Outrageous.”
She kept an eye out for any sign of the Crime Scene Unit, but didn’t see anyone yet. They were probably gathered on the other side of the building. “That’s a good word.”
“Guy misses a fly ball, and he’s dead twelve hours later? Makes me wonder what kind of world we live in.”
Before he could hold another door for her, she snatched it open and strolled into the palatial foye
r. “You and I know all too well what kind of world we live in.”
“True.” He seemed to know exactly where he was going as they entered an area of the ballpark that looked more like the lobby of a fancy office building than a baseball stadium. At the reception desk, he gave his name and asked to see Ray Jestings.
“He’s not accepting visitors at the moment,” the young woman at the desk said. “I’d be happy to give him a message for you.”
Hill glanced at Sam, and in a moment that was far more in keeping with her groove with Cruz, they placed their badges on the counter, right next to each other.
The woman’s eyes darted between the two badges.
“FBI and Metro PD,” Hill said. “Let us up.”
“I need to make a call first.”
“Make it snappy,” Sam said. “We don’t have all day.”
The receptionist scurried into a back room, keeping her gaze fixed on them through a plate glass window as she placed the call.
While they waited, Sam looked around a reception area decorated with life-sized photos of Federals players as well as the ballpark and a large portrait of the team’s handsome young owner.
“What if we discover that your childhood friend ordered Vasquez killed when he blew the biggest game in franchise history?”
Hill chuckled. “Are you impugning my professionalism, Lieutenant?”
“Never.”
“Right... Do you want my help or not?”
“As much as it pains me to admit it, I need all the help I can get with this one.”
The receptionist returned about two seconds before Sam was going after her. Sam’s body was about an hour from full shutdown mode. She needed to get as much done as she could before her gas tank hit empty.
“You can go on up to Mr. Jestings’ office.”
“Gee, thanks,” Sam said. “It took ten minutes to arrive at that foregone conclusion?”
“I’m sorry,” the young woman said, her chin quivering. “We’re all very upset today. No one more so than Mr. Jestings.”
Oh for crying out loud, Sam thought as she followed Hill onto an elevator with no buttons. Apparently, it had one destination only.
“That poor girl,” Hill said as the elevator whisked them upward. “You turned her into a quivering wreck.”
“I hate receptionists. They’re always standing between me and the people I want to talk to.”
“You’re endlessly amusing, Holland.”
“Need I remind you that you’re not allowed to be amused by me?” If he was going to be around again, Sam wanted to set the boundaries early on.
His smile faded. “No reminders necessary. I’m painfully aware of your blissful marital status.”
Hill’s use of the word “painful” left her feeling uneasy as they stepped into the office suite that housed the Feds’ top management. As she followed Hill to a hallway lined with team memorabilia that ended with yet another receptionist, Sam dashed off a text to Malone, letting him know they’d cracked the Feds’ inner sanctum.
This receptionist was male, mid-twenties and looked like he’d been crying. “Agent Hill,” he said. “It’s so nice to see a friendly face on a rather glum day around here. We were so close. So damned close.”
Little did he know, Sam thought, that the team was about to have much bigger problems to contend with than a lost ball game.
“A tough loss for sure. Could I talk to Ray? I won’t take much of his time.”
“Yes, of course. I told him you were on your way up.” He glanced at Sam and then back at Hill.
“This is Detective Lieutenant Holland from the Metro PD.”
“The senator’s wife.”
Whereas she’d revealed her marital status willingly to Carmen Vasquez, here it bugged her. She loved being Nick’s wife, but on the job she preferred being known for her own accomplishments rather than who she’d married. “Am I? I had no idea.”
The young man frowned at her. “Go on in. He’s expecting you.”
On the way past, Avery patted the younger man on the shoulder. “There’s always next year.”
“That’s what we’ve been telling ourselves all morning.”
In one of the biggest offices Sam had ever seen, Ray Jestings was the picture of devastation. He sat in a gigantic leather executive chair behind his desk, staring out at the ballpark to his right. Beyond the park, Ray’s view of the city extended past the Capitol and into Maryland.
“Hey, Ray.”
“Avery.” Jestings got up and came around the desk to hug his old friend. He was tall and lean with dark hair beginning to turn gray and looked like he hadn’t slept yet either. “What brings you here?”
“This is Lieutenant Holland from the Metro PD. I’m afraid we’ve come with some bad news.”
“I don’t know if I can take any more bad news.” He spoke in the same honeyed South Carolinian accent as Avery’s.
“This is a lot worse than a lost ball game,” Sam said, earning a frown from Hill. Maybe she was getting a tad cranky after the night without sleep.
“What’s going on, Avery?” Ray asked, his gaze bouncing between Sam and Hill.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Willie Vasquez was found murdered this morning,” Hill said.
Ray stared at them, unseeing, as if trying to process what Hill had said.
“Ray? Why don’t you sit down?” Hill put his arm around the other man and led him to the arrangement of chairs that overlooked the ballpark below.
“Someone killed Willie?” he asked, seeming genuinely shocked and devastated by the news.
“I’m afraid so,” Avery said. “I’m so sorry.”
“People were mad about what happened last night. But that someone could kill him...”
A knock on the door preceded Ray’s assistant as he came into the office, white-faced and wide-eyed. “Mr. Jestings, there’re cops all over the building demanding entrance.”
Ray’s dark eyes narrowed with rage that he directed at Sam. “I run a clean organization here, Lieutenant.”
“If that’s the case, then you have nothing to worry about. Let my people in so they can do their jobs.”
He nodded to the assistant, who scurried from the room, closing the door behind him.
“You can look all you want but you won’t find anything to tie this organization to what happened to Willie. He’s a valued member of this ball club.”
“Even after what happened last night?” Sam asked.
“Especially after what happened last night. No one wanted that win more than Willie did. He was a fierce competitor, a superior athlete and teammate. We all felt terrible for him, but no one felt worse than he did. The poor guy was in tears after the game.” He dropped his head into his hands. “I can’t believe he’s dead.”
“I’d like to speak to your general manager, team manager, security director and anyone else who had access to Willie after the game last night.”
Jestings looked to Hill, seeming to seek guidance.
“Get them up here,” Hill said. “The more you do to aid in the investigation, the less we’ll need to look at you and your team.”
“Me and my team? You know me, Avery. You know I could never hurt anyone, let alone a ballplayer I loved and respected.”
“Who cost your team its first trip to the World Series,” Sam interjected.
Once again, Ray’s furious gaze landed on her. “And you think I’d put that ahead of a man who had a wife and two small children at home? That I’d put winning ahead of his health and safety?”
“I don’t know you at all. So you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t have the answers to those questions just yet. But your friend Hill is right. The more you cooperate, the more your people cooperate, the less time we’ll spend here when we could be out finding the person who did this.”
After a charged moment of silence, Ray got up, went over to his desk and made a call. Weariness clung to him as he leaned against the desk. “Aaron, will you p
lease ask Bob and Jamie to come up? Thank you.” He returned to the sofa. “I’ve asked our manager, Bob Minor, and trainer, Jamie Clark, to join us. They were with Willie longer than I was last night. Our general manager, Garrett Collins, is out today. The security director, Hugh Bixby, is dealing with police at the moment.”
“You were with Willie after the game?” Sam asked as she made a note to pay Collins a visit at home.
“For a short time. He was inconsolable. We kept the media out of the locker room so he wouldn’t have to face their questions.”
“Walk me through everything that happened from the time Willie was brought off the field by team security,” Sam said. “I need to know who was with him, what was said, when he left, how he left.”
“Bob and Jamie will be able to speak more to that than I can. I was with him briefly in the training room after the game.”
“Who were his friends on the team?” Hill asked.
“Again, Bob would be better able to speak to that, but from what I observed, Willie was friends with everyone. His teammates respected and admired him. We all did. Have you seen Carmen?”
“Yes,” Sam said. “My partner is with her, and her brother is on the way from the Dominican Republic.”
Ray closed his eyes but was unable to keep a tear from leaking out the side of his right eye. He brushed it away and opened his eyes. “She and Willie were very devoted to each other. I can’t imagine what she must be going through. We’ll reach out to make the team’s resources available to her.” He looked at Hill. “I’ve been in the business world my entire adult life, but nothing like this has ever happened before. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“First and foremost cooperate with the investigation,” Hill said. “Ensure that everyone in your organization does the same.”
“Of course. That goes without saying.”
“Mr. Jestings, prior to last night’s error, do you know of anyone who had a beef with Mr. Vasquez? Anyone he argued with or had problems with?”
“No. Like I said, he was very well liked. Here’s Bob now. You can ask him. He’ll tell you the same thing.”
The gray-haired manager was stocky and thick through the middle with a ruddy, sunburned complexion. He wore a Feds ball cap and team jacket with jeans. “How come there’re cops all over the place?” Bob asked Ray.
