06 Fatal Mistake

by Marie Force

  “Thanks.”

  “The Feds want him,” Sam said to Malone.

  “So it’s possible that Willie’s murder might’ve saved Collins’s life?”

  “Quite possibly.”

  “We live in a strange and twisted world, Lieutenant.”

  “You’re just figuring that out, Captain?”

  They shared a smile before Sam went back into the interrogation room. “Here’s the deal—the Feds are building a case against Sandover. You might be able to help them in exchange for protective custody.”

  “Help them? What does that mean?”

  “Help them to build a case against Sandover.”

  “You’re out of your freaking minds! Are you trying to get me killed?”

  “Actually, I’m trying to keep you alive. You have two choices—assist the Feds in exchange for protective custody or walk out of here and fend for yourself with our best wishes.”

  “That’s it? Those are my choices?”

  “That’s all I’ve got.”

  “Pretty sucky options.”

  “A smart guy like you probably should’ve considered these potential outcomes before you went into business with a known criminal.”

  “None of this would be happening if Willie had caught that goddamned ball!”

  “Well, he didn’t, so what’s it going to be? Work with us or fend for yourself?”

  Collins sagged into his chair. “Either way, I’m probably dead, so what does it matter?”

  “Everything that can be done to ensure your safety will be seen to by the FBI.”

  “Pardon me if I don’t find your assurances particularly comforting.”

  “I don’t have all day, Mr. Collins. What’s your decision?”

  As he blew out a deep breath, the realization that life as he knew it was over seemed to settle on him. His shoulders slumped and his styled hair fell over his forehead. “I’ll work with the Feds.”

  “I’ll set it up. Sit tight.”

  “Yeah, sure. Like I have any other choice.”

  For once, Sam didn’t feel the need to pour salt on open wounds, so she left the room and went back to her office to await Hill’s call.

  Freddie came in with Collins’ phone in an evidence bag. “Am I still taking this to him?”

  “Get Antonio Sandover’s number off the phone.”

  Freddie let out a low whistle. “What’s he doing messing with that cat?”

  “What else? Betting on baseball.”

  “Seriously? He bet on his own team?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “Are you looking at him for Willie’s murder?”

  “No,” Sam said with a sigh. How nice would it have been to wrap this one up nice and neat by pinning it on the team’s general manager who’d had far more than anyone knew riding on the outcome of the game? Unfortunately, nothing was ever that easy in her world. “He didn’t kill Willie because that wouldn’t have changed anything for him. Instead, he went home and beat the shit out of his house. Go get that number off his phone and put the phone back in the evidence locker. Then meet me here so we can deal with Rick Lind.”

  “Got it.”

  She took advantage of a free minute to run an internet search on Lind and printed out a few pages of information. When Sam’s phone rang she took the call from Hill. “Speak.”

  “I’m sending over my deputy, Special Agent Terrell, to pick up Collins. He’ll have three other agents with him for transport.”

  “I’ll let Collins know.”

  “I’m on a five o’clock flight to the D.R. I’ll be in touch after I’ve tracked down Marco.”

  “We’re on our way to talk to Lind.”

  “I forgot to mention that Bixby told me Lind had issues.”

  “What kind of issues?”

  “Anger, for one thing. Didn’t take much to set him off.”

  “Good to know. Thanks again for making the trip.”

  “No problem.”

  She slapped the phone closed, stashed it in her pocket and went to find Cruz.

  On the way out of HQ, she went looking for Scotty and the chief to let them know she had to leave.

  Scotty lit up when he saw her coming into the intake area. “Sam! Check it out!” He held up his hands to show off the black smudges on his fingertips. “And here’s my mug shot.”

  “Dude, you’re not supposed to smile when you’ve been arrested.”

  “The celebrities smile in their mug shots because they know they’ll end up on TV, and they don’t want to look like dirtbag losers.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Uncle Joe.”

  Sam smiled at the chief, who seemed more relaxed than she’d seen him in days. “You need to be home and ready by five thirty for Nick to pick you up,” she told Scotty, glancing at his agents, who nodded. “And make sure you get your homework done at some point.”

  “I will.” He gave her a hug. “Thanks for coming to get me at school.”

  As Sam returned his embrace, she wondered if she’d eventually get used to the overpowering love that came with having him in her life. “Anytime.” She kissed the top of his head and released him. “Thanks, Chief.”

  “It’s been my pleasure,” he said with a warm smile for Scotty.

  The man who’d never had children of his own had gotten himself an adopted grandson in Scotty and was clearly enjoying the new addition to their extended family.

  “I’ll see you guys.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Lind lived in Potomac, an upscale Beltway community in Maryland. According to her research, he was married with three kids—two sons and a daughter. He’d come up through the University of California system and was drafted right out of college by the San Diego Padres in the third round. He’d bounced around on several National League teams before landing with the Feds during their inaugural season.

  He’d come into his own as a closer with the Feds and had seen his star finally begin to rise in the last two seasons.

  While Freddie drove, Sam read deeper into the pages she’d printed out where she found an arrest two years ago for a domestic issue that hadn’t been adjudicated. She called Malone and asked him to get her the details.

  “Hang on,” he said, clicking away on a keyboard. “Looks like his wife called the police because he was making threats toward her. They took him in, let him spend the night in the cooler but released him when she declined to press charges.”

  “Interesting. Thanks for the info. I’ll let you know what he has to say.”

  “Sounds good.”

  As Freddie navigated traffic, Sam also took the time to flip through the stack of restraining orders that had been granted to Feds players. Most of them involved overly interested women who relentlessly pursued the ballplayers. Willie’s order against his brother-in-law was a notable exception as it involved a family member rather than a fan.

  “Why are you so quiet over there?” Sam asked her partner as she continued to scan the details of Willie’s protective order against Marco Peña.

  “I’m not quiet. I’m driving.”

  “You’re quiet. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Whenever you say nothing is wrong, something is always wrong.”

  “Quit acting like you know me so well.”

  Sam gave him a withering look. Other than his mother and maybe his girlfriend, Sam was fairly confident that no one knew him better than she did. “Shall we examine the evidence?”

  “Here’s a big idea—let’s not.”

  “Come on, Freddie. What gives?”

  “It was a rough night. That’s all.”

  “Did she get to you?” she asked of Carmen.

  “Of course she did. She’d just lost her husband and has two little kids to think about in a country that’s not home to her. Her kids are American citizens, so she’s torn about what to do now that Willie is gone. We talked some while we waited for her family to get there. It was... It was a long n
ight.”

  And her sensitive partner would’ve been more affected than most by the young widow’s grief. “It was good of you to stay with her, Freddie. Way above and beyond the call of duty.”

  He shrugged off her praise, as she’d known he would. “Someone had to stay with her. All her friends abandoned her after her husband missed the ball.”

  “She was hurt by that.”

  “Extremely. The wives and girlfriends stick together, especially during the season when the guys are on the road so much. I got the impression that the other women had been a lifeline for Carmen as she raised her kids far away from her home and family. And then when she needed them most...”

  “They deserted her.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s a sucky situation all the way around.”

  “I wish there was more I could do for her.”

  “Helping to find her husband’s killer will go a long way toward getting closure for her.”

  “I can’t believe you used the word ‘closure.’ You hate that word.”

  “True.” She hated the word because there was never really closure for the families of murder victims, who lived in the shadow of violent crime for the rest of their lives. “We do what we can for them. We do the best we can.”

  “I know.”

  The best he could do wouldn’t be enough for him, Sam suspected, vowing to keep a close eye on her partner over the next few days. They walked a fine line between their professional and personal relationships, and somehow managed to keep the balance. At times like this, however, she tended to think of him more as the beloved little brother she’d never had than the partner she’d trained and nurtured for years now. Not that she’d ever tell him that...

  They rolled into Montgomery County and arrived in Potomac, one of the wealthiest towns in the country.

  “I can’t get over the real estate out here,” Sam said. “Can you imagine living in a house like that?” She pointed to a Tudor monstrosity that would’ve occupied a full city block in the District.

  “Not in this lifetime.”

  “Even if I could afford it, I’d never want to live way out here away from all the action.”

  “You’d go crazy out here.”

  Naturally, Lind lived in a gated community, and naturally, they had to fight with the rent-a-cop in the gatehouse to let them in.

  “Just open the gate, Barney Fife, before I file a complaint with your supervisor,” Sam said.

  “Who the hell is Barney Fife?” the young man asked, baffled.

  “Just open the goddamned gate. We’re investigating a murder, and you’re getting in our way.”

  “If I get in trouble for this—”

  “You got two seconds or your little wooden arm is going to become my new hood ornament.”

  Giving her a filthy glare, the guy flipped a switch that raised the arm.

  Freddie hit the gas and left a little dust in their wake.

  “Well done,” Sam said. “I’m so sick and tired of the goddamned gatekeepers.”

  “Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain,” he said with less conviction than usual, although Sam would’ve been more worried if he hadn’t said it at all.

  “My apologies.”

  “You could at least attempt a measure of sincerity when you apologize.”

  “What? Now I’m apologizing wrong too? I can’t catch a break with you. I swear.”

  The friendly bickering was much more in keeping with their usual routine than his stony silence had been.

  Rick Lind’s house was yet another monstrosity made of sandstone with creamy white trim and a sleek black sports car in the driveway.

  “Don’t get too close to that thing,” Sam said as Freddie pulled in next to the fancy car. “I bet the department’s insurance wouldn’t be adequate to cover even a scratch on whatever that is.”

  “I believe it’s the latest Porsche.”

  “Hmm. How can you tell?”

  “The decal on the back,” he said, pointing as they got out of her boxy domestic car, which looked dumpy next to the glossy black thing.

  “My poor car is suffering from an inferiority complex,” Sam said. At the front door, she pushed the doorbell and listened to the chimes echo through the house. “Just like Christian Patterson’s place. Remember that?”

  “I remember him answering the door in his bathrobe during some midday nookie with his wife.”

  “I wonder if they’re taking advantage of the once-a-month conjugals now that he’s locked up.”

  Freddie snickered. “You would wonder that.”

  Sam pushed the doorbell again and again the obnoxious bells did their thing. “Imagine being asleep when that thing goes off. It must be like an air-raid siren during the war. Oh good, here comes someone.”

  The door swung open to reveal a stick figure of a woman with chestnut brown hair that curled at her shoulders as if she’d just stepped out of a salon. She was immaculately dressed in a tailored pink oxford shirt, formfitting jeans and leather boots.

  “May I help you?”

  They raised their badges for her inspection. “I’m Lieutenant Holland, Metro PD. My partner, Detective Cruz. We’re looking for Rick Lind.”

  “Aren’t we all?” she asked with a weary sigh.

  Sam and Freddie exchanged glances. “What does that mean?” Sam asked.

  “I haven’t seen or heard from my husband since they lost the game the other night. When you said you were cops, I was hoping maybe you knew where he was and were coming to tell me.”

  “Have you reported him missing?” Sam wondered why she hadn’t been told of a missing person report concerning a member of the Feds.

  “Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s done this before. When things don’t go his way, he goes under.”

  “For how long?”

  “Usually a day or so. This is the longest stretch so far.”

  “Any idea where he might be?”

  “I’ve called everyone he might be with, but no one has seen him.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Carla Lind.”

  Sam wrote the name in her notebook. “Is that his car?” Sam asked, gesturing to the black vehicle.

  “Yes, his pride and joy,” Carla said with a hint of bitterness.

  “Do you mind if we come in for a minute?”

  “Um, sure, I guess.” She led them to one of those useless living rooms that were supposedly reserved for guests but never actually used by anyone.

  “How does he get to and from the ballpark on game days?” Sam asked when she and Freddie were settled on one sofa and Carla on another.

  “He usually drives but he hired a car service this time so he could drink if they won.”

  “Did you go to the game?”

  “Yes. My children and I were in the owner’s box with the other families.”

  “Did you see your husband after the game?”

  “No. We left right after Willie’s error. We were concerned about trouble. Turns out we did the right thing getting out of there.”

  “I assume your husband has a cell phone?” Sam asked.

  “Yes, for all the good that’s done me.”

  “When you call him, does it ring or go right to voice mail?”

  “It rings.”

  Sam glanced at Freddie.

  “Could we please get the number, ma’am? We’ll have our IT detectives put a trace on it.”

  Carla’s gaze darted between Sam and Freddie. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

  “Why is that?”

  “When he gets into one of his... moods, it’s better to leave him alone until he comes out of it.”

  “If your husband is in some sort of trouble,” Sam said, “we could be running out of time to get a signal on the phone before it loses power.”

  With her elbows resting on her knees, Carla bit her thumbnail as she seemed to ponder her options. “So you’d only use it to
determine whether or not he’s safe. Not for anything else, right?”

  “What else would we use it for?”

  “I don’t want him to be embarrassed by whatever he might be doing.”

  “What do you suspect he might be doing?”

  “He’s been known to engage in some rather... shall we say... risky behavior when in one of his moods.”

  “Risky how?”

  “He gets high for one thing.”

  “On what?”

  “Cocaine is his drug of choice. We’ve managed to keep his...issues off the team’s radar, and we’d like to keep it that way. We’re handling it privately.”

  “Detective Cruz, I believe we have reasonable concern about Mr. Lind’s safety to put a trace on his phone. Will you please contact Lieutenant Archelotta to get that going?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Freddie got up and left the room.

  Carla watched him go with trepidation affecting her expression. “You’d never tell Rick that I told you to track him down, would you?”

  “I don’t see the need to do that. One of his teammates has been murdered. His name came up in the investigation.”

  Carla blanched at the word murdered. “Who was murdered? What’re you talking about?”

  “You haven’t heard that Willie Vasquez was killed after the game?” Was she living under a rock?

  “Oh my God! No! I knew there’d be nothing but anger and hate toward the team after the way they lost, so I’ve avoided everything the last few days. I haven’t taken any calls or watched the news. I admit I’ve been hiding out a bit.” She raised trembling hands to her face. “Poor Carmen. She must be beside herself.”

  “That’s one way to put it. Are you friends with her?”

  “We’re friendly, but I’m not super tight with any of the wives. Who has time with three kids to care for and a husband with problems.”

  “You mentioned his moods. Is there a more technical term for them?”

  “Probably,” she said, her shoulders sagging a bit, “but we’ve never gone looking for an actual diagnosis. When you’re a professional athlete with million-dollar endorsement deals, no one wants to hear that you’re anything other than perfect. Rick fights his demons in private. We fight them together.”

  “A couple of years ago, you called the police about a domestic incident.”