“Got it,” he said, smiling at her quick reply. He expected nothing less from her. “I like the way you think.”
“Bagel?” she asked, holding up the bag from their trip to the market the night before.
“Sure. Thanks.” While he waited on the toaster, he scanned the headlines in the
Washington Post
,
Washington Star
, the
Wall Street Journal
and the
New York Times
. He opened the
Star
to peruse the political news, and an item on page two caught his attention: Fire in Thailand Linked to U.S. Company.
He skimmed the story about the factory fire that killed more than three hundred young women over the summer. An investigation had uncovered a connection between the factory and U.S. textile giant Lexicore.
Terry gasped in shock as the name Lexicore jumped out at him. “Oh no, no, no,” he whispered. “Holy shit.”
Carrying two plates with bagels slathered in cream cheese, Lindsey came over to where he was standing at the counter. “Terry? What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Remember the fire in Thailand last summer when all those girls were killed?”
She nodded. “Didn’t they have the doors barred from the outside or something?”
“Yes.”
“So horrible. What about it?”
“The factory is owned by Lexicore.”
“As in Lexicore the big U.S. company?”
“One and the same. My dad is close to the company’s president, and he’s a huge stockholder. When my brother died, he left a two-million-dollar life insurance policy to Nick, and my dad invested most of it for him—some of it in Lexicore.”
“Oh no,” Lindsey said, properly stricken. “Oh God.”
“Oh yes, and the press has made the connection to Lexicore this close to the election.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and found his dad’s number on his list of favorites.
“Good morning, son,” Graham said. “This is a nice surprise.”
“Dad, we’ve got a huge problem.”
Chapter Nine
Sam arrived at HQ fifteen minutes before the meeting she’d called, raring to dig into the investigation after a decent night of sleep. Despite the interruptions, she felt rested and recharged and determined to make serious headway.
Her first stop was in the pit to talk to third-shift detectives Carlucci and Dominguez. “What’ve we got, ladies?”
“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Carlucci said, choking back a yawn. “Autopsy report and photos from Dr. McNamara that came in last night. Vic died of a single stab wound to the chest that punctured his aorta. She puts the time of death between two and four yesterday morning.”
Sam opened the envelope, flipped through the photos and scanned Lindsey’s report, frowning when she saw that it contained nothing else she didn’t already know.
“We watched security footage all night,” Carlucci continued, “and were able to isolate the drop off of Ms. Clark in the area of the L’Enfant Plaza Metro station. He pulled back into traffic on Maryland Avenue, and that’s where we lost him.”
“Heading in which direction?”
“Toward Georgetown.”
“So whatever occurred, it happened between L’Enfant and Georgetown.”
“That’s a lot of ground to cover,” Dominguez said.
“Any sign of the car or the blood?”
“Neither,” Carlucci said. “Based on his interviews with team personnel last night, Agent Hill asked us to do background and financial checks on a number of the key players.”
It irritated her that he’d asked her people to do something for him, but to say so would be childish and counterproductive, so she held her tongue. “Anything pop on that?”
“The general manager, Garrett Collins, is up to his eyeballs in debt.” Carlucci handed Sam a printout that detailed a dire financial situation.
“Well, well, what’ve we got here?” she asked as she scanned the three-page list of creditors. “The guy makes seven figs and doesn’t pay his cable bill?”
“We said the same thing.”
Acting on a hunch, Sam said, “Go pick him up for further questioning.”
“What about the meeting?” Dominguez asked.
“You can join us already in progress if you get back in time. Before you go, print me out a picture of Willie alive and in uniform, will you?”
“Sure thing.”
Carlucci produced the photo about two minutes later and headed out with her partner to pick up Collins.
Right after they left, Hill came into the pit looking perfectly put together in a dark suit with a lavender tie. Another guy might’ve looked effeminate in a tie that color, but there was nothing effeminate about him. He looked her over in that intense way he did so well. “You seem rested, Lieutenant.”
“Rested and ready to hit it hard. I just sent Carlucci and Dominguez to pick up Garrett Collins.”
He seemed taken aback by the news. “Why? I met with him yesterday and didn’t pick up the murderer vibe at all. He’s alibied up the wazoo too. He was at the ballpark until five in the morning after the game.”
“That’s after our estimated time of death, but he’s also in debt up the wazoo,” Sam said, handing him the printout of Collins’ financials.
“Whoa,” Hill said as he read over the info.
“I thought it was worth another conversation.”
“Agreed. After I left your place, I went to his house on Sixth. He’d taken a baseball bat to his living room. Everything that could be smashed was—even what looked like a very big and very expensive flat-screen TV.”
“What the hell? Did he say anything about it?”
“Just that he took his frustration out on things rather than people.”
“Based on that and the financial report, I’d say he had some sort of stake in the game beyond the obvious professional interest.”
“It’s a thought worth pursuing. Collins mentioned the restraining order Willie had against Carmen’s brother. I took the liberty of asking my deputy to look into that further. I’ll let you know what we uncover.”
Sam wasn’t sure how she felt about him taking liberties with her investigation, but she chose not to express the thought since he had been quite helpful.
“We also need to take a look at Rick Lind,” Hill said.
“The closer? How come?”
“From all reports he was infuriated about Vasquez missing the catch, which put the loss and blown save on Lind’s record.”
“How infuriated?”
“He made firewood out of some of the furniture in the locker room and was ranting for quite some time after the game. Lots of witnesses.”
“We’ll talk to him after the meeting.”
“Mind if I tag along?”
How did she tell him she did mind? The less time she spent with him the better—for everyone involved. “We’ve got it from here. I really appreciate your help with Jestings and the team yesterday, but you’ve probably got better things to be doing than dealing with dead ballplayers.”
“Not at the moment. Things are kind of slow in my office.”
Before Sam could come up with a polite way to give him the brush-off, Freddie came in looking completely wiped out.
“Did you sleep at all?” she asked.
“A few minutes here and there. Carmen’s brother, parents, aunts and cousins got in around five. I was up all night with her. It was a tough night.”
“Her brother is here? Which one?”
“Eduardo.”
“Oh,” Sam said, disappointed. Too bad it wasn’t Marco. That would’ve made things easier for her. “Go home.”
He eyed Hill suspiciously. Her partner didn’t like the agent any more than her husband did. “That’s okay. I can put in a few more hours.”
“No need. We’ve got everyone else back at full speed today. Get some sleep and report back tomorrow morning.”
“All right. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“So,” Hill said after Freddie walked away, “looks like you’re in need of a partner for the day.”
“Looks like.” She headed for the conference room, determined to ignore him and the weirdness that lingered between them to focus on the job.
“Lieutenant,” Jeannie McBride called from the pit.
“What’s up?”
“They found Vasquez’s car—or what’s left of it.”
“Where?”
“On New York Avenue. IT got a hit on his cell phone that led to the car. It’s been pretty well picked over apparently.”
Great
, Sam thought. “Let’s get CSU up there to process it. Do they have it roped off?”
“Yes, I asked.”
“Go on up there and keep an eye on things. I don’t want any mistakes.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll take care of it.”
“Take Tyrone with you,” Sam said, referring to Jeannie’s partner.
Sam went into the conference room and headed directly to the dry-erase board where she tacked up photos of Willie in his uniform and the photos from the Dumpster as well as the autopsy pictures. She was well into detailing the timeline when people began filing in. Detectives Gonzales and Arnold were there along with Assistant U.S. Attorney Charity Miller. Her stilettos clicked on the tile floor as she came into the room.
Sam nodded to the prosecutor who was also a friend. “Welcome, Ms. Miller.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Just looking for an update.”
“Me too,” Chief Farnsworth said as he came in with Captain Malone.
“Gonzo, go,” Sam said.
“I met with James Settle, the general manager of WFBR, and Big Ben Markinson, the morning on-air guy who was inciting a verbal riot on the airwaves yesterday morning. He gave me a list of people who were particularly enraged, but a lot of them are first names, so it’s going to be hard to track them down.”
“See what you can do, but don’t spend too much time on it.” She turned to Hill. “You can go ahead and brief on what you did yesterday.”
“After the lieutenant and I met with team owner Ray Jestings, manager Bob Minor, and the trainer Jamie Clark, I went by myself to meet with general manager Garrett Collins at his home on Sixth Street.” Avery told them about the condition of Collins’s home and the info they later uncovered about his financial situation.
“The financials lead us to believe he had more than just a professional stake in the game,” Sam added. “Detectives Carlucci and Dominguez have gone to bring him in for a more in-depth conversation.”
“I went over the financial reports for Minor and Clark,” Gonzo said. “I don’t see anything out of the ordinary on either.”
“How about Vasquez?” Sam asked.
“Still waiting on the banks in the D.R. to get back to us.”
Sam glanced at the chief. “Who do we know who would have some sway there?”
“I might be able to help with that. I’ll talk to Forrester,” Charity said, referring to the U.S. Attorney.
“Let me know,” Sam said.
“I also met with Hugh Bixby, the team’s security director,” Avery said. “He mentioned Willie’s brother-in-law, who he was apparently having some sort of issue with. There was a restraining order in place to keep the brother-in-law away from the stadium. I’ve got my deputy working on that.”
“The brother-in-law in question is Marco Peña,” Sam said, making a note about the restraining order. “I’ll have Carmen fill us in on what was going on there. We’ll see her when we’re done here.”
“Shouldn’t the team’s security director know the name of someone who has been legally barred from having contact with one of the players?” Gonzo asked.
“I got the sense from Bixby that there’s a lot of drama among the players with women,” Avery said. “He made a comment about how tracking the players’ romantic exploits would take an army. Perhaps there are dozens of restraining orders in place, which is why he couldn’t recall the brother-in-law’s name.”
“I could look into the other ROs related to the team,” Malone said.
“That would help, thanks,” Sam said as another thought occurred to her. She went to the phone on the wall and dialed an internal extension. “Hey, Archie, thanks for the help with finding Vasquez’s phone. You didn’t happen to do a dump on it, did you?”
“I sure did. I was just going to bring it down to you.”
“Excellent,” Sam said. “Thanks. While I have you, I could use some people reviewing security film today. We’re looking for any sign of Willie’s Lincoln MKZ or the man himself. We’re still in need of a murder scene, and we’re tracing his steps over a wide swath of the city. Can you spare anyone?”
“Send up the film, and I’ll put all my available people on it.”
“You’re the best. Thanks again.” She hung up and returned to her place at the head of the conference table. “I love working with people who think one step ahead. Archie dumped Willie’s phone and is bringing us the data.” To Detective Arnold, she said, “I want you on that today, and get all the remaining video footage that Dominguez and Carlucci didn’t get to up to IT. They’ll be taking over.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Gonzo, I want you to get with patrol and find me a crime scene. Willie was killed somewhere between L’Enfant Plaza and Georgetown. See what you can do to move that along.”
“Will do.”
“I wanted to mention a couple of other things Bixby’s people brought to my attention,” Hill said. “I already told the Lieutenant that Rick Lind bears looking into. He was furious with Vasquez, busting furniture in the locker room, slamming doors. He said if he had a gun he’d shoot Vasquez himself. Bixby also mentioned that Cecil Mulroney was particularly vocal about his displeasure with Vasquez. The other thing the security guys told me is that everyone suspected a more-than-professional relationship between Vasquez and Clark, the trainer, but no one did anything about it.”
“I’d think that would be a boatload of bad PR for Willie and the team if it came out that he was fooling around with his trainer,” Farnsworth said.
“My thoughts exactly,” Hill replied. “Willie had a reputation as a hardworking family man, and an affair would kill his image, not to mention his endorsement deals.”
“Speaking of endorsement deals,” Sam said, “we need to look at what companies he was working with and what a colossal fuckup on the field would do to those deals. When I talk to Carmen, I’ll find out who his agent and manager were. We also need to have a more in-depth conversation with Ms. Clark about the true nature of her relationship with Vasquez. Maybe if we can get her alone without her bosses outside the door she’ll be more forthcoming. But first, I’d like to go back to Ray Jestings and find out whether the alleged affair was common knowledge at his level. If it was, I want to know why he didn’t do anything about it—and I want to know why he didn’t mention it yesterday.”
“I’d like to know that too,” Hill said.
“We’ll go there first.”
* * *
Nick had breakfast with Scotty but let Shelby take him to school so he wouldn’t be late for his nine o’clock meeting with the Democratic caucus. Scotty had been a little better but not quite back to his usual self.
He hoped Scotty would shake off the despair over Willie’s murder in a couple of days, but he worried the incident had triggered the boy’s memories of the dark days that followed the deaths of his mother and grandfather. He planned to call Scotty’s former guardian, Mrs. Littlefield, at some point during the day to see what she thought of the situation.
Nick walked into his office at eight thirty and found Christina and Terry waiting for him, both looking grim.
“What’s up?” he asked as he dropped his bag on top of the desk that had once belonged to John O’Connor.
“We’ve got a little problem,” Christina began.
“It’s a big problem,” Terry said, launching into a detailed explanation of Lexicore’s connection to the factory in Thailand where all the women were killed last summer.
“What’s that got to do with me?” Nick asked.
“Remember when you asked my dad to invest the money John left to you?”
All at once, Nick figured out where this was going, and his stomach turned with dismay. He sank into his desk chair as he tried to process the overwhelming implications. He owned a piece of the company that in turn owned the factory where more than three hundred women had died in a fire while working under deplorable conditions. “Christ,” he muttered.
“My dad is on his way in,” Terry said. “He’s beside himself. He had no idea that Lex was tied to that factory until it was in the paper this morning. According to Trevor,” Terry said of their communications director, “Twitter is going crazy over the fact that Lexicore has been tied to the factory. Lexicore and Thailand are both trending at the moment.”