“What do you want?”
“Tell me who might want Willie Vasquez dead for failing to catch that ball.”
“Other than everyone in the Metro D.C. area and surrounding environs?”
“Yes, other than that. Sponsors, for instance, or angry agents who might’ve benefitted from a hefty new contract for a free agent after he won the World Series. We’re interested in talking to those types of people.”
“Are you accusing me of having something to do with this?”
“Should I be?”
“Of course not! He wasn’t just my client. He was my friend too. I’m heartbroken over what happened to him—both on the field and afterward. He was one of the hardest-working, most dedicated athletes I’d ever had the pleasure to work with.”
“Did your PR agency write that tidy little sound bite for you or did you come up with it all on your own?”
“
What the hell is your problem?
”
Sam held the phone away from her ear as he bellowed at her, wondering if he would’ve spoken to her that way if she’d been standing right in front of him. For his sake, she hoped not. “Murder is my problem, Mr. McPhearson. I want to know who in Willie’s orbit might’ve had something to gain by the Feds winning that game, beyond the obvious. I’m thinking sponsors or perhaps a manager or agent who had a big deal riding on a trip to the World Series.”
He was silent for so long that Sam wondered if he’d hung up on her. “Hello? McPhearson?”
“I’m here.”
“And?”
“We all had a lot riding on that game, Lieutenant,” he said in a far more weary, conciliatory tone. “There were deals lined up if the team made it to the World Series, not just for Willie but for several other players on the Feds as well.”
“Who else do you represent on the team?”
“Lind, Mulroney, Hattie, Smith and Ortiz.”
“Who among them had the most to lose?”
“Willie.”
“Second?”
“Lind.”
“Have you spoken to him since the game the other night?”
“I’ve left him a couple of messages. Haven’t heard back from him yet.”
“What about you? A lot to lose?”
“Of course, but I also represent six players on the Giants, so either way, I come out fine.”
“Any of his sponsors stand to lose big-time because of Willie dropping that ball?”
“Not enough to kill him over it. They spread it out over the big names so they don’t have all their eggs in any one basket.”
“Just like agents, right?”
“Yes, I suppose you could say that.”
“Why weren’t you at the game with so many of your players in it?”
“I was there. I flew back to New York afterward.”
Sam’s phone beeped with another call that she ignored. “What about Willie’s manager?”
“Charlie Engal. He’s in Europe for a month with his wife, celebrating their thirtieth wedding anniversary.”
“During the baseball play-offs?”
“He didn’t manage baseball players when he got married. What do you want me to say?”
“I’d like to give you my number in case you think of anything that might be relevant to the investigation.”
“Um, sure. Hang on while I get a pen. Okay, go ahead.”
Sam gave him the number. “And you might want to train your people that when cops call for you, put them through.”
“You’ll have to pardon our ignorance. We don’t get many calls from the police.”
The phone beeped again, indicating whoever was trying to reach her was calling again. “I’ll pardon it this time, but if I call you again and hit a brick wall, I won’t be so forgiving. Thanks for your time.”
Sam ended the call before he could say anything else. It pleased her to get in the last word.
“You told him,” Hill said.
“I don’t like when people get in the way of my investigation. They always think they’ve got something more important going on than I do.” Speaking of that, she remembered the calls she’d ignored and checked her list of recent calls. Shit. They were both from Scotty’s school. She called right back.
Chapter Eleven
“This is Sam Holland. I mean... Cappuano. You called me?”
“Ah, yes, Mrs. Cappuano. Your son Scotty is in the nurse’s office. He’s complaining of a stomachache, and he asked us to call you.”
“Oh, um, okay, I’ll be there to get him right away.”
“We’ll let him know. Thank you.”
“Drive faster,” she said to Hill. “My son is sick at school. I need to get him.”
“Sure.”
Sam’s own stomach began to ache with anxiety. There were a lot of people she could call to pick him up—Shelby, either of her sisters, her stepmother, Nick, even Scotty’s Secret Service detail could escort him home. But because Scotty had asked for her, no one else would do. At the last light before the parking lot to HQ, she turned to Hill. “You’ll go to the Dominican Republic and work that angle?”
“Yes.”
“Keep me posted.”
“You do the same. Hope your son is okay.”
“Thanks.” Sam got out of the car and ran for the parking lot. Once inside her own car, she called Nick, but got his voice mail. “Hey, babe, just wanted to tell you I’m on my way to get Scotty from school. He’s got a stomachache. I’ll keep you posted. Love you.”
Sam took a circuitous route to Capitol Hill, trying to avoid midday traffic. Her blood pressure was through the roof by the time she illegally parked outside the school and ran inside. In the main office, the receptionist was on the phone. Sam held back her inclination to use her usual receptionist skills on this one, until she realized the woman was on a personal call.
“My kid is sick,” Sam said.
The woman had the nerve to hold up a finger.
Seriously? Sam wanted to reach out and snatch the phone out of her hand—and break the finger. The only thing that stopped her was the fact that Scotty would have to come back here tomorrow. “My kid is sick,” she said again, louder this time.
This time the woman frowned at her. “I’ve got to go. Talk to you later.”
“Where can I find the nurse’s office?”
“I’ll call down there for you. Your son’s name?”
“Scott Cappuano.” The sound of his new name rolling off her tongue made her smile—on the inside. She refused to smile at the receptionist.
She picked up the phone and dialed an extension. “Scott Cappuano’s mother is here to pick him up.”
Scott Cappuano’s mother is here
.
Her knees nearly buckled from the emotional wallop that accompanied five perfectly innocuous words that meant the world to her. When tears threatened, Sam turned away from the reception desk, fighting for composure. Her heart felt like someone was squeezing it. And then Scotty came into the office, dragging his backpack behind him, and nothing in the world mattered but whatever he needed. His Secret Service agents followed at a respectful distance.
“Hey, buddy,” she said, reaching for him and starting for the door.
“You have to sign him out, Mrs. Cappuano,” the receptionist said, pointing to a binder on the counter.
“Oh, right.” Sam released Scotty, signed where directed and guided him from the office. Outside, she took a couple of deep breaths to regain her composure. Who knew that picking your kid up from school could be so fraught with emotion? She kept an arm around him. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
The one-word answer was so out of character that Sam stopped walking and turned to face him. She was shocked to see his brown eyes brimming with tears. She rested her hands on his shoulders and bent to look him square in the eye. “What’s wrong?”
He glanced at the school. “Not here.”
Suddenly filled with anxiety, she said, “Come on.” With a wary glance at the agents who followed them from the school, she shepherded him into her car and went around to the driver’s side. She had him settled before they could insist on driving him home. “What happened?”
“Some kids were saying that Willie was a loser for not catching the ball. They said he deserved what happened to him.”
“Oh, man.” She could already see where this was going. “What did you say to that?”
“I told them he made a mistake, and no one deserves to die for that.”
“That’s right.”
“They didn’t agree with me. This one kid... Nathan Cleary...”
“What?”
“He punched me in the stomach.”
“
What?
Are you kidding me? I’m going back in there to have a conversation with the principal.” Not to mention the words she planned to have with his detail. What the hell were they doing letting another kid hit him?
Scotty grabbed her arm to stop her from getting out of the car. “No, Sam. No. You can’t do that.”
“What do you mean I can’t do it? You were
assaulted
in school. You bet I can make a stink about that.”
“If you do, the other kids will hate me. He’s popular, and I’m still new. You can’t make a stink. You
can’t
.”
Sam wasn’t used to being told she couldn’t do something, especially when it came to protecting her loved ones.
“Please?”
The single word, uttered in a small voice that was so not him, did her in. “Okay, fine, but if he hits you again, I’m getting involved.”
“He caught me by surprise this time. If he hits me again, I’ll hit him back.”
“Yes, you will, and if they suspend you for that, we’ll get ice cream and celebrate your first suspension.”
That drew a hint of a smile from him.
“So you’re not really sick.”
He shook his head. “My stomach kinda hurts from being punched.”
Alarmed, Sam said, “Should I take you to see Dr. Harry?”
“
No
,” he said, full of preteen disdain.
Another thought occurred to her, one that she hoped would cheer him up. “Wanna come to work with me this afternoon?”
His eyes got very big. “Could I help figure out what happened to Willie?”
She started the car. “Absolutely. I could use all the help I can get, pal.”
“So you’re not mad that I pretended to be sick so you’d come get me?”
“I’m not mad because you were upset. But I don’t want you doing that when you’re bored. Got me?”
“Yeah, I got ya. I just couldn’t stay there after what happened.”
“I hope that bully Nathan is sweating his balls off worrying that he’s going to get in big trouble when your badass cop mother finds out what he did.”
Scotty snorted with laughter that warmed her heart. “That’s two swearwords in one sentence.”
“
Balls
is not a swear word.”
“It’s vulgar. Mrs. Littlefield said so.”
His former guardian had instilled some rather rigid values into the kid. Living up to them was proving to be a challenge for Sam. “If Mrs. Littlefield says so it must be true, but in my book, body parts aren’t vulgar.”
They debated the vulgarity of various body parts all the way to HQ, laughing most of the ride. His detail followed behind in one of their signature black SUVs. Sam pulled into the parking lot and took her usual spot. “Stay here for a second, buddy. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.”
Sam got out of the car and walked over to the SUV, rapping on the window with her knuckles.
The window was lowered, revealing a female agent at the wheel and a male agent in the passenger seat. Sam couldn’t remember their names, but their faces were familiar.
“Let me ask you something,” she said.
“Of course, Lieutenant,” the female said.
“How’s it possible that my son manages to get punched in the stomach when he has
two federal agents
watching his every move?”
“We’ve been trying to keep our distance so he’s able to have somewhat of a normal experience,” the male said. “The incident with the other kid escalated very quickly. We regret that it happened and that we weren’t close enough to stop it.”
Sam could tell by his expression and his tone of voice that he did regret it. They both did. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to jump all over you, but I need to know he’s safe at all times so I can function.”
“We’re sorry we let you down,” the woman said. “It won’t happen again.”
“What’re your names?”
They exchanged nervous glances, no doubt concerned that she was going to report them.
“I’m Toni, and he’s Brice.”
“Thanks for keeping an eye on Scotty, Toni and Brice. He’ll be with me this afternoon. You’re welcome to make yourselves comfortable in our reception area, but I can’t have you in the back where we’re working.”
“We need to have eyes on him at all times when he’s not inside your home,” Brice said.
“Surely we can work something out as his mother is a police officer.”
Toni shook her head, making her ponytail bob. “All times.”
“Fine,” Sam said with a huff of exasperation. She understood about having a job to do and how often it could be inconvenient for everyone involved. “But don’t get in the way.”
“We’ll do our best to be unobtrusive,” Brice said.
Sam was walking back to her car when Nick called. “Hey, babe.”
“What’s wrong with the boy?”
“A fight in school.”
“
What?
What the hell?”
“My questions exactly.” She relayed a quick synopsis of the incident at school to her husband.
“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?”