“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.”

Her amiable expression hardened. “I never pressed charges. I don’t see what that’s got to do with this.”

“Was he in one of his moods then too?”

She hesitated for a long moment, as if choosing her words carefully. “He’d blown a critical save, and it sent him into a tailspin.”

“What did the tailspin involve?”

“Another cocaine binge and a couple of hookers—in my house. They wouldn’t get out, so I called the cops. That got rid of the hookers, but needless to say, my husband wasn’t too happy with me for making our private life public.”