Sam made a note to check on whether Lind was interviewed after the game. “Anyone else spouting about Willie?”

“Cecil Mulroney was pretty mad too.”

“Do you know where I might reach him in the off-season?”

“He’s at his ranch in Texas. Hang on a sec. I’ll get you the number.”

While she waited, Sam realized she’d missed the boat by allowing the ballplayers to leave town while the investigation was still active. She might not have prevailed in keeping the whole team in the city, but not trying was another thing she could blame on the fatigue of a sleepless night.

“Ready?” Ortiz said when he came back on the line.

“Go.” She wrote down the number. “Let me give you mine in case you think of anything else that might be relevant to the investigation.”

“Sure. So you won’t tell Mulroney who gave you his number, will you?”

“I can say I got it from the team.”

“I’d appreciate that. We’ve got to play together again next year, and I don’t need that kind of crap with my teammates.”

“I understand, and I appreciate your time. I’m sorry for the loss of your friend.”

“Thanks. It’s crazy when you think about how someone probably killed Willie because of a baseball game.”

“Crazy indeed. Call me if you think of anything else.”

“I will.”

Sam ended the call and sat back in her chair, feet on the desk as she stared at the wall, rehashing everything she’d learned about Willie, the team, professional sports, the culture that surrounded the games, the family members and the missing teammate. None of it added up to murder.

She’d known all along that this investigation could end any number of ways. It could turn into a cold case in which the murderer was never found. It could lead to someone Willie had known—someone who was infuriated by his failure to catch that fly ball or perhaps a family member who felt entitled to share in Willie’s riches. Or it could’ve been a completely random act of violence that occurred in the midst of a riot brought on by his error.

Over the years, Sam had learned to trust her instincts. They hadn’t led her wrong yet. Everything in her was leading her to focus on the people around the slain ballplayer. There was just too much hate and discontent in his life to write off his murder as a random act committed by an aggrieved fan. That would be too simple. As mad as the fans had been, most of them weren’t murderers. Despite that, however, she wasn’t ready to rule out the possibility of a random act either.