And then there was the fact that the team was awfully new to the city for people to care enough to commit murder over a painful loss. Other far more established baseball teams had suffered much longer losing streaks, and no one had been killed over an error on the field. If Red Sox fans allowed Bill Buckner to live after his World Series error, surely the Feds fans wouldn’t be out for blood from Willie, right?

She got up and went to the doorway to her office. “Everyone in the conference room. Five minutes. Cruz, get Charity and Archie down here.”

It was time to start over and go through it all one more time.

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

“Where are we with Vasquez’s financials?” Sam asked Charity when everyone was in the room.

“Forrester has been promised something by first thing in the morning. I’ll let you know the second I have them.”

“Good, thanks. Archie, how’s it going with the film?”

“Nothing yet, but we’re only about halfway through all of it. I’ve got three people on it, but it’s slow going.”

“We’ll have more for you from what we think is our murder scene.”

“Bring it up as soon as you have it. I’ll put some second—and third-shift people on it.” Sam glanced at Freddie, who nodded to let her know he’d take care of that.

“The restraining orders might be a dead end,” Sam said. “Most of them involve overly enthusiastic women who wouldn’t take no for an answer. The notable exception is Willie’s brother-in-law, Marco Peña. Agent Hill has gone to the Dominican Republic to track him down and hopefully have a chat with him about his problems with Willie. I’m going to take one more look at the restraining orders tonight. We also learned this afternoon that Feds closer Rick Lind hasn’t been seen or heard from since the game.”

That news sent a low murmur through the room.

“Second vic?” Gonzo asked, echoing a thought Sam had also had.

“I’m not so sure.” Sam relayed what they’d learned from Lind’s wife about his illness.

“So everyone around him knew that he was seriously ill, but they kept it quiet because he could throw a hundred-mile-an-hour fastball better than anyone in the game?” Gonzo asked.

“Apparently.”

“This case is making me want to permanently swear off all interest in professional sports,” Gonzo muttered.

“So what’s our plan where Lind is concerned?” Malone asked from his usual post in the back of the room.