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?”