"Jim," he said tentatively, glancing at Bixby who nodded.

"Jim what?"

"Morris."

"I heard you talking about Lind last night," Bixby said. "About how pissed off he was at Vasquez."

"You don't think-"

"We don't think anything," Avery said. "We just want to know what you might've heard him saying about Vasquez."

"He was fucking furious and rightfully so."

"Can you tell me, specifically, what you heard Lind say or what you saw him do?" Avery asked.

"Will he find out I talked to you?" Jim asked. "I don't want to piss him off."

"You have to understand, Agent Hill," Bixby said. "Our job is to protect and secure the ballpark as well as the players and to ensure the fans have a safe, enjoyable experience here. It goes against everything we believe in to speak to an outsider about one of the players."

"I understand and respect your position. However, a man has been murdered-a man who was loved by this organization yesterday, a man who has a wife and two young children who are counting on us to give them answers. If you know something that will help us get those answers for them, this is no time to be worried about pissing someone off."

"He said if he had a gun, he'd shoot Vasquez himself," another of them said.

"Your name?"

"Kyle Davidson."

Avery made a note. "You heard Lind say those words?"

"Yes, sir. He was running around the locker room, slamming doors and swearing. He was totally out of control, so Minor asked us to get down there in case there was trouble."

Interesting, Avery thought, that Minor had failed to mention the incident with Lind during their conversation. He made another note.

"Did you have to get involved?"

Kyle shook his head. "We stood by in case we were needed, but Lind wore himself out before we had to intervene."

"Were any of the other players spouting off?" Avery asked.

"Cecil Mulroney was pretty pissed too," Jim said. "He's the left fielder who grabbed the ball after Vasquez missed it."

Avery knew who Mulroney was, but didn't interrupt to tell him that.

"He kept saying he couldn't believe Willie missed the ball, and how he ought to go back to Little League and learn how to catch a ball."

"Did any of you see Vasquez after the game?" Avery asked.

"I did," Kyle said. "I was in the detail that brought him off the field."

"Was anything said?"

He shook his head. "What was there to say? We led him in here, and he went straight to the training room, slamming the door behind him."

"Did you see him again after that?"

"No, he didn't come out before I was called to the stadium to deal with the fans."

"So he was left here unprotected?"

"He was in a locked room. I didn't think he'd be in any danger." Kyle looked at Bixby and then at Avery. "It didn't happen here, did it?"

"No," Avery said. "We've been able to trace his movements as far as the L'Enfant Metro station. He drove there with Ms. Clark and dropped her to catch the train."

Jim and Kyle exchanged subtle glances, but Avery saw it.

"Something else you want to add?"

"Those two were awfully cozy," Jim said. "Spent a lot of time together, supposedly working on his hamstring issues. People talked."

"What did these people say?" Avery asked.

"That they seemed cozy. Speculation was that there was more to their relationship than met the eye."

"Did you suspect a romantic relationship or something else?"

"I never suspected anything," Jim said, holding up his hands. "I said other people did the suspecting."

"People thought they were messing around," Bixby said. "But to my knowledge, no one ever confronted either of them about it." He shrugged. "They're both adults, and if they wanted to get it on, as long as it didn't affect their work, who cared?"

"If it got out, something like that could cause a lot of trouble for Willie and the team," Avery said. "I find it hard to believe their relationship was common knowledge and no one cared."

"Maybe the front office cared," Bixby said. "But we aren't paid to care about who the players are screwing. If we were, our jobs would be a whole lot more complicated than they already are."

The other men nodded in agreement.

"So the players keep busy in that regard?" Avery asked.

More nervous glances followed the question.

"There's no shortage of women who are interested in spending time with them," Bixby said.

"How diplomatic," Avery replied. "We'll leave it at that for now, but I reserve the right to delve deeper into that line of questioning at a later date if need be." He doled out cards to the four men. "If you think of anything else that might be relevant to the investigation, please call me."

"You guys can go on back to work," Bixby said.

"Thanks for your time," Avery added.

When they were alone, Bixby said, "Are you going to look at Lind for this?"

"We're certainly going to have a conversation with him."

"Will you tell him we pointed you in his direction?"

"I don't see the need to mention that. I'm sure there were plenty of witnesses to the meltdown. Anyone could've told us."

"Good," he said, seeming genuinely relieved. "That's really good."

"Are you afraid of Mr. Lind for some reason?"

"Not physically, if that's what you mean. He wields a lot of power around here. Has the ear of the front office. If he wanted to, he could cause trouble for me and my staff."

"I understand. I'll do everything I can to keep your names out of the conversation."

"I'd appreciate that, and so would they."

Avery shook hands with Bixby. "Do you have a card in case I need to get in touch?"

Bixby produced a business card from his wallet. "Will you keep me posted?"

"To the best of my ability."

"Thank you."

"Hill."

"Yeah?"

"Lind... He's a bit of a hot head. Something's a little off with him, if you ask me."

"Good to know. Thanks again for your help." Avery left the locker room and followed the exit signs through the twisting maze of tunnels that eventually led to a parking lot. Unfortunately, it wasn't the lot where he'd left his car. As he walked around the outer shell of the stadium, he thought about what a difference twenty-four hours made. The silence was in stark contrast to the roar of the crowd and the rage of the fans that followed Vasquez's unfortunate error.

Avery hadn't been at the game, but he'd watched it on TV from his hotel room. One of these days, he needed to get busy finding a permanent home in the District. After this case, he told himself. Then he'd take care of getting settled.

In the meantime, he placed a call to the MPD, asking for the detectives' pit when he reached dispatch.

"Detective Dominguez."

"This is Agent Hill. I was wondering if I could pass along some information to aid in the Vasquez investigation."

"Of course. What've you got?"

"We need background checks, including financials, on Garrett Collins, the team's general manager and Rick Lind, closing pitcher."

"Anyone else?"

Avery thought about it for a second. "Let's do Jamie Clark, team trainer, and Bob Minor, the manager too."

"You got it."

"Anything back on Vasquez's financials?"

"Not yet. We're hearing there's been a hang up with the banks in the Dominican Republic. We're working on it."

"Anything on the video surveillance?"

"Not yet."

"How about his car? Any sign of it?"

"Still looking for that and the blood."

"I'll let you get back to work. Thanks for the update."

"No problem. Thanks for the leads. Will you be attending the meeting at zero seven hundred?"

"I'll be there."

"See you then."

Even though he'd love to go have a conversation with Rick Lind, he wanted to talk to Sam first. Tomorrow was another day, and zero seven hundred would be upon him far too soon. In desperate need of food and sleep, he got into his car and drove "home" to his hotel.

Chapter Eight.

By the time Nick finally got Scotty settled and into bed it was ten o'clock. After a visit with Skip and Celia, Nick had spent the entire evening with his boy, talking about Willie and what had happened to him. Scotty was a deeply sensitive kid, an old soul in many ways, and Nick had answered as many of his questions as he could. But some questions would never be answered satisfactorily, even if Sam and her team were able to piece together what'd happened to Willie.

Nick had brought home a huge briefing book that he was supposed to go over before morning meetings, but by the time Scotty ran out of questions, he was out of steam. He planned to do a quick review in the morning before his meetings.

Christina had spent all day rearranging two days of campaign events so Nick could accompany the president on the top-secret trip to visit the troops in Afghanistan. In light of the Vasquez murder and Sam's involvement in it-as well as Scotty's despair-Nick wished he hadn't committed to the trip. He hated to be away when so much was going on at home, but he had a job to do too. He couldn't pass up the chance to visit with the troops from Virginia who were stationed in Afghanistan.

He'd never admit to Sam about the tiny bit of anxiety he'd experienced when Nelson's staff first pitched the idea of the trip to him. Flying into a war zone on a gigantic plane with the U.S. flag all over it was not something he'd ever thought he'd do. But much of his life these days was made up of moments he'd never expected to experience, and flying on Air Force One would be one more unforgettable thing in a year of unforgettable things.

He took a shower and shaved before he slid into bed next to Sam, snuggling up to her, wishing she would wake up but not wanting to disturb her. As his hand connected with a wool sweater, he realized she was still fully dressed. She was so tired she hadn't even bothered to undress. At least she'd removed her shoes.

His breath caught when she turned over and reached for him, mumbling in her sleep. Nick put his arm around her and ran his other hand over her hair. "Shhh, it's okay, babe," he whispered.

"Time is it?"

"Almost eleven."

"Oh, thank God. I thought it was time to get up."