"We were supposed to win that game. We should've won that game. All he had to do was catch the ball. Just catch the ball. Do you know what a difference that would've made for all of us?"

"What kind of difference would it have made for you?"

"The team I fielded would be going to the World Series."

"Beyond that?"

"There is nothing beyond that! I needed that to happen on every possible level."

"Why?"

"Because it was my chance to turn things around! You have to understand... I needed to win that game."

"So you've said. What you haven't said is why."

He took a drink from the glass of water on the table and wiped away a bead of sweat on his forehead. "I went through a really ugly divorce a couple of years ago. It wiped me out. I've been struggling to get back on my feet ever since."

"You make a lot of money, Mr. Collins. How do you find yourself unable to pay your cable bill?"

He dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders heaving as he broke down.

Sam glanced at Freddie, rolling her eyes. He didn't engage, which was unusual, but then again, he was beyond exhausted.

"Do you have a gambling problem, Mr. Collins?"

"Yes," he said, his words muffled by his hands.

"And did you wager on the outcome of the National League Championship Series?"

His face still in his hands, he nodded.

"How much?"

"More than I could afford to lose, and now..."

"Now what?"

"I'm in really big trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"Every kind. I have to come up with a lot of money that I have no way of getting, or..."

"Or what?"

"I don't know, and I don't want to find out."

"Who are these people you're indebted to?"

"If I tell you that, I'm a dead man."

"You can either tell me who it is, or I'll set you loose so they can find you themselves. Then you can learn firsthand what happens when you screw them over."

"I can't tell you, and I can't go home, either."

"Did you have anything to do with the death of Mr. Vasquez?"

"No! What difference did it make to me after the fact if he was dead or alive? Killing him wouldn't have solved my immediate problem."

Inclined to believe him and running short on patience, Sam turned to Freddie. "Detective Cruz, will you please see about getting Mr. Collins a ride home."

Collins surged to his feet. "You can't do that! They're going to know where I've been and who I've been with. The minute you took me into custody, you put a mark on me. If you send me home, I won't live through the night."

"That's not my problem."

"How is that not your problem?" Spittle flew from his mouth, just missing Sam's face as she ducked aside. "Isn't cop an acronym for 'care of people'?"

"I do care about people-people who help themselves by giving me the information I need. Those are the people I care about."

"Fine!" He fell back into the chair, defeat resonating from him. "I'll tell you. Just don't make me leave here. Please."

Sam recognized genuine terror when she saw it, and this certainly qualified. "I'm listening."

"If I tell you, will you promise you'll protect me?"

"I'll do what I can. Depends on the quality of the information and whether it's credible or not."

"It's credible. I have a bookie who places bets for me. I have his name and a phone number."

Sam pushed her pad and pen across the table. "Write it down."

"I don't know the number off the top of my head. I need my cell phone. They took it from me when they brought me in here."

Sam got up and went over to Freddie. "Get the phone," she said in a low tone.

He nodded and left the room.

Sam returned to the table and reached for the pad on which Collins had written the bookie's name. Antonio Sandover. The name set off alarm bells, but Sam didn't know why. "I'll be right back," she said to Collins on her way out of the room.

Malone was in the hallway, apparently on his way to see her. "I've got the info you asked for on the warrants related to the team. Hope you're not planning to sleep tonight. There're a lot of them."

"Great, can you leave it on my desk?"

"Sure."

"Why does the name Antonio Sandover ring a big bell with me?"

"The FBI is looking into him. Racketeering and other charges. We got a memo on it a couple of weeks ago."

Sam snapped her fingers. "That's it." She reached for her cell phone.

"Saw your Scotty getting fingerprinted by the chief," Malone said with a smile. "Took some pictures I'll send to your email."

"Oh, cool. Thank you."

"He's a cute kid. Always polite."

"I wish I could take some credit for that."

"He's probably lucky you got him later rather than sooner."

"That's funny. Hilarious."

Malone didn't try to hold back his mirth.

"You crack yourself up." Sam found Hill's number in her list of contacts and pressed send. When Hill answered, Sam said, "Talk to me about Antonio Sandover."

"What about him?"

"You guys have your eye on him?"

"Yes, we're building a case for gambling, racketeering and other potential charges. Why?"

"Collins is tied up with him. He's into him for a lot of money. He bet on the NLCS outcome."

"Are you kidding me? He risked a lifetime ban from baseball by betting on his own team?"

"Apparently, and now he's so afraid of what might happen to him that he's begging us to keep him in custody."

"Jesus. How do people get themselves into shit like this, especially when they make the kind of coin he does?"

"He's probably the type who's never satisfied no matter how much he has."

"We're going to need to put him in protective custody. And he might be useful to us. Let me make a couple of calls. I'll get right back to you."

"Thanks."

"The Feds want him," Sam said to Malone.

"So it's possible that Willie's murder might've saved Collins's life?"

"Quite possibly."

"We live in a strange and twisted world, Lieutenant."

"You're just figuring that out, Captain?"

They shared a smile before Sam went back into the interrogation room. "Here's the deal-the Feds are building a case against Sandover. You might be able to help them in exchange for protective custody."

"Help them? What does that mean?"

"Help them to build a case against Sandover."

"You're out of your freaking minds! Are you trying to get me killed?"

"Actually, I'm trying to keep you alive. You have two choices-assist the Feds in exchange for protective custody or walk out of here and fend for yourself with our best wishes."

"That's it? Those are my choices?"

"That's all I've got."

"Pretty sucky options."

"A smart guy like you probably should've considered these potential outcomes before you went into business with a known criminal."

"None of this would be happening if Willie had caught that goddamned ball!"

"Well, he didn't, so what's it going to be? Work with us or fend for yourself?"

Collins sagged into his chair. "Either way, I'm probably dead, so what does it matter?"

"Everything that can be done to ensure your safety will be seen to by the FBI."

"Pardon me if I don't find your assurances particularly comforting."

"I don't have all day, Mr. Collins. What's your decision?"

As he blew out a deep breath, the realization that life as he knew it was over seemed to settle on him. His shoulders slumped and his styled hair fell over his forehead. "I'll work with the Feds."

"I'll set it up. Sit tight."

"Yeah, sure. Like I have any other choice."

For once, Sam didn't feel the need to pour salt on open wounds, so she left the room and went back to her office to await Hill's call.

Freddie came in with Collins' phone in an evidence bag. "Am I still taking this to him?"

"Get Antonio Sandover's number off the phone."

Freddie let out a low whistle. "What's he doing messing with that cat?"

"What else? Betting on baseball."

"Seriously? He bet on his own team?"

"Apparently so."

"Are you looking at him for Willie's murder?"