"Because he's done this before. When things don't go his way, he goes under."

"For how long?"

"Usually a day or so. This is the longest stretch so far."

"Any idea where he might be?"

"I've called everyone he might be with, but no one has seen him."

"What's your name?"

"Carla Lind."

Sam wrote the name in her notebook. "Is that his car?" Sam asked, gesturing to the black vehicle.

"Yes, his pride and joy," Carla said with a hint of bitterness.

"Do you mind if we come in for a minute?"

"Um, sure, I guess." She led them to one of those useless living rooms that were supposedly reserved for guests but never actually used by anyone.

"How does he get to and from the ballpark on game days?" Sam asked when she and Freddie were settled on one sofa and Carla on another.

"He usually drives but he hired a car service this time so he could drink if they won."

"Did you go to the game?"

"Yes. My children and I were in the owner's box with the other families."

"Did you see your husband after the game?"

"No. We left right after Willie's error. We were concerned about trouble. Turns out we did the right thing getting out of there."

"I assume your husband has a cell phone?" Sam asked.

"Yes, for all the good that's done me."

"When you call him, does it ring or go right to voice mail?"

"It rings."

Sam glanced at Freddie.

"Could we please get the number, ma'am? We'll have our IT detectives put a trace on it."

Carla's gaze darted between Sam and Freddie. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"Why is that?"

"When he gets into one of his... moods, it's better to leave him alone until he comes out of it."

"If your husband is in some sort of trouble," Sam said, "we could be running out of time to get a signal on the phone before it loses power."

With her elbows resting on her knees, Carla bit her thumbnail as she seemed to ponder her options. "So you'd only use it to determine whether or not he's safe. Not for anything else, right?"

"What else would we use it for?"

"I don't want him to be embarrassed by whatever he might be doing."

"What do you suspect he might be doing?"

"He's been known to engage in some rather... shall we say... risky behavior when in one of his moods."

"Risky how?"

"He gets high for one thing."

"On what?"

"Cocaine is his drug of choice. We've managed to keep his...issues off the team's radar, and we'd like to keep it that way. We're handling it privately."

"Detective Cruz, I believe we have reasonable concern about Mr. Lind's safety to put a trace on his phone. Will you please contact Lieutenant Archelotta to get that going?"

"Yes, ma'am." Freddie got up and left the room.

Carla watched him go with trepidation affecting her expression. "You'd never tell Rick that I told you to track him down, would you?"

"I don't see the need to do that. One of his teammates has been murdered. His name came up in the investigation."

Carla blanched at the word murdered. "Who was murdered? What're you talking about?"

"You haven't heard that Willie Vasquez was killed after the game?" Was she living under a rock?

"Oh my God! No! I knew there'd be nothing but anger and hate toward the team after the way they lost, so I've avoided everything the last few days. I haven't taken any calls or watched the news. I admit I've been hiding out a bit." She raised trembling hands to her face. "Poor Carmen. She must be beside herself."

"That's one way to put it. Are you friends with her?"

"We're friendly, but I'm not super tight with any of the wives. Who has time with three kids to care for and a husband with problems."

"You mentioned his moods. Is there a more technical term for them?"

"Probably," she said, her shoulders sagging a bit, "but we've never gone looking for an actual diagnosis. When you're a professional athlete with million-dollar endorsement deals, no one wants to hear that you're anything other than perfect. Rick fights his demons in private. We fight them together."

"A couple of years ago, you called the police about a domestic incident."

Her amiable expression hardened. "I never pressed charges. I don't see what that's got to do with this."

"Was he in one of his moods then too?"

She hesitated for a long moment, as if choosing her words carefully. "He'd blown a critical save, and it sent him into a tailspin."

"What did the tailspin involve?"

"Another cocaine binge and a couple of hookers-in my house. They wouldn't get out, so I called the cops. That got rid of the hookers, but needless to say, my husband wasn't too happy with me for making our private life public."

While the incident had happened years ago, Sam could see that the outrage hadn't lessened with time.

"I have to ask this-as a wife and a woman-why do you stay with him?"

"Because," she said with a sigh, "I'm the only reason he's still alive. When he's not out of his mind, he's sweet and loving and a wonderful father."

"You know that with the right medication-"

Carla held up a hand. "You're preaching to the choir. I've urged him for years to get help for his illness, but he's so afraid of it ruining his career. And with such a limited amount of time to make his mark in the game and to make as much money as he can, he's unwilling to risk it. So we live with his demons and do our best to keep them under control."

Freddie returned. "Archie's on it."

Sam turned back to Carla. "I have to ask you... Willie's error resulted in Rick being charged with the loss and the blown save. Would your husband have been upset enough to harm Willie?"

Carla opened her mouth to protest but nothing came out. "You... You think he killed Willie?"

"I asked if you thought he'd be mad enough to harm him."

"I...I don't know. I wish I could say absolutely not, but..." She broke down. "I don't know."

"Were they friends?"

"They were friendly. Good teammates, but they didn't hang out away from the ballpark or anything like that. Rick was quite a bit older than Willie. They didn't have a lot in common outside the game."

"You need to give me some ideas of where we might be able to find Rick."

She ran her fingers through her hair repeatedly. "It depends. He could be anywhere from a seedy hotel in Chinatown to the Ritz."

"Hopefully his phone will lead us to him." Sam wrote her cell number on the back of her business card and handed it to Carla. "If you hear from him, call me. Anytime, night or day."

"I will."

"I'm also going to speak with the Montgomery County police to see about getting an officer stationed here in case he comes home."

"Thank you."

"Is there someone you could call to come stay with you until we get this sorted out?" Sam asked.

"I'll call my sister. She lives in Bethesda."

Satisfied that Carla would have support, Sam stood. "We'll be in touch."

Sam strode out of the house. "We need an APB on Rick Lind."

"I already got that ball rolling with Malone."

"Good job."

"And I contacted Montgomery County about sending an officer here to keep an eye out for Lind."

"Are you always one step ahead of me and I don't notice?"

"Often."

"I want to talk to Bob Minor and Ray Jestings. I want to know if the team knew they had a mentally ill player in their midst."

"How could they not know?"

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, taken aback by his vehemence.

"I haven't spent that much time with my dad since he's been back on the scene, but it's so obvious that he has a problem of some sort. I would've recognized that even if I hadn't already known his history, you know?"

"I do see what you mean. But your dad is doing okay now, isn't he?"

"He seems to be, but there are moments... Glimpses, I guess you'd call them, of the manic side from time to time that worry me. I know my mom sees it too, but we don't talk about it."

They got into the car with Freddie still driving.

"Are you worried about him?" Sam asked when they were on their way back to the city.

"I'm more worried about my mom and what'll become of her if he has another breakdown. She's so happy-happier than I've ever seen her. I don't want anything to spoil that, you know?"

"Is he taking his meds?"

"As far as I know. It's not something that comes up over dinner. I'd love to ask him, but I don't have that kind of relationship with him."

"Would your mother ask him?"

"We don't talk about it."

Sam pondered the situation with a growing sense of unease. It had been a big gamble for Freddie and his mom to accept his dad back into their lives more than twenty years after he left without a word to them. He'd confessed to hiding his bipolar disorder from them. Freddie had struggled with the situation and had reluctantly-at first-allowed his dad back into his life. Sam would hate to see him hurt again if his father was unable to maintain the relationship.

Her cell phone rang and she took the call from Gonzo.

"I think I've got your murder scene."

"Where?"

He rattled off an address that Sam knew was close to the Office of Personnel Management on E Street.

"Head for Foggy Bottom," she said to Freddie. To Gonzo, she said, "Rope it off. We'll be there shortly."

"Already done. I'll be here."