"I've been at Brandy's for half an hour. I'm tired of waiting. I'll get to you after the game tomorrow."

"I still can't recognize it. It's hard with all the noise."

"Just one more."

"You bastard," Ginny's voice slurred. "You don't stand me up and get away with it. We're through." The phone was slammed down.

"That's it. I was hoping you'd recognize the man's voice."

"Was it a drug deal, do you think? That would explain the large sums of money going into his bank account."

"Perhaps. We'll know better tomorrow. We found a safety deposit key in his valuables drawer at the ballpark. We'll see what he's got in it."

"Why don't you ask at Brandy's and find out if any ballplayers were in there on Saturday."

"We did actually think of that all by ourselves, Kate." He fought the smile. "That's assuming it's a ballplayer. There was a full house at Brandy's that night, including no less than five Titans and seven Red Sox."

"Right. Who were the Titans?"

"Stinger Swain, Moe Grabowski, Eddie Carter, Joe Kelsey, and Slider Holmes."

"Not all together, I assume."

"Nope. Like you said. The whites were in one group and the blacks in another."

"Did anyone notice who was in there for just half an hour?"

"With that mob, we're lucky anyone noticed anything."

"I'm trying to figure which of them might be into drugs."

"I think you might be barking up the wrong investigative tree, Kate."

"You mean drugs? What's that right there on the table?"

"Drugs. And where did the drugs come from?"

"Sultan Sanchez's glove."

"Which he gave away to an eleven-year-old boy. Which suggests what?"

"That he didn't know the glove was full of drugs."

"Bingo. Your average drug dealer seldom gives away close to a pound of cocaine."

"You've made your point."

"Thank you." He stood up. "I think I'll leave while I'm ahead. Past my bedtime."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize. Do you want a bag for the glove and stuff?"

"No. I'll take it like this. Tell the boy I'll get the glove back to him as soon as I can. And call me if you remember that voice."

I stuck out my hand. He shook it solemnly.

"Thanks for the coffee. And the drink. And the suggestions." At the door he turned. "And don't forget to lock the door. Good night."

While I made up the couch in the study, a surprisingly small part of my mind was engaged in thinking how good the staff sergeant looked in sweats. Most of it was worrying and wondering.

Specifically, worrying about Joe Kelsey and wondering whether I should have told Andy that it was Joe's voice on the tape.

Chapter 15.

Sally woke me with a cup of tea in hand.

"It's almost nine," she said. "Don't you have to be somewhere at ten?"

"Thanks. How's T.C.? Did you tell him about the glove?"

"I didn't know how much I should tell him. I just said the police needed it for evidence and he'd get it back when they were through. He's so excited about skipping school that he hasn't asked any questions."

"Good. I'm going to have to rush."

I gulped the first cup of tea in the shower. Sally brought me a piece of toast and marmalade while I dressed and T.C. nattered at me while I put on makeup. I was out of there in twenty-five minutes with a half-hour drive ahead of me, if there wasn't too much traffic.

The Thorsons lived in the same waterfront condominium complex as half a dozen other players, a modern tower poking out of several acres of parkland. The concierge stopped just short of asking me for my mother's maiden name before he let me in.

I could hear a child crying as I knocked nervously on the penthouse door. Karin Gardiner let me in. Sandi Thorson was on her knees, comforting her sturdy little two-year-old, kissing away his hurt.

"Stevie fell," Karin explained.

I made sympathetic noises and looked around. The view of the lake was spectacular, but otherwise it looked like any other dull modern apartment.

"Come on, Pooch," Sandi said. "I'll get you some juice and you can watch Sesame Street. You want to see Big Bird?"

The kid's face lit up, and he ran down the hall, shrieking "Sesame, Sesame!" in delight.

His mother filled a bottle with apple juice and handed it to Karin, who took it to the boy. She cut short my apologies for disturbing her.

"Do you mind if we talk in the kitchen?"

"That's fine."

Looking into the living room, I could see why. It was filled with trophies and framed newspaper clippings, a shrine to her husband. The kitchen was her turf, filled with cheerful domesticity. There were letter magnets on the fridge at Stevie level and cartoons and lists at grownup height. We sat on padded stools at a counter in the corner that had a fresh pot of coffee at one end. Sandi poured into three flowered mugs.

"How's Stevie doing?"

"I don't think he really knows what's happened. He thinks his father's just on another road trip. I'm doing my best to keep things as normal as I can."

"That can't be easy."

She looked at me as if I were crazy.

Karin came into the kitchen and sat down.

"Stevie's fine." Sandi nodded, and the three of us sat for a moment in awkward silence.

"I'll try to make this as painless as possible. Can you tell me about Sunday night?"

She used both hands to push her streaked blonde hair off her face. It wasn't clean and looked as if it hadn't been brushed. She was dressed in jeans and a man's rugger shirt, striped in green and blue. She was washed out without makeup, and her eyes were puffy. The diamonds in her ears and on a gold chain around her neck looked harshly frivolous against her skin.

"We got home about six and had dinner with my folks. After we heard about Sultan we didn't feel much like celebrating. Just after we finished, Steve got a phone call from Tony Marsden, a friend of ours. He runs the car dealership we lease from.

"He invited Steve to go fishing on the off day. He said it was probably the last chance of the year and the weather was going to be good. Steve had been to his cottage before. He really wanted to go, but there was a players' meeting. So he called Ted Ferguson to ask permission and told him he wanted to play the rest of the season.

"Ted said he could go, so Steve left at about seven-thirty. He had left his gear at the stadium after his last trip, so he was going to pick it up and drive from there up to the cottage to get an early start.

"And that's the last time I saw him. Alive."

She stopped and stared into her coffee cup.

"We had a fight before he left. His folks were arriving in the morning and he expected me to take care of them all day while he was fishing. I don't get along with them very well. They didn't approve of our marriage. I was divorced when I met him, and he was a big star. They think I'm after his money.

"It was one of those whisper fights, you know? I didn't want my mom and dad to hear us. I try to hide any problems when they're around."

She paused again, and her eyes filled with tears.

"The last thing I said to him was that if he went to Tony's cottage he shouldn't bother to come home. But I didn't mean it."

She began to cry in earnest.

"I lay in bed that night thinking up ways to get even. And he was probably dead by then."

Karin put her arms around her sobbing friend and glared at me. I tried to look blameless.

"I'm sorry," Sandi said, fumbling at a box of tissues. She blew her nose, then pushed the hair off her face again.

"I just can't help spilling my guts out these days."

"I understand. I'm sorry I have to make you go through it again."

"It's not your fault. Let's go on."

"Is there anything you can think of that could explain what happened?"

"I've been trying to figure that out, and I just can't. I know that Steve didn't have a lot of friends, but he didn't have real enemies either, not ones that would want to kill him. He could be difficult, sometimes, but he wasn't harmful. All I keep coming up with is Sam Craven. Did he hate Steve enough to kill him? I don't know. I like Sam, but he was real angry at Steve. He was in Toronto that day, too."

"What about a motive? Surely Sam would profit most by changing Steve's mind."

"Steve wasn't going to change his mind. No way."

"What about links between him and Sanchez? Were they connected off the field in any way?"

Something evasive passed across her eyes, then was gone. She looked firmly at me and shook her head.

"The problem with it being Sam Craven is, how could he have known Steve was going to the stadium? Unless they had arranged to meet there."

"Steve would never have arranged to meet him without telling me. But what about if Sam was following him?"

She had a point.

"I don't know how to put this, but could there be some personal reason someone might be out to get him?"

"You mean an irate husband or something? I thought of that, of course. But I don't think so. Look, I'm not stupid. None of us are as dumb as our husbands think. I've known about Steve's women on the road since one of them answered the phone when I called him to tell him I was going into the hospital to have Stevie. But he never cheated on me here. He wouldn't dare."

I believed her. I had underestimated Sandi. Because of her looks and dress, or perhaps the way she spelled her name. She was no bimbo.

We talked for half an hour more about Thorson and their life together, about her anger and fear, and the loneliness she was just starting to feel. We talked about her plans, too. She hoped to go back to school one day for a master's degree and get a job, options that had been denied her as a baseball wife. But not until the child she was carrying was in school. It would be hard enough for the kids to cope without having a father.

"What happens now?"

"After the funeral I guess I'll go back to Denver with my parents and wait for the baby."

"There's one more thing. When I told you all that Sultan Sanchez was dead, you fainted. Why?"

The evasive look came back.

"It was hot in the lounge," Karin said, quickly. "Sandi's been having a bit of trouble with the pregnancy."

"Was that it?"

"Yes. That was it."

Something was going on.

"Look. I think maybe I know. I'm not going to write about it-not yet, anyway, and never with any details-but I'd like you to tell me if I'm on the right track. Was Sanchez blackmailing Steve?"

Their faces told me I was right.

"How did you know?"