“You’re a stronger man that I am.”
“Don’t get me wrong, this is painful—again,” Hugh said. “I’m tired of living through another nightmare like this. But I’ll get through it. Quite honestly, I just want some answers right now. I mean, how did this happen? Was he murdered? If so, why? Or was it natural causes? And if so, wouldn’t there have been warning signs? And why didn’t a team doctor catch them?”
“Those are the questions I’ll be asking as I look into this story,” Cal said.
“Well, you call me anytime you want. I’ll always talk with you about anything.”
“Same goes for you.”
* * *
CAL AWOKE ON SATURDAY morning in his hotel to the ringing of the bedside phone.
“Mr. Murphy?” asked a man after Cal answered the phone.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“Detective Kissinger from the NYPD. Hugh Dollinger asked that I call you and let you know about a press conference we’re having at nine o’clock this morning regarding the coroner’s findings in the death of Chase Dollinger.”
“Anything you can tell me now?”
“You should probably wait to hear all the details at the press conference.”
“Was it murder?” Cal asked.
“See you there, Mr. Murphy.”
Kissinger hung up.
Cal looked at the clocked and groaned. It was 7:00 a.m. but felt like 4:00 a.m. as his body was still on Pacific time. He had planned on catching up on some sleep before pounding the pavement to chase down some leads in the story.
At least I won’t have to manufacture a story out of thin air today.
* * *
TWO HOURS LATER, Cal sat on the front row of the media relations room at the NYPD’s main precinct. Behind him against the far wall, television journalists tinkered with their cameras in preparation for the upcoming press conference. Seated to Cal’s left were reporters from The New York Times and New York Daily News. On his right, ESPN and FoxSports personalities sat with their notebooks out in anticipation of capturing the forthcoming news.
After making the media wait for a few minutes, a diminutive woman approached the lectern and identified herself as Megan Sanders, a police department spokesperson. She pulled the microphone down, adjusting it to her height before continuing.
“The death of Chase Dollinger has generated so much interest from both media outlets and the general public that we decided to hold this press conference to release the findings in a more public manner. While most of our autopsies take longer, the circumstances surrounding this odd death resulted in an expedited examination. And here’s what we’ve found.”
Sanders gestured to the video monitor on her right, depicting an image of the human brain.
“Chase Dollinger died of natural causes related to an aortic aneurysm that resulted in sudden death,” Sanders said. “There were no toxins found in his bloodstream either.”
A buzz filled the room, while photography flashes lit up Sanders and her image.
She continued on for the next five minutes before receiving questions. Fielding the media inquiries with ease, Sanders took less than ten minutes to satisfy all the questions from a press corps hungry for answers.
Cal posted several key points on social media before standing up. He waited until almost everyone had cleared the room before approaching Sanders.
“Cal Murphy with the Seattle Times,” he said as he offered his hand.
“Pleasure to meet you,” she said. “Did you have another question?”
He nodded. “Maybe it’s because no one asked, but you didn’t mention the time of death. Was the coroner able to pinpoint when exactly Dollinger died?”
“Somewhere between ten to twelve hours before the bus arrived at the New York terminal.”
“So that’s why the person in the seat next to Dollinger wouldn’t have noticed he was dead?”
“Most likely. He was leaning against the window, so perhaps it happened while he was snoozing and the man sitting next to Dollinger thought he was a hard sleeper.”
“Did any NYPD detectives interview the other passengers?”
“We did some cursory interviews on the spot,” Sanders said. “But now that we know all this, we won’t revisit those.”
“Do you mind if I have a look at those reports?”
“Just file some paperwork inside, and I’ll see what we can get you now that this is no longer an active investigation.”
“Thank you,” Cal said.
He didn’t waste any time in following Sanders’s instructions. Marching inside the main precinct office, he filled out the necessary paperwork to get all the information related to the brief investigation. Based off the coroner’s report, Dollinger’s death appeared to be cut and dry to Cal—an unfortunate accident, nothing more, nothing less. But Cal wasn’t content to leave it alone, as he knew his readers wouldn’t be either. Seattle fans would want to know every last detail, down to the star pitcher’s last meal.
Even as Cal handed over the documents to the clerk to be processed, the whole situation still felt surreal.
“Thank you, Mr. Murphy,” the clerk said. “We’ll get this request processed for you and send you an electronic copy of everything we’re permitted to release.”
* * *
AFTER A WEEKEND full of articles paying tribute to Dollinger, the spotlight returned to the Mariners and Yankees on the field. Cal wasn’t quite ready to move on yet, but he didn’t have a choice. There was still a series to be played, a championship to be won. Yet it all felt meaningless in light of the tragic end of a young man’s life. Chase Dollinger was one of the good guys, and he was supposed to be pitching on the mound in Yankee Stadium. Instead, he was in a basement morgue somewhere awaiting transport back to Seattle.
Cal entered the stadium in time for batting practice and took in the scene. In the luxury boxes, prominent New York residents—actors, politicians, pro athletes, real estate moguls, and Wall Street CEOs among others—schmoozed with each other. Of the Seattle VIPs in attendance, Cal saw Washington senator Curt Daniels, who had made a public bet with a New York senator about the outcome of the series.
Also meandering around a luxury suite was Mariners owner Charles Lincoln and his estranged wife, Amy. The Seattle power couple had been going through a well-publicized divorce, though they still both proclaimed their love for the Mariners. The main sticking point in the separation proceedings was the stake of ownership in the baseball team. In the latest report Cal read that was written by one of his fellow co-workers, Charles seemed to be getting the upper hand in the negotiations and was poised to walk away with at least a controlling interest in the team. And for better or for worse, the couple was there to demonstrate their support of the Mariners.
“Mr. Lincoln,” Cal said before glancing at the owner’s wife.
The former Sports Illustrated swimsuit model smiled at him. Even in her late 50s, she still carried herself like she was the most gorgeous woman in the room. But it was all fake—and everyone knew it. Most of her physical attributes that helped her maintain such a shapely figure were all surgically enhanced, every procedure often analyzed by tabloid magazines.
“Mrs. Lincoln,” Cal said with a nod.
“Not for long,” Amy said, casting a sideways glance at Charles.
“It’s been quite an interesting few days, hasn’t it?” Cal said, attempting to make small talk.
Charles nodded. “Interesting is a nice way of putting it. I’m more inclined to say that the past few days have been hell. And that’s a lot coming from me, considering how much time—and money—I’ve spent in court lately.”
“Oh, stuff it, Charles. And you can quit with the phony act. I know the only reason you care about this team and wrangling it from me is because you know how much it means to me. If I didn’t care about the Mariners, you’d give the club to me with a smile.”
Charles laughed nervously. “I doubt that, sweetie.”
“Anyway,
Cal, I want to thank you for all your fair coverage of the team,” Amy said. “You’ve written some especially touching pieces about Chase that I knew couldn’t have been easy to do.”
“I appreciate it, but I’m just doing my job,” Cal said.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m late for a meeting with my lawyer in my private box,” she said.
Charles rolled his eyes and then looked at Cal. “Surprise—that woman is late to everything,” Charles said. “And I swear she’s the most spiteful person on the planet. Don’t ever get married, Cal. Women are from the devil.”
Cal scowled and then held up his left hand, twitching his ring finger.
“Too late, though I’m happily married. My wife just happens to be an angel.”
“Just give it time,” Charles grumbled before lumbering away.
Cal dismissed the conversation as nothing more than a continuation of the fierce divorce between the Lincolns before making a note to tell Kelly how much he appreciated her when he next spoke to her on the phone.
A few minutes later, Cal went to the field to watch batting practice for a half hour. After chatting with a few players and coaches, he returned to the press box to eat dinner before settling into his seat to watch the game. The Mariners took an early lead but wilted in the later innings and eventually lost to the Yankees, 5-3. Afterward, the Seattle clubhouse was rather dour and subdued, even more so than normal after a defeat. As reporters huddled around lockers to interview certain players, the answers given by the athletes were barely audible. To Cal, it was obvious that the players were still in a daze over Dollingers’s death, a state of shock that hadn’t worn off even following a game in the raucous environment of Yankee Stadium.
When Cal returned to his seat on press row, he received a call from his editor.
“Did you get anything good in the locker room?” Buckman asked.
“Everyone is still in a fog,” Cal said. “After witnessing that clubhouse, I’m still now sure how the Mariners even managed to scratch out three runs. Nobody looks like they’re thinking about baseball. Their thoughts are with Dollinger; that much is clear.”
“Well, do what you can with that,” Buckman said. “Maybe you can write an opinion piece about it after the series wraps up tomorrow.”
“You don’t think the Mariners are going to pull an upset tomorrow night?”
“No, and neither do you. Now, get me my story in half an hour and we’ll talk about it.”
Cal hung up and returned to his story. After finishing it, he emailed it to Buckman and then started writing a longer version for the website and the final metro edition. Once he completed all his assignments for the night, he packed up his computer and headed out the door.
He exited the stadium and was about to cross the street when his phone buzzed with a text from Hugh Dollinger.
Can’t talk now, but Chase was murdered.
CHAPTER 5
THE NEXT NIGHT, the Mariners were eliminated from the playoffs with a 2-1 loss. Instead of returning to Seattle to cover a deciding game, Cal was going home without any looming assignment. However, he wasn’t ready to leave New York until he investigated Hugh Dollinger’s claim that his son was murdered. With a disappointing end to an otherwise surprisingly good season by the Mariners, Cal’s editor approved travel expenses for three more days.
Cal didn’t waste any time before calling Hugh with the news.
“I’ve got the green light to poke around here for a few more days,” Cal said. “Anything in particular you want me to look at?”
“Before anyone will believe me, we have to start with an independent autopsy,” Hugh said. “Do you know anything about that?”
“My wife’s cousin is a coroner,” Cal said. “He’s actually helped me on a story before. If you want me to reach out to him, I can ask him to fly out to Seattle to examine Chase’s body.”
“Make that flight for New York. I didn’t bring the body back.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Something just didn’t sit right with me about it all. And I didn’t want to handle it. I decided to hire a service to do it.”
“Not to be insensitive, but do you have some tangible proof that I can use to jumpstart this process and start writing about the possibility that the police got it wrong?”
“Please don’t write anything yet,” Hugh said. “I think there is a conspiracy to keep this whole thing silent, one that’s being controlled by powerful people with far-reaching connections.”
“So, why this hunch all of a sudden? I need something more to go on as I begin digging into this story.”
Hugh sighed. “Okay, here’s what I found. When I got back to Seattle, the guy who drove Chase halfway across the country returned the fixed RV. I went inside to look around and found Chase’s safe emptied out.”
“He had a safe in the RV?”
“Yeah. He even mentioned it to me before he left. It’s where he kept quite a bit of cash.”
“How much are we talking?”
“A hundred grand, give or take a few thousand? I don’t know for sure.”
Cal’s eyes widened. “Either way, that sounds like a lot to stash in an RV.”
“Chase was always weird about money. He didn’t really care about it. At the end of the day, he just wanted to play ball.”
“Did he always keep that much money in the RV’s safe?”
“No, usually he only kept a handgun and a few thousand dollars in cash. At least the last time I rode with him, that’s all he had in there.”
“So why the change this time?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe he was trying to tell me something before he left, like a clue.”
“Well, this is all very interesting, but you can’t substantiate any of that, can you?”
“Not really. But you know how Chase was. He certainly didn’t go around lying to me.”
“You’re right. The motive for deceiving you about that seems lacking, especially as it pertains to what we know at this point.”
“I just need some answers, Cal. When Barb and the girls were killed by that drunk driver, I eventually found peace. It was easy to figure out why it happened—some guy got drunk and decided to drive on the same road as all my girls were on at the same time. But this is different. I can’t accept that he just suddenly died like he did.”
“I’ll do my best to get you answers, which will start with an independent autopsy. I’ll try to get my cousin out here on a flight tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Cal. You have no idea how encouraging it is to have someone like you on my side as I start to navigate this whole process.”
“No problem, Hugh. You didn’t deserve this, but you do deserve some answers. If there is any criminal activity related to Chase’s death, I’ll find out for you.”
* * *
CAL MET KEVIN MENDOZA at Laguardia Airport the next day at noon. Though they had to maneuver through some NYPD red tape, Hugh and Cal managed to get access and permission for Mendoza to conduct an examination of the body that afternoon.
Visiting morgues wasn’t something Cal wanted to make a habit of, but he’d been to more than his share of them. The sterile environment inside the basement floor facility was drab and smelled of bleach.
While Cal and Mendoza received permission, the coroner on duty viewed the re-examination as an affront to his skills and initial findings. He greeted the duo with a terse handshake before whisking them down the hall to the body.
“You can glove up by the sink,” he said. “If you have any questions, I’ll be down the hall doing my job.”
Cal waited until the coroner left before saying a word. “Pleasant fellow, isn’t he?”
Mendoza shook his head. “That’s exactly why I prefer to work in small towns. These big city types always feel like they’re above reproach, especially when they think some coroner is intent on showing them up.”
“Well, dead bodies tell a story,” Cal said. “It’s your job to find out if the story th
ey told about this one matches up.”
Mendoza initiated his procedure, inspecting the body for signs of trauma. After a few minutes, he notified Cal that there wasn’t anything there, then moved on, inspecting the body for any punctures. Mendoza found one on Dollinger’s right wrist almost immediately.
“Let me see the original report,” Mendoza said.
Cal handed it over and awaited the news. “So, what’d you find?”
“This is interesting,” Mendoza said.
“What is it?”
“There was clearly some type of puncture wound—I’m guessing a needle—but it wasn’t listed on the original report.”
“Let me see,” Cal said, taking back the document. He perused a few paragraphs that Mendoza pointed out. “There’s no mention of any wound of that sort.”
Cal used the camera on his phone to take a picture of it.
Mendoza continued to work in silence before dropping another bombshell. “Things just really got weird.”
Cal peered over the body to the area where Mendoza was concentrating. “What now?”
“It looks like he died of asphyxia.”
“He was choked to death?”
“More or less. But that doesn’t match at all what was originally reported.”
Cal started pacing around the room. “This doesn’t seem right.”
“Are you sure this is Chase Dollinger?” Mendoza asked.
Cal nodded. “I’d recognize that tattoo on his bicep anywhere. I saw it every single day when I was covering the Mariners.”
“In that case, the original report isn’t just something that doesn’t seem right. It’s flat out wrong. I’m going to take some blood samples and run diagnostics on them back at my lab. But whoever examined this body was either grossly negligent or willfully deceitful.”
“I’m betting on the latter.”
Cal took several more pictures of Dollinger’s body while Mendoza drew a few vials of blood to analyze. As they were finishing up, Cal heard gruff voices down the hallway mixed with pounding footsteps.
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