When she didn’t reply, he shot her a look. She stared at him, a hand on her throat.
“Once the genie was out of the bottle, we couldn’t put it back in.” He shook his head. “Those rumors would have killed your mom.”
“Oh my God.” Lana jumped to her feet and moved two steps away, hands on her hips. Not knowing the truth is killing her. She turned back. “I don’t believe this.”
“Dan was the hero of our team, the leader, the only reason we were state champs, and none of us bought into the stories.”
“What about Bubba?” she asked.
“Even Bubba didn’t really believe Dan was using. Bubba just got pissy when Dan became all ‘I’m the captain—do what I say, listen to me.’ We all got sick of Dan’s shit, but we didn’t believe he was using anything to enhance his performance.” Chip shook his head. “Not Dan. Not that. No way.”
Lana returned to his side and sat with her arms crossed over her chest.
“Did you tell Coach about that team decision?”
“I didn’t,” Chip said. “I don’t know about anyone else.”
“But how did it happen? Did someone call a team meeting?” Her mouth tightened. “Who? Your captain was dead.”
“I got a call from Carlos that everyone was meeting at our old practice field. Remember, it was July, a month after graduation. We didn’t see each other every day anymore.”
Remembering that phone call, Chip leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He’d been at home, in his room, staring at the ceiling. His excitement over his upcoming freshman year at the University of Florida had been replaced by horror over the murder of a young man who’d once been a close friend.
Lana pulled a small notebook with a pen attached out of her purse. “So Carlos organized the meeting?”
“I didn’t say that. I don’t know whose idea it was. I thought the plan was to organize some sort of memorial to our fallen leader.”
“But that’s not what happened?”
“No.”
“Come on, Chip. What happened at that meeting?”
He grabbed a rock from the ground and heaved it into the lake. Ripples spread in a perfect circle from its entry, reminding him of rumors and the consequences for bad decisions. He hadn’t thought about that team meeting in years. Every single member had been in complete shock or denial. No one could truly accept that Dan was dead. Everyone had been beyond emotional. “Can you believe this shit?” had been repeated—wailed—a thousand times. Or, “No way, man. No effing way.”
Chip reached for another stone, but held it tightly in his fist. Macho guys who would never cry in front of teammates sobbed openly and hugged each other. Anyone who’d ever said a mean thing to Dan—which was every player—regretted his words. Gary Shotwell had sat like a statue on the bleachers, practically catatonic from grief. Bubba had ranted like a maniac.
“Chip?” Lana urged, bringing him back. “When was the meeting?”
Chip straightened up. “The day after Dan’s body had been found. Believe me, we were all freaked. The police hadn’t talked to any of us yet, but we knew it was coming. Our parents had been called and were asked to make us available, either at home or at the station.”
Lana nodded and scribbled a note. “And the steroid rumors came up?”
“Yes.” He gazed at the stone in his hand. It had grown warm from his body heat. He heaved it into the lake—too hard, causing a twinge of pain in his repaired rotator cuff. Fricking awesome.
“Did a team member suggest no one should mention drug use to the cops?”
“I guess so,” he said, rubbing his shoulder.
“Was it you?”
He shot her a look at her accusing tone. “Definitely not.”
“You’re sure?”
“I was uncomfortable with the whole idea of holding back any information.”
“Did you say anything, protest that very bad plan of withholding evidence?”
“No.” Chip sighed, realizing now what a coward he’d been, what a terrible mistake that team meeting had been. “We all agreed to keep quiet.”
“Every player?”
“It was hard to go against the flow once it got started,” Chip said, hearing the defensiveness in his tone. “We were dumb teenagers, in complete shock.”
Tapping her pen against her cheek, Lana said, “Still, it’s hard to believe that none of you broke ranks during police questioning.”
“Every one of us took an oath on our team honor.” He closed his eyes against the memory of thirty kids feeling guilty about spreading unfounded rumors, trying to do the right thing, but totally screwing up. “We even made it a ceremony, telling ourselves it was to protect Dan.” Chip shot Lana a look. “And his family.”
“Was it for Dan?” she demanded. “Or because you guys worried they’d take away your state championship if steroid use came out?”
“No,” Chip objected. “That wasn’t the reason.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“The state title never even came up.”
“Yeah, right,” she muttered, obviously not believing him. “Whose idea was it?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Think hard, Chip. This is important.”
He closed his eyes, trying to sort through his crazy emotions during that ill-advised meeting. Who had first come up with the idea of protecting Dan? Someone had mentioned his legacy, which seemed ludicrous in hindsight. What kind of legacy could a spoiled teenager leave?
Apparently Daniel Lettino’s legacy had been to stop his sister from living her life.
He shook his head. “Sorry, Lana. Everything is all jumbled in my head about that gathering.”
“You have no memory at all of who came up with the idea of keeping silent?”
“What does it matter when neither of us believes Dan was a user.”
She leaned toward him. “Because it’s the only thread I have to pull. It’s the only thing that the detectives didn’t know about. Whoever came up with the plan might have something to hide.”
Chip stared at her. “That’s nuts.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“I’ve got to go.” He stood. Lana could speculate on nonsense for the rest of her life if she wanted. That was her problem. He had a class to attend. A life to live.
“Come on,” she said. “Work with me here.”
“For God’s sake, Lana, it was eight years ago.”
“Yes, it was. And for eight years my brother’s murderer has been walking around free while he’s rotting in the ground. My mother calls me every night to ask about my progress on the investigation.”
“That’s not fair.”
Lana came to her feet beside him. “Please, Chip.”
“I’ve got class.”
“Chip—”
He waved her off and left her standing by the edge of the lake. He refused to think about her suggestion as he hurried to his class. If there was any truth to her theory, then he and his teammates had facilitated a murderer going free.
* * *
AFTER HIS LECTURE, Chip moved toward the library. For the past week, he’d spread his books out on a table and hunkered down to study until the building closed. But he hated remaining on campus. If he had his own place, he’d be more comfortable and have access to all the coffee he wanted to keep himself alert.
Too bad he didn’t have that luxury. Too bad caffeine couldn’t keep his focus on his work instead of on Lana and her conspiracy theories.
He’d been beyond distracted by their conversation during class, had drifted to the point that he’d been startled by Professor Nichols, who’d called on him to answer a question when there were no volunteers. Fortunately he’d done the work and was able to frame the correct response even if his answer had been less than organized. Nichols had made a dramat
ic notation in that ominous red book, and Chip wasn’t sure if he’d gotten a plus or a minus.
Damn Lana and her probing into a past that needed to stay buried. Groaning at his analogy, not wanting to think about Dan in a coffin, Chip collapsed onto a low concrete wall. He pulled his phone and the notice about a studio for rent from his pack and placed a call to Roberto.
“Sorry, man,” Roberto said. “You’re too late. I signed a lease this morning.”
“Thanks.” Chip disconnected. Finding a place he could afford might prove to be a challenge.
As much a challenge as keeping his thoughts off a team meeting that occurred eight years ago.
Was Lana right? Could their foolish attempt to protect their dead captain have backfired and actually allowed his murderer to go free? God, he hated that idea. But that meant Dan had used, a notion everyone on the team had rejected eight years ago.
Could they have been wrong? Chip shook his head, remembering he’d suspected a few of his teammates might be using something. And even if Dan hadn’t used, maybe his murder had been somehow related to the false allegation. But how could that happen?
Instead of listening to the lecture, all during class he’d tried to dredge up whose idea it had been to take that oath of silence. He kept coming back to Bubba sitting next to Gary Shotwell, the team manager, in the bleachers. Why? Gary had been miserable, still as a stone. Bubba’s tear-streaked face had been flushed an angry red. Damn, but Bubba had been seriously torn up over Dan’s death. Had Bubba felt guilty because he’d spread the rumors?
Or was it something else, something more sinister?
Chip closed his eyes at a sudden memory of everyone turning to look at Bubba and Gary at one point. Had that been because of something startling one of them had said? And which one had it been?
His phone vibrated in his hand. He glanced at the readout. Carlos Rodriguez.
“What’s up, Carlos?” Chip answered.
“I just got a call from Lana Lettino. Why the hell did you tell her about the team meeting?” Carlos demanded.
* * *
TWENTY MINUTES EARLY, Lana pushed open the door to Moe’s and Joe’s. Laughter washed over her, but she knew from experience the noise level was nothing like it would be in an hour. Men and women in their late twenties and early thirties piled into the room to celebrate the end of another workday, and soon she’d have to turn sideways and squeeze through bodies in order to reach the bar.
It had been Cindy’s idea to meet here, and Lana hadn’t objected. She knew the place well, since her police squad sometimes met here after their tour to raise a glass to a successful operation.
She moved to an empty booth, one with a view of the front door so she could spot her quarry when she entered. Cindy had fallen to the bottom of the suspect list when the steroid rumors surfaced, but Lana had already arranged the meeting with a surprised and wary Cindy—before the party last week, they hadn’t spoken in years.
Dale’s report of his date with the former prom queen had raised a few questions, so why not eliminate her as a suspect? Maybe a couple of glasses of wine would allow Cindy to react, maybe pry loose some old memories. And since Cindy had been Danny’s girl, perhaps she’d been aware of what went on in the football team’s locker room.
Why couldn’t Chip tell her whose idea it had been to keep silent? Was he holding out on her again, or did he truly not remember?
A man in his early thirties, with dark hair and a neat goatee, slid into the booth across from her. He held a martini glass. “Hey, pretty lady. You all alone?”
“I’m waiting for a friend,” Lana responded, knowing she sounded stiff. Well, too damn bad. She wasn’t here looking to hook up. She was on the job. Sort of.
“I could be your friend,” he said with a sly smile. “My name is Tony.”
Lana sighed. This dude wasn’t bad looking, but he knew that only too well.
“Sorry, Tony,” she said. “But I have enough friends.”
A dark look crossed Tony’s face, but he came to his feet. “Your loss,” he said, and moved away.
When a server arrived, Lana ordered the house white wine, her go-to drink, something she could nurse during her interview with Cindy. While waiting for the beverage to arrive, Lana watched the door, but carefully avoided making eye contact with any other men.
Feeling obvious—the proverbial sore thumb—sitting all alone in a crowded bar, she remembered how comfortable she’d been during her dinner with Chip. Funny how she’d actually enjoyed herself during that outing. Chip was a great guy, and it had felt good to catch up with him.
Until she’d accused him of being a murderer.
The server delivered her wine just as Cindy entered the restaurant. Lana asked the server to wait and waved Danny’s old girlfriend over. At least half a dozen pairs of male eyes followed Cindy’s progress toward the table. Lana had to admit that Cindy looked good. She hadn’t gained an ounce since high school—except maybe suspiciously in her chest—and wore a sky blue suit that fit her perfectly. Her hair was a lighter shade of blond than it had been during their days at Southeast Miami High. Cindy now worked as a rep—a salesperson, she’d explained at the party—for a pharmaceutical company.
“Margarita with salt,” Cindy told the server. “And bring me an extra shot of tequila on the side.”
“Rough day?” Lana asked when Cindy had settled herself in the booth.
“You have no idea,” Cindy said, and launched into a discussion about how an orthopedic surgeon had had the audacity to make her wait for twenty minutes to speak with him. And she’d had an appointment. And she was on a tight schedule.
Cindy didn’t halt her tirade until her drinks arrived. She downed the shot quickly, licked salt from the rim of the margarita and then took a quick swallow. Afterward she closed her eyes and said, “Better.”
Lana sipped her wine and hoped she didn’t have to confiscate Cindy’s car keys when they left. Had Cindy developed a drinking problem since high school? Or maybe it had begun then. She’d definitely had a reputation as a serious party girl. Other nicknames referred to behavior even less flattering.
“Anybody interesting here tonight?” Cindy asked. Her head swiveled on a long sweep of the room.
“What do you consider interesting?” Lana asked.
“Rich and single,” Cindy stated. “What could be more interesting than that?”
“How do you know if they’re rich?” Lana asked.
“Please.” Cindy returned her attention to her drink and took another long swallow. “You look at the cut of the suit, the type of shoes, the hairstyle.”
“And what about single? Lack of a ring doesn’t mean squat.”
“True,” Cindy said. “For that you have to observe their behavior.” She sighed. “But there’s no one new here tonight, anyway.”
“So, you come here a lot?”
“Probably too much,” Cindy said with a shrug. “Since the divorce, anyway.”
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you at the party how sorry I am about you and Rick.”
“Thanks,” Cindy said. “How is your mom?”
“Do you want the truth?”
A look passed through Cindy’s eyes that Lana couldn’t read. “Yeah. I guess.”
“She hasn’t been the same since she lost Dan.”
Lana expected Cindy to say something about how “none of us” were, but instead she took a long sip of her drink.
“So, what’s this about, Lana? Why did you want to see me?”
“I wanted to ask you about the fight Dan and Chip Peterson had senior year.”
Cindy’s mouth dropped open. “Seriously?”
“Yes. I wanted to—”
“Why would you—oh, wait.” Her eyes narrowed into blue slits. “Oh my God. Did Chip say something to you at Coach Robby’s party?”
Lana blinked at Cindy’s sudden hostility. “What?”
“No, Chip would never do that. He promised.”
Lana leaned forward. “What did Chip promise?”
“So he didn’t tell you.” Cindy nodded, as if relieved.
Lana sat back. So Cindy knew about Dan’s secret, too, whatever it was.
“None of this matters now, Lana.”
“Yes, it does. He was my brother.”
Cindy started to say something, but instead took a long gulp of her drink and then used the back of her hand to wipe her mouth. “Dan’s been dead a long time.”
“I know that.”
“Great,” Cindy ground the words out. “So there’s no reason to dig into the past.”
Lana stared at Cindy, trying to read her. Why was her old cheerleading buddy so defensive and agitated? “What are you—”
“If you keep asking questions like this, believe me, you’ll learn things you don’t want to know.”
“But I do want to know.”
“I’m not doing this.” Cindy grabbed her drink and stood. “He’s gone, Lana. Get a damn life.”
“I have a life,” Lana said. Wow. She’d definitely triggered a reaction, but she hadn’t asked one question about the murder. Cindy didn’t even know she was a cop. This was about something else. What?
“Where are you going?” Lana asked as Cindy stepped away.
“There’s someone I need to talk to.”
Cindy moved to the bar and joined a group of men who greeted her with hugs, obviously knowing her well.
Watching their animated conversation, Lana worried Cindy would bring the men over to make introductions. Did she want to start a party? But Cindy didn’t glance back to her former table, didn’t motion in that direction. Within five minutes she finished her drink, set the empty glass on the bar and moved toward the door with one of the men.
While Lana had no clue if Cindy’s new friend was rich or single, she understood all too well that the mere mention of Dan’s name had seriously spooked the woman.
What she didn’t know was why.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A Cop's Promise Page 8