by Ben Rehder
“You won’t tell me?” he said.
“American law gives me that alternative, yes?”
“It does.”
“My clients value their seclusion.”
“You mean their privacy?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Marlin decided to push harder. He pulled his phone from the holster on his hip and tapped the screen, bringing up the photo from Sammy’s phone. He showed it to her, watching her face closely. “Ever seen this photo before?”
Practice had ended an hour ago. Kurt Milstead was in his office, which was in the same building as the gymnasium, detached from the rest of the high school. He was meeting with one of his assistant coaches, discussing some defensive adjustments for the game the following night, when Grady Beech opened the office door and stepped inside, without a greeting of any sort. He left the door open behind him. The hall outside was quiet, because all the players had already showered and gone home.
“Well, come on in, Grady,” Milstead said sarcastically but jovially. “Don’t mind us.”
Grady didn’t respond to Milstead’s remark, but instead turned to the assistant coach and said, “Cliff, can you give us a few minutes alone?”
“Everything okay?” Cliff said. “You look like someone pissed in your corn flakes.”
“Just need a few minutes with Kurt.”
Cliff looked at Milstead, who nodded that it was okay. When the assistant coach had stood and left the office, Grady closed the door behind him. And he locked it. Then Grady swung back toward Milstead, and now he had a revolver in his hand, which he aimed directly at the coach’s face.
“Jesus, take it easy, Grady,” Milstead said, holding his hands in front of him.
“I caught you,” Beech said.
“Caught me?”
Grady pulled back the hammer. “You are about the lowest of the low, you know that?”
“What—”
“Don’t lie, Kurt. Whatever you do, don’t lie.”
“I won’t, Grady.”
“Good.”
“Just tell me—what did I do?”
Beech aimed just inches above Milstead’s head and pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER 34
Aleksandra Babikova was definitely surprised, maybe even shocked, by the photo on Sammy Beech’s phone. She tried to cover it with a joke. “I have never seen her, but she is very beautiful woman.”
“Hey, no argument there,” Marlin said. “This photo was found on Sammy Beech’s phone. Not just on the phone, but taken with the camera built into the phone. That means Sammy, or someone carrying his phone, was with you at some point and took this picture. Seems weird, especially since you said you never met him.”
Now she wasn’t just shocked, she was shaken. He waited for her to respond. She didn’t.
“Miss Babikova, have you heard anything about this case in the past few days?”
She shook her head.
Marlin said, “When Sammy died back in September, we thought it was a motorcycle accident. But we recently learned that someone was chasing him, shooting at him. Whoever it was, they caused Sammy’s death.”
Her eyes grew wider. “I did not know. That is horrible.”
“I need you to tell me about your interaction with Sammy—especially since the photo of you on his phone was taken the day before he died.”
Now her arms were wrapped tightly around her torso, as if she were suddenly cold. “Perhaps I need attorney?”
“You have a right to an attorney, but that doesn’t mean you need one. Were you involved in the death of Sammy Beech?”
He saw a sudden fire in her eyes. “Certainly not.”
“Do you have any knowledge about it at all?”
She said something quickly in Russian, then caught herself and switched to English. “I know nothing of this! You insult me with these declarations!”
He sensed that he was on the verge of losing her. That she would stop talking and ask him to leave. At the same time, he believed her. Her outburst was genuine. It appeared she had known that Sammy had died, but she hadn’t learned about the circumstances. But still, she was one of the last people to see Sammy alive. She might know something useful. He needed to know all about her dealings with Sammy. He remained silent for a few moments to allow her to regain her composure.
Then he said, “I apologize. I didn’t mean to insult you.”
He waited again, and eventually she nodded her acceptance.
“However,” he said, proceeding slowly and carefully, “I still need to ask you some questions. You might be able to help me—and I need all the help I can get. So does Sammy Beech’s family. They deserve to know the truth about what really happened that night.”
He gave her a chance to speak, but she wasn’t ready yet. So he continued. “I don’t know why Sammy had that photo of you on his phone, or what your relationship with him was, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and try to fill in some blanks myself. I’ll take a guess that your main job as a sports consultant is to steer a player like Sammy toward a particular school. I imagine a woman like you could be awfully persuasive.”
She didn’t raise any objections or deny what he was suggesting. She didn’t say a word.
Milstead flinched at the gunshot, but he remained seated, with his hands in the air.
“Christ, Grady!”
“Be a man, Kurt. I won’t shoot you—as long as you tell the truth. It’s so simple. Just tell the truth.”
There was a firm rap on the door.
“Go away!” Grady shouted.
“What’s going on in there?” It was Cliff.
Grady said loudly, “Everything will be fine unless you try to come into this office. You understand? You try to open that door and Kurt’s in big trouble.”
“Kurt?” Cliff said.
Grady nodded at Kurt, who said, “I’m okay, Cliff.”
“Now go away,” Grady said.
No response. Fine. Grady knew Cliff would call the police, or maybe he already had. Nothing he could do about that.
Grady returned his attention to Milstead.
“Let’s hear it. The truth. Everything.”
Milstead didn’t look like the confident, charismatic football coach that viewers often saw on TV interviews. His lip was quivering. He looked like a small child who had just been scolded by a stranger in public. Afraid and ashamed, but trying to hold it in.
Marlin said, “If I’m right, I don’t really care. Let me rephrase that, and please don’t get angry. If I’m right—and you weren’t having sex with underage players...”
Her eyes flashed again. “Never. Of any age.”
He didn’t ask why the photo on Sammy’s phone showed her in her bra only. Maybe that was the deal—she let them get a good look, but no contact. He wouldn’t be surprised if an offer like that was effective. Besides, Sammy had reached the age of consent at the time, and she wasn’t that much older. There was nothing illegal about the photo.
“Okay,” he said. “Then all I care about is finding out who was chasing Sammy. Maybe it had nothing to do with football. But if it did, there might be something you know that will help. Regardless, whatever you tell me, as long as you weren’t involved in Sammy’s death yourself—and I believe that you weren’t—I can virtually guarantee that you won’t get into any trouble yourself.”
Technically, he hadn’t said she would receive immunity if she had taken part in any crimes, but it was highly likely, especially if she hired a decent attorney. If she had helpful information in this case, any NCAA recruiting violations would be almost meaningless in comparison.
Aleksandra Babikova didn’t move or speak for half a minute. It was obvious she was deciding what to do. She didn’t have a lot to gain, and depending on what she said, she might have quite a bit to lose. Finally, she let out a deep breath and said, “I had meeting with Sammy Beech. He was nice young man.” She bit her bottom lip. Marlin waited. “I stimulated him to play football at OTU.”
“No more stalling,” Grady Beech said. He raised the gun again. Milstead had no alternatives. None. “Talk, Kurt. Now.”
“You’ll kill me,” the coach said. He was sniveling—snot running from his nose.
“I won’t,” Grady said. “I give you my word. As long as you tell the truth. I need to hear it from you. Tell the truth and you get to walk out of this room.”
“You promise?”
Grady was starting to lose his temper, but he reined it in. He kept control. “I promise.”
Milstead began to shake his head. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen. How could I have known something like that would happen?”
What? Grady Beech was confused. You don’t sleep with someone’s wife and then ask, How could I have known something like that would happen? It just didn’t make sense.
After another pause, Aleksandra Babikova said, “Sammy agreed that OTU was better program for him. He was enthusiastic. But he said his coach would be angry that he change his mind.”
His coach. Kurt Milstead.
Marlin said, “Why would his coach be angry?”
And now there was the longest pause yet.
“Spit it out, Kurt,” Grady Beech said. “How could you have known what would happen?”
Milstead wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
“How could I have known that Sammy would run into a pig?”
Aleksandra Babikova had to be wondering how wrapped up in this mess she wanted to be. Even if she wasn’t prosecuted for anything herself, her own involvement in the case—every titillating detail about her career as a “sports consultant”—would be discussed and dissected in the tabloid press. It had to be a tough decision for her.
“Why would his coach be angry?” Marlin repeated.
And that was enough.
“Because he paid Sammy large money to select UMT.”
CHAPTER 35
Grady shook his head, confused. What had he just heard?
How could I have known that Sammy would run into a pig?
Oh, Lord. The son of a bitch. Milstead was the one. He’d been chasing Sammy that night. He was responsible for Sammy’s death. He’d just admitted it.
The coach must’ve seen the puzzlement on Grady’s face.
“You didn’t know?” Milstead said.
Grady started to squeeze the trigger, feeling the resistance, knowing that just another half-pound of pressure might be enough. It was the greatest temptation he had ever experienced in his life. Vengeance for Sammy.
“I don’t understand,” Milstead said.
“I was talking about the fact that you’ve been sleeping with my wife, you enormous asshole.”
Milstead blinked. “Oh.”
Neither man spoke for several seconds. Grady hadn’t heard sirens yet, but he guessed the deputies would drive silently so as not to alert him.
Grady said, “I want so badly to shoot you. I’ve never wanted something so much in my life.”
Milstead was cringing. “Please, Grady, let me explain. Don’t shoot me. Please.”
“Start talking.”
Milstead took full advantage of the opportunity to ward off death, even for a few minutes. “A booster paid me some money to steer Sammy toward UMT. I know it was wrong, but I gave some of that money to Sammy. That’s why he verbally committed to them. It’s the only time I’ve ever done anything like that, I swear. And I’ll never do it again. Oh, my God, I screwed up. I’m so sorry.”
He was sobbing now.
“How much money?” Grady asked.
“Twenty thousand.”
“How much did you give Sammy?”
“Five thousand.”
“You know what that means, Kurt? Not only did you corrupt my son and put his football career in jeopardy, you gave him the money to buy the motorcycle he was riding when he died.”
Milstead didn’t reply. What could he say?
Grady thought he might’ve heard a noise outside the closed door. Maybe it was Cliff, or maybe it was the cops. Or maybe he hadn’t heard anything. The lock on the door was a deadbolt, which was better than a knob lock, but even a deadbolt wouldn’t keep out a team of deputies if they decided to bust the door down. Grady knew he didn’t have much time.
“Why did you chase him?” he asked.
Milstead was starting to show some relief in his eyes—like he was thinking he might get out of this alive, if he kept talking.
“I saw what Sammy had said on Facebook—that he was switching to OTU—so I sent him a message. Had him meet me at the school.”
“The cops didn’t find that message.”
“I deleted it later.”
“Did you know that Sammy was drunk? He’d been at a party.”
“I know, but he seemed okay. I swear. If I’d known he was drunk, I wouldn’t have let him drive.”
“So what happened?”
“We argued. I told him that if he switched to Oklahoma Tech, I’d have to give the entire twenty thousand back to the booster, and I didn’t have it anymore. I’d already spent it.”
“On what?”
Milstead appeared sheepish. “My truck.”
Grady resisted another strong urge to shoot. “What was the booster’s name?”
Milstead hesitated. “Can’t we keep him out of this?”
“His name!”
“Okay. Okay. It was Dexter Crabtree.”
Grady blinked. Dexter Crabtree? “The football player?”
“Yeah.”
This story was almost too crazy for words. “Okay, continue,” Grady said.
“With what?”
“You said you argued with Sammy. Where was this?”
“Right outside, in the parking lot. I tried to be reasonable. I wanted him to switch back to UMT, but he wouldn’t. He was just so... headstrong. Then he said if I kept pressuring him, he was going to tell everybody what I’d done. I don’t blame him, Grady. I really don’t. That was a pretty smart way to get me off his back. But it also would have ruined me. I’d never coach again. All because I’d made one little mistake.”
“It wasn’t a little mistake, you moron.”
“No, you’re right. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“What happened next?”
“He took off on his motorcycle,” Milstead said.
“And you chased him.”
Milstead nodded.
“And you decided it would be a good idea to fire a gun at him.”
Milstead was afraid to answer. He stalled. Then he said, “Not at him, Grady. You have to believe me. I fired at the side of the road. I never meant for him to get hurt. I was just trying to scare him.”
Grady didn’t respond.
Milstead said, “He didn’t scare easily, I’ll tell you that. He was a tough kid.”
“He wasn’t a kid, he was a man. More of a man than you’ll ever be.”
Milstead nodded. “God help me, that’s true. It really is.”
“And when my son died—right in front of you—you drove off and left him there.”
Milstead was cupping his face in his hands. “I couldn’t do anything for him. He was already gone.”
Grady pointed the gun away from Milstead. He had to, because he knew if he kept aiming at him, he couldn’t resist the urge to shoot.
“You are a pathetic excuse for a human being,” Grady said.
“I know I am, Grady. I know.”
“Bobby?” Marlin said. He was in his truck, back on the highway, talking to Garza along the way. The cell phone connection wasn’t great. He probably should have called before he’d left the outskirts of Dallas, but he wasn’t comfortable talking and navigating the heavy traffic at the same time.
“John, good timing,” Garza said. “Major development g
oing on down here.” The sheriff sounded rushed and distracted.
“What’s up?”
“We’re on our way to the high school. Apparently Grady Beech is holding Kurt Milstead at gunpoint, and I have no idea why.”
“You will in a minute. Aleksandra Babikova is a hired gun of sorts. She gets paid to entice players like Sammy to pick a particular school.”
“Entice how?”
“I didn’t dig too deep on that—didn’t want to scare her into silence—but I assume it was mostly a peep show, hence that photo on Sammy’s phone. She said she didn’t have sex with any of them.”
“Do you buy it?”
“I do.”
“Think she slipped them any money?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“What did she say about Sammy?”
“That she met with him on the day before he died, and he said Milstead gave him a lot of cash to commit to UMT.”
A pause. Then Garza said, “Damn.”
“I’m guessing a booster paid Milstead to influence Sammy, and Milstead used some of that cash to do it.”
“Jesus. So when Sammy changed his mind, Milstead was pissed.”
“Exactly. Which makes him a good candidate for being the person who was chasing Sammy that night.”
“I have about thirty seconds. How would Grady have learned all this?”
“No idea. Maybe he found a note or something in Sammy’s belongings. Does it matter at this point?”
“Probably not. I gotta go. I’ll call you later. Good job.”
Phil Colby was on his way to Marlin’s house—a casual drop-in visit to make sure Nicole was okay—when he spotted the dog runners’ truck in the parking lot at El Charro. He drove past, resisting the urge, but he couldn’t help himself, and he turned around.
When he’d found his smashed mailbox and gate keypad earlier in the day, he’d known immediately who’d done it. No question in his mind at all. He hadn’t reported it. What was the use? This was a man suspected of taking potshots at a state peace officer and assaulting a civilian, so a charge for destruction of property was meaningless.