by Mike Markel
“Come on, what’s taking you?”
“His name was LaKadrian Williams. Put in some creamer and sugar and I’ll have the rest of the story.”
“LaKadrian. Okay, I’d use Lake, too.”
Ryan was focused on his screen. I walked around behind him to see what he was looking at. It was some football site. I went back to my desk and sat down.
It was almost thirty seconds before Ryan spoke. “Lake was on a football scholarship at Central Montana State University for three years. He left the university seven years ago.”
“He went pro?”
“Uh, no. I can’t quite tell the circumstances, but he didn’t go pro. I’m looking at some sites that handicap the draft picks. He was going to go in the second or third round, but that’s where the story ends.”
Ryan played football at Brigham Young. I didn’t. “One question: What the hell did you just say?”
“What I said is that, when he was a junior at CMSU, the pro scouts were looking at him, and the people who handicap the process say he would have gotten a job on a professional team after he graduated. He would have made my salary.”
“Your salary? That’s all?”
“Yeah, every two weeks.”
“But he didn’t graduate.”
“A lot of pros never graduated, but that’s not the reason he didn’t go pro.”
“Okay, what is the reason?”
“I don’t know. I’m just saying you don’t have to graduate. You don’t have to go to college at all. But something happened.”
“The leg injury? Is that why you’re a cop and not a pro football player?”
“No, I wasn’t good enough even before I blew out my knee. But an ACL injury can end your career. When you go in for reconstructive surgery, they tell you the success rate is ninety, ninety-five percent. What they mean is, those are the odds you’re going to walk again. What you hear is that those are the odds you’re going to play at the same level as before.”
“What are the chances of that?”
“About fifty percent. If you rush the rehab or blow it off, the odds go way down, and you can tear it again—and the second time you might not walk right again.”
“Okay, you dig around a little and try to find out why he was living in a homeless camp instead of a mansion. I’ll see if he’s in the system.”
It took me ten seconds to find him but two minutes to read it all; it was fairly lengthy. Ryan looked up when I started to speak. “LaKadrian Williams started shoplifting when he was a student.”
“He got caught shoplifting on campus?”
I shrugged. “Maybe the bookstore or something. The food court.”
“Anything else?”
“A few misdemeanor drug possessions. He moved up to distribution, which was a felony. There was one assault, while he was a student, against a guy named Cory McDermott, but McDermott never pressed charges.”
“Does the arrest report say why?”
I shook my head.
“Let’s see if we’ve got McDermott in the system.” Ryan hit a few keys and waited a moment while it churned. He started to read. “Cory McDermott is a good customer.”
“What’s his specialty?”
“I’d say possession and distribution of controlled dangerous substances, including heroin, cocaine, and methamphetamines. He’s been in and out of prison for the last eight years. Spends about six months in, then six months out.”
“So Cory could be Lake’s dealer.”
“Sure.” Ryan shrugged. “Or not.”
“Do we have any contact information on Cory?”
“No known address. Let me try this phone.” Ryan punched in a number and put it on Speaker, but the recorded message said the number had been disconnected.
“Cory and Lake are the same age, right?”
Ryan looked at the screen. “Lake was about a year older.”
“You have access to the student system at Central Montana?”
He nodded, then hit some keys and watched the screen. “Cory McDermott was a student there for two years, starting the same year as Lake.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “Not a great student?”
Ryan studied the screen. “On academic probation as soon as he finished his first semester. Never even got a C. He hung around for two years. Then he was gone.”
“That might not be the whole story.”
“True, but that’s all I can get off his transcript.”
“Okay, we assume Lake died of an OD …”
“Assumed.” Ryan nodded.
“And we know Cory’s a dealer.”
“We have no idea if Cory’s been in contact with Lake in more than seven years. Or if he lives in Montana. Or if he’s still alive.”
“We don’t know anything,” I said. “Let’s put out a bulletin on him.”
“Will do,” he said. “Want to tell the chief we’re going to wait for Robin’s forensics and Harold’s report?”
“Let’s see if he’s got something else he wants us to do.”
We walked over to the chief’s office, where he was talking with his assistant, Margaret. He looked up at us and raised his eyebrows.
“Quick question, Chief.”
He nodded for me to proceed.
“We ID’ed the vic from this morning. LaKadrian Williams. Used to play football at the university. Long record of using, some selling. When he was a student, he got in a fight with another student who’s now a serious dealer.”
“No forensics yet?”
“Robin’s got the vic’s drug kit. There might be something there. And Harold’s gonna start the autopsy this afternoon.”
“We’ve got a detail at the scene, right?”
“Yeah, we do.”
The chief nodded. “Okay, let’s wait until Harold calls it. If it’s a homicide, it’s yours. If it’s an accidental OD, you’re up for the next case.”
“Chief, do you mind if we do a couple of interviews this afternoon?”
“Where?”
“On campus.”
“Who do you want to talk to?”
“Both the victim and the guy he got in the fight with started at the university the same time. They both dropped out. Both got into drugs. Mary Dawson—the dean of students?—she might be able to help us see if there was any connection between the two guys. If the dealer sold bad product to the vic, we might be able to charge him with manslaughter, give him a long stretch.” I paused. “It’s on campus. Just a couple hours this afternoon. You phone us, we’re here in ten minutes. Once Harold calls it, we’ll know what we’ve got, and you’ll decide how much manpower to put on it.”
The chief turned to Ryan. “You okay with that?”
“Absolutely.”
“Let’s give Harold the rest of the day. If he doesn’t call it by the end of the shift, talk to me tomorrow morning, start of shift.”
“Thanks, Chief.”
Two guys started at the same college the same time. They both got into drugs, got into it downtown, dropped out of college. Did Cory sell Lake the drugs he used to kill himself? That was a long shot. Even in a small city like Rawlings, there must be a hundred folks pay their way selling dope. But if Cory was still alive, still living in Rawlings, still dealing, there was a very good chance he remembered Lake Williams, knew what he’s been up to lately, maybe knew who his source was.
And there was a very good chance Mary Dawson could help us find Cory McDermott.
Chapter 4
“Good morning!” Mary Dawson welcomed us into her suite in the Administration Building. She had been dean of students at Central Montana State University for about ten years. Although her job description blah-blah’ed about how she was there to create a supportive learning environment for students to develop into skilled professionals and active, engaged citizens, she spent a lot of time mopping up when students got arrested, beat up, and, sometimes, killed.
On a light day, she responded when a student got caught cheating on a te
st or bullying a gay kid in a dorm, or when a student wanted a professor fired—immediately!—for making a snide comment about Jesus. When I called her twenty minutes ago to ask if we could meet for a few minutes, I made it clear it was about a student who had left the university a while ago. She was relieved and therefore happy to see us. Happy was her default.
“Detective Seagate,” she said. “Detective Miner.” Her colorful plastic bracelets jangled cheerfully as she shook our hands. She invited us into her office and gestured for us to sit. “You mentioned you wanted to ask about a student from a while back?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I’ll sit at my desk, then, so I can pull up their record on the system.”
“That would be great.”
“What’s the student’s name?” She removed her glasses, which were attached to a gold chain around her neck, and put on a different pair.
“LaKadrian Williams.”
She asked me to spell the first name. I did. As the system churned, she ran a hand through her professionally colored auburn hair. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? I just love autumn.”
“Me, too,” I said. I saw no reason to tell her I didn’t have an emotional attachment to any of the seasons. Except winter, of course. Winter is horrible. Luckily, it only lasts about eight months.
She turned back to her computer, read a bit, and sighed. “Oh, yes, I remember his case now.” She read some more. “I’m afraid to ask. I assume he’s in trouble?”
I shook my head. “He died.”
She exhaled a long breath. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” I had worked with her enough to know she was telling the truth. She didn’t have to know a student to be upset when he died.
“The autopsy hasn’t been performed yet, but we suspect he died of a drug overdose.”
Mary Dawson shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe how much I’m hearing about drugs these days … the last year or two, in particular. And it’s not just the kids who used to get into trouble. It’s kids who seem to be doing really well. Good grades, lots of friends. Then, all of a sudden, they’re taking heroin or something, their families are ripped apart. I don’t understand what’s going on.” She paused. “I’m sorry. You would know far more about this than I do. Excuse me for going on like that. I assume you want to talk about LaKadrian.”
“Yes, Dean Dawson—”
“Please, call me Mary.”
I smiled at her. Every time we bring her bad news, which is basically all we bring her, she tells us to use her first name. But I always start with the last name, just in case she’s having a really shitty day and doesn’t want to be pals. “Yes, Mary, Detective Miner and I were hoping you could help us understand a little about LaKadrian—he called himself Lake—and about another student, a Cory McDermott.”
She jotted down Cory’s name on a slip of paper. “Of course. I’ll be happy to provide whatever information I can. Let’s start with Lake since I have his records up. Do you have specific questions?”
“Would you verify what we already have on him? He was a transfer from a community college in California. He was on the football team. Left school during his third year, didn’t get a degree. Is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Okay, now, can you tell us what isn’t on his transcript?”
She leaned back in her chair, took off her computer glasses, and put on her other ones. “Mr. Williams was on a full football scholarship, but he had trouble maintaining an acceptable GPA. He got into some trouble here …”
Ryan said, “You’re referring to the shoplifting arrest?”
Mary Dawson nodded. “He took some team regalia from the bookstore. He said he thought it was okay to take team regalia because he was on the team.” She started to roll her eyes, then caught herself. She must have remembered we were talking about a guy who had just died. “We got a call from the athletics department. They asked us if we would make an exception in his case—he came from a rough environment, he was having problems adjusting, et cetera. The charges were dropped. Then there were a couple of other things: some petty vandalism, drinking in the dorm, that sort of thing.”
“But he kept playing?” Ryan said.
“Yes, the team disciplined him in various ways, including suspensions for two games, if I remember correctly, but he appeared to be most successful when he was playing, and he was a very good athlete. The coach told us they thought the best way for him to gain some self-confidence was through athletics, and they asked us to give him an opportunity to succeed.”
“Mary,” I said, “you seem to remember Lake’s situation pretty clearly. Is all of that information on the records you just read off your computer?”
She shook her head. “No, unfortunately, I remember his case now because I was part of the investigation.”
“He got thrown out?”
“No, eventually he lost his football scholarship, and he couldn’t afford to stay without that support.”
“Tell us about the investigation.”
“Another student brought a complaint against him. A female. She accused him of rape.”
“Can you tell us her name?”
“No, that information is protected. I can outline the situation in very general terms, but I can’t provide any details.”
I paused. “Mary, let me explain where we are. Lake died under mysterious circumstances. We haven’t called his death yet. It could be an accident if it was an unintentional overdose, or suicide if it was intentional. Or it could be a homicide. If that’s what the medical examiner rules, it would help us get a head start in assembling a list of suspects if we knew who the girl is.” I didn’t hold out much hope she would buy that reasoning, but it was worth a shot.
“I understand, Detective Seagate, but the university policies are crystal clear on this, especially when we’re talking about sexual assault. If students thought their identities might be revealed if they came to us, they’d simply stop coming.” She paused. “Here’s what I suggest: If you determine that Mr. Williams’s death was a homicide, talk to Timothy Giraldi, the university counsel. He’ll know what to do. Of course we all want to help you catch a murderer, but Timothy will know whether you need some sort of court order.” She put up her palms and nodded. “He’s very good. He’ll know what to do.”
“That’s great advice, Mary. Thank you. We’ll contact him, if it comes to that. But let me get back to the complaint. Can you tell us—without any names or identifying information—a little more about the student’s complaint against Mr. Williams?”
“She said he was becoming hostile and aggressive, subject to terrible fits of anger. And one time, she said, he forced himself on her sexually.”
“Did the university find that he raped her?”
She shook her head. “The university didn’t reach any finding. We convened the disciplinary committee, as we always do in such cases, and we scheduled the witnesses, including the two principals. But then the committee terminated the hearing …”
“Why was that?” I said.
“The student’s father attended the hearing. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. He went berserk, started to attack Mr. Williams. It took three of the men in the room to restrain him until the officers arrived.”
“Did the father say anything during the hearing?”
She waved her hand dismissively. “He obviously wasn’t thinking clearly. But right before he tried to attack Mr. Williams he said some nasty things about him—and about the university, and the process we were following.”
“What kinds of nasty things?”
Mary Dawson adjusted the strand of fake pearls around her neck and shook her head. “How it was the university’s fault for letting an animal like that on campus. How it was incredible that anyone would believe someone like that over his daughter. He was very upset.”
“Did he make any specific threats against Mr. Williams?”
She paused. “I wouldn’t characterize them as s
pecific threats. He did say this wasn’t over, that he would get Mr. Williams.”
“You said you shut down the hearing. That was because the father flipped out?”
“Campus Security removed him and brought him to their offices. His daughter was very upset about that. She was crying, out of control. She left the room.”
“What did you do then?”
“We suspended the hearing. I said I’d follow up with the student and her father and report back to the committee and see what they wanted us to do next. Later that day I learned that the father had told us to go to hell—not his exact words, but that was the idea—and that he was taking his daughter out of school. I reported that to the committee, which decided to table the case until we received more information on what the student wanted to do.”
“Did you ever re-convene the committee on this case?”
“No, we didn’t. We never received any additional information from the student or her father.”
“Did you try to reach out to her?”
“A number of times.” She tapped her chest. “She never replied.”
“Did she ever come back to the university?”
“I can’t answer that. It’s protected.”
Ryan said, “Do you know if the athletics department was aware of what happened?”
“Yes, they were. We keep them up-to-date on any disciplinary actions involving student-athletes. That’s part of the protocol.”
“And that was when Lake lost his scholarship?” Ryan said.
“Some months later, I believe.” Mary Dawson nodded.
“Even though he wasn’t technically found guilty of anything?”
“The athletics department was very patient with Mr. Williams. Maybe this was the final straw. Maybe his level of play had become unsatisfactory. I’m not really sure. All athletic scholarships are year-to-year, and the athletics department has no obligation to report to us on whether they renew a student’s scholarship for the next year.”
Ryan said, “Do you have contact information on his parents? We need to inform them.”
“Let me check his initial application.” She hit some keys. “I’ve got an address at Riverside Community College, which won’t do you any good.” She read some more. “The last home address listed here is an Esther Capaldi in Los Angeles.” She read us a phone number, which Ryan wrote in his notebook.