Players: A Detectives Seagate and Miner Mystery (Book 7)

by Mike Markel

  “I don’t think so. He’s in the hospital.”

  “Sorry to hear that. He sick?”

  “He was assaulted sometime yesterday, by at least a couple guys. They worked him over pretty good.”

  “Did he identify the guys?”

  “That’s the thing: He wouldn’t tell us anything. He claims not to know who jumped him.”

  “You don’t believe him?”

  “No, we don’t. In his line of work—selling dope, I mean—I would think he’d know how to avoid situations where he could get jumped. But he really doesn’t want us involved.” I paused. “Any thoughts on why he might not want to talk with us?”

  Max thought for a second. “Well, if he’s a drug dealer like you say, I can see why he might not want to involve the police. He’d have a hard time pressing charges, right? I mean, you’d want to know what he was doing when the incident occurred. And if he identifies whoever beat him up, there’s a good chance those guys are criminals, too. They might come after him. He might figure it’s safer for him to settle the score himself or, even better, just move on.” He paused. “I really have no idea. I’m just guessing.”

  I nodded. “Makes sense. So, knowing him like you did, you can’t help us with any leads?”

  “I haven’t seen him or heard anything about him since he left the program. I’m not in his world, and he’s not in mine.” He gave me a sad smile. “Sorry.”

  “I get that. One thing he told us. We were asking him about Lake—you know, trying to see if the assault was linked to our case. He knew about the rape allegation against Lake …”

  “You’re referring to Alicia Weber?”

  I nodded. “That’s the thing we were wondering about. When we talked with you the other day over at the indoor facility, you said you didn’t remember it. And you were Lake’s roommate.” I paused. “Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

  Max Thomas put on a thoughtful expression. “I don’t know. It was a long time ago. I haven’t been thinking about Lake Williams or Cory McDermott. I’ve got a pretty busy life.”

  “I’m sure you do,” I said. “A lot going on, what with the coaching job and your courses and all. Still, Cory said it was an open secret how Alicia had filed this charge against Lake. Cory told us Coach Baxter talked about it in a team meeting—how you have to show good character, that sort of thing. Carl Davis made a speech, too. And the university sent some administrator; Cory didn’t remember her name. Point is, nobody was trying to cover it up. Yet you didn’t seem to remember the episode at all.” I cocked my head and put on my confused expression.

  Max Thomas shifted uncomfortably and tugged at the ends of his black belt. He patted his chest with the thick piping on his gi jacket to blot the perspiration. “You’re right, Detective. I wasn’t being completely honest with you. I did remember those speeches, although it’s true that nobody ever mentioned Lake’s name in connection with it. But, yes, Lake did mention it to me privately. So I did know.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us that the other day?”

  “Coach Baxter told all of us—the students, the staff, everyone—that since there was no formal complaint against a player—”

  “You mean, because Alicia withdrew the complaint?”

  “That’s right. There was no outstanding complaint. He didn’t want us talking about it to anyone outside the program. He was emphatic that any talk about a sexual assault could cause enormous problems for the whole program—the whole athletics department, all the sports.” He paused and looked down at his bare feet for a moment before raising his gaze to me. “Your question caught me off guard, and I just responded without thinking. But you’re right. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  I nodded. “We appreciate that. I understand why the coach wouldn’t want anyone in the program talking to outsiders about something like a rape. But when my partner and I talk to you—at the indoor facility, here in the dojo, wherever—you have to tell us the truth. If you don’t, you’re violating the law.”

  He wiped at the perspiration on his face with his sleeve. “I do know that. It won’t happen again.”

  “Now that this is a murder investigation—”

  He started. “Excuse me, didn’t you say yesterday that Lake died of an OD but you didn’t know whether it was murder?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, that’s what we said. And that was the truth.” I couldn’t resist saying it. “But we discovered new evidence. It was definitely murder.”

  “My God, that’s terrible. Can you tell me what that evidence is? I mean, are you permitted to say?”

  I shook my head, disappointed. “We can’t say.” I turned to Ryan. “What do you think, Ryan? Just the outline?”

  Ryan nodded. “I don’t see how the outline could hurt.”

  I turned back to Max. “We learned that an associate of Lake’s was paid to deliver some lethal drugs to him. That’s how he died.”

  “An associate?”

  “We can’t go into any details. Someone from the homeless camp where he lived.”

  “Maybe it was a beef with someone in the camp?”

  “We checked that out pretty thoroughly, but we concluded that nobody out there had the kind of cash this associate was given. Anyway, that’s not the way they do things out there. If one of them has a beef with another …” I held up my fists.

  “Who do you think … I mean, who do you suspect might have wanted to kill him?”

  “We really don’t know. We’re working with this associate of his, but we don’t yet have a suspect or even a motive. All we know is that Lake used to play football—and so did Cory McDermott—so we’re investigating whether there’s some connection with the football program. Problem is, we can’t see any relationship between Lake and the program since … well, since you two played together. So we think maybe it goes back all those years. We just haven’t figured it out yet.” I shook my head. “Anyway, it’s our job to figure it out, not yours.” I gave him an official smile. “Appreciate you talking to us, Max. We’ll let you get back to your workout.”

  We left the dojo and started down the stairs. “Think he’s gonna tell the coach?”

  “Within two minutes,” Ryan said. After we made it down the creaky wooden steps to the street, I saw Ryan glance up at the window. As I unlocked the Charger, I glanced up, too. Max Thomas was standing there, between two heavy bags, his hands folded in front of him.

  “He’s waiting for us to leave before he goes back to the locker room to get his phone.”

  Chapter 20

  MacIntosh Skate Park was built about seven years ago on some crappy unused land literally in the shadow of a highway overpass. It was within sight of a small, ugly warehouse cluster, a scuzzy club that booked black-leather bands that wore masks, and a wide alley that periodically had to be swept of homeless people. The city thought—correctly, it turned out—that the kids would appreciate the low-rent, nonconformist vibe. The only part of the plan that didn’t work out was the prohibition on dealing. The park quickly became a small but lively drug and prostitute bazaar after the skaters left at dark.

  The moral crusaders in town openly complained about the open sinning, but some of the more pragmatic big cheeses pointed out that the city could either let the sinning continue under the overpass or shut the place down and watch the sinning return to the downtown convention district, home to the upscale restaurants, hotels, and shops.

  Ryan and I stood under the US 53 overpass in MacIntosh Skate Park, where Kendra Crimmons told us she shopped for drugs and was offered money to deliver a baggie to Lake Williams. The morning traffic above us had died down, but the intermittent rumbling and whooshing sounds of cars and trucks still made it difficult to talk.

  The first officer on scene was Imelda Ruiz. I asked her what had happened.

  “We got a call from dispatch this morning at eleven fifteen. We arrived six minutes later. There were about fifteen skaters gathered around the body. We got them away, taped off the scene. First we t
hought the woman was sleeping. There were blankets and things around her, and she was kind of curled up on her side, like you see now. We determined she was dead, called it in.”

  “Did you get a chance to talk to the person called it in?”

  She pointed to a baby-faced girl who looked about seventeen. She was wearing black jeans and a sweatshirt. Dyed black hair stuck out from around her yellow wool hat. “Name is Janice Cutler.”

  We thanked Ruiz. “I’ll take the girl,” I said to Ryan. “You start with some of the guys, okay?”

  Ryan nodded and headed off to a small group of skateboarders who turned to him and eyed him apprehensively.

  I walked over to Cutler, who was standing on her own. “Janice, my name is Detective Seagate. Can you tell us what happened this morning?”

  “I got here a couple hours ago, like I do most days. I walked over toward the bodega over there to get a Red Bull, which I’m finally gonna have to admit I have a problem with. Out of the corner of my eye I caught this person. Actually, first I thought it was just a pile of rags and whatnot. Then the pile of rags kind of formed into the shape of a person. You know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.” Oh, Lord. “What happened next, Janice?”

  “Well, I assumed it was just a street person sleeping it off. Street people like this general neighborhood, you know?” Janice had quite a lisp. I looked closer at her and noticed a silver stud in her tongue. It took me some effort to keep from asking her why the hell she thought that was a good idea. “I didn’t do anything about it. I mean, I let the pile of rags sleep or whatever. About an hour later, I’m heading over to the bodega again, and it dawned on me maybe the pile of rags was in some kind of trouble. I mean, it hadn’t moved. Well, it wouldn’t move if it was a pile of rags, except for the wind, of course. Anyway, I thought that was unusual, given all the traffic noise. So a bunch of us decided to go over to her or it or whatever, see if we could wake her up. Couple of the guys started poking her—by this time we could see that she was a person, a female person at that. Some of the guys were shouting at her to wake up, like that was going to do it. Personally, I thought that behavior was totally unnecessary—”

  “Then what happened, Janice?”

  “So I leaned in to touch her neck—the carotid artery, have I got that right? There wasn’t any pulse, and that’s when I saw the blood on her jacket. In the vicinity of the middle of her chest, right below the sternum. The blood was in a circle, at least six inches across. I know you like to know those details. That’s when I called 911.”

  “You ever seen this woman before?”

  “It’s hard to say. I mean, I can’t say for sure. There are always quite a few street people,” she said, making air quotes on the phrase, “but no, I don’t think so.”

  “You mean, buying drugs?”

  Janice shrugged. “I try not to judge. You never know the path they were on that took them there. Besides, I got my own monkey.” She held up her can of caffeine.

  “Yeah, that’s a good attitude.” I paused a moment. “You were here yesterday, too?”

  “I’m here most days.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “You don’t want to hear about it.”

  That wasn’t strictly true. In fact, I did feel some sympathy for this girl. But I was on the job, and I didn’t have time for this lonely, screwy girl. I had to figure out who killed the lonely, screwy woman. “When did you leave yesterday?”

  “Four, maybe five.”

  “You didn’t see her here yesterday?”

  “One of my goals is to be more aware of my environment. I’ve been doing some reading about mindfulness—you hear of it?”

  “So that’s a no, right? You don’t remember seeing her here yesterday.”

  “Like I said, I can’t give you a definitive answer. If I were to say yes, it would get your hopes up and you’d want to ask me more questions, but then I’d have to disappoint you because I wouldn’t be able to tell you where the woman was or what she was doing or anything at all useful to you. You’ve got really nice eyes. A little sad. I don’t want to disappoint you like that.”

  “Okay, thanks, Janice.” I handed her my card. “You or one of your friends remember anything, give me a call, okay?”

  “Of course, Detective. Can I say I talked to a detective today? You’re not working undercover or anything, are you?”

  “No, I’m not working undercover.”

  “Do you know the name of the woman who was stabbed? Was she a criminal herself? Did you expect to find her dead?”

  Did I expect to find her dead? No, I didn’t. Should I have expected it? I would have to work through that with Ryan. “No. I don’t know who she was. All right, Janice, thanks for that information. Listen, I think you might want to cut back on those drinks, you know what I mean?”

  Janice nodded. “I know I’ve got a problem. It was really good talking to you.” She gave me what I took to be a genuine smile. I could see her at ten years old, full of chatter and cute as can be. She stepped on the end of her skateboard, grabbed the other end as it rose toward her palm, and headed back to her friends.

  When I turned to walk back toward Kendra’s body, I spotted Harold Breen with Ryan and Officer Ruiz. Harold was on his knees next to Kendra Crimmons. When I got over to the crime scene, Harold had pulled the zipper down on Kendra’s jacket and lifted the cloth away from the bloodstain, which was about six inches across, just like Janice said.

  “Hey, Karen,” Harold said when he noticed me standing there looking over his shoulder.

  “Good afternoon, Harold.” I leaned in. “Can you see anything through all the cloth?”

  Harold shook his head. “It was a fairly good-size knife.” He leaned in a little closer and slipped on his reading glasses. “From the way the sweatshirt is frayed around the tear, it might be a fishing knife with a serrated edge. Robin will figure it out.”

  “Can you give me a time of death?”

  “Once I get her on the table and take a core body temp, I’ll be able to give you a window.”

  “What can you give me right now?”

  He removed the glove from his right hand and touched her forehead, then her neck. “No guarantees, but I’d say sometime between midnight and five am.”

  “Huh.” That put her murder before we told Max Thomas there was a courier who delivered the drugs to Lake Williams. “I want to check one thing before you bag her.” I pulled a pair of gloves out of my coat pocket and snapped them on. I lifted the bottom of Kendra’s sweatshirt and T-shirt and felt around until I located the top of her sweatpants. I pulled on the stretched elastic and fished around for a few seconds.

  “What are you looking for?” Ryan said.

  “Five-hundred dollars.”

  “And?”

  “It’s not there. We’ll be sure to tell Robin to keep an eye out.” I turned to Harold. “Do you know if Robin’s been notified?”

  “She’s on her way.” Harold wiped the perspiration from the top of his head.

  “All right, thanks. Ryan and I will be canvassing the kids. We’ll catch up with you at headquarters.”

  “Enjoy.”

  “I plan to,” I said.

  Ryan and I spent the next hour or so interviewing the skating crowd that hung out at MacIntosh Skate Park, but we didn’t turn up anything useful. They all seemed to agree that Kendra’s body, or the pile of rags, was there when they arrived for the day.

  “All right, Ryan,” I said to him when we met up again, “what have we got? What have we not got?”

  Ryan sighed and scratched at his cheek. “What we know: Cory McDermott didn’t kill Kendra.”

  “Because he’s in the hospital.”

  “And the plan for Max Thomas to get on the phone to the football guys to tell them the cops knew about the courier who delivered the drugs to kill Lake? That didn’t work, either.”

  “Because she was killed last night,” I said, “before we interviewed Max at the dojo.”
/>   “Yes.”

  “Which doesn’t change anything, really,” I said.

  “How’s that?”

  “The plan was that Max would call the football guys, which would spook them, and all hell would break loose. Well, all hell broke loose,” I said. “It just broke loose earlier than we thought.”

  “Okay, but why did it break loose?”

  “The person who set up the plan—getting drugs to Kendra to kill Lake—knows that she delivered the drugs—”

  “Because Lake’s death went out to the media yesterday,” Ryan said.

  “But that was only half the plan, because Kendra was supposed to shoot up the same heroin.”

  Ryan smiled. “But Kendra was still alive. And she was the weak link, since she was outside the football program.”

  I nodded. “That’s the way I’d see it. Since she didn’t do the right thing—OD’ing right next to Lake—they had to kill her. Apparently with a knife.”

  “Harold will tell us if it was the knife. It could’ve been drugs. She had five-hundred bucks and hadn’t had a hit in more than twenty-four hours. She told us as much: She was going to get high. So maybe she came here and got in trouble.”

  “Possible,” I said, “but I don’t think so. Whoever killed her might have found her here buying drugs, taken her behind one of the concrete columns, stabbed her there, taken her cash to make it look like a simple robbery during a drug deal. More likely, they killed her somewhere convenient and out of the way, tossed her in the bed of a pickup at two o’clock this morning, and dumped her here.”

  “If it was the guy who set up the five-hundred bucks to deliver the baggie to Lake, she would already know him,” Ryan said. “All he would have to do is flash a few bills and she’d get right in the truck with him.”

  “Let’s head back, bring the chief up to speed.”

  Ryan was looking off into the distance. He didn’t move.

  “What is it?” I said.

  “Did we just get Kendra killed?”

  I shook my head. “Kendra just got Kendra killed. We told her we could keep her safe until we picked up her dealer. But she didn’t want to name him. She didn’t want to work with us. We even offered to set her up in a rehab program. All she wanted was to take her five-hundred bucks and walk. This was on her.”