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

by Mike Markel

Ryan stood and walked over to Cory and started to half-lift him out of the chair.

  He looked at me. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “I’m doing just what I said I would do. When you give me the information, we can protect you. I’ll get the statement to my boss, and he’ll decide whether to bring it to the prosecutor. But you haven’t given me the information. We’re done. It could be dangerous out there, Cory. First Lake, then Kendra. You watch your back, now.” I stood and walked out of the interview room.

  Chapter 22

  “Bob Billingham,” he said. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Billingham was a man in his late sixties, maybe seventy. He was about six feet, a little heavy in the middle, with jowls on his long face. He had a fringe of silver hair and a thin silver mustache that I didn’t even notice until I got in close to shake his hand. He looked out over his reading glasses.

  “Good to meet you, President Billingham,” I said. “Thanks for making the time.”

  The CMSU president introduced himself to Ryan, then turned to Chief Murtaugh. “Robert, good to see you again. I hope you’re well.” They did the two-handed shake, with the left hand grasping the forearm. Billingham was too old for the pull-in hug, and Murtaugh was too aloof. The chief asked about the president’s wife, and they spent a few sentences on small talk.

  President Billingham gestured to the coffee service set up in the corner of his large, well-appointed office. “We have coffee, tea, hot chocolate, and water. Won’t you help yourself as we wait for the others?”

  “Will there be others joining us?” Chief Murtaugh said.

  I had no idea who was coming. The chief had arranged the meeting late Thursday afternoon after we briefed him on the interview with Cory McDermott, the drug dealer who told us someone associated with the athletics department was his contact, and that the contact had been supplying drugs to the department for over seven years.

  The chief told us he wanted us all to sit down with President Billingham to let him know where we were with the investigation of Lake’s murder and to brief him on the incomplete and perhaps untrustworthy information provided by the drug dealer.

  The chief thought it was important to have as strong a relationship as possible with the university. One result of that relationship was that the chief had persuaded the university to let us have a sub-station on campus to replace the rent-a-cops the university used. In the several years since Chief Murtaugh had been in Rawlings, his close relationship with the university had fostered a new criminal-justice program at the school, as well as various outreach activities that helped us raise awareness of drug abuse and sexual-assault issues on campus.

  The chief’s philosophy was to keep the communication open with the university. “I don’t want Bob Billingham to read about this in the paper,” the chief said to me and Ryan more than once when we worked cases involving students or faculty.

  President Billingham said, “I’ve taken the liberty of inviting three others to our meeting: Carl Davis, the president of the Cougar Athletic Association; John Freedlander, the A.D.; and Andy Baxter, the football coach. If you have information about inappropriate activities involving any of our teams, I want the relevant staff here. I believe in transparency in working with all members of the Central Montana State community. Since I would pass along any information you relayed to me, I thought it would be best to invite them to participate in our meeting this morning so that they could ask you questions. I hope that’s acceptable, Robert?”

  Robert Murtaugh put out his palms in a welcoming gesture. “Yes, of course, that’s fine with us.”

  A minute later, the three men arrived together. We had met and interviewed Carl Davis, the eighty-four-year-old godfather of CMSU athletics, in the indoor football facility named for him and his wife. And we had interviewed and royally pissed off Coach Baxter. But we had never met John Freedlander, the A.D. who Coach Baxter didn’t tell us was his coach him when he was a freshman at a tiny school in Missouri.

  We spent a minute shaking hands and wearing tight smiles. Then we all took seats at a big, round conference table. President Billingham began. “I have known Chief Robert Murtaugh since he came to Rawlings almost three years ago, but in that short time I have come to admire his professionalism—and that of his entire force—and to rely on his judgment and his counsel. Therefore, when he phoned me yesterday and suggested that we get together to discuss a sensitive and serious issue, I told him that yes, of course, I wanted to sit down with him. When I asked the nature of the issue, he told me that it had to do with some allegations regarding inappropriate behavior in the athletics department. He made clear that these allegations were merely that—allegations—as yet unproven. But the two of us agreed that that they were sufficiently serious to warrant a frank discussion that might lead to a plan to investigate them. I have invited you—Carl, John, Andy—in the spirit of complete transparency. You three will be the ones I rely on for advice—and the ones who will be instrumental in addressing the situation. Would you like to begin, Chief Murtaugh?”

  “Thank you, President Billingham, for those kind words.” He turned his gaze to the three others, who were seated next to each other opposite him. “I am glad that President Billingham invited the three of you. I share his confidence that together we can get to the bottom of this. If any crimes have been committed, the police will of course have a role to play. And if our discussion leads to the discovery of any problems in the university’s athletics department, I am sure that President Billingham and you will be able to identify them and make them right.

  “The two detectives with me today are the leads on a murder case. The victim, as you all know, was LaKadrian Williams, a twenty-seven-year-old who had been a student-athlete at CMSU. He died four days ago of a drug overdose that we have ruled a homicide. While Detectives Karen Seagate and Ryan Miner were investigating the Williams case, another homicide occurred. The victim in this case, which has not yet been made public, was Kendra Crimmons. Ms. Crimmons, a forty-one-year-old drug addict, lived near LaKadrian Williams in a homeless camp in Ten Mile Park.

  “Ms. Crimmons had no ties to CMSU. However, in the course of their investigations, Detectives Seagate and Miner interviewed a third person, Cory McDermott, who conveyed the information that I thought President Billingham needed to hear. Mr. McDermott, aged twenty-six, is a drug dealer. For one year, he was a student-athlete, playing football alongside Mr. Williams. Mr. McDermott failed out of CMSU, one year before Mr. Williams did. I’d like to let Detective Seagate take the story from there.”

  President Billingham broke in. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but how do you know Mr. Williams’s death was a homicide?”

  The chief said, “We know that someone paid Ms. Crimmons to deliver the drugs to Mr. Williams, and we have concluded that the purpose of that transaction was to kill Mr. Williams.”

  President Billingham sighed deeply. “Thank you. Please go ahead, Detective Seagate.”

  I began. “We’d been trying to locate Cory McDermott for a few days because we thought that since he knew Lake Williams and since we believed he knew Kendra Crimmons—and since he was a convicted drug dealer—he might be able to help us with the Lake Williams case. Wednesday, we learned that McDermott was in the hospital. One or more persons jumped him and beat him pretty bad. He denied having anything to do with selling drugs and said he hadn’t seen Lake in years. Yesterday we learned that he had walked out of the hospital early Thursday morning, sometime before Kendra Crimmons was discovered dead in MacIntosh Skate Park, which as you might know is a late-night drug bazaar.

  “Then, yesterday, Cory McDermott showed up at police headquarters with the story we brought to the chief. Cory told us that a contact of his—someone associated with the athletics program—was the one who ordered the drugs that killed Lake Williams. He confirmed that Kendra Crimmons was the courier, who was paid to deliver the drugs that Lake shot up. Cory wanted to trade the information about this contact for a lighter sentence for sel
ling the drugs that killed Lake.”

  John Freedlander, the athletic director, spoke. “Detective Seagate, if I can interrupt for just a moment …” A big man, a few inches over six feet and a good two-fifty, he ran his hand over his grey buzz-cut.

  “Sure. Go ahead.”

  “You’re saying Cory McDermott wanted a lighter sentence. Can you explain that?”

  “If Cory was charged with selling the drugs that killed Lake, he could be charged as an accessory to murder. Maybe even manslaughter. He wanted those charges off the table. He said he was willing to tell us who this contact was if we would drop the accessory or manslaughter and charge him only with distribution: selling the drugs.”

  “Do you believe he killed Kendra Crimmons?” Freedlander said.

  “We don’t know. He denied it. And his decision to walk into police headquarters to make a deal about the Lake Williams murder doesn’t fit with a guy who just killed someone. We’d expect a person who did that would hop in a car and leave town.”

  “You said he wanted to make a deal by giving you the name of his contact. But he didn’t give you a name, is that correct?”

  “That’s correct. He insisted that we sign off on a deal taking the accessory charge off the table first. We told him that’s not the way it works. He has to tell us his story, and we decide—Chief Murtaugh decides—whether to bring the story to the prosecutor, who negotiates the terms.”

  “So how did you leave it with him?”

  “We said goodbye and he left.”

  “I can’t speak for anyone else from CMSU.” Freedlander shifted his bulk in his chair. “But my own feeling is that this drug dealer made up the whole story. He told you he had a contact who is associated with CMSU. But when you told him you wouldn’t cut him a deal until he gave you the name, he knew there was no point in naming anyone. You’d investigate, but you wouldn’t find anything—because there is no such person. You called his bluff. He folded.” Freedlander raised his eyebrows and leaned in toward me, as if to say, I’ve just cleared this whole thing up, no?

  “That could be it,” I said. “Cory McDermott is a bad guy, a multiple offender who’s still selling lethal drugs in town. Maybe it was a Hail Mary pass—you know, see if we’d be so excited to get the name of the contact who ordered the hit on Lake that we’d cut him a great deal. It didn’t work, so he slunk away. But there’s one other thing he said that made me and my partner think it might be worth pointing out to our chief. Cory said he’s been supplying drugs to the athletics department ever since he was kicked out of CMSU.”

  All four of the CMSU people pulled back. President Billingham knit his eyebrows and frowned in disbelief. John Freedlander sat back in his chair, as if that was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. Coach Baxter’s dark eyes narrowed. Carl Davis shook his head in sorrow. The room was quiet for a long moment.

  I thought it was interesting that none of them said, “Now, why would the football and basketball programs be buying drugs?” Apparently, I was the only one in the room who, a couple days ago, didn’t know the answer to that question.

  John Freedlander took a deep breath. “That is an extremely serious allegation that he made. Unless he can prove that allegation, I would think the university would want to consider taking legal action against him.” He turned to President Billingham.

  The president said, “He hasn’t made any charges publicly, John. You’re likely right that Mr. McDermott is just angling for a more lenient sentence. If at some point he were to make such charges publicly, then we would certainly talk to university counsel about appropriate responses. For the moment, however, I want to make sure we are doing everything we can to assist the police in their investigation. Their investigations, in fact.”

  Carl Davis cleared his throat and placed his fingers on the edge of the table. Everyone turned toward him. “Bob, I realize that you haven’t asked any of us to comment on the charge that this young man has made. But I cannot remain silent. I have been associated with Central Montana State athletics for more than forty years now. I have earned the right to speak, and I want to go on the record before you and the police officers. This charge is categorically false. There is no truth to it. Drugs have no role in the athletic programs. They never have, and, as long as I am alive, they never will.” He turned to me. “Detective, I am not criticizing you for bringing this charge to Chief Murtaugh. I understand you have an investigation to carry out, and you’re obligated to pursue every lead, whether it seems promising or not. But I promise you, this young man—this drug dealer—is a liar.” Carl Davis lifted his fingers and slapped his palms on the table. End of story.

  Coach Andy Baxter spoke. “I need to say something, too. I recruited Cory McDermott when I began here at CMSU eight years ago. It turned out to be a mistake: Cory was unsuccessful as a student-athlete. He was a poor student and a mediocre player. Detective Seagate presented the most compelling evidence that he is a liar: he is now a drug dealer. We cannot make the mistake of listening to his absurd allegation. Doing so would jeopardize the futures of the hundreds of wonderful student-athletes who add immeasurably to the lives of the entire CMSU community, on-campus and off.”

  President Billingham turned to the A.D. “Do you have something you want to add, John?”

  “No, Bob. Carl and Andy said it. This man Cory McDermott is a criminal and a liar. Obviously, he harbors an irrational hatred for the athletic programs and for CMSU. I know that Andy treats all of his student-athletes with the utmost professionalism. I wouldn’t have hired him if I wasn’t absolutely sure of that. Andy did right by this young man; this young man is not doing right by CMSU.”

  President Billingham glanced around the room to make sure everyone who wanted to speak had done so. “Chief Murtaugh, I want to thank you and your detectives for bringing this matter to our attention. Obviously, we reject this young man’s allegation, but I assure you I will investigate it further with my staff. Please know that you can count on our full cooperation as you continue your investigations. Do any of you have anything you would like to add before we adjourn?”

  “I’d like to say something,” I said. “I want to thank all of you for meeting with us. I’m sure you’re gonna follow up with this on your end. That’s what we have to do, too, on our end. We need to stay in contact with Cory McDermott because he remains a suspect in two criminal investigations. Even if his allegation about supplying drugs to your athletic programs is a lie—which I’m sure it is—we need to determine whether he supplied the drugs that killed Lake Williams and whether he killed Kendra Crimmons. If he participated in either of these crimes, we need to understand why. We plan to charge him, at least for criminal distribution of dangerous drugs. But if we can charge him with more than that, that’s what we want to do.”

  President Billingham nodded. “Thank you, Detective Seagate. Thank you all.”

  A minute ago, the three football guys seemed confident they had discredited Cory McDermott. He was a drug dealer, a drug dealer who didn’t even have the balls to name the CMSU contact who ordered the hit on Lake Williams. His story was obviously bullshit. There was no contact; Cory made it all up to lower his sentence. They had everything under control.

  But now they knew Cory told us this contact had been buying drugs for the athletics department for years. Now they realized that, if we could prove this charge, the entire athletics program—and their own careers—would be destroyed. And they must have concluded that Cory McDermott was a much more serious threat than they had imagined a minute ago.

  Chapter 23

  The chief was driving me and Ryan back from the university to headquarters in his BMW. He had a pretty nice department Buick he could use, but he preferred his own car. I don’t blame him. The seats were leather, the dash was full of shiny wood, and it had a big screen with all kinds of lights and controls for music and navigation. Plus, there were no soda cans on the floor or candy wrappers stuck in the heater vents. I’d like this car, too.

  “
What did you think, Karen?” the chief said once we left the university and got out onto the four-lane that would take us back downtown.

  “I think it’s possible that Carl Davis doesn’t know what’s going on, and that he believes the athletics programs are clean. On the other hand, he did lie to us—at least I think he lied to us—when he told me and Ryan he didn’t know anything about the cheerleader saying Lake raped her. He got all worked up about how rape is so horrible, just like he did a few minutes ago about how drugs are so horrible. So maybe that’s just the way he talks.” I turned around to address Ryan in the back seat. “You remember that?”

  “Very clearly,” Ryan said.

  “Remind me,” the chief said, “what makes you think Carl Davis was lying about the rape allegation?”

  “Because he couldn’t quite remember who Lake was when we brought up the topic, but later he told us Max Thomas, one of the assistants, was Lake’s roommate when they were players. Which I thought was a pretty specific thing to remember from that long ago. He even remembered that LaKadrian’s nickname was Lake.”

  “But you don’t believe that the A.D. and the coach are being straight with us?”

  “That’s right,” I said, “I don’t. When we asked the coach why he came to CMSU, he gave us some vague horseshit, then we find out John Freedlander used to be his football coach. And both of them have racked up a lot of NCAA violations—major and minor ones. I think they’re both dirty. Did you notice that only Carl Davis was really indignant about the charges? It was a matter of pride to him that the athletics were clean. Like I said, maybe that’s just the way he talks. But the A.D. and the coach? They didn’t even seem pissed that someone would accuse them of being dirty. They said Cory was a liar because he’s a criminal. They didn’t address the allegation itself.”

  The chief cocked his head to address Ryan, who was sitting in the back. “What do you think?”

  “I agree with Karen. I think the coach and the A.D. are dirty. I don’t know if one of them is the contact Cory referred to. I don’t know if it was someone else. I don’t even know if there is a contact. Regardless, I want to get Cory off the street; he’s a dealer.”