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

by Mike Markel

  “I appreciate your taking the time to meet with me, especially on a weekend,” President Billingham said, making eye contact with all three of us. His eyes looked bloodshot and weary.

  “Not at all,” the chief said. “We’re happy to help you understand where we are in the case. Would you like us to review the three crimes?”

  “I’m familiar with only two crimes. You’ve briefed me on LaKadrian Williams, the student-athlete, and the homeless woman, Kendra Crimmons. There’s a third crime?”

  The chief nodded for me to respond. I said, “Yesterday afternoon we recovered the body of Cory McDermott, the drug dealer. He’s the one who told us there was a contact who was supplying drugs to the athletics department.”

  “How does Mr. Weber relate to these crimes?”

  “Ronald Weber told us he is that contact. He’s not officially a member of the university community, although he’s a longtime member of the Cougar Athletic Association, and his company—Weber Electric—does a lot of work for the university. Carl Davis told us Weber bids low, which Davis sees as a contribution to the university.”

  “Thank you, Detective,” President Billingham said to me. He turned to Chief Murtaugh. “Am I permitted to ask if you have made any arrests in these three murders?”

  The chief said, “We have not made any arrests. The autopsies of Lake Williams and Kendra Crimmons are complete, but the autopsy of Cory McDermott is not. The investigations are ongoing.”

  “But do you expect to make any arrests soon?”

  “I don’t know.” The chief sighed. “I’m not trying to be evasive, Bob. The truth is, unless we can develop enough good evidence to establish probable cause, we won’t be able to secure any arrest warrants.”

  “You do believe, however, that A.D. Freedlander or Coach Baxter—or both—are involved?”

  “Let me put it this way, Bob. We have no evidence that any CMSU people are involved in the murders. However, we strongly suspect that Mr. Freedlander and Mr. Baxter are aware of the illegal activities that Mr. Weber has been carrying out for years. By the way, Mr. Weber has admitted supplying not only drugs but also cash and prostitutes to players and recruits.”

  President Billingham closed his eyes and bowed his head, the folds of his chin hanging over the open collar of his dress shirt. His eyes remained closed for a long moment.

  Ryan spoke. “President Billingham, if I can speak for a moment. I’ve done a little research on A.D. Freedlander and Coach Baxter, both of whom have had successful careers at CMSU and in previous positions. When A.D. Freedlander was a football coach, his college incurred a number of NCAA violations—both major and minor—for impermissible practices. And before Coach Baxter came to CMSU, his college, too, incurred numerous major and minor NCAA violations. For both men, these violations included academic infractions, such as sham courses and grade-changing. One thing that Coach Baxter neglected to tell us, when we interviewed him, is that, when he was a freshman, his coach was John Freedlander.

  “And one other thing you might not know. Mr. Weber is what is called a bagman, a fixer. Although fixers are more common in the SEC, where football programs are a bigger business, they exist around the country. They are not officially affiliated with the team they support. They donate their own money and gather money from other fans to funnel to players, all of it in violation of NCAA regulations—money for food and other living expenses, but also for jewelry, tattoos, and cars. Even for prostitutes and drugs. And they use money to bribe recruits into signing with their programs. All of this is done in cash, off the books.”

  President Billingham sat silently, looking down at his hands folded in his lap.

  “Bob,” the chief said, “I’m sure this information comes as a shock and disappointment to you, and we wouldn’t have presented it to you except as an explanation of why we suspect that Carl Davis, John Freedlander, and Andy Baxter might have some involvement in these crimes, through their connection with Ronald Weber. We believe it is possible that Lake Williams, who was suffering from CTE, somehow represented a threat to the football program and, by extension, to the university.”

  “What kind of threat?” President Billingham said.

  “We don’t know. But it’s reasonable to assume that it was related to his serious CTE-related health problems, including cognitive deficit, memory problems, and psychological problems, including uncontrollable anger. He was living in a tent in a homeless camp in a public park. He might have threatened to speak out against a system that he saw as exploitive.”

  President Billingham nodded. “I’m aware of the CTE research. We have a very bright young faculty member who works in the field. She’s won some lucrative grants.” His tone was wistful, like he’d much rather be talking about faculty like her than his football guys.

  “Liz Ouvrard,” Ryan said. “Our medical examiner called on her. She was the one who diagnosed Lake’s CTE for us. She was very helpful.”

  “But as we said,” Chief Murtaugh continued, “we have made no arrests and have not charged anyone with any crimes related to the three killings.” The chief paused. Billingham’s shoulders slumped forward again. Finally, he raised his head. “Bob,” the chief said, “do you have any questions for us?”

  President Billingham’s eyes were glassy with tears. “No, Robert, I do not. I want to thank you for telling me this.” He turned to me and Ryan. “Detectives, thank you both.” He pushed down hard on the arms of his chair and slowly lifted himself to his feet.

  The chief spoke. “Please let me know if you want to talk—anytime—about these cases. I know I can count on your discretion.”

  Bob Billingham nodded slightly. “Yes, you can. You’ve been very generous. I sincerely appreciate that.”

  “Let me escort you out,” the chief said.

  President Billingham had a giant personnel problem on his hands, but that didn’t seem to be what was causing his pain. He seemed to be genuinely distressed by his people’s behavior.

  Ryan and I went back to the detectives’ bullpen. “I got a real bad feeling about this case,” I said, collapsing into my chair.

  “What kind of bad feeling?” Ryan sat down, too.

  “We’re gonna go cold on all three murders.”

  “Because the football guys outplayed us?”

  “That’s what I think,” I said.

  “Well, if the game’s over, at least we shouldn’t have any more bodies turn up.”

  “Look at who died: two junkies and a dealer. Look at who survived: four guys with a combined annual income of, what, a couple of million?”

  “The system is rigged,” Ryan said. “It has been for decades. The NCAA exploits the student-athletes and tosses them aside when they get hurt or can’t help the team. A Division 1 football player brings in about one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand dollars in revenue to the school; a similar basketball player, almost three-hundred-thousand. But eighty percent of those athletes live below the poverty limit. The athletes have to remain amateur; the coaches get paid by equipment manufacturers to make the athletes wear their branded gear.”

  “And you volunteered for that world?”

  “I didn’t really know about it. For some of the guys on my team, it was their career. Some made it to the NFL; most didn’t. I was never in that league. I’m just lucky I didn’t get hit in the head that much.” He knocked on the wooden arm of his desk chair.

  “Well, we did what we could. Sometimes, it doesn’t work out. We’ll catch another case.”

  “I have no doubt,” Ryan said. “I’m going to get back to the forms.”

  “You’re gonna stick around?”

  “Yeah, I told Cali I’d be done by mid-afternoon.”

  It was a little after two when a uniform, Ann Fredericks, came up to my desk. I stopped typing and looked up at her.

  “Detective, there’s a woman downstairs wants to see you. She seems real upset. You know, crying.”

  “You get a name?”

  “Alicia Templeton.”r />
  “Oh, Jesus. Escort her up, please.” Fredericks nodded and left. I said to Ryan, “Great. Now she’s gonna blame me because her father got shitfaced and crashed his car.”

  But that wasn’t why she was here.

  Chapter 30

  Officer Fredericks led Alicia Templeton along the winding path through the desks, cabinets, and tables in the detectives’ bullpen. I almost didn’t recognize Alicia. It wasn’t that she was wearing jeans and a hoodie instead of her realtor outfit. It was that her face was a wreck. She wore no lipstick, and her eyeliner was smudged beneath her bloodshot eyes.

  “Hey, Ms. Templeton. Good to see you,” I said. “Want to go somewhere to talk?”

  She nodded, wiping at her eyes and her nose. “Please.”

  I stood and led her and Ryan to Interview 2. Ryan closed the door behind us. When we all were seated, I said, “Okay, Ms. Templeton, we’re not recording anything. This is not a formal statement. But we can speak undisturbed in this room. Is that all right with you?”

  “Thank you.” Her voice was weak. “You’ll have to excuse me. It’s been a terrible day.”

  “We were sorry to hear about your father’s car accident.” She nodded. “How is he doing?”

  “He’s got some broken bones and everything, but the doctors said he’ll live.”

  “That’s good.” I waited a few seconds but she looked like she was struggling to compose herself. “Is there something we can do to help?”

  She didn’t appear to hear my question.

  “My mom and I thought there was some kind of problem the last week or so. We were afraid he had started to drink again. He was keeping unusual hours, giving her evasive answers about where he had been. We were so scared it was going to be like it used to be.”

  “Yeah?” I could think of a few reasons he was keeping odd hours and giving evasive answers.

  “It was the pressure of the police investigation. I’m sure of it. It was a nightmare, learning that he was injured so badly, and that he’d been drunk.”

  “I’m sure it was a nightmare.” I didn’t know where this was going—if she had come in to blame the cops for her father’s decision, or if she needed to talk to someone. If that was it, I wondered why she wasn’t with her husband or her mother. “I can certainly understand that. How can we help?”

  “I came here because I wanted you to know that my father couldn’t have killed Lake or that woman or the drug dealer. He couldn’t have killed anyone. You have to believe me. That’s not his nature. Since he became religious, he couldn’t have done that.”

  “I hear what you’re saying.” I nodded. “Do you mind if I call you Alicia?”

  She waved it off. “Of course.”

  “Alicia, our job is to follow the evidence. I’m sure you love your father and he’s a great dad and all that, but we have to carry out an investigation—three murder investigations, in fact. We really can’t consider that as we carry out the investigation.”

  “But he had nothing to do with those murders. He looked me in the eye and swore that he didn’t. That’s what he told me.”

  “Did he also tell you about his relationship with the university?”

  “I know all about that: He does a lot of the electrical work for them. I know he bids low, but there’s nothing illegal about that. What are you saying?”

  “He’s been supplying illegal drugs and prostitutes to the football and basketball teams ever since Lake was on the team.”

  “No, that can’t be true. I don’t believe that. I know he gave players cash sometimes, you know, to help them with food and rent, but I can’t believe drugs and prostitutes.”

  Ryan spoke. “Alicia, he told us that, on two occasions. He was very explicit about it. And you need to be prepared. Those are felonies, and if the prosecutor can bring charges against him, he will.”

  She looked upset but maintained her composure. “What does that have to do with the murders? You don’t seriously believe he was involved in murder, do you?”

  “The third victim was named Cory McDermott,” I said. “Did your father mention that name? Does it ring a bell?”

  “No, it doesn’t.” She looked confused. “Who is that?”

  “Cory was a member of the football team when you were a cheerleader. When Lake was a player.”

  “It’s a big team, more than eighty players. I didn’t know all of them.”

  “Cory wouldn’t have made much of an impression. He was dropped from the team, and then he flunked out. He became a drug dealer here in the city. He was your father’s favorite source. Your father was the link between a drug dealer and the athletics programs.”

  She shook her head. “That doesn’t mean he was a murderer.”

  “That’s right, it doesn’t. And we haven’t filed charges against your father or anyone else. The investigations are ongoing. But Cory’s body was recovered at the construction site at Eagle’s Nest, where your father is doing a lot of work. Your father was seen there around the time of Cory’s murder.”

  She shook her head vigorously. “You need more evidence than that.”

  “Yes, we do, and we’re gathering evidence. But, Alicia, you have to understand that you saying your father couldn’t have done it—and how he told you he didn’t do it—that’s not really the kind of evidence we can use.”

  She was silent a moment. “You don’t understand what happened.”

  “Why don’t you tell us what happened?”

  “My father was trying to help Lake.”

  “Help him in what way?”

  “He was going to get Lake into some kind of program. You know, for the mental problems and everything else.”

  “You can see why that’s difficult to understand, right? Your father was going to help the guy who raped his daughter?”

  “Not if you’ve seen the way my father has changed since then. I don’t really understand what he’s gone through with the religion, but I know he’s not the man he used to be.”

  “You mean, an alcoholic? You realize he’s in the hospital because he had twice the legal limit of alcohol in his blood?”

  “I realize that, but this is the first time he’s had a drink in over five years.”

  “Alicia, we’re sorry your father was drinking again and he got hurt in that car crash, but unless you can give us something we can work with, we’re gonna have to get back to work.” I stood.

  “Lake came to me.”

  I lowered myself back into my chair. “What do you mean ‘he came to me’?”

  “It was about ten days ago. He walked into my office. I was working in the back, in the little room. My receptionist buzzed me. She said a man was there to see me. I could tell she was scared out of her mind. I said, ‘Who is it?’ She said, ‘He says his name is Lake. That you’ll know who he is.’ I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t heard from him since he left school. Then, when I saw him, it broke my heart. He was so … it wasn’t that he was all slumped over and skinny. It was his eyes. His eyes looked dead.”

  “What happened next, Alicia?”

  “I brought him back to my office, and we talked.”

  “What about?”

  “He told me he was having real problems. He couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t make sense when he talked. I knew that was true because I had a hard time making sense of what he was saying. And he said his anger was out of control. He said he needed help, and he didn’t know where to turn.”

  “So he turned to you?”

  “We were in love, in college.”

  “That isn’t what you told us. You said you dated for a while.”

  “It was a time in my life I don’t talk about. We were in love.”

  “Did he rape you, Ms. Templeton?”

  She looked down at the metal table. “No, he didn’t rape me. He hit me a few times. And he cheated all the time. But he never raped me. I was trying to get his attention. I needed him to realize how much I loved him.” She shook her head, then looked up at me. “
Did you ever do anything stupid like that?”

  Not exactly that, I thought, but that stupid? Many times. “Why did you withdraw the rape allegation, Alicia? Did it have something to do with your father?”

  “I know my dad loved me, and he still loves me. I don’t doubt that.”

  “Were you embarrassed because of his outburst at the hearing? When he tried to attack Lake?”

  Alicia Templeton smiled sadly. “No, that wasn’t it. I loved him for that. That was the father I loved.”

  “What did he do, then?”

  “It was a few days later. He came to me, and we talked about what to do. I was so mixed up, I didn’t know what I wanted. I was so hurt by Lake, I just wanted to punish him. You know, for the way he treated me. But I wasn’t thinking straight. My dad said he wanted me to think it through before I made a decision that would affect Lake and me for the rest of our lives. He said it was my decision but that he thought I should withdraw the allegation.”

  “What was his reasoning?”

  “He said most people wouldn’t believe the allegation. I mean, because we were hooked up already and everyone knew it. Then I’d be a girl who accused her boyfriend of raping her but there wouldn’t be any evidence and I’d just look kind of pathetic. I hadn’t really thought about that. And he asked me if I’d considered how the allegation would hurt Lake. He could be arrested and go to prison. He’d be kicked out of school. He wouldn’t be able to play football, which was the one thing he was really good at. The thing he loved. He wouldn’t be able to make it to the NFL—this was before he tore his ACL, when people were telling him he would be able to go pro. My dad asked me if that was what I wanted to do to Lake.”

  “Is that why you and your dad didn’t speak for a while? Because you thought he cared more about how Lake could help the football team than about his daughter, who told him Lake raped her?”

  “I tried not to think that about him. Then Carl Davis came over to the house.”

  “He did?”

  “He and my dad were really close, almost like he was my dad’s dad.”

  “Did Mr. Davis talk to you about what you should do?”