The Third Fan
A Reed Ferguson Mystery
First Digital Edition published by Creative Cat Press
copyright 2015 by Renée Pawlish
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The author gratefully acknowledges all those who helped in the writing of this book, especially: Beth Treat, and Janice Horne. If I've forgotten anyone, please accept my apologies.
To all my beta readers; I am in your debt!
Follow me on Twitter - @reneepawlish
and
Facebook
www.reneepawlish.com
The Third Fan
CHAPTER ONE
I thought about Charlie Preston as I walked into his luxury high-rise condo in the Ballpark neighborhood just northwest of downtown Denver. Charlie was the second baseman for the Colorado Rockies. He’d struggled for a few years in the minors before making it to the big leagues, and now he was in the midst of a splendid sophomore season. It was a Friday in mid-June, and there was talk that he might be in for a big contract if he continued to perform well. He was young and good-looking, with a bright future, and living the dream. He was also suspected of murder, and he’d called me, Private Investigator Reed Ferguson, for help. I’ve been in business for a few years, have handled a number of cases and have the scars to prove it. I didn’t know if this case would be as dangerous as some of the others, but it was certainly higher-profile.
I took the elevator to the penthouse, walked down a short hall and knocked on a solid oak door. A moment later, a muscular guy with long, wavy brown hair, blue eyes and a square jaw opened the door.
“Reed Ferguson,” he said as he held out a hand. “I’m Charlie. Thanks for coming.”
It was decorated in a modern style, with two white couches facing each other and glass-topped coffee and end tables. There wasn’t a knick-knack in sight or anything that spoke to his personality, other than two baseball bats propped in the corner. Oversized windows framed a stunning view of the Rocky Mountains, the late evening sun turning the sky over the peaks a purple-orange.
“Have a seat,” he said, pointing to one of the couches. “You find the place okay?”
“Yes.” I took in the view for a moment, then sat down. The cushions were hard and uncomfortable.
Charlie perched on the edge of the couch across from me and rested his elbows on his knees. “So.” He tapped his fingertips together and let out a long, heavy sigh. “What do you know?”
“Just what I’ve seen on the news,” I said. “A man named Pete Westhaven was shot in his apartment in south Denver last night. Early this morning, you were questioned about his murder. You haven’t been charged yet, but while the investigation goes on, you’ve been temporarily suspended from the Rockies. That’s it.”
He kept tapping his fingers. “That’s what was in the news.”
“Tell me what wasn’t,” I said.
He grimaced. “Pete and I have – had – been friends since high school. We played football and baseball together, and then we both got baseball scholarships to Florida State. Only he lost his scholarship after his freshman year.”
“What happened?”
“He wasn’t as good as I was,” he said matter-of-factly, “and he liked to party. So he got cut from the team.”
“But you remained friends.”
“Yeah. I got drafted after my sophomore year and decided to leave school. I played a few years in the minor leagues, and he finished his degree in sports management, then worked odd jobs back in Florida while he tried to get a job with a team somewhere. When I got called up last year to play for the Rockies, he moved up here and I got him a job in the clubhouse.”
“Did you see him a lot?”
He nodded. “When I was in town. He didn’t travel with the team.”
“Did you hang out together?”
Another nod. “We hit the bars some, played some golf, drank some beers here or at his place.”
“And now he’s gone.”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Why do the police think you killed him?”
“For one, they said people heard us arguing.”
“About what?”
He eyed me carefully. “My parents say you can be discreet.”
I nodded. “That’s true.”
I’d come recommended. Charlie was from Florida, and his parents still lived there. They golfed with my parents, who had retired to the Sunshine State. The minute the story broke that Charlie had been questioned for murder, my mother had called Charlie’s mother and told her I could help. It wasn’t the first time I’d helped friends of my parents. Right before my first official case, I had helped a wealthy friend of my father track down an old business partner. I appreciated my mother’s faith in me, especially since she loathed my chosen profession because of its inherent dangers and never failed to mention it when she had a chance. How much I could help Charlie remained to be seen, but when he called earlier in the evening, I decided to go over and see what he had to say.
“What I say stays here,” Charlie said. “You can’t go to the press.”
“Of course not.”
His lips pressed into a hard line, then he sighed again and said, “We were arguing about steroids.”
“As in…” I let my voice trail off.
“As in he was supplying me with them.”
I kept a straight face, but I was surprised. I’d been following his career and thought it was cool that he’d been doing so well. To hear that he was cheating to do so was disappointing.
“You’ve never tested positive,” I observed.
He waved a hand dismissively. “There are ways around the tests.”
“What exactly was the argument about?”
The blue eyes flashed anger. “He wanted more money for the steroids. A lot more.”
“And you didn’t want to pay.”
He shook his head. “Not what he was asking.”
“Why not get them from someone else?”
He snorted. “It’s not as easy as you might think, finding someone who will supply you and keep their mouth shut. I needed someone very discreet. Besides, no one suspected Pete was doing any of this. It was perfect.”
“Until the other night.”
“Yeah. He’d asked me to come over because he had something important to discuss. Then he hit me with his…proposal, as he called it. I told him he was asking too much and he pressed the issue. I kept telling him no and then he shouted that it was time he started making big money, too. I said he was crazy and that he’d better keep his mouth shut or he could ruin everything I’ve worked for. Then he said it was all going to come out, that my steroid use would be exposed if I didn’t pay up.”
“Who heard you arguing?”
“I don’t know. The neighbors, I guess.”
“Did anyone see you coming or going?”
“Pete’s next-door neighbor saw me going in. I’ve seen her around when I’ve been over there. And there was some younger woman when I left. She was going down the stairs and…”
“What?”
He blushed. “Don’t call me crazy, but I think I’ve seen her hanging around.”
“What do you mean?”
“She kind of…stalks me.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You have a stalker?”
He shrugged. “A fan, you know. They can get a little obsessed. It happens.”
“And she might’ve been at Pete’s apartment?”
“I
know, what would she be doing there? I’m not sure, though.”
“Why is that?”
“The fan that stalks me has the number twenty-three tattooed on her neck. That’s my number.”
“Did you tell the police this?”
“Yeah. I think they thought I was crazy.”
“Okay.” I thought for a moment. “Just arguing with someone doesn’t make you a suspect.”
“Yeah, but finding my gun in his apartment does.”
That got my attention. “Let me guess – it was the gun used to kill him.”
“You don’t miss a thing,” he said sarcastically.
I liked to think so.
“You probably think I’m lying, but I didn’t kill him, and I have no idea how my gun got there.”
“Actually, I can believe it.” I’d had the same thing happen to me on my last case. My Glock had been found at a murder scene, and I’d had no idea how it got there. I had been Suspect No. 1, and I’d had to clear my own name. I shoved that memory aside and said, “Tell me about the gun.”
“It was a Smith & Wesson Shield. I bought it a few months ago.” He tapped his fingertips harder. “As I’ve said, I’ve been followed by some fans. I live right near Coors Field, so I usually walk to and from the games. Most people don’t recognize me when I’m in street clothes, but some fans have figured out where I live. A couple of times, the following has been more like stalking, and it kind of scared me, so I bought a gun. But then it was stolen.”
“How long ago?”
“I had it out the night before Pete was killed.”
“Two days ago. Wednesday.”
“That’s right.”
“Did you know right away that it was missing?”
“No,” he said. “I didn’t know it was gone until the police told me it had been used to…shoot Pete.”
“Did someone break in?”
He shook his head. “I had a party here that night, people going in and out. I think someone must’ve taken it.”
I couldn’t contain my surprise. “You leave the gun lying around like that?”
“I…uh…” He cleared his throat. “I sometimes show it off. The ladies think it’s cool.” I tried not to show that I thought that was a colossally stupid thing to do. “Anyway,” he said hurriedly, “one day it was here, and then it was gone.”
“Who was at the party?”
“Some guys on the team. My agent. Pete and some of the guys that work in the clubhouse. And some women.”
“So just about everybody in lower downtown,” I said.
“I guess.”
“You told the police all this?”
“Sure, but they don’t believe me.”
“Were your prints on the gun?”
“The police didn’t say, but it’s my gun, so yeah.”
I ran through it all. “So, people heard you and Pete arguing the night he was murdered. Someone may have seen you leave his place around the time he was murdered. He was shot with your gun. And the gun – which you claim was stolen – was found at the crime scene, with your prints on it.”
“That sums it up.”
I sighed. “It doesn’t look good for you.”
“Tell me about it.”
A long silence ensued.
“So,” he finally said, “will you see what you can do before they arrest me for murder?”
I nodded halfheartedly.
“I’m innocent,” he said.
I nodded again. That’s what they all say.
And by the time this was all over, I’d get more than I bargained for. Funny, they all say that, too.
CHAPTER TWO
I told him my rates and he agreed. Then I shifted on the hard cushion. “If you didn’t kill Pete, who do you think did?”
“I have no idea,” he said.
I was sensing a pattern: he was clueless…or lying. But I pressed on. “Tell me a little more about yourself.”
He thought for a second. “I grew up in south Florida, and I’ve played baseball all my life. My dad took me to spring training when I was a little kid – the Yankees – and I was hooked. All I’ve ever wanted to do was play ball, and I’ve worked damned hard to get here. When other kids were partying, I was practicing. I did okay in school, but baseball was my focus. I don’t know anything else.”
“Have you been in any trouble? Arrested for anything? Get a girl pregnant?”
He seemed taken aback. “That’s kind of personal.”
“Do you want me to help or not?”
He held up a hand. “Okay, I get it. And no, no trouble. I’m too focused on baseball.”
“And Pete? You met him in high school?”
“Yeah.” A wistful look swept across his face. “He was funny, the class clown. But he was good at sports, too, and he dreamed of being in the pros just like I did. So we started hanging around, practicing together, pushing each other to get better.”
“Did you take steroids then?”
His face flushed red. “I tried them, but then stopped.”
“Why?”
“I got scared about what they might do to my body. And I was better than everyone else anyway, so I figured I didn’t need them.”
“Did Pete use them?”
“Yeah, but he quit, too.”
“Where’d you get them?”
“Some kid had them,” he said. “I don’t know where he got them from.”
“And Pete? Where was he getting the steroids now?”
“He never told me.”
“You weren’t curious?”
He shook his head. “I figured the less I knew, the better.”
“How did you know what he was getting was good?” I asked. “I don’t know a lot about buying steroids, but I’ll bet if you get them off the Internet or something like that, the quality wouldn’t be good.”
“No,” he said. “It was good stuff. I know because I’ve seen the results. And Pete wouldn’t screw me over by getting crap.”
“Okay.” I switched course, back to Pete’s murder. “You don’t know who took your gun?”
He shrugged. “It had to be someone who was here in the condo.”
“And that would be?”
“Hell, I don’t know.” He flew off the couch and started pacing. “Do you know how many people were around? A lot. The guys had friends and girlfriends. I don’t keep track of everyone.”
“So no one person comes to mind?”
“Nope,” he said.
“And strangers were here the other night?”
He nodded.
“It seems suspicious that someone stole your gun and then killed your friend with it,” I said.
“I thought about that. Maybe someone’s setting me up.”
“Who and why?”
Another shrug. “I don’t know. Somebody who wants me out of the way.”
I mulled that over. It wasn’t much to go on. “Who would benefit from you going to prison for murder?”
He stopped pacing and let out a mirthless laugh. “The next second baseman who wants my job. You don’t know what guys will do to get an edge.”
“Like use steroids.”
“Man, would you quit bugging me about that?” he snapped. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to get to the big leagues? I have to stay competitive or there are tons of guys who’ll take my place. I was better than the guys in high school, but everyone’s better in the pros. I’ve worked too hard to get sent back to the minors. And if I finish this year on the streak I’m on, I’m going to get a big contract.” He looked around. “I can get a better place, a nicer car.”
I glanced around, too. I didn’t see anything wrong with his condo. A little sterile, maybe, but certainly not a dump. It was way better than mine, and mine wasn’t shabby. “There’s no other reason someone would want to set you up?” I asked. “Someone you pissed off?”
“Not enough to commit murder.”
“Any enemies?”
“Every fan when I strik
e out.”
I sighed. This was going nowhere. “Let’s look at why someone would want to kill Pete then,” I said. “Did he have any enemies?”
“Not that I know of. People liked Pete, always have.”
“You saw him interact with guys around the clubhouse?”
“Yeah. I helped him get the job, and he was working his way up. Believe me, he didn’t want to screw that up because jobs in a professional sports organization are hard to come by.”
“What about his family? Do they…” I hesitated.
“Do they think I killed him?” he asked.
I nodded.
“No,” he said forcefully. “They like me and they believe I’m innocent.”
“Did Pete have other friends besides you?”
“Yeah, sure.”
I suppressed another sigh. It was like pulling teeth with this guy. “Do you have any names?”
“He hung around a guy named Greg Revis, and he mentioned someone named Mason, but I don’t know his last name. I’m sure there are others, but those are the main ones.”
“How can I get ahold of Greg?” I asked.
“He works in the clubhouse as well. I don’t have his number, but I can get it for you tomorrow.”
“Okay, I’ll want to talk to him. And if you remember Mason’s last name, or how I can reach him, let me know.”
“I think he lived in the same building as Pete. You could try there.”
“Where’s that?”
“It’s an apartment off 9th and Washington.”
I knew the area. It was in Capitol Hill, on the edge of downtown Denver. A decent urban area, once a bit rough but now gentrified and hip, with apartments and condos ranging from reasonable to expensive.
“Did Pete have roommates?” I asked.
“No, he lived alone.”
“Did he have a girlfriend?”
“Not right now. There was some girl last summer, Tara, but he hasn’t talked about her in a long time.”
“Was he selling steroids to anyone besides you?”
“No,” he said emphatically. “Just me.”
“How can you be so sure?”
The Third Fan: A Reed Ferguson Mystery (A Private Investigator Mystery Series - Crime Suspense Thriller Book 9) Page 1