The Third Fan: A Reed Ferguson Mystery (A Private Investigator Mystery Series - Crime Suspense Thriller Book 9)

by Renee Pawlish

  “I’ve known Pete for over ten years, and I could trust him. We both agreed that if he was going to help me get the steroids, it had to be just me, so that we wouldn’t be discovered.”

  “And he was fine with that?”

  “Yeah. He wanted to help me. And I was paying him a decent amount for them, so it was worth it to him.”

  “Somewhere along the line, it wasn’t enough,” I said wryly. “Or he wouldn’t have been asking you for more.”

  He shrugged.

  “Did he have money trouble?” I asked, then thought not that I know of at the same time he said, “Not that I know of.”

  “Did he seem like he needed more money?”

  “Not really. If anything, he seemed to be spending more.”

  “Any other trouble? Drugs? Alcohol? Gambling?”

  He shook his head.

  “So the guy was a choirboy?”

  Charlie shrugged. “I know I’m not being very helpful.”

  That was an understatement. I stood up. “I’ll start poking around and see what I can find. If you think of anything else, call me.”

  He walked me to the foyer, then gave me a sad look as he opened the front door. “Pete was a good guy and he didn’t deserve to die. You can find out who killed him and clear my name, right?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, sounding very much like him. “I don’t have much to go on.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Sadness turned to dread. “I don’t want to go to prison.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  The door slowly closed behind me, but not before I heard him exhale loudly.

  ***

  I walked through the door of my condo in the Uptown neighborhood, immediately east of downtown Denver. “How’d it go?” Willie asked.

  It was almost eleven, and she was lying on the couch in the living room in shorts and a T-shirt, her short blond hair still wet from a recent shower. The Big Bang Theory, one of her favorite shows, was on TV. She’d been at work at St. Joe’s Hospital, where she was an ER admissions nurse, when I went to see Charlie, so I’d left her a note saying I was meeting with a new client, but I hadn’t included any details.

  I came over and flopped on the couch next to her.

  “Not bad, if you consider my client doesn’t seem to know anything about anything…except baseball.”

  “Baseball?” she asked as she scooted over and draped a leg across my lap.

  Willie – given name Willimena Rhoden – had had lots of reservations about dating me. Her father had been a cop, and her fears about the dangers of his profession carried over to me. I’d finally won her over with my irresistible charm and tenacity. She’d been living across the street in an old Victorian house she owned that had been converted to three apartment units. But when the house had partially burned in a fire and she’d been suspected of arson, she’d moved in with me. I loved her, and now, almost a year later, I was wondering if it was time to ask her to marry me. But first, I had a case to solve.

  “You’re never going to believe who my new client is,” I said.

  “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “Swear you won’t tell anyone.”

  She raised a hand. “Scout’s honor.”

  “Were you a Girl Scout?”

  “Uh-huh. Now tell me who your client is.”

  “Charlie Preston.”

  She sat back and crossed her arms. “The Charlie Preston, second baseman for the Rockies?”

  “None other.”

  “Oh, he’s cute.” She grinned. “Those blue eyes and the chiseled jaw…oh my.”

  Now it was my turn to raise a hand. “Cuter than me?”

  “Hm.” She scrutinized me, then twisted up her lips. “He’s a close second, but I’m partial to your hazel eyes.”

  “You are not funny.”

  “Hey, I’m all yours, babe, but I can still look.” She grew serious. “This is about him being a suspect in that murder?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Can you tell me about it?”

  “Just don’t go to the press.”

  “Huh?”

  “He asked me not to talk to reporters, which of course I won’t,” I said. “And I know you won’t either, but don’t say anything about me working this case, okay?”

  “I said I wouldn’t.”

  So I told her the entire conversation, concluding with, “He’s given me almost nothing to work with.”

  “No kidding,” she said. “And I can’t believe that Charlie’s using steroids. That really irks me. It’s cheating.”

  I’d known that Willie was a sports fan, and she liked following the major Colorado teams. We’d gone to a few games here and there, when our conflicting schedules permitted it. But this spring, she was following the Rockies more closely. Now that I thought about it, maybe it was because of the cute second baseman.

  “Where are you going to start?” she asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  “I want to do thorough background checks on Charlie and Pete, for starters, see if they have any skeletons in their closets. And then dig into Pete more. There’s a reason why he was killed.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  I leaned my head back on the couch. “Not right now, but thanks for the offer.”

  “Charlie’s been all over the news,” she said. To emphasize this, she picked up the TV remote and flipped the channel to SportsCenter.

  And there were two reporters discussing baseball news, and how Charlie Preston was a suspect in Pete Westhaven’s murder. They had no more information on the case. And neither did I.

  CHAPTER THREE

  At nine the next morning, a voice startled me awake.

  “People lose teeth talking like that. If you want to hang around, you'll be polite.” It was my cell phone, a sound bite of Humphrey Bogart from one of my film noir favorites, The Maltese Falcon.

  Willie and I both had erratic schedules, and it was not unusual for us to sleep late when we could.

  She groaned and mumbled, “Who’s that?” Then she rolled over, her back to me.

  I cleared my throat and answered. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Reed, it’s Charlie.”

  “Charlie, what’s going on?”

  “My agent is all uptight that I talked to you last night.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He doesn’t think I should be talking to anyone but my lawyer right now.”

  “What do you think?”

  He paused. “I don’t know. Listen, my agent and I are going to get some breakfast. Can you meet us at Mattina Café in a half hour? Maybe you can convince him it’s okay to use a private investigator.”

  Mattina 2240 Café is on Blake Street, a block north of Coors Field, and within walking distance of Charlie’s condo. I would have time for a quick shower, but I’d have to hurry.

  “Sure, I’ll be there.”

  “Great,” he said and hung up.

  I set the phone down, rubbed my eyes, then leaned over and kissed Willie on the cheek. “I’ve got to go meet Charlie for breakfast. You sleep.”

  “I’ll get up soon,” she said through a yawn. “I have to work this afternoon.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you later tonight then.”

  I squeezed her shoulder, got up, took a quick shower and dressed in shorts and an Izod shirt. I grabbed my keys and quietly left the house.

  My car was parked on the street, and as I came around the front of my building, I ran into Ace and Deuce Smith, my neighbors and friends, whom I’d affectionately dubbed “The Goofball Brothers” because they weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed. Anyone who hung around them for more than five minutes would understand the nickname. But they’d become loyal friends, and they adored Willie.

  “Hi, Reed,” Ace said in his languid voice. “What’re you doing?”

  “I’ve got to meet a client,” I said, “and I’m in a hurry so I can’t talk now.”

  “N
o problem,” Deuce said. “We’re meeting Bob for golf.”

  “Have fun, guys,” I said. “We’ll get together another time.”

  “Maybe we can play some pool,” Ace said. The brothers loved to play pool at B 52s, a bar nearby, and they were really good.

  “That’d be fun,” Deuce said.

  “We can call Bob and –” Ace started to say.

  They didn’t seem to grasp the concept that I didn’t have time to talk. “Yep, I’ll call you,” I interrupted as I headed down the sidewalk toward my car. “Tell Bob I said hello.” They also didn’t seem perturbed that I ran off.

  I made it to Mattina 2240 Café a little past nine-thirty. It was a beautiful morning, pleasantly warm, with hardly a cloud in the sky. There were a number of tables outside the restaurant and all were taken, mostly by people wearing Rockies T-shirts and hats, dressed for the game, which would start in a couple of hours. I looked around but didn’t see Charlie, so I went inside. Cool air hit me and I had to let my eyes adjust to the dimness. It was crowded, but then I spotted Charlie sitting at a table in the back corner. He was casually dressed in white shorts and a black T-shirt. A man with short brown hair sat across from him. Charlie raised a hand as I strolled over.

  Charlie half-stood up and pointed at the other man. “Hey, Reed, this is my agent, Gil Valducci.”

  The man didn’t get up. “Thanks for coming,” he said. His voice was low and scratchy, his eyes cold brown. He was nicely dressed in khakis and a dress shirt, but his expression was sour. He was not happy to see me.

  I sat down and glanced back and forth at the two of them.

  “I hope you don’t mind sitting inside,” Charlie said. “It’s nice outside, but I didn’t want to attract too much attention. We could’ve met at my place, but I’m not much of a cook.”

  “It’s fine,” I said.

  Gil got right to business. “I understand you talked to Charlie about what happened the other night.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “And I’d like to get your perspective on things.”

  Gil glanced at Charlie, then at me. “I don’t think it’s wise that he talks to you right now.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “The fewer people who know what’s going on, the better. Besides, we’ve hired a good attorney and he has a staff with investigators who are looking into the situation now,” Gil said. “It wouldn’t be good to have someone else complicating things.”

  “He’s not going to complicate anything,” Charlie said, “and he comes recommended.”

  “Friends of your parents, right?” Gil asked him.

  Charlie nodded, then turned to me. “I told him you’re a good investigator, and you might find something the police won’t.”

  I looked at Gil. “The police are focused on Charlie as the killer, so they may miss something. I don’t think it’ll hurt to see what I can find, and I can be discreet about it.”

  Gil hesitated. “I don’t know.” He put hard eyes on me. “How long have you been a private investigator?”

  “A few years,” I said.

  “Any background in law enforcement?”

  “No.”

  “Any formal training as an investigator?”

  I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t say something snide. I could handle the grilling, but I didn’t like the disdain in his tone.

  “So what would convince me that you have the expertise to be of assistance?”

  I threw back a hard look. “I didn’t know I had to convince you.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Charlie interrupted. “Look, I just want to get back on the field as fast as I can. Who knows how long these lawyers and police will take. Maybe Reed can clear my name sooner. Gil, it’s worth a shot to me and I’m paying for it.”

  Gil pondered him and then me. He finally raised his hands in acquiescence. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

  “It’s settled then,” Charlie said.

  Our waiter, a young guy with shoulder-length hair, came over to our table. “Hi, I’m Dan. Sorry I didn’t get here sooner,” he said as he clunked glasses of water on the table. He paused when he recognized Charlie, but recovered quickly. “It’s been crazy. Are you ready to order?”

  I quickly glanced at the menu while Charlie and Gil ordered. When they were finished, I asked for the breakfast burrito with green chili. I was impressed that Dan didn’t write anything down, and wondered if he’d remember everything correctly.

  “How much do you know about the…ah…situation?” Gil asked after the waiter left. He was suddenly wary that others might hear our discussion.

  “Just what was in the news and what Charlie told me.” I leaned in and rehashed everything I knew. It didn’t take long.

  “Have you talked to the police?” I asked Gil.

  “Yes. They’re being pretty tight-lipped.”

  “What did they tell you?” I asked.

  “What was on the news, that Pete was killed with Charlie’s gun and that they know about his argument with Charlie.”

  I eyed Charlie.

  “He knows about the,” Charlie lowered his voice, “steroids.”

  “I was disappointed to hear that,” Gil said, “but that’s the least of his problems now.”

  “Regardless, the argument itself is not much of a motive,” I said. “But having the gun could go a long way toward convicting him.”

  “Yeah, it doesn’t look good,” Charlie murmured.

  I glanced at Gil. “Who’s the detective on the case?”

  “Some lady who was really well-dressed,” Gil said. “A looker, but she was no nonsense. Name of Sellman…no, Spellman…”

  “Spillman?” I said.

  “Yes, that’s the one,” Gil said.

  He’d described Detective Sarah Spillman exactly as I would have. I’d first met her when Deuce had been kidnapped, and I’d encountered her on numerous occasions since then. She was definitely an attractive woman, and smart. Nothing slipped by her. She could be friendly, but most of the time, she was focused and intense. No nonsense, as Gil said.

  “She had a couple of other detectives with her,” Gil said. “They didn’t look particularly bright. You know her?”

  I nodded. “She’s good. And the two detectives with her are ‘Spats’ Youngfield and Ernie Moore. Don’t underestimate any of them, because they’re all sharp.”

  “Maybe you can get some information from her,” Charlie suggested.

  “I might,” I said.

  Most of the time, I think I infuriated Spillman. I could operate outside of the law, and sometimes did, and that meant I solved my cases before she could. But I think my charisma was wearing her down. Or so I chose to believe. I made a mental note to call her.

  Dan returned with our meals, and he hadn’t made a mistake. Better than I could do, I thought as I dug into my burrito. As Charlie ate his bacon and egg sandwich, he kept glancing around at the fans in their Rockies attire.

  “Man, this sucks,” he muttered.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I want to be playing so bad.” Pain laced his voice.

  “Don’t worry,” Gil said, sounding a bit trite.

  I turned to Gil. “Did you know Pete?”

  He shook his head. “Not really. I’ve seen him around the clubhouse and chatted with him here and there, that’s about it. I live in L.A., so I’m only here now and again. I’m building my clientele and I’m representing some other ballplayers, so I travel a lot.”

  “You don’t have any idea why Charlie’s gun was found at the crime scene?” I asked, knowing what he was going to say.

  “None,” Gil said. “This whole thing is crazy. A guy’s in the prime of his life, then he’s gunned down in cold blood.”

  As I finished my burrito, I again found myself frustrated at the apparent lack of clues.

  “I hope you can help,” Charlie said.

  I didn’t say anything. They had finished eating as well, and Gil signaled for the check. I started t
o pull out my wallet, but Gil waved me off.

  “I got it,” he said.

  I thanked him, and after he paid, we went outside.

  “Who’s your attorney?” I said, realizing I hadn’t asked before.

  “Dick Janson,” Charlie said as we walked partway down the block.

  I paused. “Never heard of him.”

  “I recommended him,” Gil said. “He’s worked a number of big cases in L.A. He’s very good.”

  “And expensive,” Charlie said. “This whole thing could break me.”

  Gil stared at him. “Yeah, but if you need him, it’ll be worth it.”

  Charlie shrugged. We stood in silence.

  “What are you going to do next?” Charlie finally asked.

  “I guess I’ll start with Pete,” I said. “Talk to people who knew him. Someone wanted him dead, and someone knows why.”

  Gil eyed me. “You guess?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t have much to go on.”

  “Hey,” Charlie hissed. “Look over there.” He jerked his head toward the other side of the street.

  I looked where he indicated, trying to be surreptitious. “What?”

  “See those three girls on the corner?” he said.

  I squinted, then noticed three young women, probably college-aged, standing on the corner of 22nd and Blake. All three wore Rockies T-shirts. One was African-American, one was plump with short dark hair, and one had on a Rockies hat with a camouflage pattern, her hair in a ponytail. They acted as if they were just hanging around, but they kept glancing at us. I’d like to think it was because they noticed my dashing good looks, but I’m sure it was because they’d noticed Charlie.

  “I’ve seen them around,” Charlie said. “They’ve followed me.”

  “Oh yeah?” Gil stared across the street and the girls turned away.

  “How often?” I asked.

  “Often enough that I recognize them,” Charlie said with a snort. “I gave them autographs and we took pictures.”

  “You do that with a lot of people,” Gil observed dryly.

  Charlie glared at him. “The one that has her hair in a ponytail: if it’s the same woman, she’s got the tattoo on her neck.”

  I kept watching them. “Let’s walk back to your condo and see what they do.”