“Hell, I don’t know that,” he snapped, uncomfortable. “He was selling them, that’s all I know.”
“To who?” I asked.
“Man, I can’t tell you that,” he blurted.
“You said ‘guys’. Was it more than one person?”
“A few.”
“Charlie?” I didn’t want to implicate Charlie, but I needed to know what Greg knew.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
And yet Charlie thought Pete was selling only to him, I thought. Did Charlie know more about the steroids than he was saying? Or had Pete kept him in the dark?
“I don’t need names, but you’re sure it was more than one person?” I asked.
“Yeah, it was a few.”
“How much money was Pete making?”
“Beats me,” Greg said.
“Did you actually see him selling the steroids?”
He shrugged. “There were some rumors around the clubhouse. That’s all I know.”
“What if the wrong person knew about what Pete was doing?”
He didn’t say anything to that.
“I know you have to be careful,” I said, “but if Pete got in with the wrong crowd, maybe someone killed him over the steroids.”
“I don’t know. Seems like a lame reason to kill.”
“You’d be surprised what little it takes for someone to commit murder.”
Again he remained silent.
“Do you know Maggie Hollenbaucher?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, who’s she?”
“Pete dated her recently, and she might’ve been involved with his steroid business.”
“That’s news to me.”
“Is there anyone else I can talk to?” I pressed.
He held up a hand. “I can’t tell you what goes on in the clubhouse. It’s all hush-hush. If I said anything, do you know what would happen to my career?”
“And what about Charlie?”
He averted his eyes, his jaw tight. Then his gaze came back to me. “I don’t know anything, okay? But if I think of something that will help Charlie, I’ll call you.”
He finished his beer in one long gulp, stood up and dropped some bills on the table.
“Thanks for your time,” I said.
“On second thought, I think it’s better I don’t see you again.” Then he turned and stalked out through the crowd.
I watched his retreating back until he disappeared around the corner. I looked out to the high-rises as I ran the conversation in my mind and concluded that he was holding something back. Was it just clubhouse stuff, keeping dirty secrets for the ballplayers? Or was it more than that? I was not convinced he didn’t know something that could clear Charlie of Pete’s murder. But he was so reluctant to talk, how would I find out anything more from him?
I picked at my BBQ, then paid for the meal and left.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As I walked back to Blake Street, I called Charlie.
“Are you home?” I asked when he answered.
“Yeah. This thing is all over the news and people give me funny looks when I go out, so I decided to stay home.”
“I’m down the block. Can I come up? I’ve got some questions.”
“Sure.”
A few minutes later, Charlie let me into his condo.
“You want a beer?” he asked as he showed me into the living room.
“I’ll pass,” I said. I needed my wits about me.
He got a Samuel Adams from the kitchen and sat on the edge of the couch across from me. The sliding glass door to the deck was open and the muffled sounds of traffic drifted in to us.
“What’s going on?” he asked after he drank half the beer in one swallow.
I studied him for a bit.
“What?” he finally asked.
“Are you telling me everything?” I said.
“What do you mean? Of course I am.”
“Pete got into trouble with drugs in college. He even went to jail.”
“What?” The beer bottle was halfway to his mouth, but he stopped. “How did you know?”
“I’m a private investigator. It’s what I do.” I forced myself to stay calm. “You knew.”
Charlie drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Of course,” he said. “Pete was my best friend.”
“When I first met with you, I specifically asked you if Pete ever got into any trouble, and you told me no,” I snapped. So much for staying calm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He lifted a hand in protest, then dropped it. “I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea about him.”
“I appreciate that you don’t want to trash him, but I need to know everything, okay?” I held up my hands, pleading. “You want me to clear your name, right?”
“Yes!” He slammed the bottle on the coffee table and beer foamed out of it. He cursed and quickly drank it. Then he said, “I didn’t think it was important.”
“If you want me to help you, I need you to be totally honest. Let me decide what’s important and what isn’t.” I paused. “Are you holding anything else back?”
The hand came back up. “All right, I’m sorry.”
“Is there anything else about Pete?” I asked pointedly.
He hesitated. “I didn’t want you to think that Pete was a drug addict or something. He had his problems, but he got himself together and was moving ahead. He only got busted once, but he was into the drugs pretty seriously. Like I said, he cleaned himself up.”
“Was he dealing?”
He nodded. “He got in with a pretty rough crowd.”
“Is it possible he was dealing here in Denver?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Did you know he was selling steroids to others?”
He shook his head. “No way. We agreed he was only going to help me.”
“That’s not what I’ve been hearing.”
“Who told you that?”
It was my turn to hesitate. “I can’t tell you who right now. But it looks like Pete may have been selling steroids on a bigger scale.”
He stood up and began pacing. “Man, I don’t believe it! We talked about that. If he sold to more people, there’d be more risk of him getting caught.”
“And of you getting caught.”
“Yeah.” He picked up the bat from the corner and started swinging it. Then he pointed it at me. “Are you sure about this?”
I leaned back ever so slightly. “Pretty sure. I’m still looking into it.”
“Man!” He swung the bat hard. “He promised me.” Then he sat down, the bat still in his hands, a look of disappointment on his face.
It was a pretty good act, but right at the moment, I was suspicious. What else was he holding back?
I rubbed a hand over my jaw. “You’ve never heard of Maggie Hollenbaucher?”
“I told you no.”
I looked at him doubtfully.
“No,” he reiterated. “I don’t know her.”
“Long, curly red hair pulled into a ponytail, very fit. Ring any bells?”
“That could be anybody,” he said.
“True,” I said. “Okay, I’ll see if I can get her picture and show it to you. She may have come to one of your parties.”
“Why is that important?”
“Your gun was used at the crime scene,” I said slowly, walking him through my logic again. Did he really not get it? “So if you didn’t kill Pete, it had to be someone who could have stolen your gun. If Maggie is involved, she would’ve had to be here in your condo at some point.”
“Oh, right.” He started swinging the bat again. “You think she may have killed Pete?”
I shrugged. “Yeah, until I can eliminate her as a suspect, along with a bunch of others. Like Mason.”
“Pete was friends with him.”
“Did you know they got in a fight and Mason belted Pete in the nose?”
“Really?” He was genuinely surprised.
I nodded
.
“Huh. I thought they were friends.”
“Nope,” I said.
He didn’t have anything to say to that. A horn blared outside. Charlie suddenly flew to his feet and stomped outside. He stood in the middle of the deck, swinging the bat. I finally got up and joined him. The sun was sinking low in the sky, painting clouds a deep purple.
“This whole thing is messed up,” he said. “I didn’t kill Pete.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Do you believe me?”
I put my arms on the railing and looked down to the street. “Yes. Until I find something that would tell me different.”
“What’re you going to do now?” he asked. He set the bat down and came over to the railing.
I sighed heavily. It had been another long day. “I’m going home, maybe watch a movie with my girlfriend. I need some time to think.”
“You got a girl. That’s nice,” he said. “What’s she like?”
“She’s great,” I said. “She’s a nurse at St. Joe’s. And she likes baseball.”
“Have you been together for long?”
I nodded. “Quite a while. I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
“Oh yeah?” He brightened. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” I smiled as I thought about Willie.
“You should bring her around sometime. I’d like to meet her.”
“She’d be thrilled.” I thought about Willie and her comment that Charlie was cute, with his blue eyes and chiseled jaw. A twinge of jealousy shot through me and then vanished. She loved me, not Charlie. But she would be ecstatic to meet him.
“Hey,” Charlie interrupted my thoughts.
“What?”
“There’s that damn woman again.” He pointed to the street.
“The one you saw at Pete’s the night of the murder?”
“I’m not sure.” He ran into the condo and returned with binoculars. He trained them on her. “I think it’s her.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think so. I only saw her from behind, so I don’t know.” He began pacing, agitated. “I don’t like it. There’s usually three of them watching me, but she’s here all the time.”
“You said you were going to tell me if you saw her again,” I said.
He jabbed a finger in the air. “I’m telling you now.”
“Give me the binoculars.” He handed them to me and I stared down at a woman standing on the corner. Did she have a ponytail? Was his stalker Maggie? No, it couldn’t be, I thought. But what if it was her, wanting to know what Charlie was doing?
“I’ll go talk to her,” I said.
“If she was at Pete’s…” His voice trailed off.
“We’ll see,” I muttered as I left.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I hurried to the elevator and down to the first floor. I stood back from the door and peered out. The woman was still standing at the corner of Blake and Park Avenue West. In the fading light, I couldn’t tell if it was Maggie or not. I walked out of the building and to the right, headed for the corner. The woman across the street shifted position from the corner to near an emergency exit of a bar. She stayed focused on Charlie’s building, and didn’t notice me. I got to the end of his building and reached the street corner, then glanced back. The woman was looking up toward Charlie’s balcony. I walked around the corner, then stepped up to the building and looked back again. She was still gazing up. I studied her. Although her build and hair were similar to Maggie’s, I thought she looked younger than Maggie.
I leaned against the building, watched her and pondered what to do. I could go across the street and confront her. But it was dark and I was a stranger. She might run before I ever got close. Then she lifted something up and pointed it toward Charlie’s building. A camera with a telephoto lens. Quite the stalker. But she appeared to have it pointed toward the front of the building, not the balcony. Had Charlie come out?
I peered down the block just in time to see a dark figure go into Charlie’s building. Another player that Charlie’s stalker was interested in? The whole thing was creepy. I decided to try to casually approach the woman and talk to her, but first I had to get close to her without her seeing me. I ran down 24th to the next street over, hurried down two blocks to 22nd, then made my way to Wazee Street, on the other side of Blake Street. I hurried up Wazee to Park Avenue West. I caught my breath, then walked quietly back to Blake. I leaned against the side of the building and peeked around the front side. The woman was standing in the shadows, watching Charlie’s building, with the camera in her hands.
A couple holding hands crossed Park Avenue. The woman with the camera stepped back, trying to appear nonchalant. The couple gave her no notice, but chatted as they headed up Blake Street and into the bar. The woman waited until they were gone, and then she raised the camera to her eye. She stayed like that for a minute, and I realized she was using the zoom lens as binoculars. After another minute of this, I decided to make my move.
I stepped from the shadows and around the corner. “Hey, whatcha doing?” I asked.
She yelped, whirled around and saw me. Then just as quickly, she spun around and started running away from me.
“Hey!” I called, then dashed after her.
She reached 24th Street and turned left. When I reached the corner, she was already halfway down the block. She’s fast! I thought. I ran after her. A car zoomed down 24th, and after it passed her, she darted across the street and into a parking lot.
I had to wait for another car, then I crossed the street and made my way into the parking lot. Scant streetlights provided precious little light. I ran between some cars and then stopped. I didn’t know where the woman had gone. I listened over my loud breathing, and thought I heard an engine start. Then a few aisles over, a red Mazda – headlights off – headed for the lot exit. I sprinted in that direction, but by the time I neared the exit, the car was already on 24th. I slowed down, then kicked at a can on the ground. That was a fruitless effort. And for what?
I started back down 24th and past an alley, my mind on the woman.
“Hey, bud,” a menacing voice said as a specter emerged from the darkness.
I turned toward the voice, and heard a whistling in the air. A baseball bat flew toward my head. I instinctively ducked and it missed my head by inches. The bat glanced off my shoulder, but it still caused me to cry out. My assailant dropped the bat and punched me in the jaw. My head rocketed backward and stars crossed my vision. I staggered for a couple of steps and tried to get my bearings. The figure approached again and I managed to swing my fist at him. It connected with his midsection and I heard a satisfying “oof”. Then he grabbed me by the shirt and threw me against the building. I hit it with a thud and my elation vanished along with my breath. My knees buckled and I dropped to the ground. I heard a short scraping sound. He’d grabbed the bat off the ground. The hulking shadow approached and I quickly got my legs under me. Then I launched myself at him and wrapped myself around his waist. We fell to the ground in a heap. I tried to hold him, but he kicked me away. I scrambled to my knees and then he jabbed the bat into my gut. I gasped. He hit me again and I thought I was going to puke. I put my hands on the ground and coughed violently.
“Drop the case,” a low voice said in my ear. He popped me one last time, on the side of my head, not hard enough to knock me out, but enough to cause a headache. Then he ran off.
I stayed in the same position for a while, just trying not to lose my cookies. Then I staggered to my feet and assessed the damage. Blood oozed from my nose, but I didn’t think it was broken, nor did I think his hit to my head was serious. I’d be plenty sore in a while, but I’d live. It was mostly my pride that hurt. I’d barely managed one good punch.
As I walked slowly back to Blake Street, my cell phone rang. It was Charlie.
“Hey, I saw you chasing that woman. What happened?”
“She got away before I could talk to her.”
“Th
at’s too bad,” he said. “I’d like to know if she was the one at Pete’s.”
“Me, too.”
“Oh, well, maybe next time.”
“Let me know if you see her again. Maybe I can get some people to watch her.”
I ended the call without telling him about my encounter with the thug. Right at that moment, it felt like another failure, so soon after losing the woman.
***
When I came home, Willie was sitting at the kitchen table, typing on her laptop.
“What happened to you?” Willie bolted up, nearly toppling her chair.
I’d tried to brush myself off and wipe the blood from my nose, but I’m sure I still looked disheveled.
“It’s nothing,” I said.
“Oh, Reed, again?” She came up to me and gingerly touched my cheek. “Does anything feel broken?”
“No. I’m just bruised and sore.” And I had a headache.
“Come here.” She led me into the bathroom. “Over by the sink. Rinse off your face.”
I did as instructed while she grabbed a cloth, went to the kitchen and filled it with ice. I splashed water on my face and carefully wiped all the blood away. She returned and examined me again. “Here.” She gave me the icepack. “Hold that to your nose and cheek.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, my voice sounded nasal.
“It’s no wonder your mother worries.” She took my hand and led me to the couch in the living room.
I sat down slowly. “Don’t start.”
The longer we were together, the more accustomed I’d grown to Willie’s concerns about me, and she’d learned to try to keep her worries in check. She initially hadn’t even wanted to date me because of my profession. Her father had been a cop, and she grew up always worried that he’d be killed on the job. And that anxiety had carried over to her relationship with me. Now, after she’d been through so many cases with me, and had made me so many icepacks, she tended to worry for just a bit, and then she’d become very matter-of-fact.
“Who did this to you this time?” she asked.
“The shadow,” I said, trying for humor.
“Hon, be serious.”
“I don’t know. I didn’t get a good look at him.” I filled her in on my day, ending with, “So I ended up on my hands and knees and he got away. So much for being a great detective.”
The Third Fan: A Reed Ferguson Mystery (A Private Investigator Mystery Series - Crime Suspense Thriller Book 9) Page 9