QB1

by Pete Bowen

  I said, “I can’t imagine the Tony Reilly being murdered by a terrorist.”

  Chapter 12

  We got in the car and I yelled up at the driver, “Eddie, Food. I’m starving.” I hadn’t had a thing all day except coffee. It was 3 PM. “Can we do burgers, Liz?” She said it was okay with her so, we found an In and Out and went through the drive-through lane. Roger was tapping away on the computer. I sat there eating a burger and trying to figure out how a Muslim terrorist assassin figures out that his victim is about to show up in a spot where his victim hasn’t been in a month. “They could have been following him,” I said to the others.

  “No,” said Roger. He continued to tap away on the keys.

  “What do you mean, no?”

  He looked up at me. “There are lots of famous athletes that would have been much easier to kill than Tony Reilly if you wanted to make a terrorist statement. Kill Michael Jordan or Mohamed Ali or A-rod or Beckham. Tony Reilly was MIA. Someone wanted to kill Tony Reilly. I think we have to start with the question, where was Tony Reilly?”

  I thought about it, “Someplace very low key because he seems to have been completely off the radar for a month. If I’m a betting man, I’d say he was out of the country. He was too well known to have not been recognized for a long period of time.”

  “Betting man,” Roger snickered.

  I looked up at him and said, “What do you mean by that?” and threw a fry at him.

  “You mean like Texas Hold’em?” Roger turned to Liz and said, “Mr. Mullins regularly contributes to other player’s pockets,” he said and laughed.

  “He plays Texas Hold 'em like he plays backgammon?” Liz said.

  “Exactly,” said Roger and they both laughed.

  “Oh that’s rich, the two of you ganging up on me.” Roger held up his fingers in the shape of an L and put it to his forehead and looked over at Liz. She laughed.

  “He’s also unlucky in love,” said Roger.

  “Oh really? Do tell, Roger,” said Liz.

  “Shut up, Roger,” I said.

  “Two letters,” said Roger.

  “Two letters?” asked Liz.

  “MK,” said Roger.

  “Shut up, Roger,” I said.

  “MK stands for Mary Kennedy,” said Roger. I threw another French fry at him. “Mary was Mr. Mullins’ long time girl friend. But, she’s gone now. She won’t be coming back. She dumped Mr. Mullins.”

  “No, she didn’t dump Mr. Mullins. There was a mutual dumping as you well know.”

  “Referring to himself in the third person, now,” said Liz.

  “I think it could be thought of as a mutual dumping,” said Roger. He turned to Liz and sarcastically shook his head, “Ms. Kennedy was a beautiful woman.” Roger quickly added, “Not as beautiful as you, Liz.” Liz laughed and chucked Roger under the chin.

  “You are a charmer, Roger,” said Liz.

  “Mary Kennedy is one of the Assistant District Attorneys for the City of San Francisco. She and Mr. Mullins were together forever.”

  “No, it just felt like forever,” I said.

  “How long was forever?” asked Liz.

  “Which time,” said Roger giggling.

  “You think this is fucking hilarious don’t you dickhead,” I said.

  “It was like 5 years altogether,” Roger said. “There always seemed to be issues. I never understood it; she was always very nice to me.”

  “Well, you didn’t live with her, Roger,” I said.

  “Ms. Kennedy is a very smart, woman. She graduated form Stanford Law School and was very dedicated to her career,” Roger said.

  “She was also dedicated to being an argumentative, impossible bitch, most of the time,” I said.

  My cell rang and I saw it was the Team. “Mr. Mullins, its Shawn Samuelson, sir.”

  “Yes, Shawn.”

  “Mr. Mullins, there is a meeting of law enforcement personnel at 4:30 this afternoon regarding the investigation. Mr. Tierney requests that you attend.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you then, Shawn.”

  I opened the window to the driver, “Eddie, we’re going to San Francisco Team headquarters. You know where it is?” He said he did and I looked at the other two, “We got a meeting.”

  “Let’s get back to Mary Kennedy,” said Liz. “So, you guys lived together?”

  “Sometimes,” said Roger.

  “Mary was a difficult person to be around on an ongoing basis. She never lost an argument with me. She was always right. She was a workaholic and had anxiety issues,” I said. “You want to know how it finally ended? She was driving me crazy. I was seeing a counselor because I was trying to make the relationship work, God knows why! Anyway, we’re in bed and we start making love. During sex…, during sex, she started a fight! I swear to God, it’s true. I got up from bed, put my clothes on and went home. The next day I told her I couldn’t do it anymore. I told her we had to stop seeing each other. That woman just loved to fight.”

  “Would that be coitus argumentus interuptus?” asked Roger.

  “I’ve known some difficult people,” said Liz. “It’s no fun.”

  “But, it had a happy ending,” said Roger. Two months after Mary and Mr. Mullins broke up, she married a friend of Mr. Mullins and now they’re going to have a baby! Isn’t that great?” The sarcasm dripped from Roger’s mouth.

  Liz grimaced and said, “Ouch.”

  “Yea,” I said. “I want to thank you for bringing this sordid story of woe up, Roger. You remember me mentioning to you Liz, how necessary it is to keep a foot firmly planted on the back of Roger’s neck?”

  “So do you have a girlfriend now, Tom?” Liz asked.

  “Mr. Mullins just dates whores now,” said Roger. He pronounced whores, “who-ares”. “Mr. Mullins has been living like a rockstar when it comes to women,” Roger said. “I think there is a definite lack of maturity when it comes to relationships.”

  I got off my seat across for Roger. Got him in a head lock and gave him a nuggy on the top of the head while he screamed.

  “You’re so mean, Mr. Mullins,” cried Roger as I sat back down. Liz was laughing at us.

  “Who-ares, Roger?” she asked.

  “I brought a girl around the office one day and she was dressed for a walk on the beach. Velma saw her and told me she didn’t appreciate my bringing my who-ares around the office. So now it’s the go-to line for any woman I’m with.”

  “I hope I’m never referred to that way,” she said.

  “Velma a little overprotective and a little crazy. She loves us though,” I said.

  “She loves me,” said Roger. “I don’t know about you.”

  We pulled into Team Headquarters. Satellite trucks. cops, swarms of people standing around outside, more than earlier today. This was the first exposure Liz had to this. “Wow! I think I should wait in the car. This is going to be weird.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. "The more the merrier.”

  “This looks like in front of our house after you shot Chucky, Mr. Mullins,” said Roger. Security directed our car out of sight of the press and ushered us into a side entrance. Shawn Samuelson was there to greet us. We were shown into a meeting room with a number of men sitting around a table. I nodded to Tonelli and Captain Conners. Oscar Tierney jumped up from his place at the head of the table, ran around and hugged Liz.

  “I’m so sorry, Elizabeth,” said Tierney. “It’s just such a terrible loss for everyone, words don’t seem to work.” They embraced for a long moment. “I’m so glad you came today, Elizabeth. I need to get an update from these people who are working on solving this, but I’d like to spend some time with you.” He directed Liz to a seat and shook hands with me. “Good to see you again, Tom. I’m glad you could make it.” And then he shook hands with Roger. “Ahhh yes, it’s the other half of the dynamic duo, young Roger Goody. I’ve seen you on TV, boy.” Roger shook his hand with a big smile on his face. We all sat and then I noted our old friend F
BI Special Fucking Agent Herbert Nelson seated on the other side of the room. I nodded and smiled at him.

  “Agent Nelson,” I said as sweetly as I could. He nodded back at me but I could see he had his “fuck you” face on. There were introductions all around; another FBI agent, a guy from Homeland Security, two State of California Investigators and some security people from the team. Altogether, a group of about 15 people were in the room.

  Not surprisingly with the size of his ego, it was Nelson who spoke first. “Before we get started, Mr. Tierney, I want to bring up that since we’re all here to discuss progress on the case of Tony Reilly’s murder last night, I’m going to have to question the appropriateness of having a possible suspect in the room.” He let that sink in. I knew we were about to rock and roll. “I’m referring to the widow, Mrs. Elizabeth Reilly.”

  Did I mention this guy is an asshole? Chief Conners immediately spoke up, “Last night a tactical team found Mrs. Reilly asleep in her bed at the crime scene. She was immediately taken downtown and given a residual test and a blood test. She has been completely cooperative. She was thoroughly questioned about every aspect of the crime and was simply unaware of what had happened or where her husband had been for the last month. We don’t feel Mrs. Reilly was involved in this crime. After further investigation today, checking phone records and email, there has been nothing more that would give us any reason to suspect Mrs. Reilly of any involvement. I don’t see any reason she shouldn’t be involved in an informal discussion of progress.” I could see Liz was about to stand and bolt. She wasn’t crazy about being there, anyway. Before she could stand, I put my hand firmly on her arm, holding her down. I wanted to play.

  “The FBI hasn’t had a chance to question Mrs. Reilly yet,” countered Nelson. The implication being the SFPD is incompetent versus the superior questioning skills of the FBI. “There is certainly motive for Mrs. Reilly to want her husband dead. We estimate the size of the estate of Tony Reilly at $25 Million. There was marital discord; the couple was separated at the time of the incident. There is also opportunity for the crime as no one else seems to have known where Mr. Reilly was for the last month and Mrs. Reilly being the only one home. I’ll concede it may not have been Mrs. Reilly who pulled the trigger but certainly with the domestic situation between the couple, there is reason to continue to suspect Mrs. Reilly of involvement in the crime.” Nelson paused and then went in for the kill, “I also question the relationship between Private Investigator Thomas Mullins and Mrs. Reilly. Her first call was to him following the questioning at San Francisco Police Headquarters was suspicious. Why did she call him? Phone records don’t indicate communication between these two people but our investigation has turned up a meeting between the couple on the afternoon of April 21st in a Sonoma Restaurant called the Wine Country Bistro. The couple was seen leaving the restaurant together. My gut feeling is that Elizabeth Reilly and Thomas Mullins may both be involved and I feel it is inappropriate that they be involved in any discussion of the crime.”

  What an asshole! I knew he probably got a ration of shit following the silly business of trying to arrest Roger’s Dad for the lab computer break in. The contentious relationship between us went back years. My first thought was that the guy had snapped to bring this up now. I looked over at Oscar Tierney and wondered if I was still going to be working for him an hour from now.

  The room was quiet as I started to speak. “Herb, can I call you Herb? After all, we go back what, 5 years? All those times I busted your balls for being incompetent? How you never seemed to actually solve anything but somehow managed to take the credit for everything? The way I treated you with such disrespect every time I ran into you? The practical jokes, teasing you about your social ineptness, I know I’ve been an asshole to you and I’m sorry. I didn’t realize just how much I’ve hurt you that you would come after me like this. Accusing me of an affair with the wife of Tony Reilly and implicating us in his murder? Holy shit, Herb! We’re in unchartered territory here. This really breaks new ground for even you, Special Agent Nelson. I’ve seen some fucked up shit from you, but…wow! Now ordinarily, I could just let this go because I know, its just Herbie being Herbie. But, you’re freaking me out here. And knowing you like I do, you’re about to leak this fucked up fairy tale to the press and ruin the life of an innocent woman and set back this investigation where it may never get solved. Here is what I have to do. I’m going out beyond the fence and wait till every network has a close up of my face and announce that an FBI Special Agent, Herbert Nelson, a man with a personal grudge against me has concocted a story of an affair between the wife of Tony Reilly and myself and has gone as far as implicating us in his murder. All this despite the fact that he doesn’t have a shred of evidence. I’m going to make a recommendation that given the importance of this case that the Federal Bureau of Investigation immediately re-examine the personnel assigned to this case in order that we can move forward and find the people responsible for the death of Tony Reilly. So… my question to you Herbie, you dumb motherfucker, is do you want to be cleaning urinals in the Fargo office by the end of the week or do you want to try and figure out who killed Tony Reilly?”

  Chapter 13

  The meeting turned around after the little shitstorm between Nelson and me. All the law enforcement agencies had input and there was no evidence or any progress to speak of. No one knew where Tony Reilly had been for the last month. There were no leads on the terror implications of the killing. San Francisco and the League were working on a reward for information leading to solving the crime which would be announced. What it came down to was despite a tremendous amount of investigative manpower, no one had anything.

  After the meeting, Oscar Tierney brought Nelson and the other FBI Agent who turned out to be his new superior back to his office for a meeting with the three of us. Oscar read Nelson the riot act. He promised a call to the Director of the FBI. He warned him that if he heard of anything in the press about Elizabeth and my involvement in the killing, he would join me in denouncing the FBI as ridiculous. Nelson mumbled something about having to run down every lead, but Tierney stopped him. “You think long and hard before you go public with that bullshit Agent Nelson,” and then threw them out of his office. That left the two of us sitting there alone.

  “I certainly hope you two didn’t kill Tony.” He grinned at me.

  “He’s an idiot, Mr. Tierney.” We sat there in silence for a minute.

  “What do you suggest? I have no confidence that anyone in that meeting is going to figure this out,” said Tierney.

  “I’m not sure about the terror angle and that seems to be where everyone is heading. I think you have to figure out where Tony was for last month and who knew it. I think I’d start with his friends and teammates. Someone knows something about where he’s been. I’d like to talk to his friends on the team.”

  Tierney called his secretary on the intercom and said, “Susie get me the contact list for the team. He turned back to me, “Start with Cochran, Isackson and Benson. Also, touch base with Coach Warren.” The center, the quarterback and the star middle linebacker were probably a good place to start. “I’ll call them and tell them you’ll be over to see them tonight. They all live in the area. Charlie Warren should be in his office waiting for you.” I took the list and told Tierney I would keep him informed and appreciated his support.

  “Mr. Tierney, if this business with me being implicated in the murder heats up, all you need to do is say the word and I’ll end our relationship. I won’t let it become a distraction. There was nothing going on between Liz and me.”

  “Tom,” he took my hand and looked me in the eye, “find out who killed Tony Reilly.”

  Chapter 14

  Head Coach Charlie Warren looked like shit. Roger and I walked in and sat in front of his desk. He held his head up with the elbow and the palm under the chin. His eyes watched but his head didn’t move. “Coach Warren I’m investigating the death of Tony Reilly for the Team.” I then sme
lled the booze across the desk and concluded that Superbowl Champion Coach Charles Francis Warren, Notre Dame, USMC…was shitfaced.

  “What can I do for ywou?” he said. That’s how he said it, ‘ywou’. He was shitfaced.

  “Coach, I want to make sure the security of the team is as good as it can be and I would appreciate access to the team and your support.”

  He took his head off his palm, straightened up and said, “You know who was the most exciting quarterback, ever?” Didn’t wait for an answer, it was a rhetorical question. “Fran Tarkington.” That’s all he said. He put his head back on his elbow.

  Roger goes Wiki on Tarkington. “The Mad Scrambler, Tarkington led the Minnesota Vikings to three Superbowl appearances. He started out in Minnesota. He was traded to the New York Giants and then went back to the Vikings. He’s 6th on the all time passing list with 47,000 yards and 4th on the list with 342 career touchdowns. He was a good one.”

  Warren looked at Roger, “How do you know about him?”

  “I’m a football fan,” said Roger.

  “Yea, I used to love to watch Scramblin Fran,” said Warren.

  “What do you think Tony Reilly’s legacy will be, Coach?” I asked.

  He thought about it for a minute. “Probably the best single season a quarterback ever had.” He shook his head, “What a tragedy. I can’t remember a sadder day. I loved that kid.”

  I saw we weren’t going to get much out of Charlie Warren today. We said our goodbyes and went looking for Liz. She was already in the car waiting for us. Roger opened his computer. Liz was on her cell. I gave our driver the address for Jerry Cochran’s house and we took off. “What’s going on, Roge?”

  “Celebrities getting armed, buying guns,” said Roger, “other than that, just a lot of speculation.”

  Liz closed her cell and sighed, “The coroner doesn’t expect to release the body till Sunday. They’re talking about holding the services at Grace Cathedral next week some time. Rosenbloom’s office is going to handle the details. The Team is involved too.