I waited for Higgins to speak, but when he sat looking into the fire, I changed the subject. "Tell me something: what was it like running out of that tunnel in front of a hundred thousand screaming idiots in Michigan Stadium?"
It did the trick. Higgins turned back to me, a grin sliding across his face. "Trying to get a rise from me, calling U of M fans 'idiots,' huh? I'll tell you one thing: it was a hell of a thrill. You can't believe how juiced you’d get."
"Must have been a kick being Big Man on Campus?"
"Sure. Everybody wanted to be your best friend. But it’s a two-edged sword."
"How do you mean?"
Higgins fell silent again. For a moment I thought he hadn't heard my question.
“When I was a kid,” he said finally, “we used to play a game. I'm going to tell you a secret I've never told anyone."
"I'm listening." Did it concern Darren Cato?
"But in return, you have to tell me something you've never told anyone."
"How will you know I'm not making it up?"
"I'll believe you."
"Okay. You first."
"When I was at U of M, my girl friend...the one I dated in high school, went to Michigan State. I loved her, and thought she loved me too."
"She didn’t?"
"I found out she dated a guy who played halfback for State. We broke up between our sophomore and junior years.
“That fall we played State at home. I was a linebacker then...before they switched me to fullback."
“We were up by four with ten seconds to go. This guy, her boyfriend, had been trash-talking me all afternoon, and it was my last chance to give him a shot. They were on our fourteen, and their quarterback dropped back to pass. Our defensive coordinator had called a blitz, and I got by the first blocker. All I could think about was that SOB... how he probably slept with my girl...the girl I loved.
"Anyway he was blocking for the quarterback, who had dropped back farther than he should. I had a clear shot, but I only saw that damn halfback. I hit him with everything I had...drove his butt into the ground."
"Must have been satisfying.”
"Yeah. But it would have been a hell of a lot more satisfying if the quarterback hadn't lobbed a pass into the end zone for six."
"The coaches were mad?"
"Mad? The coaches were always mad when we lost. But on the game films it looked like I made an error in judgment. Not one person, no one...until you...has ever known we lost the game because I went after the wrong guy on purpose."
"What about the girl? Did you see her again?"
"I wasn't exactly best man at their wedding," Higgins shook his head and smiled. "Now it's your turn."
I thought for a moment. "I know some women do it sooner, but I was about eighteen."
"Yeah?"
"Well, some friends of my parents, the Moores, were in Europe on a business trip. Their son Mark stayed with us. One night, when my parents were out at a party..."
"Yeah?"
"Mark came up to my room."
"Yeah? Yeah?”
"He had some pot...some marijuana."
"Uh-huh. Go on.”
"We smoked it."
"And then..."
"That was it. We smoked pot."
"That's it? That's all?"
"Well, we opened the windows, of course. The place absolutely reeked from the smoke."
"Your deep, dark secret is that you smoked pot when you were eighteen?"
"That's right."
"I tell you about blowing a football game that cost us a trip to the Rose Bowl...and you tell me you smoked pot?"
"Hey, I was weak," I said, trying not to laugh out loud. "What can I tell you?" Just when I thought Higgins would explode, he started to chuckle. It turned into a funny, high-pitched sound that seemed entirely out of character for a man his size. Hearing him, I broke out too.
My hysterics got Higgins laughing harder. With tears rolling down his cheeks, holding his sides, he fell backwards off the log he had been sitting on. I tried to stop his fall, and rolled with him.
We stopped laughing, and for a moment we laid looking at each other, our faces glowing in the firelight. Then Higgins leaned closer, and I closed my eyes.
We kissed. It was tentative at first, but developed into a warm, lingering embrace that neither of us wanted to end. Our tongues met, and I felt a dizziness that had nothing to do with the wine.
"I'm sorry," Higgins said. "I've wanted to do that for a long time."
"I didn't exactly fight you off."
"If we ever get out of this mess, I hope we can spend some time together. Go to dinner, a football game...”
"We're going to have a lot of time the next few days. And funny as it sounds, Sean...if I had to be in this disaster with anyone, I'm glad it's you."
Our lips met again. The kiss was longer this time, the warmth of it making me forget the coolness of the air.
"I...I think we'd better get to bed. I...I mean to sleep," Sean stammered as we parted. I could almost see him blushing in the darkness.
Sean found the small shovel he had used to dig the fire pit, and threw sand on the coals. I picked up the two empty glasses and headed for the cottage.
Tomorrow was another day.
55
6:26 p.m.
Carter had promised to call by four with his findings at the television station, but the hour came and went. It was well past six when the phone finally rang.
"Darcy, Matt."
"Yes, Matt; what did you find on the DVD?"
"There is no DVD. Channel Four doesn't have 'Avion on the Beach.'"
"What?"
"I checked Channel Seven, too. Same story."
"What about the other stations?"
"The people who work in their video libraries have all gone home by now. I'll call tomorrow. But I've got a feeling I'll hear the same answer."
"What happened? Where are the DVDs, Matt?"
"They were recalled. By the agency."
"Recalled? DVDs don't get recalled. Stations are forever bitching because they have to store them."
"Yeah, well these DVDs were. And get this: who do you think recalled them?"
"Curt Neumann," I said. "He's media for AVC, isn't he?"
"That would have been my guess. But it wasn't. It was Andi Hall."
"Andi Hall? Who the hell is Andi Hall?"
"She's new. She's the media buyer for the VanBuhler team."
I broke the news to Higgins. Standing beside the kitchen table, he ticked off his assessment of our situation.
"No DVDs at the stations. No way to find out what's on the DVD we have. And the cops wanting to arrest me for murder. Can it get worse?"
I shrugged my shoulders. It couldn't, I hoped.
But the next morning I’d learn how wrong I was.
56
Thursday, Oct. 21 -- 9:01 a.m.
"You're front page news again," Matt Carter announced. “Not only is Higgins a suspect in Cato’s murder, now they’re saying he shot Vince Caponi."
“What?” I nearly dropped the telephone.
"Police ballistics say the gun Higgins dropped after the cop was shot is the same one that killed Vince Caponi.”
"Sean didn't kill Cato. I’m sure of it. And he didn’t drop that gun. Roland did."
"Unfortunately the cops think otherwise."
“What about fingerprints?”
“The only prints on the gun are Higgins’. Roland wore gloves.”
"Higgins grabbed the gun during the struggle."
"You don’t have to convince me. It shows you've been right all along. Roland shot Caponi and I’m sure he killed Cato, too. Those guys play for keeps."
"Are the police still hanging around?"
"Kaminski practically lives here. Between the cops and all the talk about Monday night's party, it's damn hard getting any work done.”
"What’s that about Monday night?"
"The agency's throwing a party for the Jets-Forty Niners footb
all game. Sort of a thank you to us grunts for our part in winning the AVC business. The game will be on two giant TV screens in the lobby. They're setting up bleachers, hot dog stands, the works. And of course, the Ampere commercial debuts at half time."
"Is it ready?"
"Jimmy Klein says it will be. Oh, and I almost forgot: more good news."
"Lay it on me. Good news I can use."
"It seems Channel Two still has a copy of 'Avion on the Beach.' They neglected to send it back to the agency."
"Can you get it?"
"The station manager, Ed Blake, is taking it home after work. He lives about a mile from my apartment."
"How will you check it out?"
"He's got some high-priced equipment in his basement. I'll call you from his place."
57
8:55 p.m.
Carter finally called – much later than we expected.
"Bad news, Darcy. Real bad.”
"Matt? What’s going on?"
"Ed Blake’s dead.”
"Blake? Dead? What happened?”
Carter had gone to Blake’s house before seven. He heard a car running in the garage, opened the door and found the garage filled with carbon monoxide fumes. He dragged Blake from the car and tried artificial respiration. A nine-one-one call brought an emergency unit. Too late.
"What are the police saying?"
"Suicide."
"What do you think?”
“I think it’s another murder dressed to look like suicide. When I talked to Blake this morning, he was fine."
"What about the DVD?”
"It was on the front seat."
"When are you going to look at it?"
"I just did. I'm in the Media Center. I ran it frame by frame."
"And?"
"Nothing, Darcy. Sorry."
"Whoever killed Blake took the real DVD and replaced it with a harmless one."
"That's what I figured. But where do we go from here?"
"Look, Matt. We can't get to you, but you can come here. We have the DVD Gracie Caponi gave us. Come get it, check it out for us."
"Tell me how to get there and I'm on my way."
***
With Gaylord a three-and-a-half hour drive from Detroit, I didn’t expect to hear from Matt much before twelve-thirty. It surprised me when the phone rang closer to ten-thirty.
It wasn't a good surprise.
"Darcy, I can't get there."
"What's the problem?"
"The cops are tailing me. They must have followed me from Blake’s earlier, but I didn't see them until about half an hour ago."
"Where are you?"
"A restaurant in Saginaw. They're outside. I’ve tried to lose them but can't. I don't want to lead them to you."
"Go on home. We'll think of something."
"Sorry, Darcy. But I've got to be honest: I'm kinda glad the cops are here; or maybe I’d be dead, too."
58
10:58 p.m.
I sat slumped on the living room couch, Higgins in a chair next to me. Carter’s news had taken a toll on both of us.
Higgins set his magazine down and headed for the television.
"Let's see if we're still headline material."
"I'm going to bed. Every time our faces are on TV, there's a better chance someone like your friend Mrs. Gordon will recognize us."
"Don't worry about her. Old Mrs. Gordon's in a world of her own."
I started for the bedroom, but the news program’s fast-paced opening caught my attention. I watched the screen fill with a succession of reporters on location, then dissolve to a studio set. Two talking heads, a man and woman, looked eager to dive into the disasters du jour. The thin, serious-looking young man took the lead story: the latest polls showed Niles VanBuhler pulling into a dead heat with President Nordstrum.
The second story, read by the blonde anchor, a Diane Sawyer look-alike, centered on the armed robbery of a bowling alley lounge in Gladwin.
"Looks like we're old news in Northern Michigan at least." I started to get up from the couch, but the next story stopped me in my tracks.
"The search for the sports car cop killers is widening, according to Roseville, Michigan police,” the male anchor read. "Sean Higgins and Darcy James are wanted for questioning in two murders: a video editor killed last week, and an advertising agency producer originally thought to have committed suicide. But yesterday's report placing the pair in the Traverse City area appears to be a false alarm.”
The scene shifted to a young woman standing next to a black sports car. She reported the vehicle turned out to be a Bugatti, not the notorious AVC Avatar.
The newscast returned to the studio. "Weren't you at the University of Michigan around the same time as Sean Higgins?" the Diane Sawyer look-alike asked the male anchor.
"Yeah, and that's why I don't get it,” said the man. “I didn't know Higgins personally. But besides being a top athlete, he had a reputation as a good student and, well...a gentleman."
"He's got me pegged, alright." Higgins smiled. "Model student."
"Frankly," the male news anchor continued, "I can't believe he killed anyone. There must be more to the story."
"And we'll have more...more news that is...right after this..." Diane almost-Sawyer said as the station broke for a commercial.
Higgins hit the off switch. "Well, someone's on our side."
I was suddenly wide-awake. "Maybe that’s the answer."
“What answer? What do you mean?"
"That guy on the news might be our last hope to see what’s on the Avion DVD. What's his name?"
"Phil... Phil something."
"Phil Speilman. Let’s call him."
"Now?"
"Right after the news."
59
A recorded voice at WTVC answered with a list of department choices. Higgins pressed "five."
"Speilman."
"Mr. Speilman... this is Sean Higgins."
"Sean Higgins? Sure you are. And I'm Bo Schembechler.” "Speilman... I'm taking a huge chance calling you."
"Then why are you?"
"Because you’re my last hope proving my innocence in those killings."
"And how can I do that?" From his sarcastic tone it seemed clear Speilman didn’t believe it was Higgins.
"Speilman, you said you went to U. of M. the same time I did. Ask me a question."
"A question?"
"Something about football. Didn't you go to the games?"
"Never missed."
"Then ask me something."
"Okay. The Iowa game our senior year...what was the final score?"
"Twenty-seven, twenty-four. We pulled it out in the last minute."
"The winning touchdown...who scored it?"
"Bobby Campbell."
"Anyone could know that."
"Speilman, listen: J. D. Huffer faked to me, then handed off to Campbell. He went over Irv Rabideau's block to score."
"You’re right. I had forgotten the details."
Higgins let out his breath. "If I pass, let's get on with it. I need your help."
"You've got it. That is...if you're really innocent."
"I swear it. I'll explain when I see you. And guarantee you an exclusive. Right now, here's what I need..."
Higgins told Speilman about the DVD.
"We've got what you need. Just get me the disc.”
“I can't let it out of my sight, so it has to be at night. With no one else there. Can you run the equipment?"
"Of course. You don't think us news types are just pretty faces, do you?"
"We need to do this right away."
"How about tomorrow night? The studio clears out after the news. Park in the back lot. You'll have to punch in a code to get in. It's three, four, seven, five."
Higgins scribbled the numbers on a pad next to the phone.
"See you tomorrow at midnight."
60
Friday, Oct. 22 – Late evening
Higgins left fo
r Traverse City after a late supper.
It occurred to him that the meeting could easily be a trap. Snaring a wanted fugitive would be great publicity for Speilman and the station. Still, the meeting represented their last hope.
Thinner than he appeared on television, Speilman stood almost as tall as Higgins. After a short greeting, the two walked down a narrow corridor and through a steel door into one of the station's small editing suites.
"Best equipment between Detroit and Chicago," Speilman said, motioning toward a bank of monitors, recorders and assorted editing devices.
Speilman sat at the controls, facing three video monitors; Higgins took the seat next to him.
“What are we looking for?” Speilman asked.
"This whole mystery started with an editor who found something on this DVD. The commercial has a bunch of bikini-clad women standing around an Avion on a beach. I want to view it the way he might have."
"How's that?"
"First, with all those babes bouncing around in bikinis, let’s assume he wasn’t viewing the commercial for a good look at the vehicle.”
"You’re saying the headlights that turned him on weren’t on the car?”
“Exactly.”
"Let's try it." Speilman pushed a button on the console and the monitor lit up with the scene of the Avion racing along the sand. As the car slowed to a halt, the bikini-clad women ran to it. Speilman froze the frame on three faces: a blonde and two brunettes.
"You’re on the right track. Let's keep going...this time in slow motion."
Speilman pushed a button and the picture began to move slowly and the scene changed, focusing on another girl, a stunning blonde. Speilman touched a button and the screen froze. "This more like it?"
"Hold on. Did you see anything? Words? Just before this?"
"Let's see." Speilman pushed a button and the scene reversed, frame-by-frame, until...
Both men stared dumbly at the monitor. Speilman had frozen the frame to stop the action completely, but it took both a minute to realize what they saw.
There it was, just as Darcy predicted. Suddenly Higgins understood why Vince Caponi, Darren Cato and Ed Blake had been murdered. Why the people who killed them wouldn't rest until Manny Rodriguez died...and why those same people would most certainly be coming after them.
The two men stared at the screen for a long moment.
Then Higgins reached for the phone on the control panel in front of them.
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