Rocky Mountain Valor

by Jennifer D. Bokal

  “Not to beat the same drum, but why wouldn’t Hatch want to keep the championship MVP? It makes no sense to me. Joe was a hard worker and made the plays that counted.”

  “Actually, there’s more to this saga. The rumors about Hatch and Joe’s wife are true—and they’re pretty serious. Larissa lives in a penthouse that Hatch pays for.”

  That was also news to Petra. “Which means what?”

  “That Arnie Hatch had every reason in the world to want Joe dead.”

  “Do you think Hatch tried to kill Joe?”

  Ian shook his head as he veered his car into the exit lane. “I doubt it. But I wouldn’t put it past him to hire someone to take care of a problem.”

  Was her case going to be solved so simply? Jealousy, lust and greed; had Arnie Hatch decided to dispatch his team’s biggest star—who also happened to be his biggest personal problem? “And you have evidence proving Hatch was involved?”

  He pulled up at a stoplight. “That’s just it—I don’t. There has to be something, but he hasn’t communicated about it electronically. Which shows he’s at least that intelligent.”

  “And what about the dead Russian?”

  “I’m not sure how he fits into this, either.”

  Ian’s answers were far from satisfying. “So where does that leave us?”

  “We’re going to investigate things the old-fashioned way. There are a few people we need to talk to.” After pulling in to the parking lot of an expensive high-rise building, Ian turned off the engine. “And we’re going to start with Larissa Owens.”

  Petra’s mouth went dry. Larissa was far from being her friend, but they were friendly—or had been when the marriage and the career were good.

  How would she react to seeing Petra in her home? Would she wonder why she was out on bail instead of sitting in a prison cell? Petra didn’t know for sure, but could guess that her reception wasn’t going to be good.

  A uniformed doorman greeted them in the lobby. “Can I help you?” he asked, solicitous and serious at the same time.

  “I need to see Larissa Owens,” said Ian. “Tell her it’s regarding Joe Owens and Petra Sloane.”

  The doorman eyed Petra warily and she wondered if he recognized her from the constant media coverage. No doubt she’d become Denver’s most notorious citizen. She felt the walls closing in, trapping her in a continual loop of bad press.

  The doorman picked up a house phone and spoke softly into the receiver. He placed the phone back on its base. “She said you can come up.” He held out a keycard. “You’ll need this to access the top floor.”

  A set of gilded elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside the car. Ian waved the keycard over the reader and the doors slid closed.

  “That was easier than I thought it would be,” said Petra, as the elevator began its ascent. “Larissa could have refused to let us into her home, if she wanted. It makes me think she’s got nothing to hide.”

  “Or she has everything to hide and is hoping that by being helpful, she won’t be implicated,” he said.

  The elevator doors slid open to reveal a living room that was decorated in white and silver. The far wall was a bank of windows overlooking the Denver skyline and the Rocky Mountains beyond. Understated. Elegant. Impressive.

  Larissa Owens rose from a white leather sofa as Ian and Petra stepped off the elevator. A former Miss New Mexico, Larissa stood a touch under five feet ten inches tall. Black hair fell to her shoulders in a blunt cut with a fringe of bangs. Without question, she looked like a modern-day Cleopatra in leggings and expensive sandals.

  “Petra,” she said, her hands outstretched. “Thank you for stopping by. This is all tragic, just so tragic.”

  Petra clasped hands with the other woman. “Thank you for seeing me. This is my friend Ian Wallace. He owns a private security firm and is helping me look into what really happened to Joe.” And to clear my name, she said to herself.

  “I heard on the news that you’d been named as a person of interest. I told Arnie that I didn’t believe a word of it.” She sighed a little too heavily for Petra to see it as anything other than an act.

  “I was just about to have some breakfast,” Larissa said. “Have you eaten yet? I can have the chef prepare something for you.”

  “Actually,” Ian said, “we came to ask a few questions, if you wouldn’t mind? I know this is a...difficult time.”

  “Sure,” she said. She walked back to the leather sofa and sat. Indicating two chairs, she said, “Sit, please.”

  Petra’s spine was stiff and her pulse raced. Yet she took a seat without comment, perching on the edge of the chair. The scenario became an even greater puzzle to Petra now. Had Larissa been so dissatisfied with Joe’s income that she went after his boss? Killing him would really have been the only way to get free, given that Joe wasn’t keen on a divorce, and Larissa would have been stuck in limbo.

  Or...could she have played an even larger role? Petra wondered if Larissa had a big life insurance policy on Joe. Anger and indignation began to burn in her stomach.

  “When did you hire a chef?” she asked.

  “When I moved out.” Larissa said. “Why do you want to know?”

  “We don’t. Can I ask you where you were from eight o’clock to nine o’clock yesterday morning?” Ian said as he sat.

  “Me?” Larissa placed a perfectly manicured hand on her chest. “I was home with the girls until eight thirty. That’s when they catch the bus to school.”

  “And where’s the bus stop?”

  “By the front door.”

  “And you walk them downstairs yourself?” Ian asked.

  “I can see where this is going,” said Larissa. “To clear Petra of the charges, you have to find another suspect. No one is more convenient than Joe’s estranged wife.”

  “With all due respect,” said Petra, “you haven’t answered the question.”

  “With all due respect,” Larissa snapped, “I don’t have to. You aren’t the police. I’m under no obligation to talk to you.”

  “Why let us up here at all, Larissa?” Petra asked. “You must have guessed why we’d stopped by. Was it to make yourself look innocent by helping? Face it—you have a reason for wanting Joe dead.”

  “Your temerity astounds me, Petra.” Larissa stood. “Why would I want to hurt Joe?”

  “A private chef? A penthouse apartment? You need more money than Joe’s salary.”

  “Joe is the father of my children. I care about him and would rather see him alive than dead.”

  Petra said, “I don’t believe a word of what you’re saying, Larissa. You have obviously moved on to bigger and better bank accounts.”

  “I loved Joe, but recently—he’d changed. I went to Arnie with my concerns and things progressed.” Larissa gave a little shrug. “Arnie’s a good man—and stable. It’s what I need right now. I’m comfortable with the way things are and not interested in another marriage. Neither is he.”

  Petra felt as if she’d backed into a corner and couldn’t find a way to escape. She glanced at Ian.

  “I assume that there’s video surveillance in this building. Something that proves you were in your apartment yesterday morning?” Ian asked.

  “I assume so,” said Larissa. “I’ll call down to the lobby and ask that the doorman cooperate.”

  Petra wasn’t ready to give up so easily. “Just because you were home doesn’t mean you weren’t involved. You could have paid someone to attack Joe.”

  Larissa sighed. “I let you into my home so you’d take me off your list of possible suspects, but, Petra, I didn’t try to kill Joe. And for what it’s worth I don’t think you did, either.”

  With a sigh of her own, Petra asked, “What do you think happened?”

  “To be honest, I don’t know.”

  Ian stood. “If you think
of anything, please let us know.”

  “Of course,” she said. She moved to the elevator and pushed the call button. The doors slid open. “I’ll phone down and ask that the doorman make yesterday morning’s video available to you.”

  Petra stood, suddenly tired, even though it wasn’t yet nine in the morning. “Thanks,” she said, as she stepped into the elevator.

  Ian followed and the doors closed.

  “Do you believe Larissa?” he asked.

  Petra paused. “Actually, I do.”

  “So do I.”

  “Which leaves us where?”

  “Down by one suspect.”

  “You still haven’t considered one possible option, Ian. I might be guilty.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “I haven’t.”

  Petra swallowed. “There was a psychologist on the news last night. He said I was rage filled and my attack on Joe was triggered by an event. Don’t you get it? He might be right.”

  Ian stroked the side of his face. “You can’t believe everything you see on TV. Besides, we still haven’t talked to Arnie Hatch and we don’t know how Yuri Kuzntov’s death plays into all of this.”

  “What if it doesn’t?” Petra asked. “What if the dead Russian and my client have nothing to do with one another?”

  “They’re connected,” said Ian. He strode through the lobby, his part of the conversation obviously finished.

  And yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more going on. There was something Ian wasn’t telling her. It meant there was only one question that mattered to her—whether she could really rely on him or not.

  * * *

  The white bowl that was Denver City Stadium rose out of the skyscrapers of the downtown. They pulled in to the parking lot. Acres of blacktop meant for thousands and thousands of football fans on game day spread out around them. Most of the spaces were empty and Ian chose one near the door.

  He cut the engine and turned to Petra. “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. She gave him a wan smile. “But let’s go.”

  Without another word, they walked to the front door. A security guard sitting behind a long desk asked, “Can I help you?”

  “We’re here to see Arnie Hatch,” Ian said.

  The guard looked at Petra and narrowed his eyes. Ian could tell that he recognized her from the unrelenting media coverage surrounding Joe Owens’s attack—and more than that, he believed Petra to be guilty. Ian stepped forward, shielding her from the man’s glare.

  “Do you have an appointment?” the guard asked.

  “We do not,” said Ian.

  “Mr. Hatch doesn’t have any time in his schedule today.”

  “Tell him it’s regarding Joe Owens.”

  The guard grunted. “I imagine it is.”

  “I want to ask him about his plans, since Kansas City turned down the deal to trade Joe Owens. Was murder the contingency to get rid of a player he no longer wanted?”

  The guard stared openmouthed at Ian.

  “Go ahead,” Ian taunted. “Pick up the phone and ask him. He’s not busy right now. He doesn’t have an appointment until half past ten.”

  The guard snatched up a phone and spoke softly into the receiver. After a moment, he turned to Ian and Petra. “Mr. Hatch can meet with you for five minutes,” he said. “Take the second elevator on the left.”

  They approached and the elevator doors opened. There were no control buttons, but the door slid shut as soon as they stepped on and the car began to ascend. The doors opened to the same office Ian had seen on the Mustangs’ website the night before. Hatch sat behind the same desk. Today he wore a golf shirt with a Mustangs logo and a large gold wristwatch. He didn’t look up as they approached.

  “Mind if we have a seat?” Ian asked, unwilling to let him set the terms of their meeting. “Ask you a few questions?”

  “Do what you want,” said Hatch. “It’s your four minutes and forty-five seconds.”

  Ian immediately understood Arnie Hatch. Mistrustful by nature, Hatch needed to believe that he was in charge and that all his secrets were safe.

  Ian waited until Petra took a high-backed leather chair that faced the desk, then took an identical seat next to her. She began, “I won’t waste time with small talk, then. What do you think happened to Joe Owens?”

  “Are you serious? This is a waste of my time,” said Hatch. “The cops found you at Joe’s house, Ms. Sloane, covered in blood. It seems I don’t have to think too much since you tried to kill Joe because you couldn’t control him and you were going to lose your job.”

  “And Joe’s erratic behavior never bothered you?” she asked.

  Hatch shrugged. “I’ve been in business a long time. If you’re successful, there’s pressure. Eventually, most everyone cracks, and people act out in strange ways. Joe. You.”

  “But not you?” Ian asked.

  “I said most everyone, not everyone.”

  “And yet you wanted to get rid of Joe.” Ian continued, setting the trap about the hacked email. “According to you, he was a liability.”

  Hatch’s eyes widened a little. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Joe was last year’s championship MVP.”

  “But endorsements were less than you expected,” said Ian. “The team in Kansas City didn’t want him. Hell, he wouldn’t even give your girlfriend the divorce she wanted—and that’s when you told your coach that Owens was a liability you wanted gone. You also had a plan for dealing with him. Maybe you carried that plan out.”

  Arnie slapped an open palm on his desk. “I don’t know where you got your so-called information, but it’s all a damned lie.”

  “You and I both know every word I just said was true, and the police will be more than a little interested in speaking to you about the fact a player you saw as troublesome is now in the hospital.”

  Hatch cursed and wiped the back of his neck. “We don’t need to get the police involved. I can explain everything, but if you breathe one word of this to the authorities, I’ll sue you for libel—draining every cent you have in court costs. I did want to trade Joe. On the field he was fine, but sponsors didn’t like him. He wasn’t charming on camera. I wanted someone who was marketable.”

  “So, you didn’t want to keep Joe because he couldn’t sell aftershave even though you hired him to play football,” said Petra, not bothering to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

  “Don’t act like you don’t understand the business,” said Hatch. “Professional sports is as much about the media as it is the game.”

  “Don’t scold me, Hatch. Even with Joe in the hospital, he’s still my client and it’s my job—my duty—to protect his interests.”

  “Then as his agent you know Owens had a rough off-season. Larissa left with the kids and filed for divorce, which led to partying and other things that the organization wanted to keep quiet. Like I said, he cracked. I wanted him gone before he took down the whole team.”

  “And speaking of his divorce, you have a personal interest in seeing that go through,” said Ian.

  Hatch waved Ian’s comment away. “That old rumor? There’s nothing to it.”

  “We’ve spoken to Larissa,” said Petra. “You’ve provided her with a very nice penthouse. You must care for her a lot. Wanting to be with her is reason enough to want Joe gone—and in a place farther away than Kansas City.”

  With a sigh, Hatch said, “Larissa Owens is a nice lady and I enjoy her company. But I have more ex-wives than I care to count and don’t need another one.” He looked at the watch on his wrist. “Your time’s up.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Hatch,” said Petra. “There’s a lot more you need to explain—like why you continually tested my client for drugs.”

  Ian admired Petra’s spirit, but they’d gotten what they came for and
it was time to go. He stood. “Our time’s up, Petra.”

  “Wh-what?” she spluttered.

  “Let’s go.”

  With a pen in his hand, Hatch returned his attention to the papers on his desk and Petra got slowly to her feet.

  “One last thing,” said Ian. “Do you know a man named Yuri Kuzntov?”

  Arnie quit writing. “No,” he said without looking up.

  Bingo.

  As before, the doors opened without pressing a call button. They stepped on without comment. As the doors closed, Petra rounded on Ian.

  “What the hell is the matter with you? We need to talk to Arnie Hatch some more. There are too many parts of his story that don’t make sense.”

  “That’s because he’s lying,” said Ian. “Hatch knows something about what happened to Joe.”

  Petra loosened her folded arms and let them hang at her sides. “How can you tell?”

  “He went on the offensive when I told him that we knew about him wanting to trade Joe. Honest people might not own up to the truth right away, but when they know their secret’s out they stop the ruse. Guilty people get indignant.”

  “He confessed to having an affair with Larissa right away,” Petra said.

  “Exactly,” Ian stated. “And he threatened to sue me if I discussed his issues with Joe.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Petra. “Because if I just helped you accuse Arnie Hatch of trying to kill Joe Owens, and we’re wrong, I’ll never work as a sports agent in Denver—or anywhere else—again.”

  Ian didn’t bother reminding her that unless they found someone else to blame for Joe’s attack, she’d be in jail and her career prospects were the last thing she’d be worrying about. Then again, he didn’t have to. Petra was a smart woman; she already knew.

  “What do we do now? Go to the police?” she asked. “I’m sure Hatch’s threat about a lawsuit didn’t scare you.”

  Ian shook his head. “Nothing about that man is frightening. Hatch has more secrets. Now all we have to do is find them. I’d like to get a look at his phone records. Maybe there’s something connecting him to Yuri. Either way, once we have real proof, I’ll send a report to your lawyer.”