I texted back: nice to have the old steele back…i think. did you and michelle reconnect?
In an instant came the reply: myob! btw, don’t bother me today. i’m busy.
I laughed to myself, remembering the enthusiastic thank you text I’d received from Michelle yesterday and a promise to get the four of us together soon for dinner that I received this morning. If I had minded my own business, Steele wouldn’t be getting busy at all.
I started to take the video, then saw Mona sitting on the sidelines next to Greg while the coach and Kevin helped a few of the other players with some moves. Wainwright had wisely found a place to lie down away from the rolling wheels. Both Greg and Mona watched and listened intently, picking up pointers. Greg had already mentioned that he’d like to coach a wheelchair sport one day, and I wondered if maybe he’d like to coach quad rugby instead of basketball. I was sure he’d be great at either. He already helped out on occasion with wheelchair sports for young people.
I stopped the camera to save juice. While I waited, I started flipping through the photos on the phone, especially those taken at the tournament just a week ago. I stopped short again at the one of Miranda and Rocky, taking note of Miranda’s smile. Upon inspection, it did look forced, and while Rocky had his arm around her waist, she wasn’t touching him at all. Greg and I always had our hands on each other in photos. The signs were there; we just hadn’t seen them.
I kept scrolling through the photos from the weekend before, looking each one over more carefully than before while keeping an eye out for Mona to return to the court. I enlarged a few of the photos as I viewed them. There were lots of action shots of various games and many of the players with girlfriends, spouses, friends, and family members. There were several that included Kevin Spelling. I’d been around Kevin quite a bit over the years and had found him charming, intelligent, and fun. Chair or not, it was little wonder why women flocked to him.
The clash of metal caused me to looked up from my phone to watch the practice. Kevin was on the court, in the thick of things, using his powerful body and wheelchair to block his opponent. The Laguna Lunatics were looking good in spite of their shared grief.
Going back to the photos, I kept scrolling and reviewing the ones from the prior Sunday. None of the ones with Kevin showed him with any women. About a dozen photos in, something caught my eye. It wasn’t a photo of Kevin but one of Greg taken outside the gymnasium shortly after our encounter with Peter Tanaka and shortly before the playoff game started. Turning my phone, I viewed the photo in landscape mode, then enlarged it. In the background was a Lunatic in uniform, and I was pretty sure it was Kevin Spelling but couldn’t be positive because I couldn’t see the number on the jersey. With him was a woman, and from the expressions on their faces it looked like they were arguing.
I scanned the photo again and saw another figure I also thought I recognized. Off to the side of the building, near the back, was someone leaning against the wall, smoking.
I nudged Cory. “Is that you leaning against the wall in this photo?”
He looked at the photo, squinting at it. “Caught me with my filthy habit.”
I pointed at the player. “And that’s Kevin and the woman he was arguing with?”
“Yep.”
“But I thought you saw Tanaka arguing with Miranda when you took your smoke break.”
“I did,” he answered, “but that was earlier in the break. If you’ll remember, before the final playoff games, there was a long break so that the players could rest up and get something to eat.”
He was right. That break was longer than the others. It was during that break that I’d spoken with my mother and bumped into Tanaka.
“Could you hear what they were saying?” I asked. “Or see her face?”
“Not a word,” he answered. “I was too far away. Couldn’t see her face either.” Cory laughed and shook his head. “Seems like no matter where I went during the break, players were having fights with women.”
I looked again at the photo. The woman had her back to Cory. All he had seen was a slender woman with a hoodie pulled up over the back of her head—a long, baggy, gray hoodie worn over jeans.
Looking down at the photo on my phone again, I shuddered. Although in the background and when enlarged the picture was very fuzzy, the woman with Kevin looked familiar. I was almost positive it was Ann Tanaka.
I nearly fell in my rush to climb down from the bleachers and get to Greg. If it hadn’t been for Cory, I just might have landed with a big face-first splat on the hardwood and ended up looking like Steele, but he caught my arm and helped me down.
“What’s the matter, Odelia?” Cory asked, steadying me.
“Something,” I gasped, wondering what to say. “An important message on my phone.”
When I got to Greg, I grabbed his arm and tugged him away from the players. “You’ve got to see this.”
I made my way to a far corner, and Greg followed. Wainwright faithfully trotted along next to him. When we were out of earshot I showed him the photo on my phone. “I’ll bet that’s Ann Tanaka with Kevin Spelling,” I said, pointing at the two figures behind him in the photo. “And look at what she’s wearing.”
Greg took out his reading glasses and studied the photo closer and for a long time. When he looked back up at me, his jaw was clenched. “I hope Kevin had nothing to do with this,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Because if he did, I’ll beat him to a pulp.”
“Honey,” I cautioned. “That won’t solve anything. I think we need to be very careful how we handle this or it could blow up.” I paused for my words to get past his anger and penetrate his brain. I knew when they did because Greg’s shoulders relaxed a tiny bit.
“Do you recall,” I continued, “if Dev said what Ann’s alibi was or who provided it?”
He shook his head. “No, just that Martinez told him she had one and it checked out.” He blew out a gush of air. “You’re right, we need to handle this delicately.”
“So you’re on board again with finding Miranda’s killer?”
“I’m on board with finding out what happened, once and for all.” He rolled his chair back and forth as he thought it through.
Twenty-five
Our story for our abrupt departure was that my brother had texted that my mother, who was visiting him, wasn’t feeling well and I might have to fly to Arizona to be with her if she didn’t improve.
After giving Wainwright time to pee, Greg and I sat in the van and brainstormed about where to go with our new information.
“Should we call Dev?” Greg asked. “Or Martinez?”
“We’re in Oceanside,” I pointed out, “almost in Bill Martinez’s back yard, and I have his card.” I fished around in my tote bag until I found the business card the detective had given me the day Tanaka died. “Or we could go it alone and see if we find out anything.”
Greg shook his head. “Not this time, sweetheart. I vote for letting the police handle this.”
“But I can’t tell them how I knew to look for someone in a gray hoodie.”
“You don’t have to.” Greg turned to me and patted my knee. “Just tell Martinez that Dev told us Ann Tanaka had an alibi, yet here she is just minutes before her brother died and she didn’t stick around. That should be enough for them to investigate further. If they don’t listen, then we’ll strike out on our own.”
Once in agreement on our story and our agreement not to say anything about Elaine Powers or Carlos and his mother, I placed a call to Detective Martinez’s number and reached voice mail. I left him a message that it was about Miranda Henderson’s murder, along with my callback number. Greg started the van and began driving.
“Are we going home?” I asked. “Why don’t we wait a bit to see if he calls back.”
“That’s what I was thinking, sweetheart, but we need to get out of this parking lot before someone comes out of the gym and gets suspicious.”
“You mean like Kevin?”
; “Yes. He may or may not be involved in this mess, but until we know for sure, I don’t want him wondering what’s going on if he sees us lingering in the parking lot after leaving in such a rush.”
We didn’t drive far. Greg pulled into another lot just a block away from the gym. He backed into a space so that we were staring out and could make a speedy departure if needed. Then we waited. From where we were, we could see the community center but were somewhat covered on both sides by other vehicles. Our old van, the larger one, would have stuck out like a sore thumb. Only someone we knew well, staring directly at us, would know it was us in our new minivan.
“Why here?” I asked.
“Why not?” Greg answered. “We don’t want to go too far afield unless Martinez calls and wants to see us, and my gut is telling me to keep an eye on the community center.”
“It’s usually my gut that’s talking.”
“What can I say, sweetheart,” he said with a smirk. “Your gut is rubbing off on my gut.”
“That sounds dirty.”
He laughed his throaty laugh. It was suggestive and usually signaled fun times ahead, similar to my wearing negligee instead of a long tee shirt at bedtime. But the fun times would have to wait, no matter how expertly that laugh played my spine like piano keys, running scales up and down at will.
It wasn’t long before one of the things we were waiting for happened. It took the form of Kevin Spelling’s car—a Jeep Grand Cherokee the color of an expensive granite kitchen counter. His vehicle spilled out of the community center parking lot onto the street, nearly hitting a kid on a skateboard. The kid yelled an obscenity and flipped Kevin off, but Kevin never even slowed down. Greg saw the Jeep a split second before I did and had already started the van and put it into gear. He pulled out of our space, following Kevin.
The Jeep might have gotten off to a quick pace, but we quickly caught up to him, staying a few car lengths behind, as it slowed to make its way through the streets of Oceanside.
“I think he’s heading for the freeway,” I said to Greg, not taking my eye off of the Jeep up ahead.
“I think you’re right,” he answered. “Practice had just barely started when we got there, so unless his mother is also ill, something spooked him.”
“Something like Cory mentioning the photo of Kevin with Ann?” I suggested.
“Could be. If Kevin was feeling guilty about anything, he might have asked Cory what you two were talking about.” Greg glanced over at me, his face sagging with disappointment. “I would have given anything to have not seen that vehicle leave that parking lot on our heels.”
“I know, honey. I’m sorry.” An alarming thought occurred to me like a slap across the face. “Do you think Cory might be involved too?”
“At this point, anything is possible.”
I didn’t want my brain to go down that path. I couldn’t think of Cory Seidman and possibly Mona being involved in this mess, but as Greg said, anything was possible.
As we suspected, Kevin’s vehicle was heading for the 5 Freeway. We followed it onto the northbound ramp, glad for once for the heavy traffic that provided us with great cover.
“He looks to be alone,” I said. “I wonder what happened to the girl at practice?”
Greg shrugged. “Who knows?”
“Where do you think he’s heading?”
“Kevin lives in Huntington Beach, not far from Ocean Breeze,” Greg told me, not taking his eyes off the Jeep we were pursuing. “Maybe there. If he’s in cahoots with Ann Tanaka, maybe he’s meeting up with her, though I doubt he’ll drive all the way to Altadena.” He looked at me. “We need to know what happened at practice after we left.”
“We can call Cory, or maybe Coach Warren,” I suggested.
“Both numbers are on my recent calls list,” Greg said. “We just have to pick the right one.”
I looked at Greg’s phone. When he’s in his van it’s always hooked up to the hands-free feature. “I have an idea,” I told him. “We’ll call Cory. Follow my lead.”
Greg made the call and put it on speaker. When Cory answered, I said, “Cory, it’s Odelia and Greg. Can you do us a big favor?”
“Sure, guys,” came his affable voice with no hint of hesitation. “Name it.”
“We don’t want to disturb Kevin while he’s at practice,” I lied, “but we need him to call us. Would you ask him to give Greg a call after he’s done?”
“Sure, but I can’t,” Cory said. “Kevin left practice shortly after you guys did.”
“He did?” I asked, faking surprise.
“Yeah. He was on the sidelines and I told him about the photo you had of him and that chick. I was ribbing him, asking if she was a done deal or just on the sidelines for now.” He laughed. “You know, guy ribbing.”
“He left because of that?” Greg asked.
“No, I’m sure he didn’t. Kev isn’t sensitive about stuff like that. But shortly after, he was on his cell, then he told Coach he had to leave, making apologies to the team and saying he’d see all of us at the funeral on Wednesday.”
Greg and I exchanged silent looks, then Greg looked ahead, keeping his eyes on the Jeep. “Okay,” he said into the phone, “then I’ll give him a call a little later. Thanks anyway.”
“No problem,” Cory said. “See you two on Wednesday.”
“Hey,” I called toward the phone, hoping to catch Cory before he hung up. “Did Kevin take his girl du jour with him?”
“No. I think she came in a separate car. He said something to her about calling her later right before he left. She waited a few minutes, then left herself.”
“Cory may be playing us,” Greg said after the call, “but I don’t think so.”
“Neither do I, honey. But that photo definitely kicked Kevin into action.”
We travelled along, both of us watching the Jeep for any signs that it might take an unexpected exit ramp, but it kept to its course, not speeding or moving erratically, keeping with the movement of the traffic. We were getting closer to Huntington Beach with every mile.
“I thought you said Kevin Spelling and Peter Tanaka were friends,” I said, finally breaking the tense silence.
“They used to be tighter than ticks years ago,” Greg answered. “Maybe they had a falling out, although Mona said Kevin fought to get Tanaka back onto the Lunatics.”
“Well, being with Ann doesn’t make Kevin a murderer,” I said, mindful of the hope in my voice. I liked Kevin and, like Greg, was heartbroken when I saw his vehicle follow us out of the community center parking lot.
“No, it doesn’t,” Greg agreed, “but it does make you wonder what he was doing with Ann. I don’t recall ever seeing them together, not even years ago. In fact, I never even knew Tanaka had a sister until the night we met her.”
The Jeep finally put on its turn signal and merged onto southbound 55. It certainly did look like Kevin was heading for home. We followed.
“What are we going to do once he stops?” I asked.
Greg shrugged. “I guess we’ll see what he does.”
When Kevin pulled into the driveway of a condo complex not far from the beach, Greg kept going. “That’s his place,” he told me. “He has a nice two-bedroom ground floor condo back by the pool.” We circled the block, then parked on the street just a few car lengths from the entrance. “If I recall correctly,” Greg said, “that’s the only way in or out of this gated complex. And most of the visitor parking is in the front right as you drive in.”
He cut the engine, and we waited. Wainwright was trained to lie still while the van moved. Now he got up and made his way forward to push his nose between the two front seats. We both gave him several pats and assurances that he was a good boy. I got out his travel bowl and poured some water into it, which he immediately lapped up.
Then we waited.
Just over fifteen minutes later, my cell phone rang. It was Detective Martinez. I put him on speaker.
“So,” he said, after squaring away the
greetings. “You have new information on the Tanaka/Henderson deaths?”
“We sure think so, Detective,” I told him. “We think Peter’s sister, Ann, had something to do with both—at least something is fishy about her. Detective Dev Frye is a good friend of ours, and he told us that she had an alibi for the day her brother was murdered.”
“That’s right,” he said, his voice swelling with amusement. “You’re the two who think they’re a modern-day Nick and Nora Charles. Don’t you even have a dog?”
I glanced at Wainwright, who was five times the size of Asta and now snoring away in the back.
“We have proof,” I said, ignoring his dig, “that Ann Tanaka was at the gymnasium the day her brother died.”
There was silence on the other end. “Proof, you say?”
“Yes, a photo taken just outside the gym in San Diego less than an hour before he died. It’s on my phone. I can send it to you, if you like.”
“Please do. Text it to this number. It’s my cell.”
Quick as a bunny, I sent the photo of Greg with Ann and Kevin in the background. “Sent,” I said to Martinez once the photo had been sent through space. “The photo is of my husband, but if you enlarge it you’ll see Ann in the background arguing with Kevin Spelling. Off to the side you’ll see Cory Seidman standing next to the wall, smoking. Cory didn’t know that was Ann Tanaka, but he can confirm that he saw this woman with Kevin and when.”
“Hold on,” Martinez said. A minute later he came back on. “Why didn’t you say anything before now?”
“Because we didn’t notice this photo until today,” I said, getting a bit defensive. “I’d taken quite a few at the tournament, but with all the craziness after Tanaka died, I didn’t go through them until today.”
I could tell from the additional silence that this cop wasn’t going to be as forthcoming with information as Dev would be in similar circumstances.
“What was Ann’s alibi?” Greg asked.
“She was playing tennis with a girlfriend, she told us. The friend confirmed it. Where are you two now?” Martinez asked.
Hell on Wheels Page 22