Lot’s return to Sodom

by Sandra Brannan

  I slid in slowly and repeated, “No, really, Coach, what have you heard about me? Are you disappointed that I’m not on crutches?”

  Coach Vincent laughed. “Oh Liv. You could always make me laugh. No, I’m glad you’re ambulatory.”

  I wasn’t trying to be funny. I really wanted to know what he’d heard. But before I could say so, he added, “I’m so sorry to hear about Michelle Freeburg. I knew your brother was dating her. How’s he taking all this?”

  I nodded. “He’s pretty broken up about it. How’d you know they were dating?”

  “Well, I saw her down at the courthouse about three weeks ago. She was excited about graduating and being accepted into medical school. She told me she was serious about the guy she was dating. Even talked marriage. But I didn’t know it was Jens until a friend of mine told me yesterday. Bob Shankley. He’s the agent working this case. Works for the FBI,” he said.

  The waitress interrupted us and said, “What can I get you, Chief?”

  He ordered a slice of pie and a cup of coffee. I ordered the belly buster burger with a side of fries and a Diet Coke. The brownie just didn’t satiate.

  “Chief?” I asked, as the waitress scooted toward the kitchen. “I thought it was Mayor Vincent now.”

  He grinned. “Former chief of police. Old habits die hard, you know. Like you calling me Coach, right?”

  Coach Vincent didn’t look like a chief. Or a mayor. Or a local hero. He looked like a normal guy. He could have passed for a former track star in his youth, small and strong. Or maybe even a semiprofessional baseball player. But he didn’t seem to be big enough, strong enough, stereotypically man enough to be a chief of police or mayor. I knew better than anyone that generalizations were just that, and there were exceptions to every rule. The size wasn’t what made the person in the job, but for some reason, Coach Vincent had always been so kind, tender, that it was difficult for me to reconcile his manner with his job of either managing a police force or running a city. Although I had to admit, Ken Vincent had that one characteristic so many wanted and too few possessed from birth: likeability.

  His easy smile revealed the signature gold-capped tooth that, rather than giving him the appearance of being shamelessly wealthy, made him appear fragile and human somehow.

  “Thanks for meeting me on such short notice, Coach. My brother Jens asked me to help him find Char. I’m hoping you can help me.”

  Coach Vincent laughed. “Char is a free spirit. No telling where that girl might be.”

  “You don’t seem surprised to hear she’s missing.”

  “The FBI told me.”

  “Agent Shankley again?”

  “Like I said, we’re friends. Good friend of mine, actually,” Coach Vincent said, sipping the coffee the waitress had just poured him. “I’m the one Shank called late yesterday afternoon to confirm Michelle’s identity.”

  “But I thought the Freeburgs did that this morning?”

  “Officially,” he said. “I was the one who told Shank to let them sleep, to go over there this morning around four because Frank’s shift at the post office is from six to two and they’d be up at four. No point in waking them up to deliver such horrible news.”

  “Incredible,” I thought aloud. “I would have wanted to know immediately if I had been Michelle’s parents. I wouldn’t care about sleep or work schedules or anything if my daughter was found murdered.”

  “But that’s you,” he said, thanking the waitress as she laid the heap of fries and monster burger before me and a tiny slice of pie in front of Coach Vincent. I can see why he stayed so thin. “I’ve been doing this sort of thing for many years, Liv, and the one thing I’ve learned is patience. When death is involved, so are a myriad of emotions, personalities, reactions, and surprises. I have never been in a rush to deliver bad news; that’s why I told Shank to wait.”

  My eagerness to learn what he knew about Michelle’s teen pregnancy was shadowed by my raging hunger, and I could hardly open my mouth wide enough to take my first bite. I could feel the nourishment instantly, each succeeding bite coming slower than the one before. Wondering why I felt so famished, I realized it was almost four and I hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before, Mom’s awesome barley and pot roast. Oh, except for the couple of beers at Jens’s house. Breakfast of champions. Oh, and a brownie at Mrs. McKinney’s house. It was way past lunchtime, closer to dinner anyway. My mind was beginning to clear and my ears perked up to hear his story.

  “So it’s easier for the victim’s family if you approach the situation with patience and calmness. It makes them feel that at least someone is in control in an otherwise out-of-control situation.”

  “Hmm,” I grunted, stuffing a fistful of fries into my mouth as a chaser to my belly buster. Coach Vincent stared at me, unblinking, which made me painfully aware of the pig I was being. With cheeks full, I attempted a smile, slowed my feeding frenzy, and dabbed my mouth with the napkin from my lap. He returned the smile and picked up his fork to take a bite of his pie.

  I swallowed. “How did you become such close friends with the Freeburgs, Coach?”

  He touched the corners of his mouth with a napkin. I’d never noticed how slender his fingers were and how well manicured he kept his nails. I did find his cologne familiar and still a bit overpowering, though, just like the olden days.

  “That’s a long story,” he said, smoothing the lines of his light tan suit coat.

  “I have time if you do,” I said, taking another bite of what was left of my burger.

  “I would like to help you, but I’m supposed to meet more federal agents in a half hour. I want to help those guys any way I possibly can in this murder investigation. Michelle meant the world to me.”

  Were those actually tears that were pooling in his baby blue eyes, I wondered?

  Jens’s words drifted to my mind about Michelle refusing to tell him about the man she saw with Char, a man in his forties or fifties, someone everyone knew and trusted.

  Someone like Coach Vincent.

  AS QUICKLY AS THE thought came to mind that Coach Vincent might have been the man responsible for preying on Charlene’s innocence, I dismissed the idea. But not entirely. Not any more than I had dismissed the idea that maybe Clint White—who was also the right age and somewhat known around town—had something to do with Michelle’s death. Jens certainly knew Mayor Ken Vincent and fellow employee Clint White, but the idea of either one of them being such a heinous predator seemed so foreign to me.

  I had to remind myself that everyone was a suspect. Everyone, that is, except Jens.

  I cleared my throat. “That’s exactly what I wanted to know. Why did she mean the world to you?”

  He studied his coffee cup, his slight hands wrapped around the warm ceramic. “I was still coaching the junior league, twelve- and thirteen-year-olds.”

  “I remember. You were talking about moving up with us to senior ball, but you decided to stay, right?”

  Coach nodded. “My daughter and Michelle were in the same class, and she had come to tryouts at Brittany’s encouragement. Michelle was a little reluctant because she had never played softball before. Several had come up from little league, so we coaches had already gotten a good look at most of the girls’ playing abilities.”

  I was familiar with Coach Vincent’s dedication to the sport and to excellence. He had an eye for talent.

  “I remember Michelle very well because she looked so scared, nervous, yet so intent on proving, as an unknown, what she could do.” He laughed, and his eyes glazed over with far-off thoughts. “I swear the first ball she swung at was still rising when it cleared the left center field fence.”

  Eating another bite of pie, he waved off the waitress from refilling his coffee. “Thanks, but I need to get going soon. I’ll take the check.”

  The waitress smiled, “Okay, Chief.”

  I knew I’d better hurry up or I was going to lose my opportunity.

  Coach Vincent added, “I was lucky enoug
h to be the all-star coach for both of her years in that league and Michelle was chosen every year. She played third base.”

  “So that’s how you knew Michelle?”

  “That, and Brittany became close friends with her,” he said, his brows knitting. “My daughter wasn’t really very skilled at the game, but she thought she was. At first, Brittany thought I was favoring Michelle over the other girls, which I suppose I was. I sensed she needed the extra attention.”

  “How so?” I asked, intercepting the check from the waitress and handing her a twenty.

  Coach’s light blond eyebrows buckled. He sipped his coffee before answering. “I can’t put my finger on it, really. All teenage girls are difficult. I’ve had three, Brittany being my oldest. But Michelle changed from the little girl I saw drive the ball out of the park when she was twelve. By the end of her second year, at thirteen, she was … troubled.”

  “Troubled? In what way?”

  “I’ve been around kids all my adult life, particularly around kids who come from challenging backgrounds, broken homes, abusive relatives. I went to college to pursue a counseling degree, focused on children, but I dropped out halfway through my junior year when my dad died. My family had a ranch east of town here. As the oldest son I had no time for luxuries like finishing college.” Coach Vincent smiled almost apologetically at me. “Sorry, I kind of got lost in my thoughts. Forgot for a minute that you were one of the kids I relied on to help with some of these at-risk kids. You’ve seen firsthand how troubled some of them were. You were one of the lucky ones. Amazing parents. Not the least bit troubled, but you understand.”

  I nodded. “I remember a few of them, how you helped them. Remember Rhonda? You used to bring her food and sneak it into her backpack when you thought none of us was looking.”

  The former coach blushed. “She needed to eat. Anyway, from what I learned and from what I’ve experienced, Michelle was troubled. I tried to study her home life from a distance to see if I could detect any abuse or molestation or something. Eventually, I got to know the whole family.”

  Coach Vincent’s suspicions that Michelle was troubled somehow lined up with the timing of Roy’s story about Michelle getting pregnant and with what Michelle confirmed to Jens.

  “Classic signs. Bright, energetic, full of life one minute, withdrawn, quiet, introverted the next. She was covered in so many emotional layers that it would take years and the best experts to peel away all those protective layers and get to the core of the problem.”

  “Were you successful?”

  “In peeling away the layers?”

  I nodded.

  “Only a little, I think. She wasn’t much for talking if others were around, yet she almost refused to be alone with me. Internal struggle there, too.”

  “When was that, Coach? That she changed?” I urged. I saw him glance at his watch. I would have to speed this up. “Look, my brother said she was raped when she was thirteen. Does that fit?”

  Coach squeezed his eyes shut. “It fits. That’s what I was afraid of. My guess about Michelle Freeburg was that someone molested her in some fashion, probably pretty significantly, but as I got to know the Freeburgs, I knew it wasn’t one of her family members.”

  “Jens said she got pregnant,” I added, watching as his body stiffened with the news.

  Coach Vincent dropped his head in his hands. “Oh, no. I didn’t know that. When?”

  “He said Michelle told him she was raped when she was thirteen, the guy continued his abuse for a year until she got pregnant. So that would have been when she was fourteen.”

  “But she played all seven years, twelve through eighteen, on my city league teams, Liv. I didn’t see her pregnant. Although, I have to admit, I didn’t see much of her or her family during the winter months. When did your brother say she got pregnant?”

  “I thought he said when she was fourteen, a freshman in high school,” I answered. Remembering what Roy Barker had told me, I added, “Probably got pregnant by my guess sometime in late May or early June. Likely had a late-term abortion sometime between November and January or carried the baby full term to February sometime.”

  “When she was fourteen, you say?”

  I nodded.

  “I just don’t remember her being pregnant then. Let me see. Was that the year before Charlene was born?”

  “Same year, by my calculations,” I answered, not filling in the blanks with my assumptions.

  His eyes widened. He stared at me, reaching the same conclusion I had.

  “Holy manhole! What a coincidence.”

  “Isn’t it?” I raised my eyebrows and sipped on my soda, letting him do the math and his own speculation. “Would she have had an abortion?”

  Coach shook his head. “No way. Not Michelle. She was adamantly against abortion. Loved life. Chose life. She helped me counsel kids from time to time to help them get through suicidal thoughts. She was amazingly strong, Liv.”

  “My brother said that Michelle told him the pregnancy was a false alarm. He also thought she was lying about that. And she told him that it emboldened her to stand up to the guy. What people think they might do in certain circumstances is not always the same as when they are actually tested.”

  He shook his head. “So, so sad. My memory tells me she was helping other girls even when she was on the junior league team, twelve- to thirteen-year-olds. She must have been doing that while dealing with some very scary personal issues.” He rubbed his eyebrows, deep in thought.

  “Do you remember seeing Mrs. Freeburg pregnant?” I prodded.

  His crimson face told it all. “I’m not so good recognizing whether a woman is pregnant or just a bit plump.”

  Arlene Freeburg is as wide as she is tall. I understood his embarrassment and his inability to decipher the difference if she looked anything fifteen years ago like the way she does now.

  He suddenly added, “Have you met the Freeburgs?”

  “Not exactly. Why?”

  “Well, if you had, you’d understand when I describe them as … well, let’s just say I’m not quite sure where Michelle’s brains and ambition came from.”

  “Jens mentioned that Arlene and Frank were somewhat brain dead.”

  “Not the sharpest knives in the drawer. But also, not the most in tune with reality, either,” Coach said. “Arlene works hard at appearing lovely. And Frank, well … Frank is Frank. They both loved their kids dearly in their own way. But neither one was equipped to deal with Michelle’s issues, if you understand what I’m saying.”

  He glanced at his watch again. “I need to leave in about five minutes, Liv. But let me ask you this: Did Michelle ever tell your brother who did this to her?”

  Deep concern etched his face. And it gave me pause; was he afraid that his name had been mentioned?

  I shook my head. “I was hoping you would know. She told Jens it was an authority figure. Someone everyone probably knew. Wouldn’t tell my brother because she said he knew the guy and was afraid of what Jens would do to him. She swore it wasn’t her father or brothers, though, just like you said.”

  Coach Vincent let out a long breath.

  He cradled his head in his hands. He had a sunken, lost look in his eyes. For the first time, I thought his pain of losing Michelle was genuine.

  “I could have helped her work through that fear.”

  “How could you have known?” I comforted him. “The last thing she said Sunday night to Jens was that she had to ‘end this, once and for all.’ What do you think she might have meant by that?”

  He straightened in his chair and cleared his throat. “Strikes me that she was finally ready to face her demon,” he replied without pause. “What little I knew about her then, she was extremely responsible, bright, ambitious. At thirteen, I suspect she probably thought the grown-up way to handle her situation was to keep quiet, forget about it. Shove all those feelings down deep. Maybe too traumatized by the whole event, she blocked out the entire moment from her mind as if
it never happened. Until she was ready to face that demon.”

  “Until Sunday,” I concluded.

  Coach Vincent rubbed his eyes, and when he opened them, his age was more apparent than ever. “My wife fusses at me all the time, Liv, because I tend to ‘adopt’ kids like Michelle all over town, like they were stray animals needing shelter. I adopted Michelle. She needed my help. And I failed her.”

  “It sounds to me like Michelle relied on you when she couldn’t rely on her parents,” I said with a smile. “I wouldn’t call that failing her.”

  He smiled softly. “Well, I felt so damned inadequate as protection. Whatever the storm was, it seemed to have had hurricane force.”

  “You were a cop. You were around. She was safe when you were around. The person who traumatized her was still around her, though,” I concluded.

  Coach Vincent stared at me, his forehead wrinkling slightly with his thoughts. “Are you a budding psychologist?” Now it was my turn to blush. He touched my hand. “Among all your other talents, that might be one of your strongest. And by the way, your brother made Michelle the happiest she’d been in a very long time.”

  “Thank you for saying that. I will definitely share that with Jens. He needs the assurance. Tell me, do you think Michelle could be vindictive? Facing her demon by punishing whoever did this to her? Was that what she meant Sunday night by ending this once and for all?”

  “No, never,” he said, shaking his head adamantly. “She wasn’t like that.”

  “And what about Charlene? Why would she go missing?”

  “Oh, that’s Char,” he said, batting the air like the idea was crazy. “She’s very melodramatic. Does this all the time. Disappears for a few days just to make everyone worry, then shows up after hiding at a friend’s house.”

  “But Michelle is dead. You’re not worried that Char might be dead, too?” I asked, finding this belief universal with those who knew the allegedly rebellious teenager.

  “Have you ever met Char?”

  I shook my head.

  The former coach opened his wallet and fished for a picture. “I brought this for the agents. She would have you believe she’s a wild child, but despite her facade, which she has carefully crafted to annoy, she is just a child inside. She wants to give the world the impression she is an invincible, sexual woman rather than the awkward, innocent fourteen-year-old she actually is.”