Humphrey set his lips in a hard line. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, we do. Simmons told us you asked him to make the bet for you. McGill came to him to collect; he had to tell him you owed him for the loss. McGill demanded you pay up. He had to go.”
Humphrey’s expression was blank.
Lenora went on, “We get why McGill had to die. But why kill Cooper?”
Humphrey found the fake smile again. “You said it. Why would I kill Cooper? My star. He was the team. That would be suicidal.”
Humphrey glanced at Ahern again. Got back a look of disgust.
“There’s a .22 registered to you. Maybe you’ll tell us where you stashed it.”
Humphrey stared at her. “I’m not going anywhere. You can’t prove squat, and I’ve got friends way above your pay grade, honey. When this is over, you’ll be lucky to be working a parade.”
“Did you hear that, Ahern?” Lenora asked. “Was that a threat?”
Ahern spoke for the first time, “I heard it. We need you to come with us. Coach.”
Ahern stepped toward Humphrey.
Humphrey sprang from the chair, reached beneath his jacket and pulled a gun. “Don’t think I’ll be doing that.”
“First a threat, now pulling a weapon on police officers. Big, big mistakes,” Lenora said.
Humphrey’s eyes were hard. “Coop just needed to help me out one time. One freaking time! He owed me after all I did for him. Cleaning up his messes. Keeping his crap out of the media. Calling in favors with my police buddies. But he wouldn’t do it. Said that hustler was like family.”
“You really should think about what you’re doing,” Lenora said.
“What I think is I’m walking out of here.”
Humphrey backed up to the door, reached behind to open it and backed out.
Right into the waiting patrol team.
“Those are the details,” Miller told the press called to headquarters for the late night briefing.
“Just to make sure I’ve got this right,” a reporter said. “Coach Humphrey killed Coop because he wouldn’t throw the game. Then he killed this McGill character when he demanded he pay a gambling debt.”
“Tragic,” Miller said.
What was tragic, Lenora thought as she and Ahern watched the briefing from the back of the room, was Miller, the brass and the mayor burying Cooper’s abusive behavior and his gambling scheme with McGill.
No one would know the truth about him.
That stunk.
Left Lenora wondering if trading in St. Louis PD for this was a mistake. Maybe it was time to rethink why she was even doing this job.
She slipped from the room, intending to head for the detective area.
“Lenora,” Ahern called, following her out.
Lenora was a bit startled. He’d actually used her first name.
“I want to apologize for—”
She held up her hand. “Already forgotten, Jack. Going to the game tomorrow?”
Ahern shook his head. “Couldn’t stand it.”
The Titans, under their assistant coach, won the final playoff game in a blow-out dedicated to only one of its fallen idols.
Oscar Robertson
Brenda Robertson Stewart
Considered one of the greatest guards in NBA history, Oscar Robertson was born in Tennessee, but grew up in Indianapolis. He led Crispus Attucks High School to the state basketball championship in 1955. This was the first time an all African-American team had won a state championship. They won the title again the following season.
After high school, Robertson went to the University of Cincinnati where he was named the All-Star MVP and Rookie of the Year. He averaged well over 30 points a game for three seasons. Robertson teamed up with rival Jerry West to co-captain the 1960 Olympic team where they led the squad to a gold medal.
The Cincinnati Royals chose Robertson in the NBA draft in 1960. Other than Jerry West with the Los Angeles Lakers, no guard could match his play. Robertson became active in the player’s union and eventually headed up the organization for several years working to bring player free agency to the league.
During his last few seasons, relations between Robertson and the franchise became strained and in 1970, he was dealt to the Milwaukee Bucks anchored by center Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. In 1971, the Bucks won the national championship. The Big O, as he was known, retired in 1974 as one of the basketball greats.
Oscar Robertson was inducted into the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame in 1980 and in 2006, was inducted into the National College Basketball Hall of Fame. He was voted one of the 50 Greatest Players in NBA History.
ONE GOOD SHOT
S. M. Harding
Former sheriff Micah Barrow had just adjusted his long legs on his recliner, beer at hand, when the phone rang. “Dang it, can’t a man watch a game on the television without some dangburn emergency?”
For once, he decided they could wait, at least until the first commercial break. After all, it wasn’t often IU played on national TV in a run for the NCAA Tournament. Leastways, not since the Sampson debacle and Crean’s having to start from scratch.
He flicked the game on with anticipation of play action. Pre-game commentary. “Pundits in politics, now I gotta listen to pundits in basketball.” He hit mute.
Basketball had always been his game; he’d been tall, agile, with a damn fine eye. He remembered how the ball rolled off his fingers when the shot was just right: swish! Such a sweet moment. He’d had a wicked hook shot. Not that it would mean anything today; it was all three-pointers and slam dunks.
The phone rang again. He shoved the footrest down and walked over to the phone. “Yep.”
“Sorry to disturb you at home, but I got a problem.”
“Dog? You gotta drunk or a robbery or any other felony occurrence, call the sheriff.”
“Askin’ for your help, Micah. Got a drinker here I think is buildin’ up courage.”
“To do what?”
“Nothin’ good. Can you come down, talk to him?”
“Dog, the game’s about to start, Sarah’s at work, got the house all to myself so I can cuss anytime I need to.”
“It’s Darby Mueller.”
“Hell. OK, give me a half-hour.”
As Micah drove to the Dog Pound, a biker bar turned respectable watering hole, he thought about Darby Mueller. People remembered Keith Smart because he sank the last-second shot against Syracuse that won the ‘87 NCAA Championship. Few remembered Darby who’d made the shot that beat LSU in the Regional. He was heading for the pros, sitting on top of the world. Until he wrapped his new Harley around a tree doing ninety. Then he became an ex-jock with a limp.
Micah pulled his truck in back of the dusty cinder block building. The only light came from the neon sign on the top of the bar. The buzz from the sign made a peculiar harmony to the exhaust fan.
He walked into the bar and spotted Dog pulling a draft beer. “Don’t you look purty,” Micah said. “Used to look like a walkin’ bush. What’s the occasion?”
“My youngest daughter’s wedding,” Dog said, rubbing his neatly trimmed beard. “What a man don’t do for a daughter.”
“Don’t have to tell me.” Micah pushed his cap back. “So where’s Darby?”
“Snuck out. Thought he was goin’ to the gents. Must’ve gone out the back. Stiffed me. Never done that before.”
“I come all the way down here an’ Darby ain’t here? You ever hear of a phone? Oh, yeah, must’ve cause you called me to come all the way down here even though the IU game was startin’.”
“You just missed him, not more ‘n five minutes.”
“Don’t matter how much time, Dog. I ain’t chasin’ after him.”
Dog served two guys sitting at the end of the bar. When he came back, he said, “Don’t mean to piss you off, but I know he’s steerin’ for trouble and I thought you could head him off.”
“What’d he do that spooked you?”<
br />
“Normal times, he comes in, has a beer or two with the guys an’ that’s it. Tonight, he orders a shot of bourbon, straight up.”
“Man can’t change his drink of choice without you callin’ the unofficial constabulary?”
“Tonight, he comes in, don’t talk to nobody. Sits in the back lookin’ real broody.”
“He say anything?”
“Talkin’ to hisself more’n me. Somethin’ ‘bout in over his head.” Dog shook his head. “Hard to remember, just mutterin’.”
“Anything else?”
“Something ‘bout the draft.”
“Beer?”
“You got lint in your ears, Micah? The draft: NBA.”
“His draft was a long time ago and ended up wrapped around a tree.”
Dog threw the bar rag into sudsy water. “All I can give you is what my gut tells me. Don’t think he’s gonna drive into the biggest tree he can find. Think he left here on a mission.”
Micah nodded, swiveled around on his stool, and got out his phone. “Sarah, I was wonderin’ if you could put a BOLO out on Darby Mueller. Think he drives a older model Bronco, don’t know the license.”
There was a long pause. “Is this official county business, Dad?”
“Course. Wouldn’t ask you for a personal favor—just like you wouldn’t’ve asked me when I was sheriff.”
“Official cause?”
“Um, suspicion of driving while intoxicated. If you spot him, call me. On my cell.”
“Where are you?”
“Watchin’ the game.” He switched the phone off. “Now make an honest man of me, Dog, an’ turn up the volume.”
The call didn’t come until late in the third quarter. He punched the phone on. “Reserve Deputy Barrow.”
“We found your man, Dad.”
A roar went up from the customers.
“Where are you?”
“Uh, watchin’ with friends. Game’s tied 68 to 68.” He walked toward the back door. “So where’s Darby?”
“Heading to the hospital. In an ambulance. Deputy Carter spotted his truck in a ditch.”
“Ah, hell.”
“Since this is official business that you initiated, you’ll follow up?”
“Soon as the game’s over.”
“Dad.”
“They’re all tied up at 68, Sarah Anne.”
“Uh, actually they’re three points down now. We need a deputy at the hospital to follow up. Now. A reserve deputy will do just fine.”
Micah moaned. “Yes, ma’am. Reckon it don’t matter an old man might not have too many good games to watch in his future.”
“Call me from the hospital.”
As Micah drove back to Greenglen, he tried to pick up the game on the radio, but the radio was as old as the truck and kept fading out. “… he sets at the top of the key and shoots … sure can pull down the boards … IU ends the quarter …” Micah banged his fist on the radio and it settled into static. He let loose a string of cuss words he hadn’t used since 1962.
He pulled into the no parking zone by the ER doors and stomped up to the nurses’ station. “Darby Mueller.”
“And good evening to you, too, Micah Barrow,” said a nurse without looking up from a chart.
“I apologize, Zinnia,” Micah said. “All I thought I’d be doin’ tonight is watchin’ the game an’ circumstances is conspirin’ to defeat that peaceful intention.”
She looked up and grinned. “Room four—but don’t expect much. He got a real whack on his head.”
“‘Whack’—that some new medical-speak?”
“Shorthand for a concussion. Attending ordered a scan but we’ve been waiting for him to stabilize. Internal injuries, too.”
“Can I see the possessions he came in with?”
“Came in with a wallet, change in a pocket, pack of cigarettes and a Bic lighter.”
“How much cash?”
She looked at a list. “Forty-four bucks. Oh, and Deputy Carter called about five minutes ago—he’s cleared the crash scene and is on his way over. Maybe he found something else in the vehicle.”
“What the devil am I doin’ here if he’s on his way?”
“Missing the game, I’d say.”
“Pah!” He pushed his ballcap back on his head. “OK if I visit with Darby?”
She nodded. “Won’t do any good though.”
Micah walked down the hall, saw Darby lying in bed, attached to all sorts of machines. He entered quietly, remained standing by the door. Was one shot of whiskey enough to put Darby’s truck in a ditch?
“Dammit…”
Micah looked toward the bed, saw a bandaged head with one eye swollen shut. “Take it easy, Darby.”
“Gotta protect him…”
“Who? Who you talkin’ ‘bout?”
“Toe…” Darby’s good eye closed.
Micah took a seat by the bed, hoping Darby would come to again. What the hell did “toe” mean? He couldn’t feel them? Or toes were causing pain?
Ten minutes of monitors beeping and Darby’s senseless muttering and Micah looked up to see a deputy at the door. He rose and stepped into the corridor. “Deputy.”
“Carter, sir. I doubt if you remember me.”
Micah squinted. “‘Bout fifteen years ago. I was sheriff and as I remember, you were a little squirt.”
Carter nodded. “My brother was killed by a drunk driver. You came to the funeral, took me aside after it was over. As I remember it, you listened to me for a long time.”
“Hope I said somethin’ that made it a tad easier.”
“Yes, sir, you did. That’s why I wanted to be a cop.”
“Well.” Micah took his cap off, rubbed a gnarled hand through his short hair. “Uh, how’d you find Darby?”
“Got the BOLO, thought I’d best keep my eyes on the sides of the road. Intoxicated, you know?”
“So what happened?”
“Not really sure. He braked almost three hundred feet before he went off the road. The marks were real heavy, like he was standing on the brakes all the way.”
Micah rubbed the back of his neck. “If his brakes was workin’ good enough to lay rubber, why didn’t he stop?”
“After the ambulance came, I took a good look at his truck.” Carter began to pull up photos on his camera. “These are the skid marks—but they don’t look like a skid to me. And look at the rear-end damage on the truck. It went hood-first into the ditch.”
Micah put on his glasses, peered at a photo, then another closer shot. “You think he was pushed off the road?”
“Uh, I called the Fatal Accident Crash Team and their initial reaction was something like that. Thought I better see how Mueller is. He going to make it?”
“Got bashed round pretty good, but Zinnia didn’t sound like he was on the edge. He’s been talkin’ a bit.”
“Did he tell you who ran him off the road?”
Micah shook his head. “Too worried ‘bout somebody else.”
“Who?”
“Wish I knew.” Micah took off his glasses, shoved them in the pocket of his shirt. “You goin’ to stay here with Darby?”
“Of course, sir.”
“I’m goin’ to the station, so I’ll clear it with Sar…the sheriff. An’ send them photos in.” He put his hand on Carter’s shoulder. “You done a good job.”
When Micah walked into the station, his scowl deepened as he saw all the smiling faces. “Good game?”
The Chief Deputy beamed. “Best end to a game since Watford’s buzzer-beater against Kentucky in 2011. Real soft three-pointer just floated toward the hoop.”
“We win?”
“Oh, yeah,” Caleb said. “Tournament, here we come.”
Micah sighed, tried to convince himself that IU basketball was ephemera.
“Miss the whole game, Dad?” Sarah asked, walking out of her office.
“Radio in the truck died.”
“Or was killed?”
He snorted.
“You wanna rub it in or hear ‘bout Darby Mueller?”
They walked into her office and Micah reported the events of the evening. “Thing is, he took a real poundin’ in that crash but he’s worried ‘bout somebody else. Somebody’s who’s in trouble.”
Sarah drummed her pencil on the desk. “He was on disability a couple of years – until he went back and finished his degree. Worked for Teddy Boehm’s Insurance a couple of years, then moved up to Indy.”
“Come home when his momma got sick, three, four years ago. Does some coachin’ at the high school, don’t he?”
She nodded. “What are you thinking?”
“Just wonderin’ if one of the kids he coaches is in trouble.”
“Current team is clean as a whistle. No trouble from them.”
“Guess I should get back to the hospital, see if Darby can fill in the who and what.”
“Go home, Dad. Darby’s in surgery. He won’t be able to tell us anything until tomorrow.”
“You got somebody guardin’ him?”
“Deputy Carter’s gone home to grab a couple of hours sleep— but he’ll be there when Darby’s back in a room.”
Micah nodded.
“Dad, there’s nothing we can do tonight.”
“Just got a feelin’ we’re playin’ against the clock. Darby was on the way to somewhere to act. Tonight.”
When Micah got home, he went to the study and his computer. He pulled up Greenglen High School, worked his way back four years when Darby Mueller was an assistant coach, and wrote down the team members. Only a guess, but if Darby was heading out to act tonight, he had to be going somewhere close-by. Micah went to the IU basketball page and checked against his list. Two kids, one who played rarely and then a sophomore point guard who was getting a lot of floor time. Toby Mueller. Toe?
He got a well-thumbed address book from the drawer and dialed. “Is Chief Lykins on campus? Can I talk with him, please? Micah Barrow callin’.”
Micah got up and began to pace. Jumpin’ to conclusions, he thought. Woulda skinned a deputy for that in the old days. But it was the only course of action. Wouldn’t cost the sheriff’s department anything. Wouldn’t hurt the investigation. So why was he uncertain? “Cause I shoulda told Sarah what I had in mind to do.”
Hoosier Hoops and Hijinks Page 18