Lethal Play

by Loretta Giacoletto

  “Amen. Peer pressure invites vulnerability. Crime against the vulnerable invites retribution. Retribution invites violence, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.”

  “Assuming this kid’s story checks out, are you surprised about Rex M?”

  “Not really, I had this gut feeling but didn’t want to open Pandora’s Box.”

  “Well, the evil spirits are now released and there’s no turning back,” Winchester said. “Quinella just sent Parker and his dad into the hall; any reason to hold them?”

  “None that crosses my mind because at this point, all I can think about is the incredible whiz I intend to take within the next two minutes. As far my recent appetite, it just got flushed down the toilet.” Reardan walked to the door, stopped before opening it. “If fact, I feel an overwhelming need to regurgitate, hopefully before Quinella tackles her next interview. She probably needs a break too.”

  “Get real. Pandora can’t wait. Already she’s inviting the Stilworths into her chamber. ”

  “In that case I’ll be back in five.”

  Winchester’s thoughts returned to the previous night. Quinella had pumped him for information on the Meredith case, especially anything pertaining to the players. They’d spent hours reviewing the files she brought, plus jarring his memory for the slightest tidbit, no matter how insignificant. After they finished at two in the morning, he pumped her for another hour. The two-year separation hadn’t diminished their appetites, the all-you-can-eat dessert buffet of his chocolate covering her caramel.

  “So, Guy, where are we?” he heard Reardan ask.

  “Just getting warmed up,” he said. “You’re looking at Papa Bear Max. He’s already apologized for Mama Bear staying at home because their six-year boy is running a high fever. There are two other kids between Zach and little Bart, both girls—Amanda and Clarice.”

  “Good lord, Clarice?”

  “A surprise comeback, I’m guessing since that Hannibal Lector movie. Anyway, back to Papa Bear, he’s already showed Quinella pictures of the whole clan.”

  “Damn, I hate this part of my job.”

  “Hey, don’t twist your bowels into knots, at least not yet,” Winchester said. “We know zilch about Zach.”

  “For starters, he pals around with Bills, as in Oliver Billings. They both dropped Pegasi last fall for no apparent reason. Need I say more?”

  “Okay, so maybe he does know something. Listen up, Quinella finally reiterated her gag order to Papa Bear. He’s nodding, apologizing again. She’s about to weave her web.”

  “Shut up, Guy. I’m neither blind nor deaf.”

  Quinella played it ever so cool. “So, Zach, I can’t help but wonder why you chose not to play for Pegasi this year. I understand you were a definite asset to the team.”

  “Who told you that?” he said with a crooked smile.

  “How quickly you forget, Rule Number One: I ask the questions. So, let’s start over. Why didn’t you return to the team?”

  Zach sighed, gave some thought to his answer. “Coach said I wasn’t college material so I figured, why waste another year.”

  “Zach played since he was five … sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Not another word, Mr. Stilworth. Now where was I?” Her nails started out like corn popping in a microwave and soon ended with a single tap. “Ah-h, success, I finally located that floater in my brainwave. As I was about to say: not every player gets a scholarship, Zach. Soccer’s supposed to be about having fun.”

  “Well, after a while it stopped being fun,” Zach said. “My grades bombed. I needed the time to study.”

  “Any regrets?”

  “I miss the competition, the excitement of winning. We hardly ever lost.”

  “What about Coach Meredith, do you miss him?”

  “He’s dead, Ms. Armstrong. Nothing I do or say will ever change that.”

  “But you did like him?”

  Zach shrugged. “He was okay.”

  Quinella checked her notes. “Oliver Billings, another player who decided not to return this season.” She raised her brow.

  Zach met her gaze. “I’m sorry, what was the question?”

  “I haven’t asked it yet. Why did Oliver leave the team?”

  “You’ll have to ask him.”

  “He said because his father was sick.”

  “That’s not a lie, Mr. Billings has cancer but I hear he’s getting better.”

  “An odd choice of words, I mean ‘not a lie’ instead of ‘the truth’. So, you and Oliver bum around together.”

  “Sometimes but not twenty-four seven, we’re not joined at the hip.”

  “What about Tuesday, February 26, the night Coach Meredith died?”

  “Tuesday is a school night. I’m usually at home studying.”

  “But you can’t say for sure.”

  Papa Bear raised his hand.

  “Yes, Mr. Stilworth?”

  “I can vouch for Zach being home on February 26. It was the day Bart turned six. We celebrated with cake and ice cream.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Stilworth. So, Zach, what time do you usually go to bed?”

  “It depends. Sometimes I hang out on the computer.”

  “And that night, I mean when Coach Meredith died?”

  “I honestly don’t remember.”

  “But if you weren’t on the computer, you would’ve been in bed, or in the process of getting there.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  This from behind the window: “Get to the point, Quinella.”

  “Take five, Guy.”

  “You’re right, I’m out of here.”

  Winchester left and when he returned, Quinella was still hammering away, trying to catch Zach in a slip-up.

  “Let’s revisit White Castle,” she said, “not the evening of Coach Meredith’s demise, but the afternoon before.”

  “That I remember because Park broke his nose.”

  “And how did he break it?”

  “Uh-h, he ran into a door?”

  She looked at her watch and yawned.

  “I guess you heard about Bills,” Zach said.

  Quinella nodded. “It must’ve been tough, Oliver finding out his friends already knew.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ms. Armstrong.”

  “I think you do. Oliver either told you, or you knew from your own experience.”

  Papa Bear straightened up. His head didn’t move but his eyes did, from Quinella to Zach and back to Quinella. “What the hell is going on here?”

  “Do you want to tell your father or should I?”

  “There’s nothing to tell except Bills went bonkers. He punched Park and broke his nose, why, I don’t know.”

  “But, Zach, Oliver must’ve had a reason.”

  “I’m not a mind reader, Ms. Armstrong. Like I said, he lost his cool. One minute Park and Bills were joking and the next—bam. Just like that, blood everywhere. Jeez, it’s not like Bills killed the guy.”

  “Are we still talking about Parker?”

  “Well, yeah. And that’s all I got to say. Dad, can we go home now?”

  “Does my son need a lawyer?”

  “You have every right to request one, Mr. Stilworth.”

  Reardan slapped his hand on the desk. “Damn, another five minutes and Zach would’ve given her all she wanted.”

  “We still have time this evening, if the lawyer shows up.”

  “In your dreams, Stilworth’s not the type to have a lawyer at his beckoned call. But on the plus side, we still got our boy Oliver waiting for his encore.”

  *****

  Quinella wasn’t smiling when she ushered Zach and Max Stilworth into the conference room. Nor was Oliver, sitting at one end of the table with his mother and the lawyer.

  “Bills, what’s up?” Zach asked.

  “Not much. The pizza’s cold.”

  “Okay, Billings group.” Quinella clapped her hands. “I’m ready to continue our discussion.”<
br />
  “Bills?” Zach asked, his face saying so much more.

  “Later,” Quinella countered, her single word cutting him off. “Now if Oliver, Mrs. Billings, and Mr. Yates would please follow me.”

  Back in the interview room, Quinella told everyone to take their same seats and in the adjacent room, Winchester and Reardan resumed their behind-the-window positions. Winchester yawned, stretched his arms. “You think Oliver knows he’s in the hot seat?”

  “I doubt it. Quinella kept him separated from Zach and Parker,” Reardan said. “Any pizza left?”

  “None worth eating,” Winchester said, “unless you don’t mind chewing on shoe leather.”

  “Is it any worse than cardboard?”

  “Not if you’re Charlie Chaplin’s Little Tramp. Now shut up. Quinella’s back at White Castle.”

  “I could use a belly bomber or six,” Reardan said as he leaned forward.

  “Now, Oliver, about Parker Eliot’s nose,” Quinella said from the other side. “I’m still somewhat confused. According to you, he bumped it on the table, Parker said he ran into a door, and Zach said—”

  “What’s the big deal about Park’s nose? I popped him, so there. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Oliver! You know better.”

  “Sorry, Mom, he had it coming.”

  “Please, Mama.” Quinella held up her forefinger. “Now Oliver, in order to break Parker’s nose, you must’ve punched him really hard. What provoked the attack, a nasty remark?”

  “Whatever it was, he had it coming.”

  “Cut the bullshit, Oliver.”

  “Okay, Park said something about my dad being sick.”

  “No-o, I don’t think so. That’s not what Parker told me.”

  “And you believe him instead of my client,” Yates said.

  Quinella ignored the remark, kept her focus on Oliver. “Parker said he made a crack about you and Coach Meredith, one so vile it put you in an embarrassing position. Care to elaborate?”

  The color drained from Oliver’s face. He jumped up, knocked his chair backwards, and grabbed the edge of the table. “Park lied. There wasn’t any shit going on between Coach and me.”

  “Maybe a threesome: you and Coach and Zach.”

  “Oh my god!” Mrs. Billings said through a moan.

  “That’s sick!” Oliver said. “You and them, you’re all a bunch of damn sickos.”

  “Sit down, Oliver.”

  He leaned toward the window and shot a wad of spit on it.

  “Oliver! Lamar, do something. Make her shut up.”

  Yates turned the chair upright, pushed it behind Oliver’s knees, forcing him to sit down.

  “Way to go, Quinella,” Winchester said from the other side. He and Reardan watched Oliver’s saliva creep down the window.

  “Did Coach grow tired of the game?” Quinella asked. “Tell you and Zach to get lost?”

  “Hell no, it was the other way around. Zach and I told Coach we were through. He cried like a baby.”

  “When you first told him or the night you killed him.”

  “We didn’t kill him, Ms. Armstrong.”

  “What about Matt Canelli?”

  “Matt’s got his own problems.”

  “Oliver, Oliver. Why didn’t you tell me, or your father? One of us would’ve have saved you from the filthy bastard.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” Oliver choked back tears. “Please don’t hate me.”

  “I could never hate you. Lamar, for the love of god, do something. Now!”

  Yates pushed his chair back and stood up. “We’re through for now, Ms. Armstrong. Evidently, there has been a terrible crime committed but not by my client. Unless you have some concrete evidence involving Oliver in that sexual deviant’s death, I suggest you release him immediately.”

  “What do you think?” Winchester whispered to Reardan.

  “I say we send Oliver home, but with the understanding he returns tomorrow afternoon. The same goes for Zach Stilworth. Bring them in at the same time but we’ll start out with separate interviews.”

  “Anybody else: Ian Shepherd, Matt Canelli, Ted Logan—he’s out of the hospital.”

  “Forget Ian, Matt, we’ll see … no, bring him in too, same time as Zach and Oliver. As for Ted, have Quinella set up a home visit for tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock okay with you?”

  “Ten o’clock couldn’t be better,” Winchester said, plenty of time for him and Quinella to review a few more techniques.

  CHAPTER 30

  The next morning after her usual shower, Francesca stood naked in front of the mirror. She traced her fingers over the full breasts, the slight rise of her belly. The pregnancy test she’d taken earlier indicated a positive reading. If this pregnancy was anything like the other two, she’d be showing in another six weeks. If it’s a boy, she would call him Ben. A girl … for sure it wouldn’t be Francesca, or Pierina—Perri’s real name. Maybe Ria could help her pick a name. Boy or girl, she would love this baby, Ben’s baby. And this baby would be Ben’s, even if she had to induce early labor to make the birth coincide with its gestational period.

  Later, Francesca was waiting at the front door when Vince pulled into the driveway with Matt. She waited another minute or so until they stepped from the Lexus, opened its rear door, and collected Matt’s belongings before meeting them on the sidewalk. Her first kiss went to Vince who was wearing a different though equally pleasing cologne. As for Matt, he received the full treatment, an unabashed flood of hugs and kisses worthy of a prodigal son returning.

  “Welcome home, Matt. I promise to be a better mom.”

  “You’re still number one, Mom,” he whispered. “I’m sorry for being such a number two shithead.”

  He didn’t fool Francesca. Right words, but wrong tone—too hollow, telling her what she wanted to hear. She’d deal with it later, maybe never. She turned to Vince. “Perri’s making Belgian waffles, enough to feed an entire soccer team. You’ll stay, won’t you?”

  He smiled, confirming one of many common bonds they shared. “That depends on your mother’s mood of the day.”

  “Actually, it’s quite good, more like terrific. She’s agreed to inspect more condos but Ria has been bugging me to take her lunch and a movie. Any chance you could help out?”

  “What movie?”

  “No, silly, with Perri?”

  This time he laughed. “Whatever you say, but forget about the condo. I’d rather convince her to move in with me.”

  “She’s an old-fashioned girl, Vince.”

  “And I’m an old-fashioned guy. I meant moving in with a wedding ring on her finger.”

  “Well, good luck and sweet dreams.”

  “A few I’ve already had.”

  Matt dropped his things in the hall followed Francesca and Vince into the kitchen where Ria greeted them with a broad grin. “Perri, look who’s here,” she called out while putting pitchers of warm syrup and melted butter on the table.

  “Not now, dear, this wicked contraption is threatening to explode the last of my Belgians.”

  Vince walked up behind her, kissed the back of her neck.

  “You!” she said with a giggle.

  “Who else but. Can I go house hunting with you today?”

  “If you insist but I don’t want to hear any complaining about arthritic knees.”

  The phone rang and Ria hurried to answer it. “For you, Mom.” She mouthed her next words. “The po-lice.”

  Francesca held the receiver to her ear, heard the dreaded voice of Quinella Armstrong, and nodded, all the while watching the expression on Matt’s face turn sour. “Yes, we’ll be there at one o’clock. I’ll call our attorney right away.”

  She ended the call and sank into a chair.

  “Chance of plans,” Vince said. “I’m going with Francesca and Matt.”

  “No, no. You’ve done enough already.”

  “Mom’s right,” Matt said. “We can
manage, especially with good ol’ Freddie.”

  Freddie? Was that Matt’s take on the lawyer? “Ria, sweetie …”

  “It’s okay, Mom, we’ll do our thing some other time.”

  “Not a problem,” Perri said. “Ria can go with Vince and me.”

  “Condo shopping? No way, I’ll stay home by myself.”

  “Not a chance, sweetie. This morning belongs to you and me,” Francesca said although she didn’t mean it. Her every thought belonged to Matt and would until this mess was resolved. “We’ll catch up with Vince and Perri at noon. You can eat lunch with them.”

  “At an old folk’s all-you-can-eat buffet, you have got to be kidding. I’d rather lick glue off envelope flaps.”

  “Old folks, please, even I don’t stoop that low. How about the lobster place you used to love.”

  “Still do. Thanks, Perri, you’re the greatest.” Ria planted a kiss on her touch-of-rouge cheek. “And instead of a movie, maybe we could get my ears pierced.”

  “Good lord, no,” Perri said. “I can’t handle someone else’s cosmetic mutilation.”

  “Huh? It’s just two little holes in my ears.”

  “Pay no attention to Perri,” Francesca said. “I’ll take you.”

  “This morning, before lunch?”

  “This morning.” Maybe the diversion would do her good.

  “Yippee! That means we can still catch the matinee, Perri.”

  Francesca went upstairs and dug through her purse for Fred Montgomery’s business card. She made the phone call with a voice oozing regrets.

  Fred couldn’t have been nicer. In fact he seemed rather pleased. “Hey, Francesca, you don’t have to apologize. I’m a defense attorney and pardon my boasting, a damn good one. Evenings, weekends, whatever, I’m always on call for important clients. I’ll see you and Matt at one o’clock, sharp, and without the long faces. As I said before, with me as your lawyer the two of you don’t have a thing to worry about.”

  Not after the retainer Vince must’ve worked out with him, Francesca thought as she hung up. Dear Vince, whatever had she done to deserve such unswerving loyalty.

  *****

  Shortly after the mall opened Francesca and Ria were the first customers in a shop called Forever. Ria sat with her back rigid and feet dangling from the high stool as a young clerk with five tiny hoops around her ears rubbed alcohol on Ria’s virgin lobes. Ria closed her eyes, held one hand in Francesca’s direction, and wiggled her fingers. “Squeeze, please.”