“Let’s get this over with,” Matt said because he needed to give the whole fucking scene a rest. “I’ve got a pile of homework due on Monday.”
“Sure thing,” Freddie said. He stirred his mom through the door as if she wasn’t capable of making it on her own. Making out, she could.
As soon as they entered the precinct anteroom, who was there to greet them but Queenie, all honey and down-home corn pone that didn’t fool Matt for one minute.
“You want to grab some sodies before we get started,” she said, handing him a bucket half-filled with ice. “Down the hall, conference room on your left.”
Did he look like her gofer? You bet; whatever it took to keep Queenie happy. He walked into the conference room and there sat Bills and Zach around the table with their parents and two suits who must’ve been the lawyers. No surprises here. He’d already talked to Bills and Zach, and everyone agreed whatever he would say couldn’t help or hurt either them or Logan. Matt gave a community nod, took half a dozen sodas from a side table, and scooted his ass out the door.
When he got to the interview room, Queenie had already positioned herself in the head honcho’s seat, as if there was any doubt as to where she’d be sitting. Mom and the dinosaur had taken their positions—this was getting to be old stuff and he just wanted it over. No one seemed interested in the soda so Matt made the first move. He popped a Mountain Dew, sat down, and looked into the window while Queenie went through her preliminary routine. He considered mouthing a shitty hello to the detectives behind the two-way, or maybe giving them the bird, but decided to restrain himself. One: he didn’t need enemies and two: he didn’t need to embarrass himself or his mom. Poor thing, she’d already embarrassed herself to the max. And he’d already forgiven her although it would take an eternity to forget what she’d done in the name of motherly love. The thought of her with sleaze ball Rex—ugh.
“Yoo-hoo, Matt,” he heard Queenie say. “Are you with us?”
He snapped his head to attention but didn’t salute her. “Yes, Ms. Armstrong.”
“Good, ‘cause I have a busy afternoon ahead of me. So, let’s cut right to the heart of our meeting: Tuesday, February 26, the night Coach Meredith died. After the game, where did you go?”
“Home, it was a school night.”
“A theme which keeps repeating itself, your dedication and that of your friends has been duly noted. Now according to Ted Logan, he stopped by your house and you drove off with him, knowing full well he was an unlicensed driver.”
“Not exactly, it’s kind of complicated, the license thing.” He felt his mother sending radar signals, forcing him to look in her direction so he did. The color had left her face, he hated doing that to her. He shifted his gaze back to Queenie. “About the ride, yeah I went but not for long. As soon as Ted suggested White Castle, I said ‘no way’ because we were just there the day before, when Bills punched Park and blood squirted all over my fries.”
“Yuck,” was all Queenie could manage.
“I haven’t been back since.”
“That is so disgusting,” Winchester whispered to Reardan.
“As if you haven’t seen worse,” he replied.
Quinella opened a Classic Coke with those nails of steel, sipped with those bright red lips before turning the ratchet another notch. “So, Ted turned around and took you back home.”
“Not exactly, after he said ‘no way’ to my ‘no way,’ I hopped out at the next red light and walked the five blocks to my house.”
“But you do know what happened afterwards, don’t you.”
Before Matt could answer, good ol’ Freddie held up a wrinkled forefinger. “Excuse me, Ms. Armstrong. Anything my client would offer on that subject is considered hearsay or conjecture.”
Freddie was earning his money, Vince’s money. He liked that but from the expression on Queenie’s face, she didn’t.
“You are so right, Mr. Montgomery, but this is not a court of law and I am interested in your client’s comments for investigative purposes only. Please continue, Matt.”
“What was the question?”
“About the aforementioned night, how did Coach Meredith wind up dead?”
A question Matt didn’t have to answer nor could she make him. “Since I wasn’t there when he died, I can’t really say. That’s the truth, Ms. Armstrong.”
“But not the whole truth, Matthew Canelli.” Queenie wiped the smile from her face. She jerked her thumb to the door. “Out, get out but don’t even think about leaving. You can wait in the conference room. No, better yet, in the anteroom.”
“Not so easy, eh, Quinella?” Winchester said from behind the window.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Reardan said. “If we had a bigger room, I’d send in the clowns, the entire Billings and Stilworth gang together.”
“The Logans too, we’ll make it a team effort. Quinella can interview them in the conference room.”
Reardan cracked a smile. “And we’ll just sit in the corner again, watching everybody squirm at the same time. Let’s do it.”
“What about Matt Canelli?”
“Not unless they implicate him, which at this point I have my doubts.”
“You’re disappointed,” Winchester said.
“No more than you’re relieved. But since he didn’t offer a damn thing, he and Mamma can cool their heels, just like Quinella said. The two of you can set up the mass interview while I take a much needed dump.”
By the time Reardan entered the conference room, Winchester had stationed himself in the far corner, legs stretched out to mark his territory, and Quinella had arranged the table seating: Oliver Billings and his dad Douglas, whose hair was growing back after chemo, across from Aurora Billings and attorney Lamar Yates; Zach Stilworth and his dad Max across from a teary-eyed mom and their newly-acquired lawyer.
Reardan plopped down next to Winchester, and whispered, “Where are we?”
“Quinella has reminded the boys about their rights, and in her sweetest voice, asked about little Bart. He has strep throat and the doctor put him on antibiotics. By the way, Zach’s lawyer is Harry Evans.”
“Good choice.”
Winchester checked his watch. “The Logans are due any minute.”
“I already told Mallory to send them in. Speaking of … here they are.”
A collective nodding of heads followed but the nature of the meeting didn’t prompt anyone to jump up or shake hands with the new arrivals. Ted Logan and his dad John sat across from Stella Logan, Clark Baxter, and a second lawyer Baxter introduced as Gordon Pell.
“It’s about time they got a criminal lawyer,” Reardan whispered.
“I believe the rest of you folks know each other,” Quinella said, “so we’ll dispense with the usual frou-frou … I mean formalities.”
“She’s getting tired,” Winchester said.
“Hell, she’s not the only one. I’ve already missed two soccer games today. My wife threatened to go home to her mother and leave me with the girls.”
“Could we have some quiet, please,” Quinella said in a raised voice.
“She means us,” Reardan whispered.
“Thank you so much. Now where was I. Oh yes, the appalling behavior of the late Rex Meredith has been introduced but at this point must be considered as alleged. However, for now, and where it concerns Oliver and Zach we will approach it as having merit but without actual proof. Also, since the relationship between the deceased and Mrs. Logan appears to be common knowledge among those at this table, it should be considered relevant for this discussion.”
“Oh, brother,” Nerd Logan muttered.
Stella his cheerleader shed a single tear. Winchester figured the rest had dried up in her tired eyes.
“Sorry,” Quinella said.
“No you’re not,” the cheerleader replied.
“Nor do I have time to argue, so let’s move forward. I’ve had the opportunity to interview Oliver, Zach, and Ted—boys from caring homes who so
mehow got temporarily sidetracked on an unchartered path.”
“That’s just not true,” said Aurora Billings. Her husband Douglas covered her hand with his.
“Moving on, what I keep hearing from each of these boys is: We didn’t kill Coach Meredith,” Quinella said. “But such vagueness does make me think they were somehow involved with his ultimate death, if not directly then otherwise. Now, boys, I could go on and on with a host of suppositions, but what I’d really like is to hear the truth from your own mouths. I could speak to each of you individually, again and again, but that whole process could easily move into next week which I don’t think any of us want, what with schoolwork and jobs and so forth. Am I correct? Excellent, we all agree. So-o, who wants to speak first? Ted, how about you?”
“I don’t feel so good.” He bent one arm and opened his hand for the side of his head.
“That’s certainly understandable, considering all you’ve been through, not only these past few days but for the entire month. I suspect you’ve been carrying a heavy load, stinking garbage begging to be dumped from your brain so it can make room for the rest of your life. Now, let’s get back to Tuesday evening, February 26. After the game you took your mom’s car and went for a spin, right.”
“Actually it was an SUV, a Durango.”
“Damn,” Winchester whispered. “Does everybody in the St. Louis area drive an SUV?”
“My wife drives ours,” Reardan said. “You would too if you had kids.”
After this case, Winchester wasn’t even sure he wanted kids. Nor could he picture Q as their mother, although this bunch she certainly knew how to handle.
Quinella leaned over the table, projected her voice to the other end. “So, Ted, after stopping by the Canelli house for Matt, the two of you drove off. What happened next?”
“I wanted some White Castle sliders. Matt said ‘no way’ and got out a couple of blocks from his house.”
“A wise choice. You, on the other hand, proceeded to White Castle, the one near Show Me Soccer Park. Along the way did you pick up anyone else?”
“Zach and Bills, about a block from the Castle.”
“Zach, Oliver.” Quinella looked at them. “Is this true?”
They both nodded. Zach said, “I snuck out of the house after Bart’s birthday party and met up with Bills. Sorry, Mom, Dad.”
The Stilworths nodded, neither of them surprised.
“Who wants to take it from here?” Quinella asked. “As you know, Ted’s not feeling so hot.”
“Go ahead, Zach,” his dad said.
“As soon as we got in the car, Ted noticed Mrs. Canelli driving by and thought she might be heading for White Castle. We’d seen her there on Sunday night but she either didn’t see us or pretended she didn’t. Matt couldn’t believe this when we told him ‘cause he said she never eats there, which seemed kind of strange. So, we decided to see where she was going. But instead of the Castle she headed for Show Me. Ted drove really slow and eventually turned off his lights so she wouldn’t know we were behind her.” He paused. “I’m not proud of what we did, following her like that.”
“Ted, Oliver, so far is he on target?’
They nodded.
“So, Oliver, why don’t you continue.”
“Zach’s doing fine,” he said.
“Oliver,” his mother said sharply.
“Okay, okay. Well, Mrs. Canelli drove into the parking lot and that’s when we saw Coach Meredith standing beside his Navigator. We stopped, turned off the ignition, and rolled down the windows. Mrs. Canelli got out. She and Coach talked for a minute or so. Then, all of a sudden he pushed her against the fender, punched her in the gut a couple of times, hard enough to hurt although she didn’t scream or even cry, at least not that we could hear, but she did grab hold of her stomach. Then Coach opened his backdoor. She got in and so did he. At that point we talked about leaving, going to White Castle like we planned, but then we decided to hang around.”
“Why?” Quinella asked. “Hadn’t you seen enough?”
“It’s like this: both Zach and I knew the score. We’d been in Coach’s backseat but he’d never punched either of us. I guess we wanted to make sure Mrs. Canelli would be okay. She seemed like a nice lady but going through a rough time with her husband dying and all. After a very long while the backdoor pushed open. She hopped out and slammed it shut.”
Zach spoke up. “Not a pretty sight. She was practically naked and I guess, carrying her clothes. Let me tell you, it was freezing out there. She ran toward her SUV and when Coach finally hopped out of his, she threw something into the bushes. He was madder than hell and naked too, except for his socks, which made him very uncool. By that time she was turning over the motor and he was shaking his fist, yelling at her. She took off, left him running around in circles. In a way it was funny but not so funny. I really felt sorry for her.”
“But not him,” Ted said, “not Coach.”
“So, Ted, do you want to take it from here?”
“Could I have something to drink, my throat’s kind of dry?”
Max Stilworth slid a can of soda down the table; it ended up in Ted’s waiting hand. Quinella tapped her nails while he finished it off in one continuous gulp. He asked for another and Max obliged.
“Thanks,” he said after a single sip. “I feel much better. So there was Coach, naked in the freezing cold. He made a beeline for his Navigator but couldn’t get the doors open. That’s when he started hunting for what Mrs. Canelli threw in the bushes—his keys. After a while he glanced in our direction. He just stood there, hands on his hips, as if daring us to come down, so we did.
“He had a cut over his eye, all bloody and puffy. ‘Okay, you smart-ass boy toys,’ he said. ‘Quit admiring my dick and help me find the fucking keys.’
“‘Find them yourself,’ Zach said. ‘We don’t take orders from you.’
“‘Like it or not, you and Oliver Twist are still my butt boys,’ Coach said. ‘And you will be until I decide otherwise. If it wasn’t so damn cold out here, I’d make you assume the position.’
“‘Leave them alone, Creep,’ I said, ‘and Mrs. Canelli too. You oughta be ashamed of what you did to her. We should report you to the police or somebody, maybe your wife.’
“Coach curled his lip like a mad dog; he went face to face with me.
“‘My, my, aren’t you the noble one,’ he said, ‘considering what your mama did to ensure you’d get a shitload of playing time. Stella by Starlight, that’s what your soccer mom begged me to call her, so I did. She was only too happy to crawl in the backseat of my Navigator for the past two seasons. That is, until I grew tired of her less than stellar performance—if you’ll pardon my pun. So, this year I decided to replace her with a fresh chunk of meat.’”
Ted paused, choked back a sob, and then another. He hurled his soda can against the wall, creating a splatter of unleashed anger to match what he must’ve been feeling. Stella Logan’s tears hadn’t dried up after all. They burst forth like a fire hydrant in the sweltering heat of a St. Louis August.
“This is why I never went into Juvey,” Reardan muttered.
“Ditto,” Winchester said. “Give me homicide between consenting adults any day of the week, or holidays.”
“Gentle colleagues, please,” Quinella said, tapping her nails for quiet. “Oliver, can you take it from here?”
“I guess,” he said. “Ted went spastic and had every right to. He told Coach to shut his fucking mouth. Coach called him a mama’s boy and Ted started to cry. Then I shoved Coach and said I hated him but Coach just laughed. So I hauled off and punched him in the gut. ‘How does it feel?’ I asked him because it’s what he used to ask me—not that he hit me, but you know.”
Oliver choked up but waved his hand that he wanted to continue. “Coach staggered backwards but he didn’t go down. ‘Why you little fairy,’ was all he could manage.
“‘Don’t make me repeat the question,’ I said, another one of Coach’s sayings.
He took a swing at me and missed. By that time Ted quit crying so he hit Coach. ‘Boo-hoo, Mama’s Titty Boy,’ Coach said but he wasn’t laughing any more. Instead he said to Zach, ‘Come on, Pretty Boy. I’m still your daddy where it counts.’ So, Zach hit him and then I hit him again. So did Ted. The more we pounded him the easier it got because he kept egging us on as if he needed the pain. He finally shut his mouth and crumpled like a used cardboard box.”
“At this point was he still conscious?” Quinella asked.
“Yeah, sort of, but he wasn’t going anywhere, all curled up on the hard ground. We couldn’t leave Coach out there to freeze, that’s for sure, so we decided to wrap him in the goal netting, to keep him warm. Then somebody—I don’t remember who, maybe me, I can’t say for sure—suggested stringing him up from the crossbar. This wasn’t about killing the bastard, just embarrassing the hell out of him.”
Zach lifted a finger his chance to speak. “The police cruise the area around eleven o’clock, that I knew from my time with Coach—I’m sorry, Mom.” Tears splashed his cheeks.
Hers too, she sobbed, face buried in her hands as Zach continued.
“We figured the cops would find Coach and wonder what the sonofabitch did to deserve such humiliation. We wanted them to know, but not who left him there. Coach kept some rope in the supply shed and we needed his key to get in. Ted got a flashlight from the Durango and I found the missing key ring hanging from a bush. By then Coach was started to moan so Bills stood over him while Ted removed the goal net and I ran to the shed. That’s when I noticed the cooler and figured Coach could stand on it.”
“We wanted him to know what was happening,” Ted said. “He was still moaning when we wrapped him in netting. He moaned again when Zach and Bills carried him to the north goal. I carried the cooler, made the noose, and slipped it around Coach’s neck.” Ted choked up on his next words. “I held him on the cooler while Bills climbed onto Zach’s shoulders and wrapped the other end of rope around the crossbar. We left him standing with his feet flat on the cooler. I swear he was awake and calling us names as we ran back to the Durango.”
Lethal Play Page 23