TPG

by The Perfect Game (mobi)

  Kyle was about to explain that he refused to take in the divorce what he felt he hadn’t earned himself, but Paula spoke first.

  “It doesn’t matter what he did or didn’t get,” Paula said, still standing up. “This case will never see a jury. It will never see a trial. Either Judge Feingold or the Appellate Division will dismiss it and they won’t see a dime. Ricker knows that.”

  “He’s confident that won’t be the case,” Seybert said. “He thinks even if the law is slightly in your favor, the emotional impact of what happened will cause a judge to give him a slight edge in letting the case proceed on the merits. Especially given the letter Kyle wrote to the Board.”

  “He’s delusional,” Paula seethed.

  Seybert looked at the insurance carrier’s representative. “Any thoughts on your end?”

  “The truth?” O’Brien asked.

  “If you’re willing to share it,” Seybert said. “I think it can only help and I don’t share anything with the other side that you don’t want me to.”

  “The way I look at it,” O’Brien said, the reddish tint of his cheeks growing even deeper, “either we get out on legal grounds, or we don’t. If we don’t, that two million is gone through defense costs and whatever we have to pay out to the family. I’m not an idiot. I recognize that. I saw the photos of those kids. I know what a jury might do if it gets that far. They might be blinded by the kids. But they also might think Trotter was a cheating piece of shit who got what he deserved.” O’Brien shrugged. “You never know with juries. So, yeah, in my mind, we might be out, or maybe we’re in for the whole thing. Who really knows? But what I do know is exactly what Ricker’s doing. I think we all know what he’s doing. He’s demanding excess of the policy to scare us with a bad faith claim.”

  Paula had already explained to Kyle that a bad faith claim would be a claim by Kyle against his insurance carrier if a jury rendered a verdict above his policy limits and there’d been a chance to settle the case within his limits beforehand. If that happened, the insurance company could be on the hook for the excess. But to get there, the settlement demand would need to drop below two million.

  “So,” O’Brien said, “the question he’s really posing is, do I want to gamble?”

  “And the answer?” Seybert asked.

  O’Brien stared back at him with a steely gaze and said, “Does he?” He let the question linger. “Tell him we’ll offer ten thousand.”

  Seybert’s eyes dropped and he ran his hand through his hair. “If I may make a comment,” the pained mediator said. “I’m pretty sure a response like that will result in the same reaction as Paula’s. They’ll want to walk out. You probably want to go at least six figures.”

  O’Brien just stared at him. “I have confidence in the legal defenses our counsel says we have,” O’Brien said. “Tell him ten thousand, and if he walks out then that’s fine, we’ll both just roll the dice.”

  And that was how it went for the rest of the day. Hours of waiting, heavy posturing, and paltry incremental changes in the offers going back and forth. By the end of the day the parties hadn’t seen each other again, and the positions hadn’t changed much. Ricker’s side came down from their initial demand, but not by much. The gap was still tremendous, and well above two million. A little before five o’clock they decided to call it a day and reconvene the following week.

  Kyle said his goodbyes to Paula and O’Brien when they exited the building and thanked them for their efforts, then walked toward the subway as they stayed behind to talk some more. He turned on his phone, which he’d kept off during the mediation.

  There were a few texts from Liam. The first one said, “Have you heard?” The next few said to call him “ASAP”. The last one read “HELLLOOOO?”

  He dialed the man’s number, not bothering to listen to his voice mail messages.

  “Why haven’t you called back?” Liam asked as soon as he answered.

  “I was at the mediation,” Kyle explained.

  “I know,” Liam said, “but you still could have responded.”

  “I turned my phone off.”

  “You turned your phone off the entire time?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you haven’t been on the Internet either?”

  “No.”

  “Did you watch any television at all?”

  “No,” Kyle answered, his nerves beginning to prickle. “Why?”

  “It happened again.”

  Kyle stopped in his tracks. “When?”

  “Early this morning in Union Square.”

  “Who?”

  “A girl,” Liam answered. “Only seventeen.”

  The blood in Kyle’s face drained. “Was it a hemorrhage?” he asked, even though he was certain he knew the answer.

  “They say that they’re not sure about the cause of death yet, but they’re reporting it might’ve been an overdose.”

  But it wasn’t. They both knew that.

  It was a hemorrhage, and it was right before another Hillier start.

  Just like the others.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Kyle called Eddie after hanging up with Liam.

  “What do you think?” Kyle asked as he walked toward Broadway.

  “Someone’s timing it,” Eddie said. “It’s too much of a coincidence.”

  “But it can’t be Hillier, right?” Kyle said. “You guys watched him the entire night after I left.”

  “Yeah, not possible,” Eddie agreed. “And even if we hadn’t, the girl died while we were all on the ferry. So it has to be someone else. Even Liam knows that now.”

  Kyle could hear the concern in Eddie’s voice, letting him know that Eddie was coming around to the same reality confronting Kyle; these people weren’t dying of natural causes, they were being killed.

  But by who and how, and even why, still remained anyone’s guess.

  “Liam told me more about the healing part the other night,” Eddie said. “He said this energy stuff has been known to heal the sick. Not just give them more focus, but actually heal them physically.”

  “Certain holistic treatments use it, sure. But I’m not sure how effective it is.”

  “That’s what I thought. But then he told me about this John of God guy down in Brazil. You ever hear of him? He’s the one who’s been curing cancer by shoving energy rods up people’s noses.”

  “I saw a special on Oprah about him a few years ago.”

  There was a pause. “Oprah, Ky?” Eddie sighed. “Really? Fucking Oprah?”

  “Can we just stay on topic, please?”

  “Jesus, even for you that’s petty fucking gay,” Eddie said. “But anyway, yeah, Oprah did a big piece on him a few years ago. So Liam was telling me about him when were waiting for Hillier outside his building, and he tells me about the miracle cures this guy pulls off and how nobody’s been able to say it’s bullshit. He says it’s energy that’s doing it. The guy’s an energy healer. And the shit I read on Google says he’s right.”

  “So?”

  “So maybe whoever’s doing this is an energy healer too, just like Liam thinks.”

  “I guess. If you buy into the fact someone’s actually siphoning energy. But regardless of how they’re doing it, I think the more important question is who’s doing it, and why are they timing it to the day Hillier pitches?”

  “Maybe whoever it is needs the extra energy to heal someone pretty sick.”

  Kyle paused, surprised at how serious Eddie was taking Liam’s theories rather than just brushing them off as he had before. “Possible,” Kyle said. “But even so, why time them to Hillier’s starts?”

  “No idea.”

  “And what has you all of a sudden becoming an expert on this? I thought you said Liam was crazy.”

  “He is crazy. He’s a fucking whacko,” Eddie said. “But the evidence is what it is, right?”

  “So then you agree that I should talk to the police again?”

  “Not necessarily.”
r />   “And why’s that?”

  “What are you going to tell them that they don’t already know? You told them about the pattern, right? And they obviously know about the girl who died this morning. So what else is there for you to tell them?”

  Kyle drew a deep breath. “There’s more.”

  “More?”

  “The night I found Allie passed out, she wasn’t alone. There was a man there.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. He took off as soon as I got there.”

  “So you think the guy you saw is the one doing this?”

  “If there is a one, then it’s probably him, right?”

  “Why didn’t you say anything to them before?”

  “Because I didn’t want them to know I was there. I didn’t want it to get back to the school that I was trying to have sex with one of my students.”

  “And you were right,” Eddie said. “You shouldn’t let them know that. It’s none of their fucking business.”

  “Not to mention it’ll get me fired.”

  “Fired? I thought that stuff went on all the time.”

  “It’s in the code of ethics, you can’t do it.”

  “You do realize you might be the only person who’s actually read that thing, right?” Eddie said. “But it doesn’t matter. You’re right not to tell them. No need to cause yourself anymore trouble.”

  “But now I have no choice.”

  “And why’s that? What exactly did you see? Did you see the guy’s face?”

  “No,” Kyle said. “It was too dark.”

  “So what good will it be if you tell them? You don’t even have a description of the guy. Why screw yourself over like that?”

  “Because just the fact that there was a guy is something they should know. I can’t worry about getting fired anymore. This is too big. Besides, I think Liam might already know what I was doing with Allie.”

  “Why?”

  “He has some computer guys trying to find Allie’s deleted texts and he said they’ve already found some with my number. I’m assuming they’re the ones I deleted. And if they aren’t, I’m sure they’ll get to them.”

  “Really? You think he knows you were trying to bang his niece? He sure as hell hasn’t been acting like it. In fact, it seems like he wants to be your damn BFF.”

  “Maybe he hasn’t read them yet. Or maybe they’re different texts. But it’ll only be a matter of time before they get to them.”

  “Or maybe he has and he understands.”

  “Understands? It was his niece.”

  “Right, so more than anyone he should realize how hot she is.”

  Kyle shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m going to talk to them.”

  “Brilliant decision, Ky. Absolutely brilliant. Just like your brilliant idea to rat yourself out to the Board about Trotter.”

  “Better than living with a guilty conscience.”

  “Is it?” Eddie asked. “Tell me, how much did they hit you up for in the mediation today?”

  “They said they want a million dollars.”

  “Shit.” Eddie’s tone dropped. “Is your insurance company going to pay it?”

  “That’s the amount they want from me personally. They want another two million from my insurance company.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me,” Eddie said, the pitch in his voice hitting an octave higher. “Jesus, Ky. What did your lawyer say?”

  Kyle eyeballed the subway station and said, “She said we have strong legal arguments, but there’s always the danger of it getting before a jury. We have another session scheduled, so we’ll see what happens then.”

  “And so now you want to go fuck yourself over again?”

  “I don’t know,” Kyle said as he approached the stairs leading down to the subway. “I’ll think about it and give you a call later.” But he knew that was a lie. He already knew exactly what he was going to do; he was calling the police. The stakes were too high. People—innocent young men and women—were dying.

  He had to let the police know.

  Not doing so wasn’t an option any longer.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The next morning Kyle headed straight for Slattery’s precinct. Eddie had called again trying to convince him not to do it, but Kyle wouldn’t budge.

  He had to tell them.

  He waited in the lobby for about fifteen minutes before a muscular man in his early forties, square jaw framed by a dark, closely kept goatee with more than a few specks of gray, came out to meet him. The man had rigid brown eyes behind thin black metal-framed glasses, with a full thick head of choppy hair petrified by a healthy dose of mousse.

  “Kyle Vine?” the man asked in a thick Long Island accent while eyeballing Kyle, who was sitting in an uncomfortable blue plastic chair that had probably been a fixture at the precinct since the days of Barney Miller.

  “Yes,” Kyle said. “Detective Slattery?”

  The man nodded and motioned for Kyle to follow him into the back. Kyle obliged, following Slattery as they snaked around a few desks until stopping at an empty one where they both took a seat.

  “There was another death the night before a Hillier start,” Kyle said.

  “Yeah,” Slattery said, lowering his glasses to stare at Kyle, “I know. Homicide detectives tend to get that information funneled to them.”

  “But did you realize it happened again the night before Hillier pitched?”

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  “And I saw that he gave up three runs in the fifth,” Slattery smiled. “Not exactly a stellar start.”

  Slattery was right, and Kyle didn’t know what to make of the performance, didn’t know if there was any correlation between Hillier’s so-so outing and their confronting him on the ferry.

  “We’re also not certain of the cause of death just yet.”

  “You know what you’ll find though,” Kyle said, leaning forward. “But to be honest, the cause doesn’t even matter anymore. The point is someone was murdered the night before a Hillier start. So the cause isn’t the issue, the pattern is. Something’s going on.”

  “I agree that it’s odd,” Slattery said. “Very odd.”

  Kyle paused and drew in a deep breath. He knew what he had to say, and he couldn’t chicken out this time. He had to throw it out there. So he did.

  “There’s more.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I saw Allie Shelton the night she had her stroke. I saw her right after it happened.”

  Slattery shrugged. “So?”

  “She collapsed in an alley,” Kyle continued. “And when I got there, I saw someone in the alley with her. A man. He ran when I got there.”

  Slattery leaned back and opened a manila folder. Inside were a few loose pieces of yellow pages from a legal pad with some scribbled notes. He glanced at them and said, “Says here she’s twenty and that the EMTs responded at about one thirty in the morning.” He looked up. “Why were you there?”

  “Is that relevant?”

  “Might be,” Slattery said, his eyes more focused, showing an interest that hadn’t been there before, “if you’re telling me she was attacked.”

  “Look,” Kyle said. “My point is that there was a man there.”

  “I heard you,” Slattery said. “And now I’m asking you, why were you there?”

  “Don’t you want to know about the man? Don’t you want to know why he was there and who he was?”

  “Let me guess,” Slattery said, easing back, “you’re going to tell me it was Evan Hillier, right?”

  “I didn’t say I knew who he was. I have no idea who it was. I didn’t see his face. But it could’ve been Hillier, I guess. Although if last night was any indicator, it probably wasn’t. Hillier was probably on the Staten Island Ferry when Allie had her stroke.”

  Slattery lowered his chin. “What makes you think that?”

  “I followed him last night. He was on the ferry. He said that’s where
he goes every night before a start and I think he was telling the truth. But even if he wasn’t, he was definitely on the ferry last night, so at the very least he couldn’t have been the one who killed that girl in the park.”

  “Of course, that assumes someone actually killed her.”

  “Seriously? You really think the fact that these people are dying every night before Hillier pitches is just a coincidence.”

  “Do I think that? Yes, I do.”

  “What about the man I saw in the alley.”

  “I’ll let them know about it,” Slattery said as he closed the manila folder.

  Kyle stared at Slattery. “Let who know about it?”

  Slattery rubbed the side of his cheek and looked away.

  “Who are you going to let know about it?” Kyle asked again.

  “To be honest,” Slattery said, turning back, “I’m not even sure myself.”

  “Not sure about what?”

  Slattery reclined in his chair and relaxed the tense muscles in his weathered forehead. “Someone else is investigating this.”

  “Who?”

  “Doesn’t really matter, does it? You wanted us to look into it, and I’m telling you that’s what’s being done. So we’re good.”

  “But what do you mean, someone else? Like someone else in the NYPD? Another detective?”

  “No, it’s not us. Anything we get, we turn over. So I’ll let them know you saw someone the night the Shelton girl had her stroke. And I’ll also let them know you saw Hillier on the ferry.”

  “Wait,” Kyle said, seeing Slattery about to get up. “Is someone going to contact me?”

  “They might, I guess,” Slattery said. “Like I said, it’s their investigation.”

  “But whose investigation? The FBI?”

  Slattery sighed. “I told you, Mr. Vine, I’m not even sure myself. I assume it’s the FBI. They’re the usual suspects. But all I’ve been told is the government took this one over. I didn’t really question which specific department. I hand what I get up to my boss, and he sends it over.”

  “So they’re the ones who requisitioned the files,” Kyle said, thinking out loud.