by Camel Press
“It wasn’t a party, just some guys playing cards.”
Detective Kahn glanced around the apartment as though visually documenting each beer bottle, cigar butt and crumb into evidence.
“So you say you heard a shout. What happened after that?”
“We ran out here and saw the guys on the balcony.”
“Which guys was that?”
“Uh, my half-brother and some Soldiers players.”
“Which players?”
He was firing the questions so fast Cat began to feel like her statement had become an interrogation.
“A-Adam Alvarez, Joel Faulk and Damien Staats.”
“I see.” He paused, methodically tapping his pen. “Do you socialize with these players on a regular basis?”
Cat didn’t socialize with any Soldiers on any sort of basis. The celebration at Roger’s steakhouse had been the first time she’d been in the room with them when she hadn’t been on the clock.
She scoffed. “No. They came over to play poker with Quinn. We’d all been at Roger Aiken’s steakhouse for a celebration party earlier this evening and they must’ve made plans then. Benji and I were already asleep when their game started.”
The detective surveyed the apartment again. “You slept through all of this?”
“We’re deep sleepers.”
“If you were asleep, you probably don’t know if they were inebriated?”
“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir, I don’t know.” He was even lankier ten years ago and back then, Quinn had the constitution of an African Bush Elephant. Even if he’d drunk all these bottles himself, she doubted he’d been tipsy.
“Did you or your fiancé play cards with them at all?”
“No, sir.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Yes.” Cat narrowed her eyes at his insinuation. “I would remember if I got out of bed in the middle of the night and played a game of cards.”
“Mm-hmm.” He made a note in his notepad.
She peeked at his notepad. “Is Ryan going to be okay?”
“Well I can tell you he won’t be starting tomorrow’s game.” The officer chuckled and then looked up with a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”
She pressed her lips together and raised her eyebrows in response.
“Now, Ms. McDaniel, something’s bothering me.”
“Okay ….”
“This table over here ….” he pointed behind him to the dining room where Benji and the officer sat. Benji met her eyes and smiled softly. “That’s where they were playing cards?”
Cat nodded.
“It looks like there’s six places there, but I only count five guys. You’re sure there wasn’t anybody else here tonight?”
Cat considered the table. She didn’t know how he could distinguish individual places with all the beer bottles scattered about. Poker chips were gathered together in a few neat little piles and the cards were strewn everywhere. She swallowed. “No, sir. But like I said, I was asleep. When I woke up, there was only Quinn, Joel, Damien and Adam.”
“And Ryan, of course.”
“Y-yeah. Obviously.”
He nodded and stuck his pen and pad back in his front pocket. “Well, that’s all the questions I have for now.”
Relief flowed through her and as she exhaled. She was bone tired. She could smell the fresh pot of coffee wafting through the air and saw a mug in front of Benji and a couple in the hands of officers. She wondered if there was any left.
“I know where to find you should anything else arise. I heard over the radio that they’re going to be contacting Roger Aiken but we’re going to instruct him not to come here. I don’t need a brassed-off general manager disrupting my crime scene. This investigation is already going to take us well into lunch.”
Relief and fatigue were instantly dispatched, replaced by anxiety and jitters. She jerked her head up. “Crime scene? He fell off the balcony. It was an accident, not a crime.”
“Well, why don’t you just let us determine that?”
Cat glared over at Quinn, but he was too busy with his own statement to notice. His eyes were glazed over, but she could tell from his clenched jaw that this was due to his aversion to law enforcement rather than a need for sleep. She almost pitied the officer, who probably had yet to get Quinn to state his full name.
Detective Kahn brought her attention back to him by picking up her latest SABR Journal and thumbing through the pages. “I’m sure you’re about to have a busy day of your own explaining to the City of Buffalo why their All-Star starter won’t be available for game one.”
Her hands were clasped in her lap and she unconsciously began to wring them. Breaking the news to the fans would be bad enough but when the rest of the media leaked that it happened in her apartment—and they would—Lord knows she would ride a juicy scandal like this into the sunset. It would bury her.
She saw Detective Kahn observing her handwringing and stopped, shaking her hands out and rising to her feet.
“Let’s just hope Ryan’s okay.”
Cat meant it with every cell in her body. Both the young pitcher’s career and her own lay in the hands of the emergency room doctor.
Chapter 6
After the interview with Detective Kahn had concluded, Cat opted for a hot shower over extra sleep. She doubted she’d get much sleep anyway, with the pit of foreboding yawning in her stomach. She and Benji had exited the loft and headed to work while it was still teeming with cops, leaving Quinn to play host to their crime scene. Benji had early morning labs every Thursday and Cat knew Roger Aiken would be waiting for her at Soldiers Stadium.
She pulled into the parking lot just as the sun began to rise between the historic skyscrapers that formed the Buffalo skyline. She squinted at the pinkish orange rays reflecting off Roger’s Bentley parked in the front row. Its driver’s side door opened and she’d barely set one foot outside the Jeep when he charged over. Cat stepped out and grabbed her bag. She raised her hand up to stave off any admonishment he was about to give her.
“I know. You don’t have to say anything.”
This must be what Paige feels like.
She’d met Roger and his bratty daughter when she’d interviewed for this job. On that day she’d seen this exact gape of shock and disappointment on his face; only then it’d been directed at his flesh and blood. Cat didn’t grow up with paternal lectures and definitely wasn’t in the mood to star in Father Knows Best today. Of course, he was the boss, so it didn’t really matter what she was in the mood for.
“Catriona, what the hell? This is just ….” He rubbed his wrinkled forehead as he gathered his thoughts.
“Roger, I’m sorry.”
“You know I’m always in your corner, but you host an unsanctioned poker game where my best pitcher breaks his arm a day before the playoffs? How the hell can I back you on this?”
Cat burst into a smile that she thought was going to jump off of her face. “It was just his arm?”
“He broke his arm.”
“Yes!” She squeezed her eyes shut and took a moment to appreciate this.
Thank you, God, Buddha, Zeus, Ryan Brokaw’s guardian angel, the doctors at Buffalo General, Lady Luck ….
She peeked open her right eye. “Wait, which arm?”
Roger frowned. “His left.”
Ryan Brokaw was a righty.
Cat grinned. “His left? That’s awesome!”
Roger didn’t share in her jubilation. He was still staring at her with the stone face of paternal consternation. “Before you celebrate, I should tell you that even though it’s not his pitching arm, he’s going to be on the disabled list for at least six weeks.”
Cat sighed and let her back fall against the side of the Jeep. She didn’t need a calendar to figure out what that meant. Considering that he had fallen two stories and remained unconscious, they should’ve been ecstatic he wasn’t dead, but if their best starter couldn’t pitch, the Soldiers' season might very well be over.
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Roger nodded, as though reading her thoughts. “That means that if by some miracle we make it through this series and the next, he still won’t be able to pitch in the championship.”
“That means we’re—”
“Screwed.” He sighed. “Screwed would be the word you’re looking for there, Catriona. Our season just ended.”
“No. No.” Cat reached over and gave his limp arm a motivating shake. “We still have the best rotation in the league.”
“Over six months of the regular season. We both know pitching wins playoffs and right now, we’re without an ace. We might as well start refunding championship tickets now.”
He turned on his heel and slumped toward the entrance. Cat threw her laptop bag over her shoulder and caught up with him, her black satin pumps chirping annoyingly on the pavement with each step.
“Come on, that’s not fair. Our second starter—hell, our third starter—would be an ace on any other rotation.”
Roger relented with a shrug. “Even so, this is a distraction we don’t need. I’ve got three other players getting the hairy eyeball for their involvement and my crack reporter is due for a presser of her own in an hour.”
“A press … what?”
Cat attended press conferences; she wasn’t the subject.
Roger nodded with a grimace as he opened the door for her. “Yeah. They want you, baby. One of the best players in baseball fell fifteen feet from your balcony. You didn’t think the media was just going to let that go, did you?”
“How do they even know already? The sun just came up.”
“Maybe the roosters told ’em.” Roger smirked. “The best pitcher in town was admitted into the biggest hospital in the county. What do you think?”
Cat stepped in front of him as they reached the door, trying to plead her case eye to eye. “I don’t know what you heard, but I wasn’t even there—at least, not really. I was asleep. It was my brother who threw the party.”
“Trust me, my dear, it doesn’t matter who shit on your lawn.” He reached past her and opened the door. “You’re the one who has to scoop it up.”
Cat trailed him inside and let the steel door slam behind her. “That’s not fair.”
“Tell me about it. Remember the parents of that sixteen-year-old who sued me because their daughter got knocked up in the bleachers? The judge threw out the case, but I still had to shoulder a half a billion questions from the media.”
“Not to mention all the jabs from the late night comedians.” Cat smiled fondly. Roger had been a good sport the next day, even forwarding along the video clips that swirled around the team’s email accounts and cellphones. Of course, that had been a joke. This was all too serious for everyone involved.
“Roger, you don’t understand. I won’t … I can’t sit in front of all those people. I mean, I don’t have anything to tell them.”
He laughed bitterly. “I wouldn’t worry about coming up with your own material. They’re going to have plenty of questions.”
“Roger, come on. You’ve got to help me out here.”
“It’s out of my hands, Cat.” He threw his palms in the air as if to demonstrate how helpless he was. “Hell, I’ve got to meet with them right before you. I can’t do anything for either of us.”
He placed his hand on her back and guided her onto the elevator. Her stomach dropped as it dawned on her. She’d spent the last five minutes thinking Roger needed her to boost his spirits, or that he was looking for an explanation, but he hadn’t met her in the parking lot out of concern. He was out there to make sure she came into the building. Like a bailiff, he was going to deliver her to the judge, jury and executioner.
The conference room was a place she went to every single day, but it was a lot more inviting when you were sitting in one of the fifty folding chairs versus the staunch, lonely podium at the front. Roger’s conference had begun a half hour ago and for the first time since she started with the team, she was persona non grata. He’d said it was better this way; it would just make matters worse if she was present before he’d had a chance to address the issue. Instead, he’d bring her in when he was done with this meeting. She took a deep breath and started to walk toward the doorway.
“Ms. McDaniel.”
She stopped, grateful for any interruption, until she saw a shiny silver badge thrust in her face. The giant buffalo emblem made it resemble the back side of a flattened Indian Head nickel.
“I’m Detective Kahn. We met last night?”
He said it as though it was a question, like somehow she’d forgotten the events that had occurred only a few hours ago. She nodded and met his hard stare, deciding she hated his unreadable dark eyes.
“I remember.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard about Ryan Brokaw’s status.”
“I have. Glad he’s okay.”
His tilted his head to the side, not taking his eyes off of her. “I’m sure you are.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let me tell you a story.”
Cat took a step backward toward the press conference. “I don’t really have time—”
“Yeah, you do. They’re still hammering Roger pretty hard in there.”
She stole a look into the conference room. Indeed, the reporters were still firing off one question after another. At least right now Detective Kahn was doing most of the talking.
“Okay.”
“I didn’t always work in Buffalo. I was trained NYPD.”
“I kinda figured.” She had noted his Brooklyn accent last night. He might as well walk around with Atlantic Avenue stamped on his forehead.
“Bed-Stuy, born and raised,” he replied proudly. “My first year on the force, there was a brawl at a second-story apartment in Crown Heights. Woman died after being pushed from the balcony, smacked the sidewalk and her head cracked open. Brains splashed all the way into the gutters.”
Cat scrunched her nose in disgust. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I’m only saying …. Last night could’ve been really messy.”
“It could’ve been, but it wasn’t.” Cat took a deep breath.
Detective Kahn peeked into the conference room and mugged an exaggerated frown. “Yikes, they look like a bloodthirsty bunch. I can’t imagine the scene you’d be walking into if your pitcher had ended up like my Crown Heights vic.”
Cat eyed him warily. She was beginning to wish she’d listened to Quinn and taken a more standoffish stance last night. Her cooperation had resulted in nothing but mind games and hassle. She crossed her arms defiantly.
“I don’t think I see your point.”
“You don’t see a lot. You didn’t see who was drinking last night, you didn’t see who was playing cards, you didn’t see what happened on your own balcony. For a reporter, you sure walk around with blinders on.”
“I was asleep last night. The only thing I saw was a beach in Fiji.”
More accurately, she and Benji were honeymooning on a beach in Fiji while it was being ravaged by a monsoon.
His eyes clouded in confusion.
“As in, I was dreaming?” she added.
Nightmaring was more like it, but she didn't need Detective Kahn analyzing her wedding anxiety.
“Ah, that’s right.” He cleared his throat and mimed finger quotes. “Asleep.”
“It was two in the morning. I was asleep because I had to be here, at work, even before the impromptu media meeting for which I’m probably late.”
Detective Kahn craned his neck just enough to peek into the doorway. “It does sound like they’re wrapping up in there. You might want to head in.” He pulled a business card out of his pocket. “In case I didn’t give you one of these last night.”
“Um … okay.” She studied the card and for a moment debated throwing it right into the trash can next to them. Instead, she stuck it in her pocket.
“In case you remember anything you didn’t see,” he added.
A Soldiers intern stepped ou
t of the conference room and gave her a nervous smile. “Cat, they’re ready for you.”
She took a deep breath and let the detective’s snide remark pass. What she was about to confront would make his prodding feel like lunch with an old friend. She clenched her hands together and followed the intern into the conference room, looking up briefly to give her eager colleagues a curt smile. She quickly tore her eyes away from their fervid gawking.
Roger rose and pulled a chair out for her. His smile was ostensibly reassuring, but it also contained relief that his own interview was over. He’d loaded the bases, but she was batting cleanup.
She pulled the menacing microphone forward, straightened the electrical cord and cleared her throat. When she could stall no longer, she leaned in. “Good morning.” Her voice didn’t register in the microphone and she cringed. The intern hurried over and flipped a switch. Cat blushed and tried again. “Good morning.”
The reporters didn’t care about her embarrassment and began lobbing the high, hard ones.
“Ms. McDaniel, were you playing the poker game?”
“Ms. McDaniel, did you see what happened?”
“Ms. McDaniel, what were Ryan’s words before he fell?”
“Ms. McDaniel, do you think alcohol was a factor?”
For the last ten months she’d been Cat to these same people every day, but now she was “Ms. McDaniel”.
She silenced the questions with an open hand. “I’ll save you guys the trouble and tell you what happened.” As she collected her thoughts, her eyes trailed to the conference room door, where Detective Kahn was slouching against the threshold. He raised an eyebrow in challenge. Ignoring him, she addressed her colleagues.
“My half-brother, who is currently a houseguest at my apartment, had a few friends over last night, who happened to be Soldiers players. Apparently, they had decided to have a friendly game of poker and relax before the playoffs tomorrow. They ended up hanging out on the balcony and Ryan accidentally fell over the ledge. I was home but not present.”
“Were they drinking?”
“Did you talk to Ryan at all during the party?”