TEST BOOK

by Camel Press

  “Well, I just thought I’d give you a heads-up. If you were planning a slow news week now that the playoffs are over, you’re in for a rude surprise.”

  He stood up and she followed, relieved. Their meeting was coming to an end and so far Quinn’s name hadn’t come up. “As long as I’m not the subject, I’ll take any scoop I can get.”

  Detective Kahn placed his large hand on her shoulder. “I’m really glad you came to me with this. I’m sure you struggled with going to the team or coming here and I want you to know you made the right decision.”

  “Actually, it wasn’t as much of a struggle as you’d think.”

  She might have an unhealthy distrust of the law, but she knew without a doubt that Roger’s first instinct would’ve been to protect his own. It wasn’t his fault. After playing baseball all his life, he was conditioned to an “all for one and one for all” mentality. It was a stretch to think she’d be a part of it, but she knew surer than beer at a ballgame that Quinn wouldn’t fall under the Soldiers’ umbrella of protection. At least the Buffalo Police Department would go after the guilty, no matter what uniform it wore.

  “That’s good to hear. I know I gave you kind of a hard time before with Brokaw and—hey, Brokaw. The ace pitcher going off a balcony the day before game one in a dirty series? That can’t be a coincidence.”

  “Uh ….”

  He tapped his index finger on his chin before reaching across his desk and yanking out a bottom file folder from the stack. “Maybe I wasn’t too far off about one of the guys doing it after all.”

  “I … I don’t know. I really was asleep that night so believe me when I say I didn’t see anything.”

  “Oh trust me, I believe you. Now.” He looked up from the open folder, grinning. “I’m actually considering getting you a key to the city.”

  Detective Kahn’s confidence in her was giving her a fit of conscience. He thought of the two of them as a team. She was no better than Adam Alvarez or Joel Faulk. With teammates like those, who needed adversaries?

  Never mind. Detective Dedeaux was his actual teammate and she was merely a spectator who had just made their job a little easier. Quinn was blood and if she owed anyone her loyalty, wouldn’t it be family?

  Then again, how did sharing DNA entitle Quinn to her allegiance over the noble Detective Kahn? Here was a man who put his life on the line for a mediocre wage and scrutinized benefits to aid the City of Buffalo, including her and Benji. Quinn had done nothing but make their lives a veritable nightmare for the last week before fleeing with nearly a half a million dollars.

  Her game of mental ping-pong stopped when she realized Detective Kahn was staring at her.

  “Are you okay?”

  She blinked and attempted a smile. “Sorry. I spaced out there. It’s been a long day.”

  At least that was the truth.

  “I hear ya there. I was supposed to be heading home for dinner right about now.”

  “I really should be going. I’m sure I’ve just given you some monster overtime.”

  “I’ll say. I think I’ll be able to green light my kid’s braces on this one.” He chuckled and pointed to his own teeth. “He’s got Daddy’s overbite.”

  Cat liked the detective’s smile, although this was the first time she’d seen him flash it. It didn’t appear to be going anywhere now. Once he’d gotten over his initial shock at her discovery, he’d seemed downright tickled. The guy loved his job.

  She loved hers, too, though she wished her upcoming headlines were about playoffs instead of payoffs.

  “Can you give me any idea of when I can expect the Soldiers’ world to be turned upside down?”

  He pointed to the hallway. “Let me walk you out. I’m going to go down to the casino and verify this transaction but I think it’ll be enough for me to get an arrest warrant on George Hudson tonight. Even sooner if I can get Joel Faulk’s statement, too.”

  “Are the players going to get in trouble?”

  “I don’t think they’ll be playing professional baseball again, but if they’re honest and cooperate, the DA might cut them a deal.”

  She nodded, fully aware of the system. Privileged brats like Joel and Adam got plea bargains and tell-all book contracts; greedy bastards like Hudson got made into examples with harsh verdicts and a 20/20 interview. The worst off were nobodies like Quinn, who were prosecuted and forgotten. Quinn’s only hope was to beat them to the punch. She had to find him before his only legacy was as a shady character in a movie of the week.

  They reached the lobby and Detective Kahn held out his hand, giving her a hearty shake. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Chapter 24

  Cat tried to dodge the expanding puddles of water in the reception hall, covering her ears to muffle the piercing fire alarm. The guests had stampeded for the exits and left her alone in the shower-drenched room. Where was Benji? Her wedding gown was plastered to her body and with each footstep it became heavier. She had to find Benji. Next to the head table across the room was their formerly three-tiered cake, now nothing more than a soggy mound. Its tiny bride and groom were drowning in a slurry of watery frosting on the floor. She hurried across the dance floor and caught her reflection in the hanging disco ball: mascara streaked her cheeks and her updo had separated into dangling chunks. Above the tacky seventies tribute, the ceiling continued to spurt. They say rain on your wedding day is good luck, but what about an activated sprinkler system? She tried to take another step but the gown’s train was snagged on a folding chair. She had uncovered her ears so that she could yank it free, when the shrill fire alarm screamed at her again.

  Her eyes snapped open and darkness blotted out the horrific wedding reception. As after every nuptial nightmare, she drew a deep breath of relief.

  Then the fire alarm screeched again. Had its grating noise followed her from the depths of her subconscious?

  She blinked, realizing it was only the ring of their home telephone and reached over Benji’s heavy body to his side of the nightstand.

  “Cat, just let ’em leave a voicemail.”

  “I can’t. It might be Quinn.”

  She squinted at the caller ID on the cordless phone and sat up. “Crap! It’s Roger Aiken.” She leaned a little farther so that she could just barely snag it off the cradle.

  “Roger?”

  “Cat, are you watching this?”

  “What time is it?” She squinted at the alarm clock. “Three in the morning? No, I’m sleeping.”

  “Well, wake up and turn to Channel Five, then call me back.”

  He hung up without so much as a goodbye or even an apology for the early morning call. She hobbled out of bed and shuffled into the living room, her hand still clasped around the cordless phone. It rang again before she could find the remote. She answered it in the middle of the first ring. The last thing she needed was Mr. Finley complaining, not to mention that Benji had an early class in the morning.

  “Roger, I haven’t even turned the TV on yet. Give me a minute, okay?”

  “Cat?”

  “Spencer?”

  “Trust me, you’re gonna want to turn on your TV.”

  “I’m trying, I’m trying.” She spotted the remote perched on the back of the couch and hit the power button. “What is all this about?”

  “Do you see it?”

  “… outside George Hudson’s palatial estate on Mulholland Lane where he was just arrested for criminal conspiracy.”

  The camera flipped from the overdone newswoman—Cat wondered if she slept in that brunette bouffant—to a clip of George being escorted to a squad car. His hair was disheveled and he wore a Soldiers’ sweatshirt over a pair of jeans. Detective Kahn guided George’s gray head into the back of the car before shutting the door behind him.

  “Oh my God.”

  “Are you watching this?”

  “Shh! I want to hear what they’re saying.”

  Cat turned the volume up. The police car drove off and the camera switched bac
k to the newscaster, her brow furrowed in studious intensity as she spoke in front of George Hudson’s mansion.

  “Details are still coming in but WBFL has learned that George Hudson allegedly received over one million dollars in gambling profit directly following his baseball team’s tragic loss to Chicago in last night’s game five of the divisional series. The Buffalo Police Department are investigating him for orchestrating what they are calling ‘match fixing,’ that is, the act of losing, or playing to a pre-determined result, in organized sports for a financial or strategic gain. The Buffalo Police spokesperson is unwilling to comment further at this time, but WBFL has learned that detectives were investigating the Snow Bird Casino earlier this afternoon, which begs the question: did George Hudson bet on his own team to lose and if so, did he orchestrate that loss? We’ll take you back to the studio but stay tuned to WBFL for the latest developments.”

  Cat unconsciously felt for the mute button. She and Benji had gone to bed without hearing a peep out of Detective Kahn or the newswire, so she had figured they weren’t ready to move. She had been bracing herself for a way to break the news to Roger Aiken in the morning. Now WBFL had done that for her.

  “Cat? Are you there?”

  “I’m here.” She tried to feign surprise. “This is just … crazy.”

  “I know. I’m on my way into the office now. They might be stopping the presses and calling back the delivery trucks on this one. Either way, this is a huge byline for me. How about you? Are you on your way to the stadium?”

  Cat looked down at her moose slippers and gave the antlers a shake. “Not quite. I’m supposed to call Roger back. I’ll see what he wants me to do.”

  The call waiting buzzed and she peeked at the ID.

  “Oh, that’s him on the other line. I gotta go.”

  “Okay, I’ll call you later.”

  “Good luck!” Cat took a deep breath and answered the persistent beep. “Hi Roger.”

  “I take it you’re up to speed?” His voice wasn’t as frazzled this time. She wondered if she was the first person he had called. They were close, but not speed dial close. Did that mean Detective Kahn had gotten a hold of Roger before she had a chance to explain? The thought sent a sinking sensation through her body, all the way down to her fuzzy antlers. She knew it would only be a matter of time before Roger found out that she was the leak, but did the moment of reckoning have to come at three in the morning?

  “Up to speed?” She was well over the accepted speed limit. “Roger, there’s something I should say.”

  “I know. I’ve given it some thought and I think you’re right.”

  “You … you do?”

  “Yes. You should cover this.”

  “Huh?”

  “Well, I went back and forth about it but if the outside media is going to report it, and Lord knows they will—hell, they are, you saw WBFL—I think it looks worse if we stay silent. Just explain the charges—for God sake don’t forget to include the word ‘alleged’ in there—and say there’s no comment from the team at this time in the ongoing investigation.”

  “Okay but—”

  “Oh! Make sure and mention that the Soldiers are fully cooperating with the Buffalo Police Department.”

  Cat nibbled on her bottom lip while she tried to summon the courage a third time to confess. Instead, she squeaked out, “No problem.”

  “Thanks, Cat.” Roger’s deep exhale resonated through the phone. “I’ve been on the phone with the commissioner for the past ten minutes and his office is going to call the matter a club issue for now and start its own administrative investigation this week.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “For starters, tomorrow morning at ten a.m., the team’s going to hold a press conference, where I expect George to be in attendance. It’s gonna be a circus.”

  “Um … I just saw him being perp-walked into a squad car. Won’t he be in jail?”

  “That’s eight hours away. He’ll be out on bail by then.”

  “Oh, duh. Of course.”

  Her dad had once been arrested for public intoxication the night before Thanksgiving. Because of the holiday weekend, it was five days before he could see a judge to have his bail set. Jail cells and bail hearings were only for regular criminals like Michael McDaniel. The ones who wore Armani got to take the express lane in the justice system.

  “Okay, I’m going to do a write-up here at home now but I’ll be there.”

  “You and every other scoop from here to Chūbu. This is bad, Cat. Real bad and it could get worse depending on the outcome of the league’s administrative investigation. If the commissioner decides to, he can take over the team and appoint a representative to oversee all aspects of the business and day-to-day operations. That would mean the end of all our jobs.”

  “You think they’d fire us over this?”

  “If they have any reason to suspect we were involved, you fucking bet they would. Who knows what kind of evidence the cops have dug up or how it could be misconstrued? I mean, I was his right-hand man. How’s that going to look?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What are you sorry for? You’re not the idiot who bet against his own team. I don’t know if what they’re saying about his coercing players has any merit but damn, it doesn’t look good to profit almost a million dollars from your team’s loss.”

  No, but I’m the idiot that exposed it without talking to you first. But what choice did I have?

  Roger was a good man. He’d played ball during the height of the steroid era and had always been forthright about his decision not to use. Unlike many players who made the same claim, Roger was actually believable. When his baseball career began to fade due to nagging injuries and a lack of power, he started to focus on the business side and worked his way up from special assistant to general manager of the same team that had retired his jersey number a decade earlier. To compound her guilt, Roger had given her a chance almost a year ago, at a time when no other teams would even talk to her. Cat cursed herself for not confiding in Roger before seeking out Detective Kahn. He’d never given her a reason to doubt his integrity or assume he would protect the team first.

  “Roger, I—I … There’s no way anyone would ever accuse of you of being involved in this.”

  She would tell him the truth, but not right now. He had enough to deal with at three a.m.

  “Thanks. I appreciate that. This is going to be enough of a mess without us being under fire, too. I’ll see you in the hornet’s nest, okay?”

  “ ’Bye, Roger.”

  Cat turned off the television. WBFL had switched over to weather for the time being but come morning, this scandal would be all they’d talk about. Most of Buffalo was still sound asleep, unaware of the chaos they’d be waking up to. Cat peeked in the bedroom; the blissfully ignorant included Benji. She watched him snuggle into the mound of blankets; then she shut the bedroom door and trudged toward her desk. At least she had her office back.

  Chapter 25

  Cat shuffled into the kitchen for yet another coffee refill. Benji was already there, preparing a concoction of scrambled tofu. His hair was wet from the shower, reminding her that she still had to get ready before she could leave for the office.

  “At least let me make you breakfast. I can actually see your stomach acid devouring the lining of your duodenum.”

  She grabbed the bag of bagels from the bread box. “Just pass me the cream cheese, please.”

  “One tub of Philly’s finest coming up.” He handed it to her and stuck his head back into the fridge. “Hey, what’s this?”

  She sliced her bagel. “Orange juice? Milk? Chinese leftovers? You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

  “Okay, this can of beer with a weird graphic of … I don’t know, a furry stein?”

  Cat dropped the butter knife. “It’s a coconut.” She grabbed the bottle out of his hands. “Where’d this come from?”

  “The fridge, remember? Orange juice,
milk, Chinese leftovers, weird coconut beer.”

  “No I mean, where? That beer wasn’t in there last I looked. How did it get in our fridge?”

  “It was right here.” He opened up the fridge and pointed to the front of the middle shelf. “When was the last time you looked?”

  “Uh, I ate out for lunch and dinner so … yesterday morning. Quinn and I had breakfast before I left to go to Joel’s house.”

  “Well, maybe Quinn picked some up before he left town.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t understand. This is Hawaiian beer. You can’t get it anywhere around here. I know because I had to special order it for Spencer’s birthday last month. It’s his favorite.”

  “When was Spencer over?” His jaw began to clench.

  “He hasn’t been over here since … the poker game.”

  “Well, maybe it’s a leftover. If you remember, that night was cut short.”

  “I would’ve noticed it before this. It’s gotta be new.”

  “Are you saying Spencer broke into our house and left it for us? Is he a beer fairy?”

  His eyes fished for a response but Cat didn’t laugh. “No, I’m saying he must’ve been a guest in this house at the bequest of someone else.”

  “Well, I think you can rule out me. It’d have to be …” Benji’s eyes flashed. “Quinn?”

  She nodded. “Quinn.”

  “He was here that night, the night of the poker game. Maybe he didn’t leave as early as he said.”

  “That son of a bitch.” She slammed her hand down on the counter. “He knew about their con the whole time.”

  “Knew? He was in on it, I’ll bet you anything.” Benji paused for a beat. “Sorry, poor choice of words.”

  “He probably came by yesterday to pick up his share of the payoff.” She stared at the beer. “And all this time he was letting me take the fall for him.”

  “Pretty careless of him to leave evidence of his presence here.” Benji was examining the label, turning the bottle around in his hands.