by Kathi Daley
Coach Cranston was in his office working on paperwork when we arrived. He greeted Jack with a hearty handshake, and they chatted about high school sports for a few minutes before we began the interview. Up to this point I’d been thinking the coach was our strongest suspect, but he seemed so relaxed and open with Jack, I found myself reexamining my assumptions.
“You said on the phone you wanted to talk about Trey Alderman,” Coach Cranston said.
“I’m helping a colleague who’s writing a book about his baseball career with some research. I know you’re busy, so I’ll try to be brief.”
“I’m always happy to talk about Trey. That boy single-handedly put Gull Island High on the map. What do you want to know?”
Jack started off by asking about Trey’s background at the school and the games he played in. I considered this a soft approach, but under the circumstances, easing into the difficult questions probably was best. I listened as Coach Cranston shared memories of shutout games and game-winning home runs. It didn’t seem as if he held a grudge, but Jack hadn’t worked around to the tougher questions yet.
“Did you stay in touch with Trey after he went off to college?” he asked.
“I did. That boy was like a son to me. I went to as many of his games as I could manage and we always shared a meal when I was in town. It about killed me when he died.” Coach Cranston looked down at his desk. I could see he was taking a moment to get his emotions under control.
“Were you at the game where he suffered his heart attack?” Jack asked. He knew the answer but must be looking for the coach’s reaction.
“I was there. You know, I almost didn’t go. Trey was a great kid, but we’d a falling-out just before that game. He’d made a decision he felt was best for his career, but at the time I felt slighted and was angry at him. We’d argued the night before and my emotions were still pretty raw, but in the end, I knew I would regret it if I wasn’t there, so I went.”
Jack shifted in his chair. “I understand the two of you had discussed the possibility of you acting as his agent when he went pro.”
Coach Cranston nodded. “That was the plan. We talked about it often. But in the end, he decided to go with a professional. As I said, my feelings were hurt, but after I thought it over, I realized he was right. Trey had a brilliant career ahead of him. He needed a brilliant agent with a proven track record. It was such a shame he never had the opportunity to fulfill his potential.”
“Did you consider acting as agent for any other young baseball players?”
The coach shook his head. “Naw. Trey was special. I wanted to be a part of that. I’m pretty happy here, coaching my kids.”
“There’s a theory floating around that someone spiked Trey’s drink with the drugs that led to his death and his heart attack wasn’t accidental at all.”
Coach Cranston pursed his lips. “I’ve always wondered about that. Trey wasn’t the type to use drugs. It was totally out of character for him, especially before a big game. He did seem different that week, though.”
“Different how?”
Cranston drummed his fingers on his desk before he answered. “Angsty. Like he had something heavy on his mind. The conversation he had with me couldn’t have been an easy one for him, and I didn’t take it all that well at first. But I think there was more going on than that. He seemed distracted and somewhat worried.”
“I heard he planned to break up with his girl,” I said. “Could it have been that?”
“Doubtful. Trey had his eye on the Baseball Hall of Fame. He wasn’t going to let some girl slow him down. No, if he was worried about something, I’d be willing to bet it had something to do with baseball.”
“The draft was right around the corner,” Jack offered. “I suppose he could have been worried about how that would work out.”
“Perhaps.”
“I understand Jett Strong, Trey’s biggest rival for the top spot in college baseball, was not only involved in the game in which he died but was on the island before the game as well,” I added to move things along.
“Yup, that’s right. Jett was invited to play in the game, same as Trey. I don’t think the two of them were friends, but I do remember him being at the party to welcome Trey home the night before the game.”
“Were they getting along at the party?” I asked.
“Don’t rightly know. I was there, but I didn’t stay long. Things were awkward between us after we had our talk.”
“I’ve been told Jett’s father was also at the game. What can you tell me about him?” Jack asked.
“Not much. I don’t know him, though I’m aware he’s very involved in his son’s career. He has a reputation for being ruthless when it comes to getting for Jett what he thinks he deserves. I heard he hired a series of private coaches for Jett during his high school and even college years, but none ever lasted long. Apparently, Mr. Strong has a reputation for firing anyone who disagrees with him about any aspect of his son’s career.”
“Did you speak to Mr. Strong at the game?” I asked.
Coach Cranston shook his head. “Nope. Not that I recall.” He looked up at the wall clock. “Sorry to cut this short, but I have to teach a physical education class in about ten minutes.”
“No problem. We were about done anyway.” Jack stood and held out his hand. “Thank you for taking the time to speak to us. You’ve been very helpful.”
We walked in silence back to Jack’s car. After we’d both gotten in I turned to him and asked if he thought Coach Cranston was lying about not having spoken to Jett’s dad.
“Yeah, I think he might have been lying. I can’t believe he’d have a conversation as intense as the one we saw in the photo and not recall having it a year and a half later.”
“Should we confront him with the photo?”
“I think we might want to let Deputy Savage handle that. I have a copy of the photo with me. Let’s stop by to see what he thinks. I’m afraid if you and I confront him, he’ll just clam up, but he might talk to Savage, especially if he really doesn’t have anything to hide.”
“I agree. Both Coach Cranston and Deputy Savage have lived on the island a long time. I imagine they know each other well. It stands to reason Cranston might be more open to sharing his thoughts and memories with someone he knows and trusts.”
Chapter 5
Luckily, Rick Savage was in his office. There was a time I would have doubted his willingness to speak with us, but our relationships had developed over the past few months and most of the time I considered him to be an ally. It was true that almost everything he said to us was prefaced with an insistence that the information was off the record, but he’d been instrumental in helping us with the last couple of cases we’d researched, and I hoped he’d be willing to participate in this investigation as well. Alex had brought up the idea of investigating the death of Trey Alderman at our Halloween dinner, and at the time, Rick had hinted he would be willing to work with us if no laws were broken or crimes covered up.
“I was wondering when the two of you would show up,” Deputy Savage said when we walked into his office. “I take it you’ve begun the investigation you discussed at Halloween.”
“We have,” I said as I slid into one of the chairs on the far side of his desk. “We’ve only just begun, but we already have something for you to do.”
Savage chuckled. “You don’t say. And what do you have in mind?”
Jack shared our conversation with Coach Cranston and then showed him the photo of the coach arguing with Jett’s dad. “We figured maybe you could follow up with him.”
The deputy looked at the photo. “The problem is, I’m not officially investigating this case. Questioning the coach in an official capacity when the case has already been closed isn’t going to go over well with the new sheriff. As crazy as it seems, he has the idea that I should spend my time investigating open cases.”
“What would it take to reopen this case?” I asked.
“Something
concrete that would prove Trey Alderman’s death wasn’t accidental, as the original investigator determined. And keep in mind the case was never open in our county. Trey died in Charleston and it was the Charleston PD who looked in to his death and made the determination that it was an accident.”
I sat back in my seat. “Okay; if you can’t help us in an official capacity, can you help us behind the scenes?”
“It depends on what you want me to do.”
“Can you get hold of the report that was filed after the original investigation?”
Savage hesitated. “I’m sure I could. I’m not sure I should share it with you, however.”
“So don’t share it. Just get it and look it over. If there’s something you feel we should know as we proceed, you can slip it into casual conversation.”
Deputy Savage steepled his fingers as he considered my request. “I suppose it wouldn’t be a bad idea for me to look at the report. I probably should have back then, although at the time no one was suggesting that Trey’s death might have been anything but an accident.”
I smiled. “Great. And if you see something you think might help us, you can casually let us know. By the way, I’m giving a Thanksgiving dinner. You’re invited, if you aren’t busy.”
Deputy Savage looked surprised by the invitation. “Can I let you know in a day or two? I appreciate the invite, but I should check with my brother to make sure he hasn’t made plans that include me.”
“That’ll be fine.” I stood up. “And thank you for the other. We look forward to chatting with you once you’ve had a chance to read the report.”
Jack and I headed back to his car, discussing our next move. It seemed the best thing to do now was to get everything we’d learned so far onto the whiteboards while our interviews were fresh in our minds. I wanted to pick up my car, which I’d left at the newspaper, so we headed in that direction.
“Let’s grab the rest of your photos as well. We can look through them and post comments on the whiteboard for any that seem relevant. We may even want to make copies and hang those we feel are most significant. It’d be good to get input from the others.
“I have copies on my computer, so we can do that,” Jack agreed.
“It’s really bothering me that Coach Cranston seems to be lying about having spoken to Jett’s dad at the game,” I commented. “You don’t think he’s actually guilty of conspiring to kill Trey, do you?”
“Kill him, no. But if the intention was simply to cause him to miss the game, maybe. I hope not, but he’d just been burned, and obviously Mr. Strong had a vested interest in having his son shine during a televised event so close to the draft. I could almost imagine a situation where Coach Cranston called Jett’s dad to let him know he was available, should Jett need an agent. The two of them might have chatted and, during the conversation, hatched a plan to make sure Trey was in no shape to play. It bothers me that the coach showed up at a party where the average age was probably twenty-two. Especially because he’d so recently been burned by Trey.”
“Yeah, it does seem odd, unless he was there to spike his drink.”
“I like the guy. He genuinely seems to care about the kids he coaches and the community as a whole. I really hope he’s innocent, but if we’re beginning to create a suspect list, I think we’d be remiss not to include him.”
“Agreed. Let’s create three lists: suspect, maybe a suspect, and not a suspect right away, so we’re grouping people from the beginning. We can always move them around as new information becomes available.”
At the resort, we found George and Clara in the dining area sharing a pot of tea. They were happy to help us, so we spread the photos out on the table and began recording our impressions on a whiteboard.
We started by making the three lists. Coach Cranston went on the suspect list, Heather on the not-a-suspect one. Those were the only two people we’d spoken to so far, so they were the only ones we recorded. Then we talked about the fact that while we didn’t think Heather would try to hurt Trey, we suspected she was hiding something; we made a note to follow up on that.
“What do you make of this photo?” I asked Clara as I handed her the one of Candy glaring at Heather while she chatted with Rena.
She took the photo and focused her attention on it. I could see she was taking a really good look at the details, which should increase her chances of getting a successful reading.
“The girl sitting in the back watching the others is scared.”
“Scared?” I asked. I’d picked up anger, not fright.
“She knows something the others don’t. This knowledge is a burden and she’s unsure how to proceed. I sense she’s conflicted about the secret she’s been burdened with.”
I looked at Jack. “Maybe she knew someone had or was planning to drug Trey.”
“Maybe. Should we add her to the suspect list?”
“Let’s wait to add anyone else until after we speak to them. Though I feel like she’ll end up being a suspect.” I turned back to Clara. “What else do you see?”
“The girl on the left isn’t as relaxed as she appears to be. See how she’s gripping the cup she’s holding?”
I looked at Heather’s hand. She did seem to be holding it a lot more tightly than necessary, now that I took a closer look.
“And this girl here.” Clara pointed to Portia Sinclair. “She’s pretending to be involved in the conversation the girls around her are having, but she’s actually looking over Heather’s shoulder.”
Again, I looked more carefully at the photo. It seemed as if Portia was interacting with the others, but upon closer examination, her eyes did seem to be focused on something in the distance. “I wonder if we should add her to the list of people to interview. Do we know if she still lives on the island?”
“I don’t know,” Jack answered. “But I’ll add her to the list and find out.”
I turned back to Clara and pointed to Rena. “What about this girl? Can you tell what’s going on with her?”
“She has a look of confidence. Of satisfaction. She reminds me of the cat who’s spotted the bird and is just waiting for the right time to dine on it. She doesn’t display the same telltale ticks as the others. She looks as if she’s enjoying herself. If I had to choose one of the four to be most cautious of, it would be her. The situation the girls have found themselves in is one that should be uncomfortable and awkward. It’s not natural for Trey’s current girlfriend to be quite so comfortable with his ex. She’s either a sociopath or she honestly doesn’t care what happens next.”
I glanced at Jack. He was frowning, but I could see he was mulling over everything Clara had said. When Clara was on, she was really on, and as I examined the photo again, I sensed she was definitely on today.
“What about this photo?” I pushed the one of Coach Cranston talking to Jett’s dad in front of her.
She picked it up and looked at it. “These men are involved in an intense conversation, but I’m not picking up on anything unusual. The eyes behind the photo, however, are another thing entirely.”
“The eyes behind the photo? You mean the photographer?”
“Exactly. I sense rage. If I had to guess, I’d say the photographer is taking the photos to prove a point or tell a story. He might be the killer, or he might know who the killer is.”
I turned to Jack. “Where did you get this photo?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure offhand. Some of the photos were from the social media pages of people who knew Trey; others I acquired by doing Google searches for things relating to Trey and the charity game.” Jack picked up the photo. “I’m pretty sure this was posted to a board in a chat room. I’m sure I saved the information on my computer. I’ll check when I get back to the office.”
I glanced back at Clara. “I don’t want to tire you out, but I’m going to leave these photos here. If you wouldn’t mind looking through them when you have time, that would be great. If you find anything of significance, let me know.”
“Of course, dear. I’d be happy to.”
I glanced at Blackbeard, who was sitting on his perch watching us. He hadn’t said a word for more than two days, which was completely out of character for him. I hoped he was feeling all right. Of course, I didn’t know a thing about caring for a bird or recognizing the signs of a problem. I’d have to ask Garrett about that the next time Blackbeard and I visited him. I should take him with me the next day, when I planned to show Garrett the photo I’d found in the box in the wall. I wanted to see if Garrett felt up to joining us on Thanksgiving as well.
“Any thoughts?” I asked the bird, who was watching Jack as he wrote on the whiteboard.
He looked from Jack to me, then back to Jack, but didn’t respond.
“Are you feeling okay?”
Still no response.
I looked at George and Clara. “Have either of you heard Blackbeard say anything today?”
Both confirmed they hadn’t.
“I wonder if I should call Garrett. I hate to worry him, but I don’t know a thing about sick birds.”
“I know what veterinarian Garrett took him to,” George volunteered. “I can go with you if you want to take him in for a look.”
I glanced at Jack. “Maybe I should. Can I call you later?”
“Sure. I have some work to do anyway. Call me when you get back.”
******
The Gull Island Veterinary Hospital was run by a nice woman named Kelly Fisher. She’d taken care of Blackbeard when Garrett first had his stroke, so she knew him well. I hoped she’d have a sense of whether his behavior was within the realm of normal; not only was she a doctor but she’d known him a lot longer than I had.
“Blackbeard, it’s so good to see you,” Kelly greeted him. The vet turned to me. “You must be Garrett’s sister.”
“Jill Hanford. I’m happy to meet you.”
“So, what’s the problem with this handsome boy?”