by Tom Fowler
“What are you talking about? I should call the cops.” He picked up the receiver from his desk phone. The whole unit looked like it should have been upgraded and incinerated a decade ago.
“Go ahead,” I said, giving an approving wave toward his ancient phone. “I’m sure they’d love to hear about how you conspired with a criminal to shave points. Plus whatever else is going on here.” Baker’s eyes narrowed. “I think something bigger than basketball is the driver.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I’ll tell you what’s crazy.” I leaned forward in the chair so I could point at Baker and almost poke him in the face. “Calvin’s cousin took a few bullets, his girlfriend caught a beating, and his daughter is missing. Does all this happen over some goddamn basketball games?”
“I . . . I didn’t know any of what you’re saying.” Baker’s glare contorted into a concerned frown. I didn’t have a good enough read of the man to know if he was sincere. “I’m sorry to hear about all of it.”
“Don’t be sorry, Coach. You can help me, and you’d be helping Calvin and Iris, too. Tell me what’s really going on here.”
“Why are you so convinced something else is happening?” he said. “Large bets on basketball could make a man do strange things.”
“Just a hunch,” I said. “Something I picked up when we chatted at your house.”
Baker fell silent as he regarded his desk. The mess made it a lot to take in. “I never wanted my part in any of this,” he said after a moment, shaking his head. “The promotion to assistant AD, all the shit going down with Calvin . . . none of it.”
This was easy to say after the fact. I didn’t want to push the coach away now, however. We were finally getting somewhere. “I’m sure you didn’t. It would be a lot for anyone.”
“Tell me something,” Baker said. “Did his cousin make it?”
“No. Died at the scene.”
Color drained from Baker’s face. He brought his hands and arms in tight. I could almost feel him withdrawing into himself. The man who was about to tell me what I needed to know was retreating inside a coward. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.” Baker’s voice was quiet, and I picked up a tremor in it.
“Sure you can.”
“No. You should leave. I can’t help you.”
“Dammit, Coach.” I stood and walked around the desk. Baker grabbed the phone and started dialing. I swatted the handset away from him. “Don’t turn into a coward on me now. Something’s going on here. It’s swallowed you up, and it’s doing the same to Calvin. His daughter is missing. She’s an infant. We don’t even know where she is. Are you really willing to let this happen to a little girl?”
“She . . . she’s not my little girl.”
I punched him in the face. The chair upended, and Baker spilled onto the floor. His glasses fell off his nose, and he felt around for them. He slipped them back on and stared up at me. A bruise already formed next to his mouth. “Tell me what I want to know,” I said.
“No.”
I kicked him in the solar plexus. As close as I stood to him, it wasn’t a powerful blow, but the result was good enough. I didn’t want to pummel him, but how could he be so callous about Iris? Baker sucked wind. His eyes grew wide as he gasped. I drew my first back, but he held up his hands and shook his head so hard his second chin vibrated at its own frequency. “Talk,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Okay . . . okay.” He put his hands on the floor and looked up at me. When he realized I wasn’t going to help him to his feet, he set his chair upright again and hauled himself into it. The coach put the receiver back into the cradle and took his first deep breath since I’d kicked him. “About a year ago, maybe a little more, we had a big party on campus. We do it every year. The basketball and football teams get together and do a celebration every March.”
“An annual tradition.”
“At least the last few years . . . since both teams have been good. You know football and men’s basketball are the only two college sports which turn a profit?” I nodded; we heard this every time someone broke a lacrosse stick at Loyola. “Anyway, we started doing it in March because of the tournament. It’s a popular event. Lots of students who don’t even care about sports turn up.”
“Get to the point,” I said.
Baker held up his hands. “Last year, a girl—a student—was . . . uh . . .”
“Raped?”
“Sexually assaulted,” he said.
“A distinction without a difference.”
“She was . . . assaulted by members of both teams.” I sighed and rubbed my temples. How many problems in college athletics began with athletes behaving badly? “If word of this got out, it would ruin both programs, never mind the damage it would do to the school.”
“Good,” I said. “Sounds like exactly what should happen.”
“We needed to make it go away. So I turned to the boosters. Eddie’s one of them. He had a . . . creative solution. The girl got paid off, the investigation never went anywhere, I took on more oversight, and both programs were in hock to him.”
“And Calvin got farther in the hole when he needed money for his mother.” Baker bobbed his head. “Was he one of the—?”
“No.”
This time, I believed him. Calvin didn’t seem the type, anyway. “Did you put him onto Eddie?”
“Yes,” the coach said. “I . . . never thought it would get this far. Kidnapping a child.” He blew out a short breath.
“It has.” I took out my phone. “Now, I need you to help me fix it.”
Before Baker could answer, the door burst in, and four JHC police stormed the office with guns drawn. Baker backed away from the desk and threw his hands up right away. I remained sitting. His call must’ve gone through before I knocked the phone away from him. “Don’t move,” one of the cops hollered at me. None of them were the two I saw in the tavern with Eddie.
My phone vibrated. I glanced at the screen. Calvin. I’m still getting the squeeze. “Put down the phone!” another cop said.
Instead of following his instructions, I dashed off a quick text to Gonzalez, contorting myself away from the officer trying to snatch my mobile. I pressed send and powered the device off before he wrestled it out of my hands. He looked down at the dark screen. “Unlock it!”
I shrugged. “Forgot my password.”
“Unlock it,” he said again, leaning closer for emphasis.
“No.”
“We can make you.”
“This school have a pre-law program?” I asked. “If so, you might want to audit a class. The college may even give you a discount.”
Another officer stepped forward. “You’re under arrest,” he said, and he read me my Miranda rights. He patted me down, finding only my wallet and a pocket knife. At least I’d left the gun at home. “Come on.” The four of them escorted me out of the building, and I cooperated as the one who insisted I unlock my phone shoved me into the back of the car with more force than required.
Chapter 23
After a short drive across the campus, the two officers herded me from the car and toward their headquarters. It was a squat single-story building with a brick front and faded white siding on the wall nearest me. I’m certainly no maven of home improvement, but the windows looked like they should have been replaced two presidential administrations ago. I wondered what this building had been before it got pressed into service in its current role. It seemed ill-suited to the task and looked out of place with every other building on campus.
Inside, the view didn’t improve. Linoleum covered what felt like a concrete floor. Calling the office furniture shopworn would have been too complimentary. Cubicle walls dotted the landscape. Old whiteboards hung on ill-painted drywall. It all looked bad enough for me to ask one of the cops, “Is this your permanent building?”
“Yes,” he said as he walked with me. “Not up to your big-city standards?”
“I’m not sure it’s up to building code standards.�
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He didn’t say anything else. After they fingerprinted me and snapped a few photos, we ended in the back corner of the place. I sat to the side of a pair of desks pushed together. From across the room, I saw the two cops who accompanied Eddie to the Final Score. They stared me down before turning away when I didn’t express interest in their game. The two I rode with took seats at the desk. Both were white, probably about five years older than me, and built like they might’ve played football a dozen or so years before.
“Found your car,” the blond one said. His name tag identified him as Jackson. “I wonder what we’ll find inside it.”
“Maybe the warrant allowing you to search it?” I offered.
Jackson didn’t react, but his black-haired partner—Meadows—snorted. He shrugged when Jackson glared at him. “You think we need a warrant?”
“I guess it depends. Is it illegal for a Maryland resident to park his car on this campus?”
Meadows tried a different tactic. “What were you doing to the coach?”
“Talking.”
“About what?”
“The benefits of a zone defense versus man-to-man.”
“Which defense gave him the bruise on his face?” Jackson said.
“You’d have to ask Baker how he got it.”
“We did,” Meadows said. “He told us he bumped into a cabinet handle fixing something in his kitchen.” Jackson scowled at him again. He probably wanted to lie to me there. I figured Baker wouldn’t give me up. He’d want as little scrutiny on himself as possible. The faster he could get rid of the police, the better for him. You can’t press charges against cabinetry.
“There you go,” I said. “I’d spread my hands for emphasis, but you still have me cuffed.”
“You’re gonna stay in bracelets until we get some answers,” Jackson barked. Eddie’s two friends sat nearby. I didn’t care for the predatory looks on their faces. For the first time, I felt nervous being here. Those two assholes could decide I needed a beatdown—or worse. Jackson seemed like enough of a prick to go along with them, and Meadows’ objection wouldn’t matter against three of his colleagues.
“I’ve been nothing but truthful so far,” I said.
“We’ll see.” Both Jackson and Meadows fired up their computers. I cast my eyes around the area. For as dilapidated as the building and its furnishings were, the IT equipment appeared new. Sleek widescreen monitors with thin bezels sat on the desks. The laptops looked new with USB-C ports visible on the two closest to me. The department certainly spent its budget in strange ways. What good were fancy new computers if your station house crumbled around you?
To my left was the break room. In addition to the compulsory employment posters, I noticed signage for the various services and vendors to call in case of problems. The copiers and office equipment came from Digital Sales, a company I encountered on my first case. The company which serviced the cloud storage and networking equipment? None other than Fast Eddie’s Data Warehousing.
The investigation never went anywhere. I remembered Lou Baker telling me this a short while ago. I believed him at the time. In a way, I still did. However, now I figured the investigation may not have come to a satisfying conclusion, but officers still performed work on it. If they used the cloud for data backup, it would still exist. I smiled.
“What are you happy about?” Jackson asked.
“I’m just pleased to be surrounded by such dedicated public servants,” I said.
“The hell do you mean?”
“I’m sure no one here would ever do anything like . . . I don’t know . . . scuttle an investigation for political purposes. And I’m sure all these brand new computers went through the proper contracts and acquisition.”
“You saying we’re on the take?” Jackson glowered at me. Meadows eyed him warily.
“Maybe not you directly,” I said. “Somebody is, though. Before I’m done, I’m going to figure out who.” Eddie’s two pet cops stood and walked closer. Behind them, the door opened. Gonzalez led two other plainclothes county officers into the squad room.
“Who’s in charge here?”
“The captain’s out on a call,” Jackson said.
“You’d better get him,” Gonzalez said.
Jackson marched to the new arrivals. “Who the hell are you?”
Gonzalez shoved his badge in the taller man’s face. “You’re out of line here. As part of our oversight duties, Baltimore County is taking over this investigation. We’re going to start by uncuffing your prisoner.”
Meadows took out his keys and freed my wrists. I flexed my hands and rubbed my lower arms. Gonzalez approached, ignoring the daggers glared at him by Jackson and the other two. “You all right?” he said.
“I’ve been treated worse.” And I had, though not in this country. “I presume you got my text.”
“Yeah.” Gonzalez took out his phone. “‘At JHC. I know what happened. Cops arresting.’ You could be a little more specific.”
“You try sending a long text with a guy hanging off you,” I said. All the Hanson cops except Jackson were sitting. Gonzalez’s two comrades pulled up chairs near them.
Gonzalez pointed at Jackson. “You call your captain yet?”
“I will,” the other man grumbled.
“Tell him to hurry,” Gonzalez said. “We’re going to have a conversation, and he’s not going to like it.”
The Hanson police captain, a middle-aged ginger named O’Hearn, arrived about ten minutes later. He seemed unperturbed for someone whose career teetered on the edge of a grave he’d dug himself. Gonzalez and I joined him in his office while the other two county cops babysat the rest of the JHC force.
O’Hearn’s bachelor’s and master’s degrees in criminal justice—the former issued by the school he worked for—hung framed on the wall behind his desk. Like most police commanders, he owned a bookshelf stuffed with dusty old tomes covering a boring swath of the law enforcement spectrum. The captain’s full head of red hair showed gray above the temples. It might spread after our conversation today.
“You’re Gonzalez?” O’Hearn asked.
“Yep.” He showed his badge.
“And you’re a PI?” he said to me.
“I am.”
“Get lost.”
“He stays,” Gonzalez said.
“Why should I let him?” O’Hearn asked.
“Because I’m telling you to, and you’re not really in a position to make demands.”
O’Hearn glanced between Gonzalez and me. He dismissed the whole thing with a wave of his hand. “What’s this all about?”
“The cover-up of a rape on campus about a year ago,” I said.
“Jesus,” Gonzalez whispered. I would’ve liked a chance to catch him up on what I knew and suspected before this tête-à-tête with the captain, but we didn’t get the opportunity.
“Serious accusation,” O’Hearn said as if confirming the grass was, in fact, green. “What’s your proof?”
“You’re not even going to deny it?”
“Do I need to?”
“I don’t know if it would help,” Gonzalez said.
“Captain, you have two options here,” I said. “You can admit to what happened and your role in it. I’m sure Gonzalez will have to strip you of your command, but it’s the best outcome for everyone, especially you.”
“What’s my other choice?”
“Sit there like an overgrown leprechaun and deny everything. I’ll find the proof I need, and when I do, I’ll be here when they drag you out in shackles.”
O’Hearn steepled his fingers and didn’t say anything. He looked between me and Gonzalez again. “Let’s presume you’re right. Now what?”
“Now we need to see all your notes,” Gonzalez said.
“No notes. The investigation didn’t lead to anything. We don’t keep those kinds of files on the network.”
“Do they get archived?” I asked.
“Before they’re deleted, yes.”
I gave Gonzalez a thumbs-up gesture before he launched into his next question. “Pretty convenient. Anybody comes around asking for the records, and you don’t have them.”
O’Hearn shrugged. “It’s in our policies. You guys audit them every year, don’t you?” He had the gall to show a small smug smile.
“It’s part of our oversight,” Gonzalez said. “I’ll point out the people doing the auditing are civilians, not cops. I’ll also point out you shouldn’t look so fucking satisfied considering your department looked the other way while a bunch of athletes raped a student.” The captain’s mirth vanished. “You don’t have the notes. Fine. Tell me who worked the case.”
“I don’t—”
“You’d better remember.” The two men engaged in a staring contest. O’Hearn looked away first.
“Jackson and Bradley,” he said.
“Jackson is the blond asshole who had me cuffed at his desk,” I said.
“Send them both in here, along with my men,” Gonzalez said.
A minute later, four officers entered. The office wasn’t built with this kind of crowd in mind. It was narrow, and taking the occupancy from three to seven made for cramped quarters. The two JHC cops stood as close to O’Hearn’s desk as they could get. Gonzalez’s compatriots from the county flanked him behind his chair.
Sometimes, the universe is fair and just. Bradley was one of the two cops with Eddie Ferrugia in the tavern. I smiled at him. He did not look amused. “Been to any good watering holes lately?” I asked him. He didn’t take the bait.
“You two are leaving,” Gonzalez said to them. “Mitchell, Fields—get these two to tell you everything about a sexual assault they helped cover up. I want names, dates, times, witnesses . . . all of it. If they don’t want to talk, throw them in jail for obstruction.”
“You got it,” one of the county cops said. Jackson glared at everyone. I wondered if he would put up a fight.
O’Hearn must have reached the same conclusion. “Stand down, Jackson. Go with them. Answer their questions.”
“But Captain—”