The waitress returned with their order.
“You never met him or his mom?” Kip asked when the waitress had gone.
“No.” Caroline didn’t elaborate.
Kip took a bite of his kolache and groaned in delight. “I might have to take a few of these back to Florida.”
Caroline sipped her coffee. “You said you were working on a story when you were in Omaha. Was Dad involved in something there that was illegal?”
Kip sat back. “Do you know anything about the SMU recruiting scandal that blew up back in the eighties?”
“A little.” After Lanie’s recent mention of it and her description of how her dad had reacted to it, Caroline had looked it up online. “They were paying players, recruits, to come to school there. According to what I read, even the governor at the time, Bill Clements, was involved, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah. He was on the board, just one of several bigwigs, SMU boosters and alumni, who were in the know, so to speak. They had athletes set up in their own apartments, sent money to their families. Even after SMU got sanctioned, they kept it up, paying recruits under the table. When the whole thing blew up, it cost SMU their entire 1987 season.”
“I don’t like believing my dad was involved in anything like that.” Caroline remembered what her mother had said, that her dad might not have been the most honorable man when it came to his wedding vows, but he’d never compromise his professional relationships. As angry and as hurt as she’d been by her father’s actions, Caroline agreed with her mom. She’d seen her dad in action, talking to the recruits. He’d loved those guys, wanted the best for them. But she’d been a kid herself when she’d traveled with him. Maybe she was only remembering what she wanted to.
Kip fiddled with his coffee mug. “Do you know how the business at SMU came to light?”
Caroline shook her head. She hadn’t gotten that far in her research.
“The producer at a local Dallas TV station got a tip from a former SMU athletic-department employee. The producer decided to investigate. One thing led to another, and—well, you know the rest. My point is while SMU had been under investigation before, had even been penalized for violations prior to that time, it was this tipster who basically led to SMU’s plug getting pulled, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m not sure I do.”
“The circumstances at Tillman were similar in those years. At the time that your dad was actively recruiting for Ryan Kelly, Tillman, like SMU, was a small school with an enrollment that barely qualified them as Division One. It was hard for them to compete with the big boys.”
“So they paid players like Brick Coleman. Tricia said—I didn’t want to believe her.”
“Yeah, Brick—he was something. From his high school sophomore year—hell, maybe even from junior high—the recruiters were all over him like ducks on a june bug.”
“It just doesn’t seem like my dad, though. He was always so—when it came to those kids, he was like a preacher, talking about setting a good example, having a strong work ethic, not expecting to get things handed to you in life.”
“Really, with Brick, all Hoff did was handle the transaction,” Kip said, defending him. “Coach Kelly and several boosters and alumni—Brick’s own uncle headed the pack—were the masterminds, if you will. Like SMU, the Tillman athletic department had a slush fund. A bunch of rich guys—again, Brick’s uncle—kept it going. They wanted a winning team, and they were willing to pay to get it.”
“After what happened with SMU, how could Dad or any of those men imagine they’d get away with it?” Caroline felt betrayed all over again.
“College sports is no different than any other business—it’s all about the money. You know how that goes. With the kids, the athletes especially, it went to their heads. Even with Hoff, I remember him telling me what the extra cash could do for you and Harris.”
Caroline sat back. Was that supposed to excuse him? That he’d had noble intentions? “What changed his mind?”
“Oddly, it was Brick himself.”
“Tricia said they bought him a condo.”
Kip hooted softly. “Yeah. She would have known. She and Brick had a thing going.”
“I figured as much,” Caroline said.
“She tell you what she did at the Blue Pearl?”
“She was one of the dancers.”
“Did she also tell you she was into whatever guy could show her a good time? Your dad was a smart man about most things, but when it came to women, I think he was a little naive. It never crossed his radar screen when he introduced Brick to Tricia that she’d go for Brick behind his back. I’m pretty sure she was paid for it when she and Brick hooked up the first time. Not by your dad. Hoff told me he never messed with that part of it, getting women for the guys. He said he was no pimp—” Kip broke off. “You sure you want to hear all of this? The things your dad confided in me—the interview process can get pretty intimate. He confided a lot to me.”
Caroline had never been good at hiding her emotions. “It’s hard,” she admitted, “but I need to know.”
“All right. It’s your call,” Kip said, keeping her gaze.
Her nod was clipped.
Kip continued. “So your dad got Brick signed up at Tillman, and a few weeks later, when he was back in Omaha—this was during preseason—he went to see the kid. He wanted to check up on Brick, make sure he was doing okay. Your dad was like that. Once he made contact with an athlete and his family, he kept tabs on them. Your dad was a good guy that way.”
Caroline’s throat closed, hearing Kip’s praise. She picked up the teaspoon she’d used to stir her coffee and set it down again.
“Hoff was blown away when he saw the condo. I never saw it, but he said it was swank, loaded with every kind of amenity. After Brick gave him the tour, they were out on the balcony that had a million-dollar view of the river, and your dad says to him, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ And you want to know what Brick’s answer was? He goes, ‘I’m throwin’ fuckin’ TDs, bro. What the fuck are you doing?’”
“That’s horrible.”
“I hope you can forgive the language. But here’s the point: your dad was shocked. Brick had always been quiet and respectful, grateful for the opportunity Hoff had arranged. Then within a few weeks, here the kid is, mouthing off, acting like he’s the king and everybody should bow down. It hit your dad, like, right between the eyes, how wrong it was, paying these young guys, giving them all the perks. They were living like the rich and famous, getting treated like movie stars. It didn’t matter if they made their grades. Hell, it didn’t matter if they went to class. They were given a pass anyway.” Kip paused, his gaze drifting.
Caroline nudged her coffee mug to one side. She felt faintly ill.
“You dad knew it was wrong, but he went along with it until he saw how it affected Brick. After that he didn’t want to be part of it anymore.” Kip caught her gaze. “You know it’s all about the revenue with these colleges, all about drawing the big crowds. You’ve got to have a winning team, a coach who can win games, to make that happen. The pressure can be incredible.”
Caroline wasn’t moved by Kip’s rationale, if that’s what it was. “Was my dad getting paid too? Was he taking money to bring the best recruits to Tillman?”
“Yeah. But not after that day he went to Brick’s condo. Hoff had heard I was nosing around, and he called me up. We met several times over the course of several weeks, off the record, so to speak. Hoff was giving me names, information. Like at SMU, he was the tipster who got the ball rolling on Tillman, or over, it would be more accurate to say.”
“I was just at Coach Kelly’s house.” Caroline felt light headed. “He brought out all these photo albums and got all teary, looking at the pictures. He talked about how honored he was to have been a coach and mentor—mentor!”—she repeated it—“to so many great players. You would have thought they were his own kids.”
“To be fair, Kelly was under the gun from the alumni.
Like I said, Brick’s uncle led the pack. They paid Kelly a king’s ransom; he drove the newest Mercedes, flew first class, that kind of thing. He got results, too; he was riding high. But certain folks were starting to talk, asking questions among themselves. I know I was curious how the country’s hottest football prospects were choosing Tillman over the powerhouse programs. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out, and the whole thing was a house of cards, bound to come down. Hoff and I would have nailed them—”
“But Dad disappeared.”
“Yeah, but really, the whole plan to expose Tillman fell apart before Hoff disappeared when he had the accident. Prior to that we’d planned for him to get into Coach Kelly’s office, see if he could find anything—actual bank records were what we needed—to prove money was changing hands, how much, where, when, and to whom it was being paid. It would have been the nail in the coffin, so to speak, the hard evidence any investigative piece needs.”
“But then he fell—”
“He never fully recovered his strength or his desire to do his job after that, much less go undercover for the story. He stopped answering my calls. It was like he didn’t care anymore what happened. There wasn’t much I could do. We’d gotten our hands on some of the paperwork, a memo or two, but it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t publish without more evidence . . .” Kip trailed off, some of the old disappointment he must have felt at the time lurking in his eyes. “That head injury did a number on Hoff for sure. I know he was in a lot of pain.”
Caroline couldn’t answer. Her throat was tight with sorrow, the old regret. Why hadn’t she reached out? He was her dad, for God’s sake.
Kip said, “There’s something else.”
Caroline met Kip’s gaze.
“The last meeting we had?—I told Hoff I was going to the feds. Even though I didn’t have the hard proof I felt was necessary to go to press, I had enough to show them something was going on. Hoff didn’t like the idea. He got a bit riled, thought I was putting him in jeopardy even though I swore to him I’d never reveal a source. I’d sit in jail first. Had it come down to that, though, he’d have been granted immunity in exchange for his testimony.”
“You told him that?”
“Yes, but he didn’t buy it. He was—”
“Scared,” Caroline finished, and at Kip’s inquiring look, she said, “He wrote that he was in a letter to my mom.”
“When was this?”
“August 1989.” Even as she offered the date, it was coming together in her mind, the danger her dad had felt he was in and the very real threat that had been behind it. Her blood pooled heavily in her stomach.
“August of that year is the last time I saw him at Tricia’s apartment. That’s when I told him what I wanted to do.” Kip leaned back, and Caroline saw he was putting it together too. “Holy Christ—”
It was out between them now—the chilling possibility that her dad hadn’t left of his own free will. The notion had skittered like a rat through her mind before, but she’d run it off. Now that was impossible. “Could one of those guys have found out Dad was working with you, that you intended to expose them, and decided to put a stop to it?”
“I don’t know.” Kip frowned, considering. “Maybe Brick’s uncle. We called him Tex, but he’s a Nebraska native, and his name is Farley, Farley Dade.”
“Tricia mentioned him.”
“He’s a Tillman graduate and still a big shot there on campus. He owns Dade Oil, among other companies. Back in the eighties he was probably the biggest source of revenue for the slush fund, but the whole time he was funneling cash into that scam, he was fronting an image of the do-gooding benefactor, claiming Tillman’s football program set the standard for young men, encouraging them to become heroes, not only on the football field but in every aspect of their lives.”
“What a liar. And he’s still involved at Tillman?” Caroline felt a jolt of anger mixed with disgust, and it steadied her.
“He’s president of the alumni board, last I knew. Brick is a trustee.”
“You’re serious.”
“I’m afraid so, and now I heard Coach Kelly, old Big Dog, is a Hall of Fame nominee.”
Caroline shook her head.
“It flat-out burns me up, thinking how these guys gamed the system, and now Kelly’s going to be honored for it?”
“What would happen if the story broke now? Would it have an effect?”
“Hell yes. Maybe not legally or sanctionwise, but the guys involved—they’re all like Farley, prominent in the business community. There’s even a government official or two who participated. They have wives and families and reputations to protect. They wouldn’t want so much as a whiff of this garbage getting out.” Kip leaned forward. “Why? You look worried.”
“Do you know Coach Kelly’s son, Jace?”
“Not personally. We’ve never met. He’s head football coach at Tillman now, right?”
“Yes,” Caroline said, and she went on, filling Kip in on her visit with Ryan Kelly. She described Jace’s seeming hostility toward her that had built throughout her visit and how he’d practically strong-armed her from the house. She related the details of the accident that had occurred directly following her departure. She said, “The cop told me there wasn’t any sign of another driver. The nurse said my head injury could have caused me to imagine someone hit me. But it’s still so real in my mind—that there was someone behind me who forced me off the road. They came up to my car afterward, opened the door, said my name. No one in Omaha knows my name but Jace and his dad. I just don’t think I could have dreamed all of it, you know?”
“You said you went to the Tillman campus before going over to Kelly’s house. Who did you talk to there?” Kip asked.
“A trainer, Alexa somebody.”
“Did you mention your dad to her? Did you say you were looking for him?”
“Well, yes. I was trying to get Coach Kelly’s address, and I thought she’d be more likely to give it to me if I told her the circumstances—that my aunt was dying and I needed to find my dad.”
“You played the sympathy card. Did it work?”
“No. It was sheer luck that ultimately got me to Coach Kelly’s house.” Caroline kept Kip’s gaze. “You aren’t thinking—?”
“I doubt Farley would have called the welcome-wagon folks if he heard about your visit and the reason for it. Maybe you should go to the cops.”
Caroline’s breath shallowed. “What are you saying?”
“Think about it. You show up on campus and say you’re looking for your dad—a guy who disappeared right about the time I’m telling him I’m going to the feds, which in itself is pretty suspicious—then after you leave the Kellys’ house, someone deliberately runs you off the road? Who else could it be but the son of the coach who was on the take?”
“When Jace came to the hotel the day after my accident, he told me not to stir the pot, that I might not like what floated to the top.”
“Bingo.”
“So if it was him, if Jace did cause my accident, was he trying to scare me into giving up the search for my dad?” A flare of new panic needled her skin.
“Look”—Kip bent his weight on his elbows—“if Jace knows what his dad was involved in, he’s got to be as invested as Farley and Brick and the rest of that gang of liars and cheats in covering it up. You and your search for your dad could be making them a little crazy, a little paranoid.” Kip sat back. “You can never tell what men—what a bunch of snakes like that—will do when they’re desperate.”
“But it was thirty years ago,” she said, as if Kip hadn’t already indicated the passage of so much time was of little consequence when big egos and bigger reputations were at stake.
“Like I said before, there’s as much on the line, personally, for them now as there was back then. Kelly’s got a Hall of Fame nomination riding on this thing. And Farley—you know what he used to say?”
Caroline shook her head.
“That he’d walked with
great men, that he was one of the greats. This story comes out, he’s not gonna look so great then, is he?”
“Jace told me his dad was the winningest coach in Tillman history.”
“It’s true.”
“How could Jace brag on his dad like that if he knows what he did to get there? Why would he send me to Tricia? It seems counterintuitive, considering she was involved—maybe not directly, but she knew something was going on at Tillman. She knew about you, that you were investigating it.”
“Who knows? She had a thing with Brick back in the day. Maybe she and Brick and good old Uncle Farley cooked up some plan.”
“One that involved running me off the road? That’s so crazy.” She suppressed a shiver.
“Yeah, well, that’s the thing about fear. You tend to go off half-cocked. You don’t think so straight. Maybe Jace was just trying to get you out of Omaha, divert your attention. Who knows?”
Caroline cupped her elbows in her palms.
Kip said, “There’s something else you should know.”
Caroline looked at him, reluctant to know more, although had Kip invited her to walk away, she wouldn’t have.
“Rumors Hoff and I heard back then indicated that certain business owners, including Farley, wire transferred money from their commercial accounts into accounts they set up for players and in some cases the players’ families.”
She straightened. “Are you serious?” In the world of sports recruiting, even she knew that was about as wrong as it could get.
“I’m afraid so. Hoff managed to get a copy of a memo that Dade wrote to Kelly where he indicated some funds would be placed in a certain numbered account. What we needed was a copy of the actual bank transaction. Had we gotten that, had I been able to incorporate that into the story, once it published, the NCAA would have hopped all over it. Hell, even the FBI might have gotten involved. What those guys were doing—it was bank fraud. That’s a federal crime. They could have done time.”
“The memo wasn’t enough?”
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