Bad things, p.24
Bad Things, page 24
The second call was to Carroll Keenan. It took him a moment or two to decide on Keenan as he looked over a list of the football dads’ names he’d given to Charlie, who had matched them to cell numbers. He didn’t know quite what he was looking for with them, but there was something there. A kind of members-only attitude coupled with nostalgia that seemed way out of proportion to a short and long-past period in their lives. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe their sons’ football glory days had a bonding mystique he could only guess at. A commonality that lasted through the years. Maybe it was a natural for conversation. It had just seemed so ...
Cole made a face. Couldn’t put his finger on it. At the memorial service those men, especially Blevins, had seemed almost disrespectful.
Putting that aside, he placed the call to Carroll Keenan, who answered with, “Keenan. Who’s calling?”
“This is Chief Sheffield,” Cole introduced himself, letting the man know immediately this wasn’t a social call.
“Oh. Cole. What can I do for you?”
Was it his imagination or was there a thread of caution in the man’s voice? “Have you heard that Diana Conger was killed in her apartment last night?”
“Killed? You mean, purposely? Murdered?”
“She was strangled. We believe it’s in connection with Nick Radnor’s death.”
“Truly? Huh. I saw on the news that she was dead, but I thought it was accidental.”
Cole had asked the media to keep the strangulation out of the public eye for a while, though he’d had little real hope that would happen. But at least in this case it had bought him some time. “We’re treating it like a homicide. We believe it’s connected to Nick Radnor’s death.”
“So she didn’t kill Nick.” He sounded dubious. “That’s not why you’re calling me, though.”
“No. Actually, I wanted to ask you about Nick’s last year of high school,” Cole said, then launched in with, “He was on the football team with Killian. Nick was the quarterback.”
“Well, yeah, but ... you’re going a long way back, son,” he said, and this time his tone shifted to a kind of patriarchal wariness, a warning before Cole had even started.
“I’ve been trying to reach Durant Stipe without much success. He was Lisette Benetton’s stepfather, the man accused of sexual assault. You all knew him, right?”
“Of him,” Keenan clarified. “He had a daughter and she wasn’t playing football, so I didn’t know him.”
“Lisette was dating Nick at the time of her suicide?”
“This might be a question for Killian. I’m a few rungs out, I’m afraid.”
“It was football season. It must’ve made a pretty big impression on the whole team. The quarterback’s, the team leader’s girlfriend committing suicide.”
“Well, now, Killian was as much a leader, maybe more so, than Nick Radnor ever was. Don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but Nick wasn’t all that strong.”
“Killian was a running back?” Cole searched through his memory to all the football memories that had been pouring out of the older men as the service wound up and the liquor flowed. “He’d wanted to be quarterback.”
“It was a long time ago,” Keenan said.
“I was hearing some of the recaps last night,” said Cole.
“Killian was a great quarterback, but they needed a running back. They needed speed. Not that quarterbacks don’t need speed, too. They do. But who’s gonna run that ball? You gotta have somebody with strength and speed, and Killian was the best on the team. It was the coach’s decision. Coach Bergen was a friend of Jerry Radnor, you know. Not that I’m saying that made the final decision, but it had some influence. Killian was looked at hard by a lot of schools, and I mean across the country, but if he’d been quarterback, there would have been even more.”
“Did I hear he played both offense and defense?” Cole asked.
“Sure did. He was their best safety, too. Couldn’t do it all, though.”
“But he didn’t go on to college ball.”
“No.” He was abrupt.
“Why?”
“If you were listening last night, you already know,” he said evenly. “Nick Radnor. Nobody wanted to talk about it much at the man’s memorial service, but it was there. He and Killian were wrestling around, just horsing around, and this concrete post got loose and crashed down on my son’s ankle. Just murdered it.”
“Where was this?”
“At some graduation party they were at. Killian was devastated.”
As were you, Cole thought.
“But he and Nick stayed good friends,” he added quickly, as if realizing how that might sound. “It was just a lousy end to the year.”
“Do you remember Diana Conger from that time?”
“No. Not really.”
Again the caution. As if he were afraid to say something that might come back to bite him. “Lisette Benetton?” Cole asked.
“She was Nick’s girl. Sure.”
“And the others, Josie and Miami and Taryn—”
“What is this really?” he demanded. “What are you getting at?”
Cole wasn’t sure exactly what he was searching for. He just knew he was making the man uncomfortable in some way.
“I think I’ve talked enough about this,” Keenan growled. “You want answers about Nick Radnor, forget high school. Go check with those people in Silicon Valley. I’ve heard he screwed his partner out of millions. All Nick was to us was a mediocre football player on the same team as our kids.”
He hung up.
Charlie returned while Cole was still absorbing the conversation with Keenan. She came to his door and stuck her head inside. “I went looking for the homeless kid Heather Drury told me about who was supposedly a bad influence on Justin, maybe supplied him the drugs.”
“And?”
“Not so sure that’s the way it was. Justin did hang out with Ted Perry, but there were other guys at Brighter Day as well.”
“Brighter Day?” Cole snapped to attention in a way that made Charlie stop talking. “Brighter Day?” Cole asked again.
“Well . . . yes,” she said uncertainly.
“And?”
“And yeah, I think there could be a drug connection between Justin and Ted Perry. No one’s supposed to be using who stays there, you understand, and I ruffled the feathers of the director, Jill Potts, by asking questions. But these kids are sneaking stuff in every which way, if you ask me. I don’t have proof. Just something about it. Perry’s over twenty-one, but I’m not sure he’s entirely to blame. Heather’s looking to blame him, though. But you know ... it could be the other way around. Justin supplying Perry.”
“Where was Justin getting the stuff?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Cole had already grabbed up his jacket and was heading for the door.
“Where are you going?” Charlie asked, stepping back to allow him to pass.
“Let’s go back to Brighter Day. According to one of Nick’s friends who’s affiliated with it, it’s where Nick Radnor gifted most of his estate.”
“You want me to go, too?”
“Yep.”
“You think it’s connected to Nick Radnor’s death?”
“If Brighter Day benefits from his death, and his death was by drugs, which apparently are being sneaked into the facility ‘every which way,’ it’s a coincidence at the very least.”
“All right. I’ll grab my coat and let’s go.”
“Okay.”
Cole headed outside, calling Kerry as he ducked his head against a fretful wind that was making the bright red roses planted outside the station’s front door dance. This year, like every year, the wind was shredding the blossoms just as they were becoming lush and fragrant. He inhaled their scent, which, combined with the brine off the water, was a heady mix.
“Well, hello,” Kerry answered, a bit shyly, he thought.
He felt much the same way. “I have a question for you. Do you remember the name of Diana’s hypnotist?”
“It’s Nina Gudner.”
“Nina Gudner,” he repeated, committing it to memory.
“Are you going to interview her?”
“As soon as I can, I guess.”
“Can I go, too?”
He wanted to say yes. He almost did. But he said, “Well, that wouldn’t really work, given the rules of my job.”
“I know. I just . . .”
“If I can, I’ll tell you what she says,” he promised. “I’ll come by the motel later? I’ve got another interview, and then I’ll try to contact her.”
“Okay. See you then.”
He was smiling as he clicked off and Charlie met him at his Jeep.
* * *
Kerry clicked off and clutched her hands together in alarm. She’d just gotten off the phone with Nina Gudner herself and had likely scared the woman senseless. Oh, no. She’d just been thinking about Diana and what she’d said about the hypnotist and had decided to be proactive. If she’d gotten in the way of Cole’s investigation there would be hell to pay.
And for what? The conversation had been a disaster. She’d called Nina and learned right away that she hadn’t yet heard about Diana’s murder. In a frightened voice, the hypnotist had cried, “I don’t know anything! We had one session. One! Diana felt she’d seen someone at her apartment that night, but she couldn’t describe him!”
“Him?” Kerry had repeated.
“I don’t know! I don’t know! Don’t call me again.” And she’d hung up.
She went back to her laptop, which she’d left open on her kitchen table, her nerves buzzing with anxiety. She’d been going over accounts and the construction bills that had piled up, bills that came to her address or were left on her doorstep. Jerry wasn’t using Starrwood Homes as his main contractor, but he was using some of their subs, which had created its own little hell for Kerry; the competition for workers had pissed Randy off. He’d tried to keep his enmity from spilling over onto Kerry, who had worked for him long before Jerry decided to renovate. Mostly, things had gone smoothly, and with Nick’s death and Jerry’s hospitalization, Randy had really backed off.
But her thoughts drifted back to Nina. And Cole. And then to Diana. Strangled.
She gave a full-body shiver and tried to settle her thoughts.
A knock on her back door nearly sent her through the roof. She hurried over and saw it was Emilio, the man in charge of the tilers. “Hello, Kerree,” he greeted her. “We are having some trouble with thee machine. Thee safetee guide is broken.” He threw a dark look over his head to one of the other men, who was standing back, head down.
“Okay.” She hadn’t really noticed that the noise had stopped, but now she did.
“We will be back later. Be careful.”
“Oh, I will. I’ve used a tiler before. Not well, but being around home construction, I . . .” Why was she even talking? He was politely waiting for her to finish, but he was clearly upset with his worker. “So you’ll be knocking off . . . quitting for today?”
“Yes, queeting. Thank you.”
“Oh, Emilio. I found the lights left on in some of the units, and the doors left open. Could you make sure everything’s buttoned up tight?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
She closed the door behind him, hearing rapid-fire Spanish leveled at the hapless man who’d broken the machine.
Her cell rang and she saw it was Randy. Now what? Her hand hovered over the Connect button. She’d told him she would see him Monday. Whatever he wanted, she wasn’t interested. But in the end she hit the button, and then kicked herself when he said, “Hey, I know I shouldn’t ask, but can you come back? I’m drowning here, and with Ange out, I just can’t do it.”
“Randy . . .” She stopped herself.
He jumped in. “I know what you’re going to say. Angie should come in. She should. But she’s having a helluva time since Diana . . . and what happened at the reception. It’s making her sick, really sick. I just need help.”
“What happened at the reception?” Kerry asked.
“Oh, you know ... at the end . . .”
“No, I don’t know.”
She waited, but he clearly didn’t want to tell her if she didn’t already know. “Randy,” she pressed.
“She got in a fight with her friend Sheryl. She thought Sheryl was ... coming on to me, I guess.”
“And that’s why she’s out sick today and you need to be in two places at once and want me to come back in.”
“I know. I’m a bastard. But I need help. Ange is just heartsick. She and Sheryl have been friends a long time and it’s killing her. I know they’ll work it out. They always do. It just might take some time.”
Try to imagine how little I care. “Uh-huh.”
“Just for one more hour, then done till Monday. Okay?” he pleaded.
“Sure. Fine.”
Randy was a flirt, and that flirting had gotten him in trouble with his wife, and now he was relying on Kerry. Big surprise. When she’d taken the job, she’d been very clear about her “space” with him, which he seemed to generally understand, although not if it inconvenienced him.
“And I might need you to take something over to my dad,” he burst out, as if he couldn’t contain it any further.
“Jesus, Randy . . .”
“I know, I know.”
This job ... the boundaries were growing far too fluid. “Don’t forget I did this for you,” she warned.
“I won’t. Scout’s honor. I won’t.”
“Bet you never were a Scout,” Kerry muttered as she clicked off.
She looked at her laptop screen, then took a moment to search for “Nina Gudner,” “hypnotist,” and “Washington state” and found an address in Lynnwood. Lynnwood was right up I-5 from Edwards Bay. Maybe if she went to see Nina . . . before Cole did? Except he was calling her next.
She tried calling the woman again but got no answer. She’d really spooked her and, in turn, Kerry was spooked as well. But she had to know what had happened. She had to know the truth. Yes, she’d told Cole she would be careful, but with Diana’s death, her murder, on the heels of Nick’s . . .
Grabbing up her purse, she headed out. She would figure out what she was going to do later. After she put in what was turning out to be the second half of a split shift at Starrwood Homes.
* * *
Josie checked her phone as she hurried through the back door of the Blarney Stone. Four ten. She was barely late, but as she entered she saw she was the only one there apart from Miami, who was seated at the bar talking to Sean. As soon as Sean saw her, he straightened and headed toward the bottles lined up on the narrow glass shelves that filled the wall behind the bar. He pulled down Grey Goose and offered Josie a small smile. “Vodka martini?”
“Yes, please.”
She slid onto the stool next to Miami just as she was straightening up and inclined her head toward their favorite table, the largest one, tucked in its own corner farthest away from the dartboard.
Josie followed her, sitting down across from her. She hoped the remnants of Chad’s attack didn’t show. She’d covered her arms with a long-sleeved black T-shirt and had really overdone the blush to brighten up her white face.
Miami’s expression was shuttered. She looked as if she were under enormous strain. “You okay?” Josie asked her.
“No. No, I’m not. Someone killed Diana . . .”
“I know,” Josie said. The whole day felt surreal. As if it had happened to someone else. Maybe it had. A second personality that seemed to lie beneath Josie’s good-girl, fresh-faced tomboy exterior.
“What are we going to do?”
“What can we do? I mean, throw another memorial service?” She heard herself and tried to work up a smile, failing miserably.
“We know what this is about. We need to do something. We can’t just sit by any longer.”
Josie stared at her friend’s drawn face. “What are you talking about?”
“You know, Josie.”
“I don’t know if I do . . .”
“The chart, Josie. The reason Lisette’s dead!” she hissed.
“That’s not the reason.”
“Of course it is!”
Tiny ice chips felt like they were floating in Josie’s veins. The mythical chart from high school. “Someone killed Nick and Diana, and it isn’t because of high school.”
“Everything’s because of high school,” she said bitterly, staring into her drink. Exactly the same drink Sean was now bringing over for Josie. Josie thanked him, and he gave Miami a worried look before he headed back to the bar. Whatever world she was lost in, it wasn’t a pleasant one.
“I’m thinking of... telling the truth,” Miami whispered, her gaze darting around the room.
“About . . . ?”
“Remember that guy you dated in high school?”
“‘The love of my life,’ as you reminded me?”
“No, not him. I mean at our high school.”
“I dated a bunch of guys, none seriously.” And all pretty much losers, Josie thought now, which was unfair and she knew it and didn’t care.
“But there was the one who said all those things about you. About how you put out and went down on him and gave great suck.”
“Jesus. What a memory. And it was all lies,” Josie declared, surprised and a little repelled that Miami recalled it all so clearly. On the heels of Chad’s attack, to think back to that high school asshole . . . she felt under siege, damn near paranoiac. Was that the right word? And Miami sure as hell wasn’t helping. “You know none of it was true.”
“But it made the chart.”
Josie stated clearly, “That guy and I had a makeout session that didn’t get all that far, and afterward he bragged about all kinds of stuff that wasn’t true. He lied about it, and it wasn’t even a good lie! At least the one about Nick on the fifty-yard line was inventive.”
