Kelly shook her head. “I was just looking for an opportunity to speak very candid with you about Chase’s death and everything else that you know about him that hasn’t found its way into a newspaper yet.”
Hugh shrugged. “I guess I don’t mind. But where’s Cal?”
“Have you listened to any local news today or read The Times yet?”
He shook his head and gestured toward the animals behind him. “These fellas need to get fed. And right now, I don’t trust many people to be able to do that for me. Besides, this kind of activity helps me keep my mind off the fact that Chase is really gone—forever. So, what did I miss?”
Kelly sighed. “You’ve missed a lot. We better go inside and sit down to talk about this. Do you have the time?”
Hugh buried his shovel into a large pile of dirt and then walked toward the house, gesturing for Kelly to join him. “Of course I have time to chat with you, but the suspense is killing me. What happened?”
“Cal was arrested,” Kelly said flatly. “And you’re going to help me get him out.”
“Wait. What?” Hugh said. “Cal is in jail? What for?”
“Murder,” Kelly said.
“Cal would never do anything like that,” Hugh said.
“Of course not, but right now the feds only care about facts, and someone is feeding them something that makes Cal look guilty. I really need your help to prove his innocence.”
“Whatever you need. Cal’s been a good friend to us, but he’s also the only one who cares enough to find out who was really behind Chase’s death.”
Kelly nodded. “Okay, I was thinking on my way over here about all that missing money.”
“You think this is about money? Even though Chase had all that cash stolen, this didn’t seem like a robbery. Or if it is, somebody went through a lot of trouble to make it seem like something else entirely.”
“Oh, it’s about money all right, just not that money,” she said. “At least, that’s the theory I’m going with.”
“Want to share what you’re thinking?”
“First, I want to see Chase’s phone. Do you still have it?”
Hugh nodded. “Let’s go inside.”
He led Kelly into his house and disappeared upstairs for a few minutes before returning with a mobile in his hand.
“I went through this quickly, but I didn’t find anything unusual on here,” Hugh said, handing the phone to Kelly. “Just a bunch of exchanges between him and his teammates.”
Kelly powered on the device and looked at the screen, which demanded a password. “What’s his code?”
“Forty-two, twenty-one—the numbers of his two favorite baseball players.”
“Jackie Robinson?”
“Yes. Can you guess the other?”
She shook her head. “I’m stumped.”
“Roberto Clemente.”
“He must’ve liked old school baseball. No Sandy Koufax or Juan Marichal or Warren Spann?”
Hugh chuckled. “Chase liked those guys too, but he appreciated what players did off the field as much as what they did on it. And it’s hard to find a combination of two players who did as much outside of the game as they did between the lines.”
“Just knowing that makes me even angrier that someone murdered your son.”
Hugh shrugged. “He wasn’t perfect, but he tried real hard—and he was very gracious toward others.”
Kelly entered the numbers and watched the screen change. Navigating to the text message app, she tapped the icon and then started to scroll through the notes. However, Kelly wished she had Cal with her to decipher all the nicknames associated with the texts. Instead of a traditional first and last name format, entries were tagged with monikers like “El Grande,” “Speedy,” “Tookie,” and “Deuce.”
Kelly held up the screen and showed it to Hugh. “Do you know who all these people are?”
Hugh chuckled. “Welcome to the world of baseball, where no one calls you by your given name.”
He proceeded to explain who each person was and the type of relationship they had with Chase.
Kelly scrolled for a while until she came across text with just a phone number next to it, indicating that the sender wasn’t in Chase’s list of contacts.
“You recognize this number?” she asked, turning the device toward Hugh again.
He shook his head. “I read through that one. It’s a local number. I thought it was probably some overly aggressive telemarketer.”
“You have telemarketers text you after you hang up on them?”
“No, but I didn’t really think much of that note.”
Kelly furrowed her brow. “Let me read this exchange to you again: ‘Chase, I thought we had an agreement?’ Chase replies, ‘We must not be on the same page then.’ The response is, ‘You can’t just decide to shirk your responsibilities because you feel like it.’ Then Chase says, ‘I’ll make it right. Don’t worry. I just couldn’t on Sunday.’”
Kelly bit her lip as she considered her next question. “What happened on that Sunday?”
“Chase just threw the game of his life, that’s all. And that’s how the Mariners made the playoffs.”
Kelly sat down and then pulled out the chair next to her. She patted it, signaling for Hugh to join her. “I know you might think ill of me for saying this, but I didn’t see the game. I took Maddie to the park that afternoon. So, I want you to tell me all about it. What happened?”
“If you like homeruns and lots of scoring, that game wasn’t for you. It was a pitcher’s duel with not much going on. To be honest, it would’ve been the kind of game critics would hold up as the reason why the up and coming generation isn’t interested in baseball.”
“So, you’re saying that the two pitchers just about threw no-hitters for nine innings?”
“No, there were some scoring opportunities for both teams. At one point in the fourth inning, the Mariners had the bases loaded with their biggest hitters coming to the plate and couldn’t score. At that point, I started to wonder if it just wasn’t the Mariners’ day.”
“Then things turned around?”
“No, they actually got worse. In the seventh inning, Oakland loaded the bases on a couple of uncharacteristic errors and a walk. Then Chase struck out the next three batters to keep the game scoreless.”
“How did they win the game?”
“Colt Mullens hit a pinch-hit homerun in the bottom of the eighth inning to give the Mariners a 1-0 lead. And that was all Chase needed. He struck out all three batters he faced in the ninth inning to secure the victory.”
Kelly nodded, processing all the information about the game.
“What are you thinking?” Hugh asked.
“I’m thinking I know what precipitated Chase’s murder.”
CHAPTER 20
CAL STUDIED LANA LINDERMAN as she entered the room and sat down across from him. With her brown hair affixed in a taut bun, she situated a notepad on the desk and took a moment to adjust her pen so it was flush with the top of the page. She pulled out a small bottle of hand sanitizer and dropped a dollop into the palm of her right hand before rubbing the liquid all over. After she finished, she returned the bottle to her coat pocket and clasped her hands in front of her.
“I bet you’re a lot of fun on a stakeout,” Cal quipped.
She smiled. “Glad you’re willing to speak with me without your lawyer present.”
Cal shook his head. “If you’re going to ask me anything about what happened to those people, I’m only going to tell you that I didn’t do it and that they were all alive when I left them. Somebody is framing me—and the quicker you come to that realization, the better chance you’ll have of catching them instead of wasting your time trying to avoid germs during what will prove to be a conversation that won’t get you any of the answers you need.”
Linderman glared at him. “Those are bold words for a man who’s been arrested for three murders.”
“And only one of which you have jur
isdiction for—and none of which you have motive.”
She scribbled down a note on her pad. “And I suppose you’ve been able to ascribe a motive for all of the murders in your gumshoe investigation.”
“Don’t mock me,” Cal said. “You obviously haven’t done your homework if you think I’m some willy-nilly reporter trying to make a name for himself.”
“I’m well aware of your track record, even how you’ve assisted the FBI in the past. But that doesn’t change the fact that you do have a motive—and you could be placed at the scene of every crime at almost the exact time of death.”
Cal sighed and shook his head. “I know why you’re here.”
“Please enlighten me, Mr. Murphy. I always love to be told what I think and what I know and why I do what I do, especially from criminals who think they know me better than I know myself.”
“Your sarcasm aside, you’re here because you don’t have anything but circumstantial evidence. And you know as well as anyone that I was working on a story for my paper that led me to interview all of the people who have been murdered.”
“And that doesn’t look so good for you.”
“No, what doesn’t look good is your inability to make an arrest in a high-profile incident that resulted in the death of one of the country’s brightest young superstars. Instead, you went a different route and tried to make a splash by arresting me, tipping off reporters and even getting the news placed on the front page of my own paper. Bravo. But quite frankly, I’m surprised the bureau even let you attempt to charge me with such a weak case. You know you’ll never win—and that’s exactly why you’re here without my lawyer. It’s your own Hail Mary, your desperate plea to entrap me with something that will bolster the prosecution’s position. Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but it’s not going to happen—because I didn’t murder those people.”
Cal felt his face getting warm with rage. The smug look on Agent Linderman’s face only incited that feeling. While she might deny his accusations, he could read her body language. And he was confident that he was right, that Agent Linderman was groping around in the dark, trying to put her hands around anything that could help her catch the man she believed to be the killer.
He took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat. “I’m done,” he announced. “If you think you’re going to get another thing out of me, think again. Your little attempt to extract some comment you can give to your boss just failed.”
She wagged her index finger at him and smiled. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Even your tone suggests you’re guilty, Mr. Murphy. It’ll only be a matter of time before you’re locked up where you belong.”
She stood, collected her material, and strode toward the door.
“You’re wasting your time, Agent Linderman,” Cal said. “Meanwhile, the real killer is running free out there.”
She turned and winked at him. “I doubt it.”
Then she exited the room, leaving Cal alone with his thoughts to ponder what had just happened.
A few minutes elapsed before another knock on his door preceded the entrance of a man clad in a dark suit.
“So, what are you—the good cop?” Cal asked with a dismissive wave. “I’ve seen this routine far too many times on television and in real life. It’s not going to work.”
The man cracked his knuckles and sat down across from Cal.
“I’m more like the nightmare cop,” the man said in a husky voice.
“Are you a comedian, too?” Cal asked. He was in no mood for any kind of manipulative tactics to extract information from him, information that he never had in the first place.
“Listen up, Mr. Murphy, because I’m only gonna say this once: You have a stubborn wife, and if she knew what was best for her, she’d stop sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. Are you catching my drift?”
With his mouth agape, Cal glared at the man. “Are you really threatening her? Or is this just a way to get to me? Either way, you’re going to fail. If you know anything about Kelly, you’d know that she won’t back down from a fight.”
“There won’t be any punches thrown, just a bullet to the forehead. That’s how you’ll know it was from us.”
Cal forced a laugh, more out of disbelief than anything. “So when people talk about the inner workings of the FBI, this is what they’re referring to? A group of unethical and immoral thugs hunting at will beneath the cover of the government?”
“Take it however you wish, but know that this isn’t some veiled threat—this is a promise. Make her stop or you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting that you didn’t.”
The man stood and strode toward the door.
“I didn’t catch your name, Agent —”
“Farley,” the man said. “Agent Tom Farley.”
Cal committed the man’s name to memory. As soon as an opportunity arose, Cal planned to inquire about the agent—and figure out a way to expose him.
* * *
AN HOUR HAD PASSED, and not a single FBI agent had darkened the door of the makeshift holding cell Cal was calling home that weekend. Contemplating the alternative, his situation could have been much worse. He could actually have been in a federal prison cell by now had he not been arrested on a Friday evening. Stashed away in one of the bureau’s cushy interview rooms was far more comfortable and less intimidating.
A knock at the door surprised Cal, ripping him out of his partial daydream.
“Yeah,” Cal said.
An agent eased into the room and ambled over toward Cal.
“Can I get you anything? A drink? A sandwich?” the man asked as he stooped over and placed his knuckles down on the table.
“Got any drinks with liquor in them?” Cal asked with a smirk.
“I wish,” the man said. “Babysitting you wasn’t exactly what I had planned for the weekend.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Cal said. “Maybe a couple bottles and some shot glasses.”
“No!” the man snapped. “If I’m stuck here on your account, you’re certainly not going to get any creature comforts, let alone a bottle of booze.”
Cal shrugged. “It was worth a shot. Maybe your agent pal will be warmer to the idea.”
The agent scowled. “Agent pal? Who are you talking about?”
“Farley,” Cal said. “Tom Farley. He came by here about an hour or so ago.”
The agent cocked his head to one side. “Nobody else has even been on this floor today, let alone in the last hour.”
Cal shook his head. “No, I’m quite certain the guy who came in here told me his name was Farley—wait, is this part of your routine? Make me think I’m crazy to crack me?” Cal chuckled. “You really had me going there for a second.”
The agent narrowed his eyes. “I’m serious. Nobody has been on this floor today. I’ve been sitting by the only access in or out—and I’m the only one authorized to enter until my replacement gets here later this evening.”
“Well, somebody was in here—and I don’t think it’s very professional for you to try and gaslight me like this. You sent an agent in here to threaten me and my family. Just admit it.”
“I’m not playing any games, Mr. Murphy. No FBI agent has been on this floor all day except for me.” He stormed out of the room and slammed the door shut.
Cal shuddered once he was alone. He wasn’t imagining the intimidating visit. And since he wasn’t, who exactly was that man who had sat across the table an hour before?
Cal needed to warn Kelly. He also determined he needed to get out of the FBI facility before his arraignment, before his chance to prove his innocence vanished.
CHAPTER 21
WITH CAL IN CUSTODY, Buckman had to shore up his staff by working on a Saturday night. He preferred to spend his weekends at home, watching college football from the confines of his living room instead of enduring the chaos of late Washington games that usually were accompanied by something breaking on the press and arriving home at 4:00 a.m. But with Washing
ton playing a rare afternoon game and the Seahawks playing on Sunday night, he opted to work on Saturday, much to the delight of his staff.
He was looking over his story budget for the week and comparing it with all the upcoming events when he heard a knock at his door. Kelly Murphy didn’t wait for his invitation to enter, hustling inside and settling into the seat across from him.
“You could’ve called,” he said. “Not that I don’t mind the interruption.”
“I’m not sure using the phone is a good idea these days,” she said. “Whoever is trying to frame Cal has got some kind of network—and power.”
“So, I take it you’ve found something?”
“I’m not going to tell you anything until I get your word that you’re going to do whatever you can to investigate this and prove Cal’s innocence.”
He nodded. “I’m working on something, but I don’t have anything concrete to present to you yet, much less run in the paper.”
“But you will?”
“I swear I’ll do everything I can, Kelly. You know how fond I am of Cal. He’s one of the hardest working reporters I’ve ever had the pleasure of employing on staff. But I must admit that you’re making me a little nervous with all these claims about some vast conspiracy.”
“I don’t know if it’s vast or not, but it’s definitely being run by some professionals.”
“Well, let’s not waste any more time. Tell me what you’ve found.”
Kelly took a deep breath before opening a folder and sliding it across the desk to Buckman. “Everything is in there, but I’ll give you the short version.”
Buckman glanced down at the files in front of him, all handwritten notes by Kelly. “Don’t you guys own a printer?”
“I told you I’m not taking any more chances. Anything I say or write that could possibly be recorded or captured could also be manipulated and used against me, against us.”
He scanned one of the pages and then looked up at her. “Okay. Please continue.”
Dead on Arrival Page 11
