Dead on Arrival

by R. J. Patterson

  “The truth is, what happened to Chase Dollinger happened right underneath our noses—and we all missed it. Well, you missed it; Cal missed it; every other member of the national media missed it. I didn’t even see it suggested on a Reddit discussion board either.”

  Buckman winced. “Why do I have the feeling you’re about to give me an off-the-wall theory about what happened?”

  “I’m not a kook, Frank. I need to know you’re going to take me seriously if I tell you this.”

  “You don’t have any hard proof, do you?”

  She shrugged. “Depends on what you consider hard proof. I have some circumstantial proof as well as some serious irregularities that will support my theory if you’re ready to hear it out.”

  “All right. Out with it. What did we all miss?”

  “Three words for you: Shoeless Joe Jackson.”

  CHAPTER 22

  KELLY SMILED AS BUCKMAN stared at her wide-eyed. He sifted through several pieces of paper on his desk and quickly scanned them. Dropping her theory about the possible motive leading to Chase Dollinger’s death was satisfying in and of itself, but the look on Buckman’s face made her swell with pride.

  “Shoeless Joe?” Buckman asked as if he still didn’t believe her.

  “I think all the signs point there,” Kelly said. “Just bear with me for a moment while I explain.”

  Kelly shifted in her seat and leaned forward before continuing. “If you spend much time researching the 1919 World Series, you’ll find that Shoeless Joe had the highest batting average of any player for either team and didn’t make an error. He even threw a runner out at home plate. And, yes, he took the money, but he didn’t look like a player who was throwing the game. To top it off, he was never found guilty of anything by the courts, only by baseball’s commissioner at the time, Judge Kennesaw Mountain Landis, who banned eight players off that team from ever playing baseball again. And it was a shame, too, because Shoeless Joe was still in his prime.”

  “Let me get this straight. You think Dollinger took a bribe and then didn’t follow through on it?”

  Kelly nodded. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  Buckman scrunched up his face and shook his head. “Not really. These guys make millions of dollars every year. I can’t see them risking their entire careers for a few extra, especially someone like Dollinger who had his whole career in front of him. He’s up for free agency in two years, and he would’ve landed a contract somewhere in the neighborhood of fifteen to twenty million per year.”

  “But he’s not there yet,” Kelly countered. “What was his base salary this season? Four hundred thousand? That’s peanuts compared to what might have been dangled in front of him.”

  “Okay, let’s assume for a minute that you’re right. If Dollinger pitched poorly, he would’ve been pulled early and the Mariners could’ve still rallied to come back and win.”

  “That’s why there were other players in on it—all important players.”

  “And how can you prove that?”

  “There were two fielding errors by the normally sure-handed Tim Young at shortstop. There was a passed ball by catcher Miguel Maldonado. And Harold Underwood who was crushing the ball coming into the game struck out three times—and Underwood only had one multi-strikeout game all season.”

  Buckman nodded subtly in agreement. “You make some very good points, though I still find it hard to believe that all of these players would’ve taken the money.”

  “Look, the Mariners are a homegrown team. All the stars on the field this year were signed and developed through the Mariners’ system.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning that all of these guys made hardly anything this year compared to the rest of the league. If someone enticed them with a million dollar bribe, why wouldn’t they take it? Everyone in Seattle is disappointed, but no one is burning up message boards or talk radio complaining that they choked away the series with New York—and nobody would’ve said that had they lost the one-game playoff. The fans were just happy people were talking about their team in early October.”

  Buckman nodded. “True. Seattle sports fans are accustomed to annual disappointment from all their teams. But still, that’s a heavy accusation to levy against those players, especially Dollinger.”

  “But that’s just it—he may have taken the money, but I’m betting he had a moment of crisis when he took the mound and instead pitched the game of his life. It all makes sense if you think about it. Even Ned Poole, the guy who hit the game-winning home run that day, was a pinch hitter and wouldn’t have been offered anything.”

  “Fine. You’ve convinced me that this crazy theory of yours is plausible.”

  Kelly smiled and pumped her fist victoriously.

  “However,” Buckman said, holding up his index finger, “I’m not about to print anything in the paper or online suggesting this was the case unless we have rock solid proof.”

  “Frank, Cal is in danger of going to jail forever,” Kelly said, her voice starting to crack. “You know he wouldn’t hurt anyone, much less murder them. For goodness sake, last summer he risked everything to make sure thousands of people didn’t die at the World Cup.”

  “I know, but I’ve learned that if you’re going to poke the bear, you better do it with the barrel of a gun, not a stick. If you’re right, whoever is behind this is powerful and won’t appreciate you meddling to the point of exposing their scheme. It’s probably why Cal is in jail. And if you can’t see how much power they wield—the kind of power that has your husband in federal custody at the moment—then you’re not paying attention. We can’t make any mistakes or have any shaky evidence when we go public with this claim. Otherwise, it’s going to be a disaster for everyone involved, particularly Cal.”

  “But you are going to do something about this, right?” Kelly asked.

  “I’ll do my best, but right now I’m short-staffed, and committing a writer to dig this up isn’t something I can really afford to do.”

  Kelly narrowed her eyes and tucked her chin against her chest before responding. “Frank, this is not the time for cowardice. Uncovering a story like this will not only keep Cal out of prison but it’ll also win your plenty of awards. Ignoring this story isn’t the way to go.”

  “Perhaps you’re right, but I’m not sure I can stake my future and my reputation on your hunch. But I will do what I can. I might even do a little digging myself tonight and see what I can come up with.”

  “That’s not good enough.”

  “Cal hasn’t even had his arraignment hearing yet,” Buckman said. “It might not be as bad as you think. Maybe his lawyer will get the whole thing dismissed. Please, just be patient. We’ll figure a way out of this for Cal.”

  Kelly sighed and then stood. “I know Cal would fight for you no matter what the consequences were.”

  “I’m going to fight for him too, Kelly. But I just don’t want to jump to any conclusions and risk a lawsuit or worse—a physical attack that threatens either Cal’s life or mine. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I promise.”

  “I appreciate that, but just know I’m not going to wait around for you. I’m going to be working on my end too. And if I find something and you hesitate, don’t think I won’t find some news outlet that will air what I find right away.”

  She spun on her heels and exited Buckman’s office. Kelly had work to do—and she didn’t have much time to do it.

  CHAPTER 23

  CAL STARED AT THE CEILING and wondered if he might be able to climb out through the air ducts. Getting out of the room was one small hurdle compared to escaping the FBI’s building. The only thing Cal had going in his favor was the fact that the FBI facility wasn’t really designed to hold criminals, just detain them overnight or—in Cal’s case—for a weekend.

  He put those thoughts aside when the door swung open and in walked one of Cal’s college buddies and FBI special agent Jarrett Anderson.

  “Jarrett?” Cal aske
d in wide-eyed disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

  Anderson shook Cal’s hand and then shut the door. “I was in town collaborating on a case and heard that you had been detained. What in the world, Cal?”

  “You know this is a bunch of bull, right?”

  “Well, I would assume so, but I spoke with several agents, and they act like the circumstantial evidence is overwhelming.”

  “Did they tell you about my possible motive?”

  “No, but even if they did, I couldn’t tell you.”

  Cal narrowed his eyes. “It’s because there isn’t one. I was interviewing some people who all crossed paths with Chase Dollinger in some form or another the week before he died. And apparently, someone was following me around and killing these witnesses. Now I’m being framed for it. It’s absolutely ridiculous, and everyone here has to know that.”

  “Well, I believe you,” Anderson said. “You’re no killer.”

  “Thank you. I just wish some other people at the bureau could see right through this—unless they’re being co-opted by the same people murdering these witnesses.”

  “That’s always a possibility, but I wouldn’t rule out some overaggressive agent just trying to make a name for himself.”

  “Or herself.”

  “Lana Linderman?” Anderson asked.

  “You know her?”

  “She’s got a reputation in the bureau of being a little trigger happy when it comes to arresting a suspect. Her track record isn’t the best, so that might bode well for you.”

  “Why do I feel like there’s a but coming?”

  “Because there is.”

  “But her uncle is Senator Thomas from Arizona—and she gets away with a lot of missteps that other agents would get re-assigned for, if not fired altogether.”

  “So what you’re saying is that I’m going to be stuck here for a while.”

  Anderson shook his head. “Once you’re arraigned, you’re going to be placed in a federal prison until your trial begins.”

  “Trial? This is insane. How could a judge or a grand jury even look at this case and think there’s enough evidence to take this case to trial?”

  “You’d be surprised how often that happens, especially when everyone knows who your uncle is. Believe me—nobody wants to be on Senator Thomas’s bad side.”

  “But you know I’m innocent.”

  Anderson nodded. “Of course, but that doesn’t mean I have the power to put a halt to the charges filed against you. You’re going to have to prove that you didn’t do it by figuring out who did.”

  Cal huffed in disgust. “How exactly am I supposed to do that when I’m locked up in prison?”

  “Maybe your lawyer can figure out a way to keep you out and convince the court that you’re not a flight risk. It’s possible that a judge might be appeased with you wearing an ankle monitor.”

  “They’re not going to give me bail, so stop trying to give me false hope. I know you’re trying to help, but right now you’re just blowing a lot of smoke. I know what’s going on here.”

  “Look, maybe I can make a few calls and see if I can convince someone higher up the food chain to reconsider the charges against you, but I’d need a plausible suspect to replace you with. Do you have any idea who might have murdered all these people?”

  “The same people who murdered Chase Dollinger.”

  “And that would be . . .”

  “At this point, I’m not sure. But it’s someone with plenty of clout, maybe even someone who has contacts inside the bureau.”

  “I know there might be a bad apple or two among our ranks, but the FBI doesn’t operate like that. There are plenty of checks and balances to make sure this type of thing doesn’t happen. I think we’ve had more than enough black eyes lately. If anything, there’s never been a better time to trust the bureau.”

  “You might be right, but I don’t want to be the outlier. If someone else is pulling the strings, I’m not in a good place right now.”

  “I’ve known you for a long time, Cal, and I know that you didn’t do what you’re being accused of doing. Just let me talk to some people, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “If I go into that arraignment on Monday, you know I’ll never be able to get out and prove my innocence, especially since the bureau thinks they’ve caught their man.”

  “I’ll work as quickly as possible,” Anderson said. “If you don’t hear something by tomorrow afternoon, you’ll know I failed.”

  “And then what?”

  Anderson sighed and glanced down at his shoes for a moment before looking up at Cal. “Then you do what you need to do.”

  “What does that mean?” Cal asked.

  “I think you know.”

  Anderson nodded at Cal while exiting the room.

  Cal exhaled and slumped down in his chair.

  You’re right, Jarrett. I know exactly what I need to do.

  CHAPTER 24

  THE SUN HAD JUST dipped below the horizon west of the Puget Sound when Hugh Dollinger pulled up to the gate of his son’s upscale luxury apartment complex. Instead of investing in a house and forking out all the extra money that went along with its upkeep, Chase quickly settled on a nice apartment. He figured he could move that way and settle down with a house when he was ready to start a family. And Hugh had agreed with his son’s decision, affirming that it made financial sense.

  Hugh punched in the code on the keypad and waited to be granted access.

  While he watched the gates swing open, he recalled their initial conversation about what to do with his signing bonus and sighed. None of those plans made any difference now. All of Chase’s dreams—and Hugh’s hopes for his son—were dashed in an instant. Yet Hugh knew Chase’s death was no accident; it was a deliberate act of sabotage. It was murder.

  But why?

  Even the answer to that question eluded Hugh as he had already begun digging into all the extracurricular activities that consumed Chase when he wasn’t on the ball field. From what Hugh had already discovered, there wasn’t much he had time for. During a Mariners home stand, Chase’s daily routine consisted of getting up around 10:00 a.m. and working out at the gym until noon if he wasn’t pitching that evening. He’d run errands until about 2:00 p.m., and then he would head to the ballpark, arriving no later than 3:00 p.m. There just wasn’t much time for him to get into mischief.

  Hugh drove through the entrance and parked outside Chase’s apartment. After stopping by the mailbox to get all of his correspondence, Hugh hustled up the steps and then unlocked the door. It had been turned upside down. Someone had been looking for something, yet Hugh had no way of telling if they had found what they were looking for.

  After canvassing the entire apartment to make sure nobody was still inside, Hugh went into Chase’s bedroom and located the secret safe hidden beneath the carpet in the closet. Hugh entered the access code and waited for the latch to unlock. A few seconds later, it clicked open.

  Hugh’s eyes widened as he looked inside and found large stacks of hundred dollar bills.

  What were you up to, Chase?

  Hugh rushed over to the executive desk in the corner of the room and unlocked the file drawer where Chase kept meticulous bank records. While Hugh didn’t know what to expect, he hoped that the savings account numbers were low and that a reasonable explanation was that Chase had just decided to store all his money in a safe. But if it wasn’t . . .

  Hugh didn’t want to look. Once he saw them, he could never forget.

  Was Chase into something dark and sinister? Was that what cost him his life?

  Hugh took a deep breath and retrieved the folder with the most recent statements. While he didn’t want to know if his son had engaged in some illegal activity, Hugh had to know why Chase was murdered.

  Hugh’s heart sank as he saw the latest savings account printout—$3.5 million with interest was still squirreled away. Then he remembered the stack of letters he’d retrieved.

  Rushi
ng back into the kitchen where he had left the mail, Hugh sifted through the stack until he identified the statement from Chase’s bank. The report had arrived in the last two days, so whatever Chase did before he left town would be recorded in that envelope. Hugh picked it up and slid his finger along the back to break the seal. His hand trembled as he removed the statement.

  The money was still there, this time with another month’s worth of interest.

  So, why is there at least several million dollars tucked away in Chase’s safe?

  Hugh plundered Chase’s closet for four workout bags and then filled them up with the cash. Whoever had paid Chase’s apartment a visit had obviously been searching for the money.

  While Hugh wanted to alert the authorities about the discovery, he resisted out of fear of what they might do to him. He suspected that someone else within law enforcement might have been suppressing the evidence in an effort to ensure that Chase’s death appeared to be from natural causes. If any suspicious report reached an FBI agent’s desk, he or she might have the guts to reopen the investigation. But as it stood, there wasn’t a single reason to doubt the findings of the New York City coroner, even if he was dead.

  Hugh tossed the mail into the bag and locked up the apartment before returning home. During the long drive home, he glanced in his rearview mirror several times. The headlights behind him had been there for over half an hour. He wondered if he was just being paranoid, though he thought it was a fair feeling given the situation.

  Though his decision to leave with the money was made hastily, it still felt like the right thing to do. If the money was with him at home, it was safe. And maybe it could be used to prove that Chase had ventured into some ill-advised alliance that ultimately cost him his life. But without the money, the explanation of death by natural causes seemed entirely plausible for anyone who was willing to listen to him.

  When Hugh pulled onto his property, he didn’t notice any headlights behind him. He breathed a sigh of relief as he put his truck in park and locked the gate behind him. Bumping along over the long graded roadway that led to his house, he glanced down at the bag on the seat next to him and peeked inside just to get another look at all that cash.