Dead on Arrival

by R. J. Patterson

  “Wha—what happened?” Hugh asked.

  “We were hoping you could tell us,” Cal said. “We came up your driveway and found you lying on the ground with what looks like a serious wound of some kind.”

  Hugh squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead. “Oh, yes. Now, it’s all coming back to me.” He cut his eyes to the far corner of the room in the direction of a large gym bag. “They were after that.”

  “After what?” Cal asked.

  “All the money in that bag over there. I found it in Chase’s safe,” Hugh said, pointing toward it.

  Kelly walked over to the bag and picked it up. “It’s empty.”

  “Son of—”

  “Calm down,” Cal said. “Tell us again what happened.”

  Hugh groaned before recounting how he went to Chase’s house and emptied the safe, discovering a large sum of money that Hugh surmised was used to bribe his son. Continuing with the events at the Dollinger ranch, Hugh explained how he chased off the attackers before getting shot.

  “I saw them get into their car and drive off,” Hugh said. “That’s the last thing I remember before getting shot in my shoulder. Those guys were either working with someone else or there were multiple parties after the money—and I led them right to it.”

  “How much money was it?” Cal asked.

  “I didn’t count, but I’d guess at least two to three million. However, I don’t think they got it all.”

  “Why do you say that?” Kelly asked.

  “I only brought one bag inside. I stashed the other three underneath the seat in my truck.”

  Cal raced outside and started digging through Hugh’s truck. It didn’t take long to find the other three bags that had been hidden beneath a blanket on the floorboard. He lugged them all inside and dropped them on the center of the living room floor.

  A big smile spread across Hugh’s face. “That’s more like it. Those bastards didn’t get it all.”

  “So, now what?” Kelly asked.

  “I think we need to make sure this money truly did come from a bribe,” Cal said.

  “It came from somewhere illegal,” Hugh said. “I checked Chase’s bank statements, even one that closed after he left town. And all his signing bonus money was still there. This had to be from the bribe to throw the game.”

  “But he obviously didn’t throw the game,” Kelly said.

  “Kelly’s right,” Cal said. “I broke down that game, and there were some shady plays by some who had emerged as very dependable. I’m not sure that’s even a question now. But who would try to do such a thing is the question we need to answer if we’re going to uncover Chase’s killer.”

  “I had a lot of time to think about that as well on my drive back from Seattle,” Hugh said. “And the thing I kept coming back to was the fact that gambling was recently legalized everywhere. Suddenly, there’s a massive opportunity for casinos and legal sports books to expand their reach. Assuring that the Mariners lost and didn’t make the playoffs could’ve made someone a lot of money.”

  “And vice versa,” Cal said. “If you were a startup sports book and you experienced a huge influx of bets on one team, you could lose your shirt on a game like that. Everybody expected the Mariners to pull it out even though they were the underdog. They had momentum and the entire nation rooting them on. It was the feel-good story of the playoffs.”

  “It still was up until the moment Chase died,” Hugh said. “I think everyone I’ve ever known or met in life was calling me or texting me about how they were rooting for the Mariners in the first round of the playoffs. Then the messages all just stopped.”

  “Now that you’ve got some evidence, maybe we can go somewhere with this investigation,” Kelly said.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Hugh said. “And I’m not keeping this money. I want you to have it. Use as it evidence. Maybe get someone to track the serial numbers. Whatever. I don’t care. I just want you to find out who did this to Chase and bring them to justice.”

  “I’m not sure what we’d do with it,” Cal said. “And I don’t know that it’ll hold up as admissible in any court trial.”

  Hugh chuckled. “This is the 21st Century, Cal. Who cares about the legal system—real justice is exacted in the court of public opinion. We can bankrupt someone before they know it if we get enough people fired up on social media.”

  “That’s not how I want this to go down,” Cal said. “Someone needs to go to prison for a very long time for what they did to Chase. True justice doesn’t happen on the internet, and I’m a firm believer of that fact.”

  Hugh shrugged. “You know, I don’t care. Just get ‘em for me.”

  “I’m calling an ambulance for you,” Cal said. “And then we’re going to get to the bottom of this.”

  “How?” Kelly asked. “We went over a list of suspects a mile long and found flaws with them all.”

  Cal winked at her. “I think I know where we need to start.”

  CHAPTER 28

  CAL HELD HIS HAND out for the keys, earning a glare from Kelly. She reluctantly dropped them into his hand and followed him out to the car. Lugging the three bags of money, Cal popped the trump and dumped them inside.

  He hustled over to the passenger side door and opened it for Kelly.

  “Ever the gentleman,” she said before climbing inside.

  Cal raced around the front and joined her by easing into the driver’s seat. “Don’t be mad, Kelly. I just want to drive this car. It’s not everyday that I get to drive a Porsche.”

  “You know, when I drive my dad’s car, it’s like an extension of him. It’s like he’s still here.”

  Cal shook his head slowly. “Okay, fine. I’m not even going to try and compete with that. If you want to drive, I’m fine with it. But please let me take it for a spin at some point. I really want to—”

  Kelly didn’t wait to hear the rest of Cal’s thought, unbuckling her seat belt and darting around to the driver’s side. Cal climbed out and trudged to the passenger seat.

  Once Cal pulled his door shut, Kelly slammed her foot on the gas, and the car lurched forward.

  “Be careful,” Cal said. “This is a dirt road and—”

  “I know how to drive on dirt roads,” she said. “I spent plenty of time growing up in Idaho, remember?”

  Cal leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. He needed to think about their next steps and the order in which they needed to occur if they expected to catch the murderer.

  “What are we gonna do with all that money?” Kelly asked after a few minutes of zipping along the winding roads leading away from Hugh’s ranch.

  “We need to put it in our storage facility in Seattle before we do anything,” Cal said. “It’s the only way we can be sure that it stays safe.”

  “What if they try to frame us for that too? Whoever’s doing this might be powerful enough to pull it off and make it look like we killed Chase for his money.”

  Cal nodded. “Good point. However, the big question still remains: Where did that money come from? No matter how powerful these people are, nobody is going to believe that I orchestrated such a thing. I’m just a poor journalist—at least, poor enough that I don’t have several million dollars just lying around the house to give to someone to throw a baseball game.”

  “So, you think we can just keep it there and not have it used against us?”

  “I’m not sure, but do you have any better ideas?”

  Kelly glanced down at the console, and her eyes lit up. “What a minute,” she said, a grin cracking across her face. “Look at this.”

  She reached inside one of the cup holders and produced a small keychain.

  “What is it?” Cal asked.

  “My father had a storage facility just north of the city, and this is where he kept the key,” she said. “I’d bet you dollars to donuts that my mother still hasn’t been there since he died five years ago.”

  “And you think your family is still renting it?” />
  “My mom is probably paying the bill dutifully without asking a single question. And it’s not like she’d notice the missing fifty dollars per month anyway. It’s probably on the credit card, and she may not even know it exists either.”

  “I guess it’s worth a shot.”

  Kelly nodded. “These people would never think to look there. It’d keep the money safe, plus I want to see this storage facility. My father would never take me, even though he warned me that one day I’d find some great treasures there.”

  “And you’re just now remembering this?” Cal asked, his brow furrowed.

  “It all came back to me the moment I saw the keys. You know how it is when someone you love dies—there are memories that wash over you like a tidal wave and then there are ones that trickle down years later that make you smile or cry when you least suspect it.” She paused and sighed before continuing. “This one just dripped out. I miss him so much.”

  Kelly started to tear up, and Cal put his arm around her.

  “It’s okay to cry, honey,” Cal said. “I know you still miss him.”

  She nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

  When they arrived at the storage facility, Kelly entered the code that her father had taped to the back of the keychain, granting them access. Once inside, she went straight to his rental space.

  “Number forty-two,” she said before unlocking the rollup door. “He loved Jackie Robinson.”

  “I bet he would’ve loved Chase Dollinger, too.”

  Cal fetched the money from the trunk and dropped it on top of a table in the far corner. He paused for a moment to look at the labels scribbled on the side of boxes stacked eye level. Asking Kelly if it was okay, he cracked open one box that said “autographs” and started sifting through it. Inside he discovered several signed baseballs, including one by Jackie Robinson.

  Cal’s eyes widened as he picked it up and studied.

  “Would you look at this?” he said, handing it carefully to Kelly.

  “Whoa,” she said after reading the name aloud. “I never knew he had this.”

  “We need to come back here after we’re finished with this.”

  Kelly winked at him. “Or at least I know how I might be able to fund your legal defense.”

  Cal replaced the ball back inside the box and closed it.

  “That’s not going to be necessary,” he said.

  “I hope you’re right.”

  They secured the door and walked back toward the car. Kelly threw the keys to Cal.

  “Your turn to drive,” she said.

  Cal smiled and giddily raced around to the driver’s side. He eased behind the steering wheel and ran his fingers along the contours of the dashboard. After buckling up, he glanced over at Kelly, whose eyes were watering, and then placed his hand on top of hers.

  “We’re going to solve this, okay?”

  Kelly burst into tears. “I can’t lose you, Cal. I just can’t.”

  “You won’t. I promise. I’m not going to jail for something I didn’t do. Now, let’s stay focused.”

  * * *

  THE DRIVE to Laurelhurst didn’t take long, though the pricey neighborhood situated on the eastern side of Seattle overlooking Lake Washington appeared already shuttered for the night. It was only 10:00 p.m. but about the only lights Cal noticed were from the street lamps.

  Cal pulled up to the gate of a walled-off house built just above the shoreline. Leaving the car still running, he got out and buzzed the intercom system. After a long pause, someone answered.

  “Who is this?” a man on the other end asked.

  “Mr. McCutheon?” Cal said.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Cal Murphy from the Seattle Times. I really hate to bother you at this time of night, but I need to speak with you right now. It’s urgent.”

  “You could’ve called, Cal.”

  “I know, but I’m kind of flying by the seat of my pants here.”

  “Fine. I’ll buzz you in.”

  Cal hustled back to the car while the gates slowly swung open. He parked near the front steps before he and Kelly climbed out.

  Flip McCutcheon, the Mariners’ center fielder, stood in the doorway holding a steaming mug. He wore a furrowed brow as he awaited his two surprise guests to enter his house. Gesturing for them to come inside, he smiled as they walked up the steps.

  “Are you sure this really couldn’t wait?” McCutcheon asked. “My girlfriend and I were about to start binging on the new Jack Ryan series.”

  Cal forced a smile as he entered the house. “In that case, I’m glad I caught you before,” Cal said. “Once you start, you won’t want to stop.”

  “That good, eh?”

  “Yeah, it’s fantastic.”

  “Good to know,” McCutcheon said.

  McCutcheon’s real name was Theodore, but he’d once explained to Cal that after breaking into the big leagues that name was never to be used in print. McCutcheon explained that his father was an abusive man and beat McCutcheon’s mother nightly. Only after McCutcheon’s father landed in jail on an armed robbery charge were they able to escape his physical assaults. McCutcheon then legally changed his surname to his mother’s and took a liking to the nickname given to him by his little league coach. As a youngster, whenever McCutcheon hit a home run, he would cross home plate and then perform a front flip. The name stuck.

  “So, I won’t beat around the bush any more regarding the reason for my late night visit,” Cal said.

  “Straight talk,” McCutcheon said. “I like that.”

  “Well, hold your applause. You may not like what I’m about to ask you.”

  McCutcheon furrowed his brow. “What’s this about, Cal?”

  “It’s about Chase and why he was murdered.”

  “Murdered?” McCutcheon said as he withdrew with a scowl. “What are you talking about? Chase died of natural causes.”

  “That’s the official story, but I think you might have other suspicions. Am I right?”

  McCutcheon looked around the room nervously before his gaze fell on the floor in front of him. “Why would I—what are you getting at?”

  “I think ever since that final game that got you guys into the playoffs, you wondered why you were there. Who shirked the people who approached your team and offered you all large sums of cash to throw the game?”

  McCutcheon was silent for a moment before closing his eyes and throwing his head back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Cal.”

  “Oh, I think you do. You just don’t want to admit it. You’ve got an incredible story with a fantastic future ahead of you, but you don’t want anyone to know what you did. You probably just convinced yourself it’d only be one time and that’d be the end of it. But you gave in and took the money.”

  McCutcheon opened his eyes and glared at Cal. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Now get outta my house before I call the cops on you for harassment.”

  “I know you struck out four times in that game, not to mention loafing on that pop fly to center. You should’ve caught that ball—and you can’t look at me with a straight face and try to convince me otherwise.”

  “Is this your idea of fun? Just show up randomly at a player’s house and mock them for their subpar play in the postseason, ignoring all the great things I did during the year?”

  Cal shook his head. “That’s not what I’m doing here, Flip. I’m here to piece together the puzzle that is the death of your teammate, who was beloved all across the country.”

  “Get out—now. And I’m not gonna tell you again.”

  Kelly, who had remained silent during the exchange, turned toward the door, grabbing Cal’s arm as she did. “Let’s go,” she said in a low voice, her fingernails digging into Cal’s bicep. “We don’t need an incident.”

  McCutcheon sighed and shook his head. “Wait a minute. Aren’t you supposed to be in jail? Didn’t I read something about you being held for murder?”

  �
�Don’t believe everything you read in the paper,” Cal said. “Besides, I didn’t do a thing. And I’m going to prove it. If you won’t talk, I’m heading over to Buster Portman’s house. Maybe he’ll be honest with me and return my straight talk with the truth, unlike you’ve been willing to do.”

  “You do that, Cal,” McCutcheon said. “And I hope you realize the dangerous road you’re traveling along when you try to stir up stuff like this.”

  “You’re in too deep, Flip. You can always come clean.”

  McCutcheon didn’t say a word, instead just pointing toward the door. His gesture was clear. It was time to leave.

  Once they returned to the car, Kelly sighed before igniting the engine. “What were you doing back there?” she asked. “Were you trying to provoke him? I thought we were supposed to get answers, and all you did was insult him.”

  “I already know the answer to the most pressing question,” Cal said with a wry grin. “But it’s not answers we need at this point. We need to set a trap—and we just did.”

  CHAPTER 29

  BUCKMAN WAS ENJOYING the calm that came with working on the desk on a Sunday evening. The final NFL game of the day had wrapped up an hour before and The Times’ Monday sports section was ready for the press. After scanning the office, he determined it was time to celebrate surviving another week. He reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and retrieved a bottle of Crown Royal before pouring himself a drink.

  Buckman wanted to ensure that he had everything squared away for the week, going over all the story assignments for his reporters. Monday was also a big day in court for his star reporter and Buckman wanted to support Cal. While the absurdity of Cal’s arrest grated on Buckman, he wondered if far more powerful figures than he ever imagined were behind this conspiracy. Forcing more of this story into the public could draw the people involved out into the open, but it also could get him fired and possibly even blackballed from ever getting another job. He wanted to help Cal but wasn’t sure the best way to do it. For now, he had theories and circumstantial evidence—but none of the hard proof necessary to write an award-winning investigative piece that resulted in justice for Chase Dollinger—and Cal, too.