by G. K. Parks
“You give us a collar, and then you take it away. Remind me again why we always work with you.”
“Hell if I know. Did you make any progress on determining what happened to Hector Santos from the time he left the fight until he died in the emergency room?” I asked.
“No, but even if we did, I’m not positive I’d tell you. You’d probably destroy our progress there too.”
“So there is progress.”
“Goodbye, Parker.” Thompson hung up, and I considered the possibilities and any potential ramifications it could have on our case. But I didn’t see a connection.
My goal was to illustrate that the gambling was motive for murder, and I knew we’d get there. The hidden bullets we discovered practically put the gun in Dennison’s hands, and the ledgers and books we found in his room made it obvious he was in charge of the wagers and the payouts. He had hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of motive. The only problem was Levere was supposed to throw the match, so why was he alive when Hector Santos and William Briscoe were dead? Dammit, it was the same hang-up that I still couldn’t explain.
When Ron and Linka arrived, escorted by the two agents that had been surveilling them, it was clear neither expected to see me. Linka looked uneasy and began to fidget while Ron went straight into friendly mode. After getting them situated in an empty conference room, I took a seat at the head of the table.
“First off, I’d like to apologize for the deception and thank you for agreeing to speak to us. I’m sure you’re aware that we’ve been investigating events and persons related to Tim Coker’s gym.” Being diplomatic was normally the best route to take, and it gave them the opportunity to open up without being forced to show my hand.
“Yeah,” Ron said, “another agent spoke to us a few nights ago. We haven’t said anything to Tim or anyone.”
“That’s good to hear. It’s rare anyone willingly cooperates.” Now I was laying it on thick, but they didn’t seem to care. “My colleagues and I have spoken to numerous fighters under Tim Coker’s tutelage, and it has come to our attention that these bouts aren’t exactly on the up and up. Can you elaborate?”
“We don’t know anything about it,” Ron replied.
I shifted my focus to Linka. “You work on Tim’s books. You know they don’t balance. The buy-in for the fights, the payouts to the winners, what Tim’s making on contingency, and what he charges in monthly fees don’t equal out. You know what he’s doing.” It wasn’t a question.
“He bets on the fights.” The words burst from her mouth.
“What did he tell Gavin Levere before his fight with Hector Santos?” I asked in order to verify Levere’s story.
“Gavin was supposed to throw the match. Tim wanted Gavin to go down in the second round, but Hector was shooting off his mouth, bragging about how great Coach Willie was.”
“William Briscoe?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Ron said, looking displeased that his wife was blabbing.
I looked at Linka. “What did Gavin do?”
“He fought hard, hoping to prove that he was a better fighter, despite his coach’s shortcomings. He hoped to piss Tim off and get kicked out so he could start over somewhere else. You did the same thing.” Suddenly, a thought crossed her mind. “That’s why you confronted Tim and why you showed up early. It was because you wanted information.”
Perhaps she was a bit slow, or maybe she’d been hit one too many times, but I simply shrugged. “Did Gavin intend to kill Hector?”
“No,” Ron interrupted, “Gavin had nothing to do with that. I’ve seen a lot of fights. A lot of fighters take worse hits. Hector might have had a few fractures and definitely plenty of bumps and scrapes, but he should have been able to walk away.”
“Who kept him from walking away?” I was an expert at reading between the lines. He shrugged, clasping his wife’s hand, and they both fell silent. “You were there. You work for Tim Coker. It wouldn’t be that difficult to charge you as an accessory.”
“I don’t want to say anything. It’s not right. It’s not my place,” Ron insisted. “You can charge me if you want, but I’m not guilty. There isn’t any proof that I’ve done anything wrong or that I’m involved, so I’ll take my chances.”
“Ron,” Linka chastised, shifting her gaze from her husband to me, “just tell Alex what she wants to know.” He didn’t budge, and she sighed dramatically. “I’ll tell you what happened, but you can’t let anyone know where it came from.”
“I can’t promise that,” I said.
“Well, if you want to know who killed Hector, you’ll have to.”
Thirty-nine
“Fine, deal’s on the table,” I said, putting the paperwork in front of the Greenwoods. After Linka’s insistence, I phoned Thompson with an update. He arrived at the federal building with an ADA and a tape recorder. “Tell us what happened after the fight.”
“Tim was pissed. I’ve never seen him that angry in all the years that I’ve known him. He marched out of the arena right after Hector left,” Linka began, but Ron clasped her hand to silence her.
“They were fighting. I heard them screaming at each other. Tim was saying how ungrateful Hector was to abandon the gym, and that if he couldn’t figure out how to defend himself when the combos were being called out, then he had no business being in the ring. Hector said something about Tim being a washed-up loser that didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself.” Ron stopped, taking a sip of water. “I had to pull Tim off of Hector. He was going postal, slamming Hector up against the wall and pummeling the crap out of the poor kid. While Tim cooled down, we put Hector in a cab, but we didn’t find out until the news broke the next day what happened. The original article said it was due to trauma sustained during the bout, and I had no proof that it wasn’t true.”
Detective Thompson opened his mouth to ask a question, but I cleared my throat. He wanted to work Santos’ murder, but I needed to get to the bottom of the gambling scheme in order to solve my two murders. Thankfully, Thompson didn’t request a round of rock, paper, scissors to determine who was going to ask the next question.
“Why did Tim go after Hector? Shouldn’t he have been pissed at Gavin instead?” I asked.
“He was. He is. He kicked Gavin out of the gym and off the training roster,” Linka said.
“Then why didn’t he attack Gavin instead of Hector?” I asked, and the two exchanged a look. “You agreed to provide information, so someone better start talking.”
“Gavin won the fight, so that made him valuable. You wouldn’t break a winning racehorse’s leg,” Ron replied.
“But you might do that to a loser in order to collect the insurance,” Thompson muttered. “What was Tim hoping to collect by injuring Hector?” Neither of the Greenwoods spoke, and Thompson redirected his line of questioning, “Coker was betting on the fights, which is why he was fixing the fights. How much did he lose because Santos didn’t win?”
“Fifty thousand,” Linka said. “He thought he could recover that by attracting new fighters to his gym by boasting about his success, training Gavin. Tim finally turned out a winner.”
Ron cleared his throat. “I don’t believe Tim ever intended to kill Hector. It was an accident. He was angry. He made a bad call.”
“It doesn’t matter. He intended to harm him, and it resulted in Hector Santos’ death.” Thompson glanced back at the ADA and received a head nod in response. “I need an official statement and an agreement that you’ll testify,” Thompson said, ready to hijack my interrogation.
“First, I need a detailed account of Tim Coker’s betting and anything else you might know about the wager system set up at these fights,” I interjected.
* * *
By lunchtime, I was back in the conference room, battling a migraine and hoping the Greenwoods had provided us with enough usable information. Something about their behavior was bothering me, and I had difficulty believing they were nothing more than innocent bystanders. I also had issues stomac
hing how they could continue to work in such close proximity to someone who for all intents and purposes murdered a man because he didn’t win a boxing match. However, that was for the police department to determine.
Lucca came into the room with a couple of Styrofoam containers and put them on the table. He picked up the signed statements and began reading Ron and Linka’s account of the illegal gambling. When he was finished, he watched me eat a few fries.
“Tim Coker was involved in betting and fixing the fights. The Greenwoods backed Levere’s story and provided some additional information. Did you send someone to pick up Coker?” he asked.
“No, the police department had an arrest warrant signed before the Greenwoods even left the building. The PD’s bringing Coker in for murdering Hector Santos.” I picked up the burger, considered taking a bite, decided against it, and put it back in the box. “What did you get out of Facini?”
“Nothing yet. He wants full immunity.”
“What the hell is up with everyone? Do they air Law & Order nonstop at the gym or something? The only reason anyone needs immunity is if they did something illegal.” Pausing, I rubbed my eyes and scoffed. “What did Elias Facini do? His coach is a murderer. His roommate probably is too. Let me guess, he capped a little old lady because she crossed the street in front of him.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. Nothing would surprise me at this point.” He bit into his sandwich. “Jablonsky’s speaking to him and his counsel.”
“Not Harper.”
“No, some second year associate from one of those ambulance chaser firms.”
“That might be the only thing we have going for us.”
“Yeah, well, Dennison doesn’t know that.”
I wiped my mouth and grabbed one of the folders. “No, he doesn’t, and Harper will be too busy dealing with Coker’s arrest. How are your poker skills, Lucca?” Before he could answer, I flipped the lid closed on his lunch container. “That’s right, you read people, so it’s about time you show me how well you play people. Let’s go, boy scout.”
“He could shut us down in a second since we have no right to talk to him by himself.”
“Then watch and learn,” I instructed, continuing down the hallway to the interrogation room. I pushed the door open hard enough that it slammed into the wall. Philip Dennison jumped, surprised by the abrupt entry. “Mr. Dennison, I have a few questions for you.”
“My attorney isn’t here, so I’m not talking.”
“Mr. Harper’s at the police station. He’s busy trying to get the death penalty taken off the table. It seems another one of his clients has been arrested for murder.” I spun to face Lucca. “Did he say how long it would take to negotiate that deal for Tim Coker?” Lucca stared silently at me, so I turned back to Dennison. “Well, if you want us to wait for him to get here, we can. Coker said he had a lot to give up, so it shouldn’t take Harper that long to negotiate a deal. Once that’s done, then we’ll talk to you.” I sat down and put my feet up on the edge of the table. “Do you care if I wait in here? If I go back out there, someone will want me to do something. Monday afternoons are always the worst. Filing, ugh.”
“Parker,” Lucca warned.
“C’mon, Eddie, you hate the paperwork too.” I flipped through the folder that I had carried inside. “We have the Greenwoods testimony to go through. Then Facini’s. Coker’s. Bellows’. And don’t get me started on Briscoe’s autopsy report and the ballistics. Shit, did I tell you the forensic team pulled a latent print from the elevator? Crap, I was supposed to turn in the requisition form for the university’s security cam footage too. Remind me to do that before I go home.” I sighed, pretending that Dennison wasn’t in the room. “How come the secretarial staff only works for the supervisory agents? We have ten times the amount of paperwork to get through, which explains why it takes so long to finish the evidence collection and compiling our cases. It’d be more efficient if the secretaries and assistants worked for us. I don’t even want to think about the amount of time it will take to catalog every item we found in Mr. Dennison’s apartment. We need our own assistants.”
“Why don’t you tell that to Director Kendall?” Lucca suggested.
“Good idea.”
“Coker’s making a deal?” Philip asked, licking at the layer of sweat that coated his upper lip. My rambling made him nervous. Granted, I hit every possible location where we might have discovered evidence and every person that could point a finger at him. Now he was afraid he missed something.
“Yep.”
“What kind of deal?” Philip asked, trying too hard to sound disinterested.
“We can’t really talk about it. From what I gather, it’s one of those first come, first served things. Y’see, three people are dead. One of them is a nobody kid from the wrong side of the tracks that no one gives a shit about. That’s the one Coker popped. But one of the other two victims was an Assistant United States Attorney with a stellar conviction record, so his colleagues are out for blood. We found the sniper rifle used to kill him. We found the bullets. And Coker might know who did it.”
“I thought the attorney’s murder was an accident,” Lucca said, finally joining the game. “They can’t pursue the maximum penalty unless we have intent.”
“You don’t think Coker will say whatever they want him to in order to get the best deal possible?” I asked.
Lucca chuckled. “Coker would give up his own grandmother.”
“He can’t,” Philip snarled, slamming his fist into the table. “He doesn’t know anything. He’s not entitled to a deal. Just because he thinks he has clout in the boxing world doesn’t mean he has any real influence anywhere else.”
“Do you want to set the record straight?” I asked.
Philip’s eyes darted around the room. “I’m not an idiot. That’s what you want. I’m not saying a word.”
“Good. I’d hate to go through another internal review because a confession was made under suspicious circumstances. I can’t really afford that with my record.” I went back to flipping through the folder. “Plus, Coker’s deal will close this case, and I don’t get paid enough to care.” I sat upright, letting my chair legs slam forward. “Do you honestly believe that I get paid enough to let some son of a bitch like you try to shoot me?” I jerked my chin at Lucca. “And I sure as hell don’t make enough to let an asshole like him hit me with the same fucking stun gun he shot you with. So honestly, Philip, I’m only sitting inside this room to make sure you keep your goddamn mouth shut until Coker’s deal is finalized because if you start running your mouth now, everything’s gonna go to shit. Stay quiet, or I’ll make sure you can’t speak. Have you ever had your jaw wired shut? It’s not fun.”
“Agent Parker,” Lucca snapped, hiding the surprise from my sudden personality shift expertly, “do you want to be reprimanded?”
“You didn’t hear a word,” I retorted, “or I will file a complaint against you.” I climbed out of the chair and approached Lucca. “You do realize if you had pulled your actual gun and shot this bastard, we wouldn’t be dealing with this bullshit right now.”
“This isn’t my fault.”
“Of course not. Nothing ever is.” I stormed to the door. “I’ll give the precinct a call and see if Harper’s on his way. Make sure he stays quiet.”
I left the interrogation room and stepped into the attached observation room. Through the two-way glass, I watched Lucca take a seat at the table. He didn’t say anything but sat with his arms crossed, glaring menacingly at Philip Dennison. I didn’t know if he’d crack or not, but there was a chance. I waited another minute and then went to find Jablonsky.
Mark was the final piece. Either it’d work and Philip would confess, or we’d reset the board and try again with actual questions once his attorney showed up. Philip was smart. He was a numbers guy and a business genius, but that didn’t mean he possessed common sense. He was scared, and that would impair his judgment. I led him to believe that if he admitted that
Stan Weaver’s death was an accident, things would go easier for him.
Once Mark was up to speed, he went into the interrogation room, pulling Lucca out to deal with a more pressing matter. Before the door even closed, Jablonsky began apologizing for our behavior, assuring Mr. Dennison that anything he said to us would not be used against him and asking again if he would be willing to answer some questions without his attorney present.
“Do you think Philip believed you?” Lucca asked, joining me in the observation room.
“We’ll find out.”
After a minute of utter silence, Mark made his way to the door, promising to send Mr. Harper in as soon as he arrived. Before the door closed, Philip cleared his throat, stopping Mark in his tracks.
“Is it true that Tim Coker is making a deal?” Philip asked.
“I’m not at liberty to say. That business involves the police department. It doesn’t involve me.”
“But you give people deals, right?”
“It depends on what the prosecutor’s office wants to do, but I’ll put in a good word if a suspect has valuable information.” He reached back to pull the door closed.
“What about confessions?” Dennison asked. “Does that mean there’s leniency? And what about intent? What happens if a crime was committed accidentally?”
“It depends. Charges are sometimes dropped. Other times, they might be lessened. Did Agent Parker say something? She isn’t authorized to offer a deal,” Jablonsky said.
“She didn’t want to make a deal,” Philip said; the wheels in his head were turning. “That’s the last thing she wanted to give me.”
“Well, based on her report, you tried to kill her, and she tends to hold a grudge. She can be dramatic. Your lawyer will have to deal with those allegations.” Mark flipped through the folder. “Although based on the evidence, that will be the least of your worries, pal.”
