From there the couple had gone to Jessica’s apartment where they fought loud and long. Several neighbors overheard the shouting, but paid little attention because she was, as one tenant put it, “a drama queen.” No one saw or heard from her again until the nosy neighbor with the weak stomach discovered the body.
“Real nice guy, huh?” Will sneered. “Doesn’t sound much like the Boy Scout Rafe Strickland described, right, Kar?”
Karen put her right hand to her heart and made an attempt at looking fierce. “Bad to the bone, Will. Why don’t we just go pick him up now and read him his rights?” Then she smiled and rolled her eyes.
“What? You gonna take up for this dickweed, Karen?”
“Just because I don’t want to form a posse and lynch him doesn’t mean I’m taking up for him.”
“Can’t you just accept that a case can be cut-and-dry once in a while? Don’t like to see the quarterback take a hit, huh? Maybe you got a thing for the football hero yourself?” Will taunted.
Karen felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up and grimaced. She managed to shake her head and say, “I just don’t think it’s that easy. Guy’s in a lousy mood, makes a big scene in a crowd and then takes his girlfriend home and punches her lights out. Get real, Will. It’s never that easy and you know it!
“It’s just that I don’t want to run away with this case and then have us look like total assholes when it turns out we fucked up.”
“I’m not just grabbing an easy way out, Karen. Sands is what, thirty-five, six? His career is about over. This is probably gonna be his last season. Look at what the Dolphins did to Marino when they decided he was used up. Demons drafted the second coming of Christ this year, so they’re set with their QB of the future. Writing’s on the wall. So suppose this guy’s having a problem accepting the inevitable. Top that off, his girlfriend’s fucking around on him. At the party he acts like a Neanderthal man. He knocks a guy out and drags his woman home. He’s had a couple too many beers and she gives him lip. Maybe makes a crack about his game, or worse, maybe he tries to fuck her and he can’t get it up, so he loses it. Crime scene checks out. Mouth taped, the blood carving on her forehead…pure rage. It’s classic. And you want us to chase our goddamned tails all over town? Give me a break!”
Bill Benjamin interrupted. “Yo! Kids. Stop that shit and pay attention.
“Listen Will. I’ve been following Sands since he was at UM. His stats are still pretty damn good. I don’t see the Demons looking to dump him so fast. He’s Mister Clean his whole life. Grew up down here. Smashed the record books in high school, college and is still breaking records in the League. The kid’s a real homeboy. His family lives down here, too. Nah, I can’t see him blowing everything over a woman like that. Besides, he’s a babe-magnet, plenty of women out there, and he could have his pick. I should be so lucky. I think there are plenty of rocks out there to be turned before this file gets closed. I’m with Brandt on this one. You’re jumping the gun here.”
But Will was stuck on Sands. “Oh, and there’s never been a case of a clean cut football hero who’s run amok over a woman. Those divas think they can get away with anything, including murder, just because they’re hot items on the field. Do I have to name names of murderers who are playing ball as we speak? Maybe they don’t think at all. Except for the fact that they do get away with it. The fuckers!”
Benjamin laughed. “What? Are you jealous ’cause all you get is sloppy seconds, big guy?”
“That’s it,” Will shot back. “I don’t have a wife to take care of my every need like you, man.”
Karen winced. “I’m with Benjie here. It’s too pat. Never been in trouble and all of a sudden he’s beating guys up and ranting like a lunatic. He might just as well have signed the crime scene for us.”
“So, hot shot, what’re you suggesting?” Will asked.
“Jesus, it’s a no-brainer here. Let’s go visit with Kyle Sands, find out what he has to offer. Maybe we can even catch him before the media gets its teeth into this.” She rose from her chair and pulled on the gear belt that held her 9mm Sig-Sauer. “Let’s get going. C’mon. Take the donut with you.”
“Yeah, okay. We’ll try it your way. And then we’ll arrest the son of a bitch.” He was on his feet and halfway to the door before she could protest.
“Wait up,” she called. “You forgot the noose. It’d be nice if we could hear his side of the story before we handcuff him, don’t you think? Just on the remote possibility that he wasn’t the one who did her.”
On her way out she looked back at Bill Benjamin and thanked him for taking up for her with Will.
“Not a problem. He’s really gung ho on this one and we all know how it goes when Kaufman gets a wild hair up his ass. But the truth is, Sands looks pretty good for this one. Be a shame, though. Demons are ripe for a championship, and I’ve always liked Sands.”
“Give Garcia a nudge when you see him, will you? I’m hoping he came up with something from the stuff he picked up at her apartment.”
But they all knew Garcia needed no pushing. He was good at his job and never found working on weekends a problem. He was one of the best looking men in the Department, and arguably the most unfaithful to his wife. Marriage didn’t seem to stop him from prowling and women were usually willing to ignore the gold band he wore. Regardless, his social life never interfered with his job, but Karen couldn’t help but think that all the unscheduled hours he put in made it easier to alibi the time he wasn’t with his wife.
The Miami Beach Police Department’s lab was the best equipped in the County and could handle everything on premises except DNA testing. After sweeping the crime scene clean, there was no doubt Garcia would lose himself in the small, morguelike facility into the night in an attempt to analyze the evidence. The only woman he would be concerned about tonight was the one whose body had been delivered to the morgue this morning.
CHAPTER SIX
K yle despised Saturday practice. This morning he was so detached and unfocused that he made stupid mistakes on top of bad judgment calls. His arm was off, his timing sucked, and his head felt as though it was waterlogged. The harder he worked, the worse he played. The coach finally pulled him and pointed to the bench which is where he watched as Tyrell Utley went in and made everything look easy.
Kyle stared out at the ordered chaos on the practice field as the young quarterback swept easily through the defense. One of the trainers handed him an ice pack, which he applied to his chronically sore shoulder without taking his eyes from the field. Utley, the slashing runner and elite passer — snotty little hothead — moved the team effortlessly toward the goal line. The bastard was anxious to take charge, and his lightening quick score on the third play of the series caused Kyle to wince. He was worn out, but the decision he’d made the night before was irrevocable. Don’t get too comfortable, Ty. I’m not leaving until after this season. After.
James Lundy came off the field and sat next to Kyle. “What’s the story with Jessica? You do the deed, or did you pussy out again, man?”
“It was miserable. Lousy for both of us. Kind of like our entire relationship, I suppose. I’m gonna call her after practice and try to straighten things out. She was pretty crazy when I left last night.”
James spat, “What the fuck are you talking about, man? Don’t tell me you’re thinking about hooking back up with her?”
“No. , no! But I feel like crap about the way things went last night, so I figure to maybe take her to dinner like I planned in the first place and wrap it up with a little less acrimony. If that meets with your approval, of course.”
“I don’t mean to be telling you how to run your life, man, but that woman got what she deserved. You were too good to her and she blew it. Now go get on wit’cher life and forget about the bitch.”
James grinned. His white teeth nearly glowed in contrast to the black of his skin. He was handsome with strong AfricanAmerican features and a body strung with natural muscle. He was fo
nd of telling people that he didn’t have to work for his strength; he was born with it, like Sampson.
Kyle shook his head and coughed out a short laugh. “Don’t hold back on me, Lundy. Tell me how you really feel!”
The Coach motioned James to get back on the field. He gave a quick pat to his friend’s leg, winked, and jogged back into the scrimmage.
Hal Raymond joined the Demons two seasons ago as the Head Coach and unleashed a plan that clearly had not included Kyle. A pure passer, Kyle had never been a brilliant scrambler. After years of the game’s brutality, surgical scars railroaded across his knees and he’d broken more bones than he could count. The numbers he had put up owing to his amazingly swift release of the ball promised him a place in the Hall of Fame, just as his inability to scramble left visions of wheelchairs flying across his mind.
The Coach gave up third and fifth round picks to draft high enough to get Utley this season, and made no secret of his preference for Ty’s style over Sands’. The kid’s youth, speed and even his wild temper put him on the fast track to first string; however, Kyle’s ability to read defenses and passion for winning kept him in the game. His determination would allow him to exit the same way he had entered, on top.
Joe Fraga, the team’s physician put a hand on Kyle’s bad shoulder. Kyle looked up and said, “It’s healing, doc.”
“Good. Good. Keep the ice on. Any other complaints?”
“None that you can help me with,” Kyle answered.
Fraga gave the quarterback a semi-smile, bordering on leer. “Oh yeah, I heard you and Jessica had some problems last night.”
“God, word’s out already?”
“Yep. Lot of people got to witness the blow out you and she had at Utley’s, and they’re all wagging their tongues about it. You’re better off without her anyway. That broad’s got the history, you know, and I don’t mean a good one. Way too hot for her own good. So now she’s out in the cold again. Not for too long, I’d bet. That broad works fast! Sleep with dogs…uh, no offense, old fella.” He threw up his arms in mock apology.
Kyle squinted into the sun, attempting to focus on the doctor’s eyes. “I didn’t know you knew her.”
Fraga took a step back. “Yeah, well, I more or less know of her. That reputation of hers, you know. Great looking babe, but tough. A real party girl. Talk was that she’d straightened up some when she took up with you, but oh well—not the nature of the animal. Some just can’t be tamed. You know, a rolling stone gathers no moss.”
The king of cliché, Kyle thought, nodding, rather than rolling his eyes.
“Heads up, old man,” the doctor continued, “the playoffs are right around the corner and you’ve got to be fit as a fiddle to keep the team on track.”
“Well, thanks for the encouragement, doc. Your approval is vital to my performance,” Kyle said, almost tangling his tongue in his cheek.
“No problem. We’re all behind you, the team’s fearless leader. You be sure to have Gloria put some extra time in on that shoulder. Ultrasound, massage. The usual. I also want a couple of x-rays to be sure it’s healing properly. Let me know if you need anything for pain.”
Kyle’s head was throbbing and his muscles were coiled into painful reminders that he was no longer young. The massage was a relaxing thought though, and Gloria, his favorite trainer, gave a great one.
He watched as the doctor sauntered toward the locker room. He wasn’t a handsome man, but in a swarthy way he was interesting. His dark salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back straight, frozen on a sculpted base of sharp bones and perpetual but carefully cultivated five o’clock shadow. He kept himself trim with a multi-year membership at Gold’s Gym and wore his Armani suits well. It occurred to Kyle that this was one doctor who didn’t deal with HMOs.
Kyle walked over to the water table, wishing it were cold beer. He gulped down a cup of Gatorade and thought about heading to the training room for that massage when Coach Raymond’s booming voice rattled his brain.
And here came the doctor’s antithesis. Coach was a pro linebacker in the late 1970s, his battle over the bulge had long been lost. The barrel chest had fallen into a pot belly and he sweated as though he’d sprung a leak. A few wiry hairs poked out from under his ragged cap. He was disheveled as usual, with a raggedy three-day growth of graying whiskers.
“What the fuck’s a matter with you today, Sands? You can’t seem to get outta your own way! What? Your shoulder getting worse?”
“Shoulder’s fine, Coach.”
“Yeah? So what’d the doc want? I’m sure he didn’t come out just to shoot the shit, hey.”
“Well, yeah, he sort of did, now that you mention it, Coach. He was just cruising for gossip.”
“Heh. And you’re the one who’s the center of it today. Heard you made a real ass outta yourself at Tyrell’s last night. Word is you were some kind of warrior and that’s okeedokee with me s’long’s you don’t let it affect your performance out here.
“I don’t wanna keep having to lecture you about what’s ahead, son, and the importance of keeping your head on straight, do I?” His gestures mimicked President Bush’s during one of his carefully choreographed speeches.
“And that broad ain’t worth fretting over any which way.” He stopped talking and moved in close to Kyle.
The stench of his chewing tobacco almost made the quarterback gag. Raymond’s voice grew threatening.
“Hear me good, boy. Let her go and get your head back in the game. We only got two left on the schedule and I’m planning for the Demons to win both of ’em. Then we’re heading to the play-offs.
“I don’t know what’s going on in your mind, but wipe it clean and come ready to play. Don’t mean shit to me to bench your ass and give Tyrell his chance. He’s more’n ready for it, and if he’s ready and you’re not, you better start makin’ fast friends with the fucking bench. You know what I’m saying?” He cleared his throat with a deep retching cough and spit a wicked brown mixture of mucous and tobacco not far from Kyle’s feet.
A dead silence hung over them. The two looked hard at one another and finally, with no further advice, the Coach stomped away. Probably going to hassle some other poor schmuck, Kyle thought. Having no further stomach for field-side lectures, Kyle headed to the locker room.
Halfway there he saw Luke Arnold, the team’s security chief, heading his way with two people in tow, a sour looking man and what looked to be a fairly attractive woman, both wearing visitors’ passes and guns.
“Hey Kyle. Hold up a minute. These folks are here to see you.” Then as he got closer, he mouthed “Police.”
Kyle smiled at them and threw his arms up in surrender. “I bought two tickets to the ball already.”
No one smiled back, and he thought he heard the guy mutter asshole under his breath. As they got closer, the male asked Arnold if there was somewhere they could meet privately with Kyle. Arnold nodded and beckoned them to follow him into the complex’s offices.
Kyle only caught a glance at the female as she turned her head to speak with her partner, but something about her struck a chord. She was reminiscent of someone he had known a long time ago. He studied her more closely and realized it was, in fact, Karen Brandt. He instinctively moved toward her, but something stopped him. She cocked her head and lifted her hand just enough for him to stay put.
Arnold made sure the trio was comfortable in a small conference room and offered coffee or cold drinks. Beverages were declined and Luke left, closing the door behind him. Karen spoke first.
“I’m Detective Karen Brandt and this is my partner, Will Kaufman. We need to talk with you about last night.”
When he heard her voice, memories came flooding back. Karen’s brother, Brett, had been his closest friend in high school. He was Kyle’s best receiver as well, and they had been inseparable. Then Brett got sick. He was diagnosed with leukemia and forced to undergo rigorous chemotherapy. Kyle wanted to quit football and spend more time with him, but Brett had insisted
he continue playing, for both of them. Finally there had been an unsuccessful bone marrow transplant and he died shortly afterward. It had been the event that came closest to causing Kyle to quit the game forever, yet morphed into the driving force for success as a college and pro quarterback.
Again he wanted to reach for her, but Karen, as though intercepting his thought, opened her eyes wide in warning. She was three years younger than he and had been a real tomboy. He had never seen her as anything but Brett’s kid sister, and he had loved her for that, but the pressures of college football had interfered and he had eventually lost touch with the Brandt family.
He gulped some air and finally spoke. “What about last night? Don’t tell me that creep from Utley’s party filed a complaint against me. Look, he asked for what he got. I tried to be civil to him. There were plenty of witnesses. He was the one who got physical first. I just wanted to get my girl and get outta there.”
Will raised an eyebrow and asked, “You’re talking a lot, Sands. You had a problem with someone last night?”
“Problem might be a stretch, detective. I never saw this guy before, but he was all over my date. I asked him, more than once, to let go of her, but he got nasty. He pushed me, so I slugged him is all.”
Karen watched quietly as the two men pissed out their territories. She knew Kyle recognized her, as she hoped he might, but he read her look and shut his mouth. If Will knew about the past there would be no way he’d let her continue on the case. But Kyle had been too good to her brother, and following his death, to her. She felt she owed him and intended to stay on this case until it was solved.
“There have been no complaints filed by anyone from last night. I’m afraid it’s more serious than that.” Karen hesitated, wanting to frame her words just right. “Uh, you were with Jessica Benson at Tyrell Utley’s party last night, correct? She was the date you’re referring to?”
“God, is the whole world in on that? Don’t tell me she filed a complaint!”
The Mystery of Jessica Benson Page 4
