Will slammed his fist down on the desk and shouted, “Just answer the goddamned question!”
Feyzi looked toward Karen and she nodded encouragingly back at him. She feared Will had screwed the pooch with his last outburst. “Go ahead, Feyzi. We don’t think you killed her, but it’s important that we piece together the last days of her life.”
Finally he spoke. “I was with her at the beach the day before she is killed. We did not have sex, but we were having, uh, I don’t know how you call it, um — we were very close. Making kisses, touching. Nothing more, I’m swearing to you.”
Karen felt sure he was telling the truth, but something continued to gnaw at her. She made a mental note to run his name through the computers to check him out more thoroughly. It was possible he was hiding something that had nothing to do with this case. Maybe an INS issue. Or there was always the possibility that he was guilty of more than he was admitting.
“I believe you, Feyzi. We have no reason not to at this point. But if you remember anything more, I expect to hear from you immediately. Is that clear?”
“I know nothing more, but if I should learn anything, I will call police at once. My word is good.”
“Okay.” She pulled her card and a pen from the pouch around her waist. She scribbled something and handed it to Feyzi. He stared at it for a moment and then looked up at her.
Karen gave him an encouraging smile and continued. “That’s my cell number. You call me direct if you need me. Even if it’s something that doesn’t seem significant, it could be useful to us.”
She stood and walked toward the door. Feyzi followed her with his eyes, but made no attempt to get out of his chair. Will was right behind her, but when he got to the door he turned back and mocked, “Go take a bath asshole. You smell like shit.”
The trainer’s mouth dropped open. Will gave him a look of disgust, and the detectives left the room.
When they reached the car, Will indicated he was driving and Karen walked to the passenger door. Once they were in, Karen opened fire on Will.
“What the fuck’s the matter with you, for God’s sake? You had that poor schmuck pissing himself. You don’t have to kick a witness incontinent to get what we need!”
“Oh there you go again, Miss Bleeding Heart Liberal. Whose side are you on anyway? Or what, you got the hots for this one too? You want we should drop the whole case because you think all the suspects are just too good looking to have committed homicide, huh?”
“Stop it, Will. Cut the crap already. You’re out of control over this case. You almost shut that guy down completely. He would have brought in counsel and then what? Take another step back, how about?”
“So what’s this compulsion you’ve developed for coddling our wits? I almost shut the guy down? Fuck no. I didn’t do anything that didn’t need to be done. You’re the one dragging your feet. What is it with you?”
“Once in a while you gotta give them some leeway. Do you need me to give you a lesson in Discovery 101? You’re so busy shaking this guy down that you couldn’t see you were driving him further into himself and away from us. He clearly related better to me.
“And so what about that. God, really, so goddamn what? Are you afraid he would have told us something that might take the heat off Kyle Sands? Is that what this is all about, Will— Kyle Sands?”
Will looked over at his partner for a moment and then back at the road. “I thought we were backing off the Sands shit, huh? I didn’t bring him up here. You did.” He absently stroked the wheel with his right hand. After a short silence he continued. “Listen. We gotta get past this. You don’t think I’m acting like myself and I sure as shit can’t figure where you’re coming from. Are we at an impasse or do you think we can get back on the trail? Talk to me.”
Karen looked down at her hands and then out the window. She knew any further arguing would be futile. But the thing was, she knew he was right. It all kept coming back to Kyle Sands.
Perhaps she had lost her objectivity. She did want to clear Kyle’s name, but no more than she wanted to find the killer. And she was sure the two things were mutually exclusive. If she and Will were not at an impasse, they were certainly at a crossroad. Kyle’s fate hung on the path they chose to take. Right now his future looked dim.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
P ractice was running late, but Kyle was not complaining. Today he was in The Zone. His passes, thrown with laser accuracy, flew into his receivers’ open hands. His teammates were also focused, and if this kept up through Sunday, the New York Rockets might just as well stay home. This game belonged to the Demons.
James came running in from the sidelines and smacked Kyle on his ass. “You on tonight, dude! What’d you do, man? Slop the receivers’ hands with glue?”
Kyle grinned at his friend and called the play. “Round, right, twenty-two trap delay!” The team broke huddle and moved into formation. The center snapped the ball. Kyle dropped back as though he was going to pass. He then pivoted toward James and neatly placed the ball into his stomach. That froze the defense for just an instant and drew the ends out a few steps. The line was then allowed to do its job — to open a hole for James to carry the ball through. He moved so swiftly that the defense looked like it was working in slow motion. It all ended quickly with James spiking the ball in the end zone and raising his arms to indicate the touchdown.
Players were slapping each other high and low, and a few were even doing the dances that had been outlawed by the league. Elated, Kyle took off down the field to share in the excitement.
James was laughing when Kyle got to him. “Don’t I always make you look good, white boy?”
“Can’t think of where I’d be without you, man!”
Coach Raymond approached the players in the end zone and blew his whistle to hustle the rest of the players over. “Y’all gonna go on the rest of the night giggling like little girlies?”
One of the players muttered “Fuck you,” and Raymond glared in his direction. Kyle spoke up in an attempt to stop the coach from flying into one of his all too frequent rages.
“Coach!” he laughed. “How much longer you think the defense can hang on? We’ve beaten the shit out of them up and down the field and they’re just flat out collapsing from exhaustion. How about giving us a break here so they can go soak their corns and get their beauty sleep?”
The Coach looked down and spit. “Shit — you pussies have one good practice and you wanna be molly-coddled. But because I’m such a great guy, and you did have a half-way decent scrimmage by the by. I just might call it a day.”
Then looking in Kyle’s direction, “I was wondering if you’d ever get back in sync. You did okay for a change.” He stopped long enough to hack up a wad of his chewing tobacco, then looked back to the team and continued. “But one day ain’t enough, y’hear? You gotta take some of this chemistry you’re feeling out here on the practice field and make sure it’s with you during the games. You guys’d better be directing all your energy to pulling it out on Sunday. We’re gonna take it one game at a time here, so keep your noses clean and your minds on football.”
Again, to Kyle, who was still smiling, “You’re treading some deep fucking water, boy — on and off the field.” He took a deep breath and gave Kyle a big, nasty leer. He then blew his whistle and motioned with his arms that practice was over.
The players took off before he could change his mind. Except for Tyrell Utley, who stood off to the side with a sour look on his face and hatred in his eyes. He stayed there on the fifty yard line quietly watching the starting quarterback and Lundy head for the locker room.
Unaware of Utley, James and Kyle continued their trek inside. Lundy smacked the goal post as he walked by and said, “Fuckin’ Coach, man. He always got something to say to you. That prick knows what you’re going through and still he makes sure to find a happy place up your ass every chance he gets.”
Kyle laughed. “Yep. You got that right. He can’t wait for me to fuck up so he ca
n put his boy Utley in my slot. He’ll have to get over it though—I’m gonna finish this season and I’m gonna finish it playing ball.”
James nodded. “The whole team’s behind you. You know that, right? None of us wants to see Tyrell take over. He’s a bigger dickhead on the field than he is off, if that’s possible. He doesn’t know shit about being a team player, just knows how to showboat and make himself the star. I can run it! I can throw it! All eyes on me! That gets old real fast. Receivers start dropping balls. O-Line breaks down a little here, a little there. QB starts getting sacked more. Nothing a united group of players can’t handle. The punk’ll get the message fast — or he won’t be healthy enough to play the game too long.”
He looked at his best friend who was not looking back at him. James stopped walking, and when Kyle halted as well Lundy reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “You gotta know that no one takes you for having done Jessica, man. They believe in you off the field as well as on the field. Everyone of us would rather have a new coach than a new quarterback.”
Kyle gave James a brooding smile. “Too bad everyone doesn’t feel that way. I got that crackhead cop looking to take me down. He gets his way, the case is closed and my butt’s sitting on death row.” After a long breath, Kyle asked, “So, boss, where do we go from here?”
James was quiet for a minute and then said, “Well, I got it in my head that it’s about time we paid Mr. Arnold a visit, huh? I’m thinking there’s something there and we ought to make damn good and sure he shares whatever he knows with us and the cops.” The two resumed walking.
“Sounds good to me. Let’s get cleaned up.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A guy growing up in a small town had to be a jock, part of a sports team, to be accepted. At least that is what Luke Arnold believed. Big and too slow to play ball, he made up his mind he would do whatever he had to for that acceptance. He got his chance when the football team’s water boy graduated.
He pretended the abuse from the players — the catcalls of ‘bench-mopper’ and other delectable expletives — were in good fun. He quietly suffered the smirks and wisecracks from the rest of the student body—willing himself to believe they were just jealous of him. He was a sullen kid who rarely smiled in classes or outside of school, but grinned continuously when on the football field. It never mattered to him that his job was rarely acknowledged, save for an occasional player’s nod or an occasional “Thanks, Arn.”
In his senior year he wrote to every pro team in the league offering to work in any staff position available. Most of the teams failed to respond; others sent him routine regrets that he was either not qualified for any openings they had or suggesting he try to find volunteer positions, perhaps with college teams. Routine form letters from schools all over the country informed him they used student interns for adjunct and volunteer positions. Out of desperation he enrolled in a local community college where he once again watered and cleaned up after players.
He checked the bulletin boards in the gym daily, praying his dream job would be posted. His frustration mounted as he neared the end of his two year stint at the junior college. There was no way he could get into a decent university with his grades. In fact, it was through the benevolence of his history professor that he was even getting his associate degree.
A week after graduation he got the call that changed his life. One of the community college coaches called him to say that the Demons in Miami were paying minimum wage for assistants to the equipment manager. Luke immediately called and was told to send his resume. It took nearly three weeks before they contacted him and invited him down for an interview. He used all his savings for the plane ticket. His determination paid off. He got the job.
Within days of the interview he moved to South Florida and found an apartment not far from the team complex in a neighborhood that had yet to see signs of regentrification. That was okay for Luke, though, because he had no intention of spending time there for anything but sleep.
For the next five and a half years he washed jocks’ socks and jock-straps. He never complained and every morning he looked forward to the smell of stale sweat in the locker room. He accepted whatever the players handed out and spent too many lonely nights at home.
Eventually his loyalty was rewarded and he was promoted to assistant manager of the equipment staff. The promotion gave him the opportunity to travel with the team. He was sure he had finally found his niche. Throughout the remainder of that season Luke made himself indispensable to the players and the coaches. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, he was there to run an errand, take care of someone’s kids or even wash cars. He befriended the trainers, hung with the ticket staff and silently swooned over the cheerleaders. It was another three years, though, before he realized his goal.
In Luke’s eighth season with the team, the head coach asked to meet with him privately. He told him how highly the team valued his service and what a huge asset he was to the Demons’ staff. He waxed on about Luke’s dedication to the team as well as his initiative and continuing efforts to run interference for the players.
The bottom line of all the praise was that the Demons needed a full-time security man. Luke would be the head coach’s bodyguard and chief of player security. Every non-football problem associated with the team — any kind of trouble, including arrests — was now his responsibility. He would later laugh when telling someone his job was basically bailing players out of jail in the middle of the night and keeping them out of the news. The irony of that, of course, was that was exactly what he did.
After showering, dressing and bullshitting with some of the other players, James and Kyle headed over to the staff offices. Everyone knew Arnold stayed late every night, claiming he needed the time to catch up with his paper work. The truth was he had nowhere to go and no one to go there with. Everyone knew that, too.
Lucas looked up from his computer after quickly trying to click down the porn site he was watching, and gave the players a big welcoming smile. “Hey, guys. What’s going on?”
James returned the smile, but his was not pleasant. “That’s just what we’ve come to talk to you about, Arnold.”
Luke chuckled and squirmed just a little, but when he spoke, his words reflected little amusement. “Whatever you need, you know that ’ol Luke’s your man, right?”
James got right up in the big man’s space and he immediately slumped down in his chair. “I’m gonna say it to you one time, you fat tub of shit. Fuck with us and you’ll see a side of me that’ll rattle your goddamned soul. Answer our questions honestly and you’re home free. Are you clear on that?”
Lucas was actually trembling and nodded feebly. “What’s this about, guys? I mean, what, uh, is there a problem — you know —”
James jumped over Luke’s words, “Shut up and you’ll find out what the problem is.”
Arnold slumped in his seat and looked at the two players expectantly. Lundy shot Kyle a self-satisfied grin and continued. “Now what’s this I’m hearing about you and the late Jessica Benson? You and she had a little thing going, or what?”
Arnold’s jaw dropped. He was not feigning his shock. “Jessica and me? Ha! That’s a laugh-and-a-half. You guys’re goofing on me, right?” He punctuated his sentence with a fart, and the rancid odor immediately permeated the room.
Kyle’s face registered pure disgust. He rested his hands on Luke’s desk and leaned right into his face.
“Here’s the way it is. James and I heard you had some kind of a disagreement with Jess shortly before she was killed. Don’t try to deny it, Luke. Gloria spotted you arguing with her in the parking lot of the complex and told us about it.
“We’re not accusing you of anything — but understand this — I don’t plan to be taking the needle for whoever did murder Jessica. So see if you can’t remember exactly what happened with you two.”
“The truth. All of it,” Lundy growled.
Luke seemed to relax a little. He nodded. “Yeah, s
ure. Whatever you need to know, bro.”
James brought his hand up as though he might hit Arnold, then suddenly jerked it away. “Who the fuck you ‘bro’ing to, sorryass?”
“Hey man, I’m cool. Just saying I’m ‘down’ with this.” He looked from James to Kyle. James rolled his eyes and turned to Kyle who shook his head and nodded to Luke as if to say, talk or die!
“Well, this is kind of difficult for me, but, well, whatever,” Lucas drawled. “You guys know I’d do anything for the players, right? It’s not just a job to me...”
James made a crude motion with his fist. “Stop jerking us off, Arnold. You fought with her, we know that. What the fuck was it about?”
Luke’s face reddened and his hair gel leaked gooey globs onto his forehead. “It was... okay, it was about the way she’d been acting, you know? Okay. Okay. You know how she was, always flaunting herself at all the guys around here like she was really the shit? Well, I saw something I shouldn’t have. Jessica was...” He hesitated, wringing his chubby hands and moving his head from side to side. “I’m sweating bullets here, huh guys?” He farted again.
James wrinkled his face. “You need to use the facilities?”
Arnold giggled self-consciously and shook his head. “Uh, excuse me... I have a little stomach condition, okay? I forgot to take my Nexium today. I think I need some fresh air.”
“Yeah, don’t we all about now,” Kyle was disgusted.
The mood was thick and the tension palpable. James told the disintegrating security man he was losing his patience.
Luke nodded to no one in particular and continued, “What I saw — it really fucked with my head, guys. Okay. Okay. Let me tell you this. Uh, a coupla weeks ago I was, you know, making my night rounds, okay? Checking to make sure doors were closed and locked, lights out, that kind of stuff. The usual. Okay?”
“Stop already with the Joe Pesci imitation and move on,” James said.
The Mystery of Jessica Benson Page 10
