“How do you know?” Joe asked.
“You should know, too, bonehead,” Iola said. “You guys were all with me in the training room.”
“Hey, that’s right!” Callie said. “About fifteen minutes after Iola’s accident, Victoria came in to see how she was doing.”
“She said she’d just finished packing up the faulty equipment and promised to check it out as soon as she could.”
“The girls are right, Frank,” Joe said. “Victoria was still in the training room when we left, asking the trainer to look at her sore knee or something.”
Frank put the file and D-ring back in his pockets. “Case not closed,” he said. “Victoria must have had an accomplice.”
“Someone who’s still out there,” Joe said.
* * *
Late that afternoon Frank pulled the van into a parking lot close to the Combat Sports Training Facility.
Joe still suspected that William Moubray had deliberately shot arrows at Frank, then set himself up to be the hero. Frank was here to pay him a visit.
Moubray lived in a dormitory for athletes who had traveled long distances to train at the center. It was a flat-roofed, two-story brick building that resembled a prison as much as a dorm.
The white winter sun was going down as Frank went in. He found a row of mailboxes inside, with William Moubray’s name listed under Number 206.
He took the steps to the second floor two at a time. He came to a landing, opened a heavy fire door, and entered a long, carpeted hallway so narrow he could hold out his arms and almost touch both walls.
A couple of athletes stood outside their rooms, talking. Rock music blared from someone’s stereo, and Frank could smell chicken soup cooking.
The door to Room 206 was open, throwing a square of light into the hallway. Frank found William inside, stirring soup over an electric hotplate.
“Frank,” William said. “What’s going on, man?”
“Not much,” Frank replied.
“That’s not what I hear,” William said, spooning up a taste of hot soup. “Word is Victoria put your brother in the hospital. Is he going to be okay?”
“He’ll be fine,” Frank said. “I just came by to get your take on all this stuff.”
“You know more than I do,” William said. “Victoria stabbing your brother—was that what finally got Montreux canned?”
Frank nodded as he sat down on Moubray’s bed. He noticed how bare the room was. The cinder-block walls were painted a dull, off-white color, and William had only a couple of posters up. One showed a jazz trumpeter playing on a darkened stage, the other a lone cross-country skier cutting a trail through some woods.
“Did you know Victoria at all?” Frank asked.
“Want some soup?” William asked.
“No, but thanks,” Frank answered.
William turned his desk chair around and sat. “I knew Victoria pretty well,” he said. “That’s why I’m so surprised about all this.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean she’s tough and has an attitude and all, but I never figured she’d try to mess with Montreux like this.”
“It was pretty crazy,” Frank said.
“Oh, yeah,” William agreed. “She’s lucky nobody got seriously injured.”
Frank leaned forward on the edge of the bed. “What did happen between Victoria and Montreux?”
“I don’t know the whole story,” William said, taking a sip of soup. “From what Victoria told me, Montreux made junk up to get her kicked off the team.”
Frank remembered the letter he and Joe had found in Montreux’s office. “I thought Victoria injured some people or caused some kind of accident.”
“Victoria’s totally intense,” William said, “just like the rest of us. She goes all out in practice every day.”
“What’s so bad about that?”
“Nothing,” William said. “But one day Victoria is practicing with this other girl, and Vicky is dominating so bad it isn’t even funny. She attacks and runs the girl off the back of the fencing strip. The girl blows out her knee and is gone for a year.”
“Sounds like bad luck to me,” Frank said.
William shrugged. “The other girl was one of Montreux’s favorites. When Montreux tried to give Victoria coaching advice, Vicky would sometimes ignore it. You know, she likes to find her own way”
“So Montreux kicked her off the team?”
William placed his soup bowl on his desk. “That’s the way I heard it. Montreux got tired of dealing with Victoria and exaggerated some stuff so she could justify kicking her off the team.”
“No wonder Victoria was mad,” Frank said.
“Yeah, I’d be mad, too,” William said.
For the first time Frank noticed an old, beat-up gun case in the corner of the room. It was wide enough to hold ten or twelve rifles, and the glass panels that had been in the door were missing. Frank stood up and went over to it.
“You mind?” he asked.
“Go ahead,” William said. “All my important stuff goes in there.”
Though he could see inside already, Frank swung the door open. A brutal-looking crossbow hung against the back wall. “Oh, man,” Frank said. “This thing is serious.”
William stood up. “Take her out,” he offered.
Frank lifted the weapon and held it to his shoulder, aiming at the skier in the poster.
William held up a short arrow with a steel head that looked like a giant shark’s tooth.
“Brutal,” Frank said as he took the crossbow bolt from William and turned it, looking at every angle. “That could take out just about anything.”
“I almost never shoot it,” William said. “It’s too easy… and too dangerous.”
“I bet,” Frank said, returning the bow and bolt to their places. As he did, he noticed a bundle of target arrows at the bottom of the case. They appeared to be exactly like the ones that had been shot at him. Frank said nothing.
“Here,” William said, pulling an oil cloth off a target air rifle also in the case. “You set a dime on its edge, I can hit it with this thing from a hundred yards.”
“Impressive,” Frank said. “I see you’ve got cross-country skis, too.”
William nodded. “I’m getting into biathlon. Just for kicks.”
“Where you ski like a hundred miles with the rifle on your back and then shoot out a bunch of targets?”
William laughed. “Yeah, but it’s a lot more fun than you make it sound, and Coach Sokal encourages it. I’m staying in great shape.”
“I guess you’re glad Sokal’s going to take over for Montreux,” Frank said.
William glanced at Frank suspiciously. “Yeah, I suppose.”
Frank closed the door of the case. “He seems like a good guy.”
“Oh, Sokal can be a jerk, just like anybody else,” William said. “But at least the archers will get some attention now. You know, even though Sokal’s a judo champion, he’s also a great archer. I’ve seen that dude practically split one arrow with another, like Robin Hood.”
Frank recalled the targets Joe had found in Sokal’s office. “Yeah, that’s pretty cool.”
Frank kept thinking about the arrows and the fact that William didn’t like Montreux. He didn’t seem like a person who would pull the kind of dangerous stunts that had forced Montreux to resign, but he certainly had a motive to get rid of her. He could definitely be the person who helped Victoria. Frank decided to keep a close eye on him.
“I don’t know anything about biathlon,” Frank said. “I can hold my own on cross-country skis, though.”
“You want to hit the trails? They’re making snow,” William said happily “That would be great.”
“How about tomorrow?” Frank said. “I’ll meet you here.”
William held out his hand, and Frank slapped his against it. “Excellent!” William said. “I’ll ski you into the ground, Frank.”
“Bring it on, Moubray.” Frank was about to
leave when the sight of the target arrows popped back in his head. He pivoted and went to William’s desk.
“What is it?” William asked.
“Hold on,” Frank said. He’d remembered the print of William Tell in Sokal’s office. Taking out a scrap of paper and a pencil, Frank wrote down the names William Tell and Milli Le Walt.
He began crossing out all the letters in the two names that matched. In seconds he was left with nothing. Milli Le Walt was an anagram of William Tell.
“What are you up to?” Moubray asked.
Frank crumpled the paper. “What do you know about the legend of William Tell?” Frank asked.
“Not much. Ask Coach Sokal, though. He talks about it all the time.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Sure. It’s his favorite motivating tool,” Moubray said. “Whenever archers have a crucial match, Sokal tells them to imagine that the life of the person they love the most is on the line with each shot.”
Three, maybe four, loud popping noises interrupted them.
“What’s that?” William asked.
“It came from the hall.”
Frank and William ran from the room. Shouts came from a room down the hall, followed by a billowing cloud of black smoke.
9 An Unsanctioned Match
* * *
Glancing down the hall, Frank saw Jake Targan stumbling from one of the rooms, his arms clasped over his head for protection. Leaning over, he went into a spasm of violent coughing.
“Fire!” he gasped.
Staying low, Frank and William braved Targan’s room.
“It’s the curtains!” Frank shouted. Orange and yellow flames climbed the curtains, snapping and crackling as they rose.
With one forearm covering his eyes, William yanked the curtains to the floor. Frank whipped the comforter from Targan’s bed. He tossed it over the burning heap, then jumped on top, stomping the fire out before it could rage again.
Puffs of smoke curled from under the comforter. Soon the fire was completely extinguished.
The stink of burning cloth filled the room.
“Nice work, guys,” someone said as Frank and William stepped back out into the hall.
“Yeah. William, you could always join the fire department if archery doesn’t work out.”
“No thanks,” William said, rubbing his hands together.
“Get burned?” Frank asked.
William blew on his fingers. “It isn’t bad. I’m fine, man.”
Targan brushed past them. He returned from the room carrying his charred hotplate by its half-melted cord. He held it at arm’s length like roadkill.
“The thing practically exploded,” he said.
Allen Frierson pushed through the crowd of athletes. He wore a jacket and ski cap. “What are you cooking, Jake? Whatever it is, it stinks.”
“Very funny, Frierson,” Targan said.
“Who’s trying to be funny. I hope you’re going to clean this up so everyone else doesn’t have to deal with this smell all night.”
“Take it easy, Allen,” Frank warned.
“What’re you worried about?” Targan said to Frierson. “Go stay with your daddy. You don’t have to smell anything.”
“Shut up about my dad!” Frierson shouted.
“You shut me up!” Targan retorted.
Before Frank could step between them, Allen was at Jake’s throat like a wild dog.
When Allen lunged at Jake, Jake ducked, slamming his shoulder into Frierson’s gut. Allen let out a loud grunt.
Everyone but Frank backed off to give the two athletes room to fight. He reached in, getting a good grip on Targan’s shirt. “Break it up!” he yelled. “Break it up!”
Frank felt a couple of pairs of strong hands wrap around his arms and pull him back.
“Let go!” he said. “What’re you doing?”
“Give them room,” Moubray said, his hand on Frank’s shoulder.
“Let them settle this,” the judo heavyweight on the other side of Frank said.
The athletes had formed a tight circle around Frierson and Targan. No one said anything. The only sounds were of the fighters hitting the floor and the sirens from the fire house in the distance.
Frierson was on his back swinging away with roundhouse punches. Targan ducked his head as punches rained on his skull and ears. Reaching in, he grabbed Allen in a bearhug. Then, with heavy punches still landing, he took his forehead and struck it against Frierson’s.
Frierson screamed as Targan ground bone against bone. Frierson stopped punching to use his hands to shove Targan off.
Targan scrambled around so he was kneeling at Frierson’s head. Like a rodeo cowboy wrapping the legs of a thrown calf, Targan snatched Frierson’s right arm and secured it under his right armpit. His left arm coiled around the back of Allen’s neck, locking him in a reverse strangle hold.
“Get off me!” Frierson screamed.
“Submit,” Targan said calmly.
“Get… off…” Allen’s voice broke in a dry cough as Targan squeezed.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Targan said. “Give in and I’ll let go.”
They all held a collective breath.
Finally Frierson slapped the ground with his free hand, the signal that he was giving in.
Jake immediately released him and stood up.
His face red with embarrassment, Allen clambered to his feet. He grabbed his ski cap and ran from the dorm.
What was that all about?” Frank asked.
“Nothing,” Targan said with a sigh.
“I thought you two were friends,” Frank said.
The heavyweight fighter still at Frank’s side said, “You should mind your own business, man.”
Frank took a step forward, but Moubray cut in. “Relax, everybody. Frank’s cool. And this isn’t the kind of welcome we want to be giving visitors to the dorm.”
“I’m going out to eat,” someone said. “Who wants to go?”
A chorus of me’s went up. The crowd dispersed as athletes returned to their rooms for coats and wallets.
Targan stepped into his room. Frank picked up the damaged hotplate and followed.
“Sorry about that,” Targan said. He tried to smooth the wrinkles in his shirt, but a button had been torn free.
“So, can you tell me what the problem is?” Frank asked.
“Allen’s under too much pressure,” Targan said. “Did you know his dad quit his job so he could be here in Bayport with Allen? He rides Allen all the time. Work harder, be tougher.”
“Did something happen today? Something to set Allen off?”
Targan nodded. “I don’t know the details, but I think Coach Sokal told Allen that he doesn’t have talent and that he might be cut from the team.”
Frank remembered the file in Sokal’s office, the one with notes about cutting Frierson before the combat center opened.
“I guess he took the news hard,” Frank said.
“Wouldn’t you?” Targan asked. “He’s completely upset. He’s picked fights with me all day. I just let it go, figuring he needed to let off steam. Unfortunately, I let him get to me this time.”
Frank set the hotplate on the scorched desk. Most of the evidence was melted, but Frank could clearly see where plastic insulation had been stripped from a couple of wires, leaving them exposed.
“What are you looking for?” Targan asked.
“I don’t really know,” Frank replied. “Make sure the fire department takes a look at this.”
“Sure,” Targan said. “And thanks for helping put out the fire.”
“No problem.” Frank left as a firefighter came down the hall.
“We got a call that the fire was already out,” he said. “Mind if we take a look?”
Frank jerked a thumb back toward Targan’s room. “In there,” he said.
* * *
Night had fallen when Frank returned to the parking lot. Light from the fire truck parked in the fire lane behind the build
ing flashed on the trees, making them pulse red for a second then go dark.
He found the van and unlocked the door. As he was about to get in, he felt someone grab his shoulder. He wheeled around, ready to fight.
It was Victoria Huntington, looking tired and cold in jeans and a fleece pullover. She had her hair tucked under a baseball cap.
“Victoria,” Frank said warily.
“Don’t worry,” she said, holding her hands out. “No sharpened swords, see?”
“I see,” Frank said. “I was about to head home.”
“I need to talk,” Victoria said. “I mean, I just spent like six hours talking to the police, but now I need to talk to you.”
Frank closed the van door. “The cops said you were free to go?”
“I’m not under arrest,” Victoria said. “I can’t leave town, though. They’re still investigating.”
“Okay, so let’s talk,” Frank said.
Victoria nodded toward the dorm. “Can we take a walk? I need to move.”
“That’s cool,” Frank said. “I wouldn’t want anyone to hear us.”
Victoria stuffed her hands in her pockets as they crossed the parking lot.
When they were a safe distance from the dorm and combat complex, Victoria broke the silence.
“I went by the hospital to visit Joe,” she said. “He told me you might be here.”
Frank didn’t say anything.
“He says he’s going to be fine,” Victoria said. “Not even much of a scar.”
“Yeah, that’s good,” Frank said.
Victoria finally blurted out, “I’m innocent. I told Joe first and now I’m telling you. I have no idea how that scoring equipment got in my office, and there’s no way I sharpened my weapons.”
Frank wanted to believe her. He knew she couldn’t be the person who shot arrows at him, but evidence against her for the other incidents was so strong. He thought about the poster of William Tell in Sokal’s office.
“What about Coach Sokal?” he said.
“What about him?”
“Could he be involved?”
Valerie shook her head. “I’m not going to say anything against Coach Sokal. He saved me after Montreux kicked me off the team.”
“Why did he do that?” Frank asked.
“He knew what she was doing was unfair,” Victoria said defiantly. “He knows how hard I worked to get here, and he needs someone to coach the junior fencing team. That’s why he did it.”
Training for Trouble Page 6
