“Well,” I said, “if Jon was responsible for it going missing in the first place, he must have had an accomplice. If it had been in the locker room before the game, Sean would have found it. And Jon never left the ice once the game started. So that means that someone else must have put Sean’s helmet back in the locker room during the game.”
“An accomplice?” Morgan said. “You mean two people are involved in Sean’s murder?”
I thought back to the night of the hockey game. I thought about what had happened and what I had heard out in the parking lot when I’d gone back to get my scarf. I remembered something else, too.
“I don’t think anyone was trying to kill Sean that night,” I said. “I think someone wanted him out of the game as badly as Jon did—but for a different reason.” I looked at Morgan. “You know what we need to do? We need to talk to someone who knows what goes on in that arena—someone who sees who comes and goes.”
“Wayne,” Morgan said.
“The head janitor?”
She glanced at her watch.
“The arena’s still open.”
When we walked up to the front door of the arena, only a few lights were visible from the outside.
“It looks like it’s closed. Are you sure Wayne is still here?” I said.
“That’s his car,” Morgan said, pointing to a beat-up white Camaro in the parking lot. “If it’s here, he’s here. And if he’s here, the arena is open.”
She led me around to the team entrance and pushed open the door.
“See?” She marched in as if she owned the place and called Wayne’s name.
I looked around doubtfully. The place seemed deserted. There was no one on the ice. The stands were empty. The snack counter was dark.
“There’s a light on in the players’ locker room,” Morgan said. “Maybe he’s in there.”
We were about to enter the locker room when someone burst out of it. We both jumped back, startled.
“Colin,” Morgan gasped. “You scared me.”
Colin Sloane looked as surprised as we were. He was carrying a plastic bag and a beat-up hockey stick.
“Morgan,” he said. “What are you doing here?” He looked past Morgan at me and scowled. He was probably even more curious about why I was with her, especially since the last time he’d seen me, Morgan had frozen me out.
“We’re looking for Wayne,” Morgan said.
“He’s in there.” He gestured to the locker room door. “He found a few things of Sean’s lying around. I came over to pick them up.”
Morgan’s expression softened. “That must have been tough,” she said. “Are you okay, Colin?”
“Yeah.” But he hadn’t looked okay since the funeral. His jaw was set, like he was determined not to display any emotion, but his eyes gave him away. They were slightly unfocused, as if his mind were on what had been or might have been and not on the here and now. “If you want me to, Morgan, I’ll wait for you. I’ll drive you home.”
Morgan’s smile was gentle. “Thanks, Colin. But I’m with Robyn.” She reached out and squeezed his hand. Then she pushed the locker room door open. I followed her inside, where we found Wayne mopping the floor. His weathered faced brightened when he saw Morgan.
“Hi, Wayne,” Morgan said. “You remember my friend Robyn?”
I nodded a hello. Wayne nodded back without taking his eyes off Morgan. Morgan got right to the point.
“Do you remember the day Sean’s helmet came off?” she said.
“When someone tampered with it, you mean?” Wayne said.
Morgan nodded. “Did you see anyone go into or come out of the team locker room during the day or that evening before the team showed up?”
“With all the equipment in there, I keep the players’ locker room locked before a game.”
“But you’re not the only person with a key, are you?” Morgan said.
“Coaches have keys.”
“Does anyone else?” I asked.
Wayne shook his head.
“But I saw Sean unlock that door a couple of times,” Morgan said.
Wayne shuffled uncomfortably. “Sometimes he borrowed the key from the board in my office. But that was okay with me. Sean was a good kid.”
“What board?” I said.
“I have a board with hooks on it where I keep copies of all the keys for this place.” I remembered seeing a board like the one he described the night of the hockey game, when I’d gone back to look for my scarf. “The originals are all right here.” He jangled a ring that must have had fifty different keys attached to it.
“Did anyone besides Sean know about this board?” I said.
“Well, sure. Everyone who knows the arena knows my office and that board. But—”
“Do you always keep your office locked when you’re not in it?”
Wayne shuffled uncomfortably again.
“So it’s possible that someone could have taken the key from the board and gone into the players’ locker room and tampered with Sean’s helmet without you knowing it,” I said.
“Everyone who knows the arena knows my office is off-limits,” Wayne said.
I glanced at Morgan.
“Wayne, do you remember if anyone else was in the arena that day?” she said, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Anyone at all?”
“The place was real quiet,” he said. “Besides the game that night, there was just the little-girl figure skaters after school. I had to prep the ice after they finished. That’s it.”
“Those were the only people in the arena before the game?” Morgan said. “Figure skaters?”
“Well, and some of the mothers. Some of them just drop the kids off. Some of them stay to watch.”
Morgan gave me a look. I knew what she was thinking—it was highly unlikely that some junior figure skater’s mother would tamper with Sean’s hockey helmet.
“That’s it?” Morgan said. “Little girls and their mothers?”
“And one dad. And Johnny,” Wayne said.
“Johnny?” I said.
“Johnny Czerny,” Wayne said. “His kid sister is in the figure skating class. His mom works, so he drops his sister off and picks her up. Sometimes he stays and watches.”
“What about that day?”
Wayne’s brow furrowed as he pondered the question.
“He stayed.”
So Jon had been at the arena the afternoon before the big game. Well, well.
“Did you see where he was? Was he in the stands watching the whole time?”
“The whole time?” Wayne said. “Well, I can’t say. I saw him come in and I saw him and his sister leave together, but I didn’t stay for the class. I have work to do around here. If you want to know what Johnny was doing that day, you’ll have to ask him yourself.”
I glanced at my watch. It was late.
“He’ll be here first thing in the morning for practice,” Wayne said.
“What time is first thing?” I asked.
“Six-thirty.”
I was sorry I’d asked.
“Thanks, Wayne,” Morgan said. She turned to go.
“Did you see anyone go into the locker room during the game that night?” I asked Wayne.
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Well ...” he began. He frowned.
“What is it, Wayne?” Morgan said.
“There was one person,” he said slowly. “I saw him go into the locker room during second period. When he came out, I asked him what he’d been doing in there. He said he was looking for some tape. He had some in his hand.”
“Did you tell Sean’s coach?” Morgan said.
“He was just looking for tape,” Wayne said. “And he was an assistant coach.”
“For Sean’s team?”
“For the other team. But a coach would never tamper with equipment. A kid maybe. But not a coach. Coaches know what can happen when you monkey with equipment. They know how serious it can be.”
> “Do you know this assistant coach’s name?” I said.
“Lyle something, I think,” Wayne said. He thought it over. “Yeah. Lyle something.”
“Thanks, Wayne,” Morgan said. She pushed open the locker room door. “Colin?” I heard her say, surprised. “You’re still here?”
“Are you sure I can’t give you a lift?” he said. “It’s no problem.”
She stepped outside, and the door closed behind her. Wayne went back to his mopping.
“Can I ask you one more question, Wayne?” I said.
He glanced at me.
“You saw someone go into the arena the night Sean died, right?”
“Yeah. It was that kid, the one they arrested.”
“Did you see him leave, too?”
“Couldn’t have,” Wayne said. “I wasn’t here. I was on my way home when I saw him go in.”
“But your car was in the parking lot when he left.”
“No it wasn’t. Like I told the cops, I saw the kid, I told him to remind Sean to lock up, and then I went straight home.”
“Were there any other cars in the parking lot when you left?” I asked.
Wayne shook his head.
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
I thanked him and left the locker room. Something wasn’t right. Billy had said he’d seen a car. He’d said it was Wayne’s. But Wayne said it wasn’t. Was he lying?
I found Morgan outside the locker room door.
“We’re just trying to figure out a few things,” she was saying to Colin.
“What things?” Colin said. “Why were you asking Wayne about the day of the game?”
“Because someone tampered with Sean’s helmet,” Morgan said.
“Yeah. The same creep they arrested for killing him. That psycho ex-boyfriend of yours.” If you looked closely, you could see the resemblance between Sean and Colin. But that’s all it was—a resemblance. Sean was tall, rangy, and handsome, with boyish good looks and a winning smile. Colin was stockier, beefier, with heavier features and, at that moment, a sullen scowl.
“Billy has an alibi for the whole day when Sean’s helmet was tampered with,” Morgan said.
“Are you trying to tell me he didn’t kill Sean?” Colin said. “Because the cops said—”
“We’re just saying that it looks like someone else besides Billy messed with Sean’s helmet,” I said.
“Yeah? So? What difference does that make now?”
“Maybe none,” I said. On the other hand, maybe it would make all the difference in the world.
When I got home, I called the police homicide department and asked to speak to Charlie Hart. He sounded surprised to hear from me. His surprise turned to skepticism when I told him why I was calling.
“When did Billy tell you this?”
“A few days ago,” I said. “He said it was the head janitor’s car. But I just talked to the janitor, and he told me he went straight home. He also says he didn’t see any other cars in the parking lot. So either he’s lying, or someone pulled into the lot after he drove away and was still there when Billy left Sean in the arena. Maybe it was Sean’s killer.”
I didn’t get the reaction I had hoped for.
All he said was, “Thanks for calling, Robyn.”
It wasn’t until I told my dad about it that I understood Charlie Hart’s apparent lack of enthusiasm.
“It sounds like Billy didn’t tell him what he told you. If that’s true, then Charlie is probably wondering why Billy told you something just a few days ago that he never mentioned to the police at all,” my dad said.
“But why would Billy lie about seeing a car in the parking lot?”
“Maybe he wants the police to think someone else went into the arena after he left.”
“What if someone really did?”
“Who?” my dad said. “What motive did that person have for killing Sean Sloane? And how did the murder weapon end up in Billy’s backyard?” When he saw the look on my face, he added quickly, “I’m not saying that Billy is lying, Robbie. I’m just saying, if I were on that case, those are the questions I would have.”
“Would you follow it up?”
“Definitely. A good cop follows everything up.”
I expected to be waiting alone at the arena for Jon Czerny first thing the next morning. Sure, Morgan had said she was going to be there. But Morgan is not a morning person. At least not a cheerful morning person. So I was stunned to find her already pacing in front of the main doors when I arrived. She was holding an extra-large latte and, judging from how frenetic she was, she must have almost finished it.
“I thought you weren’t going to show up,” she said.
I glanced at my watch. It was only quarter after six. “How did you get here so early, Morgan?”
“Colin drove me.”
“Colin Sloane?”
“He called me last night after I got home. He’s been calling me a lot since ... well, you know. Mostly we talk about Sean. He’s really broken up about what happened. I’ve been waiting for you since six.”
“But Wayne said practice doesn’t start until six-thirty.”
Morgan rolled her eyes. “Don’t you know anything about hockey?”
“No,” I admitted. “And neither did you until you met Sean.”
“They’re supposed to be on the ice at six-thirty. They have to get all their gear on first,” Morgan said. “Most of the team has already arrived.” Her eyes skipped to some place behind me. “There he is.”
Sure enough, Jon was striding across the parking lot toward the team entrance. Morgan and I started toward him. He smiled when he saw me and spit out the gum he was chewing. Then, like a blur, someone charged at him. It was Colin. He tackled Jon to the pavement and started punching him.
“Colin,” Morgan screamed. “Stop!”
I ran toward the two of them and tried to pull Colin off Jon. Bad move. When I grabbed Colin’s arm—his left one, it turned out—he lashed out with his right. He caught me right below the eye. The force of the blow sent me reeling, and I hit the pavement with a thud. I looked around for Morgan. Correction, I tried to look for Morgan, but both my eyes were blinded by tears and one of them, the one Colin had punched, was starting to swell shut. I could hear Colin pounding away at Jon.
“You tampered with my brother’s helmet,” he said. “You could have killed him.”
I forced my good eye open. Jon was on his hands and knees, struggling to get up, but Colin kicked him in the ribs. Jon collapsed. As Colin drew his leg back to kick him again, Jon groaned and rolled into a ball. He protected his head and neck as best he could with his hands and arms. Morgan had vanished.
I staggered to my feet. I knew it was foolish to wade into the middle of a fight—again. But this wasn’t really a fight. It was a beating. And that’s exactly why I felt compelled to do something. I lurched toward Colin.
Just then the team entrance burst open and Morgan flew out. Two coaches and a couple of players followed her. They stopped for a split second to assess the situation. Then the coaches raced toward Colin and grabbed him by the arms. It took both of them to haul him away from Jon. A couple of players took over for one of the coaches, who knelt down to examine Jon. Colin was really worked up. He kept trying to break free so that he could charge at Jon again.
“He’s the one,” he said. “He tampered with Sean’s helmet. It was him.”
The coach kneeling next to Jon turned to the coach who was still working to restrain Colin.
“Call an ambulance,” he said. “And the police. And get him,” he pointed at Colin, “inside and sit on him until the police get here.”
The second coach and the players had to drag Colin inside.
Morgan came over to me.
“Are you okay?” she said.
The coach who was kneeling beside Jon glanced up at me. “What happened to you?” he said.
“She tried to break up the fight,” Morgan said.
Jon moaned.
The coach said, “How do you feel, son?”
Jon murmured something that I didn’t hear.
The coach stood up and came to where I was leaning unsteadily against Morgan. I had never been punched in the face before. Not only did it hurt—really hurt—but it was scary. I couldn’t believe that someone had actually hit me—hard enough that I’d been knocked off my feet. Hard enough that the very last thing that I wanted was to be hit ever again. I was trembling all over.
The coach took me gently by the chin and tilted my face up so that he could get a good look at me.
“You’re going to have a real shiner,” he said. “We should get you looked at, make sure there’s no damage to your eye.” He glanced at Morgan. “Take her inside and see if Wayne can find some ice. Make her sit down until the ambulance gets here.”
Morgan took me by the elbow and steered me into the arena. I balked just inside the door when I saw Colin, flanked by a couple of players and being watched over by the second coach. His eyes met mine, but I didn’t read any regret in them, only rage.
The ambulance came. So did the police. The two responding officers talked to Morgan and then to me. They spoke briefly to Jon after the paramedics had examined him and were getting ready to lift him into the ambulance. I heard one of them tell the police that they would have to take Jon to the hospital to see if anything was broken and whether he had a concussion. They’d probably keep him in overnight for observation. He also said that Jon was lucky—people don’t realize how much damage kicking can do—and that he’d been smart to protect his head and neck. He told me that I should go to the hospital and get checked out too.
After the ambulance took Jon away and the officers had put Colin into the back of their car, one of the coaches, the one who had stayed with Jon, offered to drive me to the hospital. Morgan came too. When we got there, the coach started to come inside with us, but Morgan said it was okay, she would stay with me. She said that she would call my parents.
“Don’t,” I said as soon as the coach had left. “If you call my mom, she’ll freak.”
Change of Heart Page 11
