Sam turned to Wilson and said, “Wilson, Brady Gilmore.”
Wilson gave him a quick nod of the head and said, “Hello, young man. We were watching you practice. You were doing a great job out there on the court.”
Brady beamed and sat straight up.
“We’re undefeated so far,” Brady said, obviously proud to be part of his team.
Sam wasn’t sure if his smile could cover any more of his face.
“We’re going to have to come and watch you play,” she said.
“Our next game is Saturday. Can you come? My dad comes, but not a lot. But that’s okay, ’cause I sometimes don’t like it when he comes, ’cause afterwards on the way home, he always yells at me and tells me all the stupid stuff I did.”
Sam cringed, remembering countless times Robin had told her how Wyatt had scolded Brady for his mistakes on the court.
“If that’s an invitation, Brady, I accept,” Sam said.
“Does that go for me, too?” Wilson asked.
Brady’s face lit up again. “Yep.”
Todd joined the group. He was carrying a basketball under his arm.
“Do you want me to wait outside?” he asked looking from Wilson to Sam.
Wilson shook his head. “Why don’t you join us.”
Todd climbed the bleachers and sat next to Brady.
There was a moment of silence as Sam considered how to phrase her question. She crossed her arms tightly across her chest in an effort to ease the tightness in her stomach.
“Brady, do you remember …”
When Sam looked into his eyes, her voice faded. They were filled with an innocence that melted her. She swallowed hard. “Brady, do you remember you tried to tell me something the night you and Todd brought me to my apartment after you found me in the parking lot?”
Brady nodded.
“Do you remember what you told me?”
Again he nodded.
“What did you tell me?”
Brady began to fidget slightly with his fingers. He couldn’t look at anyone when he spoke.
“I said, ‘my dad has a bank account.’”
“Where is that account, Brady?” Sam asked.
“Robin was the only person who knows that. I don’t know if I can tell anyone else. Robin promised me to keep it a secret,” Brady said directing his comment to Todd.
“Remember, Bud, Sam and I told you that if you want to help Robin, the only way is to tell us what you know. We can’t help Robin if you don’t tell us how.”
It was Sam who spoke. “Remember the night last week when we were at city hall and you showed me all that information on the computer?”
Brady nodded and smiled proudly that he could help.
“You could help us now the same way,” she said. “Where’s the account?”
“At a bank,” Brady replied.
“What’s the name of the bank, Brady?” Todd asked patiently.
“Grandview National Bank.”
“And the account is under your father’s name, right, Brady?” Todd asked.
“No,” Brady replied simply.
Sam looked at him, her eyes registering no emotion. He said what she had expected him to say.
“Whose name is it under?” she asked.
Brady looked at Todd who gave a reassuring nod.
“It’s like a secret code name,” Brady said.
“A secret code name,” Wilson responded looking from Brady to Sam.
There was a collective silence before Wilson reached the conclusion that Sam already suspected.
“Roy Rogers,” they said jointly.
Brady looked surprised. “Yeah,” he said brightly. “How’d you guys know?”
“We didn’t know for sure, Brady,” Sam said. “That’s why we came to you. We knew you’d know. And we had to hear it from you.”
“Roy Rogers?” Todd said, frowning. “Robin mentioned that name several times.”
“Are you sure Roy Rogers is the name your father listed on his account?” Sam asked.
Brady nodded. “My dad’s a cool guy, but Roy Rogers isn’t,” he said and kept his head downcast.
“Why is Roy Rogers a bad person, Brady? Is it because he hurt Robin?” Sam asked, pushing him along gently.
Brady nodded, keeping his eyes downcast.
“How do you know that, Bud?” Todd asked.
“One night I was delivering mail kinda late. It was after that one holiday.”
“Martin Luther King,” Wilson said.
Brady nodded and continued, “I heard these two guys talking in one of the offices. I didn’t know who one of them was, but I knew the other one.”
“Did that voice belong to Roy Rogers?” Sam asked.
Brady shook his head and looked directly at Sam.
“It was Jonathan,” he said.
Sam worked to maintain her composure as she pressed on. “What did you hear that night?”
“Something was found under the seat of a police car and I heard Jonathan say that Roy wasn’t happy about it,” Brady said.
“That must’ve been when they found the drugs,” Wilson said looking at Sam.
She nodded, “Go on, Brady.”
“Roy ordered them guys to hurt Robin.”
“So your father ordered someone to hurt Robin?” Sam asked.
“Yeah.”
“Why the name Roy Rogers, Brady?” Todd asked.
Brady shrugged his shoulders, looking forlorn. “I dunno. I know it used to be my dad’s favorite show when he was little and, when I was little he used to pretend to be Roy Rogers and make me laugh. He said Roy Rogers was always the good guy and always got the bad guy.”
Sam looked at Wilson.
“Just before Jonathan left Tuesday night, he said if I ever found out who Roy Rogers was, we’d have our man,” she said. She felt like her insides were melting and she wanted to scream. She looked at Brady. The brightness in his eyes earlier had vanished. They seemed dull, empty and sad.
“Brady, I’m sorry you had to hear this,” Sam said. “But it’s important you say nothing to your father that you know anything at all. I know it’ll be hard not to act any differently, but can you do that for the next few days?”
Brady shrugged as if to say that’s nothing. “I’ve been doin’ that since I heard Jonathan talking to that other guy that night. I can still do it. He hurt Robin and I don’t want him to hurt anyone else.”
“You’re a good kid, Brady,” Wilson said. “Just hang in there a little longer.”
“Shall we get out of here?” Todd asked, rising from the bench.
They walked out of the high school in silence. Once outside, Brady noticed Wilson’s Honda.
“You have a cool license plate, Mr. Cole.”
“You can call me Wilson, Brady and thanks. I’ve had that plate about 15 years.”
“What does it mean?” Brady asked.
By now they had reached Todd’s truck.
“Well it’s a long story,” Wilson said. “But remind me and I’ll tell you about it someday.”
Wilson and Sam waved to Brady and Todd as he started the truck and drove out of the parking lot. The mood in Wilson’s Honda was somber. Sam stared blankly out the window as they waited in silence for the car to warm. She kept her attention on the spot where she woke the night Brady and Todd found her. Wilson pulled her from her thoughts.
“This is the first time I can ever remember having to break a big story and being really sorry about it,” he said. “We’re about to expose Brady’s father, a well-liked police chief, as a murderer and the leader of a drug smuggling operation.”
Sam looked at him and nodded numbly.
“Take me home,” she said.
After a brief stop at Robin’s condo to get Morrison, Wilson followed Sam in the Caprice to her apartment.
“I’ll walk you up,” he said.
He stayed at the door as she went inside. He kept his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his overcoat.
“Do you want to come in for coffee? It’s so cold out.”
“I’d better get going,” he said. “Will you be in tomorrow?”
She wondered if she looked as lifeless as she felt. “When is it going to be over, Wilson? I’m tired. I don’t know how much more I can handle.”
He put a comforting hand on her shoulder. He wanted to caress her cheek. Kiss her softly. It took all his strength not to touch her.
“By Friday, everything will be out,” he said quietly. “It won’t be over, but at least everything will be in the open. From there we’ll follow the stories as they develop.”
“Will it bring Robin back?” she asked, wanting to believe somehow when the truth was told, Robin would find her way home.
“No, Sam, Robin won’t be back,” he said.
She leaned into him for support. He welcomed it, and it was all he could do to let her go. He pulled her from him and took a moment to study her, the rug burn shining on her cheek. Her eyes were sad, but around the corners, he saw determination.
“Robin would be proud of you,” Wilson said.
Sam smiled.
“Call me if you need anything,” Wilson said and with that, he was gone.
Forty-seven
It was 12:15 p.m. when Sam arrived at the Grandview Perspective for the first time in almost a week.
Everyone greeted her warmly, but Nick Weeks. He was talking to David Best when he saw her descend the steps to the newsroom.
“Shit,” he said. “She’s back.”
David glared at him.
Sam greeted them as she passed David’s desk. She walked to Wilson’s office and poked her head inside. He was in front of his computer typing. He saw her and smiled.
“Come in,” he said, removing his glasses.
Sam walked to the desk. She noticed that his tie was loosened slightly against his shirt and his sleeves were rolled up comfortably to his elbows. The dark blue in his shirt and white cuffs made the gray in his hair the color of iron.
“Welcome back,” he said and smiled. “How’s it going?”
“It feels good to be back. Everyone’s been so nice. I didn’t know they cared.”
“It’s a good group of people, Sam, and they want you to be okay and they want you to be here.”
He took a moment to study her. Her blond hair fell softly around her shoulders and the cream-color blazer she wore over a black pantsuit brought out the highlights. Wilson noticed for the first time that Sam was wearing lipstick. It made her face come alive.
“How do you feel?”
She smiled, but it was weak. “Better,” she said. “I slept most of the night, the first time in nearly a week. But I woke up thinking about Brady. I hate to think how this will affect him.”
“He’ll make it through,” Wilson said, his voice reassuring. “Brady’s a lot stronger and smarter than most people give him credit for, Sam, including us. He’s proved that over the last few days. His own father has never given him the credit he deserves. That’ll come back to haunt him.”
Sam nodded and ran a finger along Wilson’s desk. “I’m trying to keep what I’ve learned out of my mind. It’s the only way I can deal with it for now. I don’t want to think about it. It hurts me and I’m scared.”
“I know, Sam, but be strong. You know now what you have to do. I’ll help you, if you want, but I think you can do it on your own.”
“Guess I’d better stop wasting time,” she said.
“Take your time,” he said. “You’ve got the next few days to write that story.”
When Sam got to the door she turned to look at Wilson. He was busy typing.
“Wilson.”
He looked at her.
“Thanks,” she said.
“For what?”
“For caring enough to help me this weekend. I’m grateful.”
“I can help you, Sam, when it comes to writing the article. But when it comes to doing what you know you have to if you want to get your life together and April back, it’s up to you.”
“Yes,” she said. “I know.”
Moments later Sam was staring at an empty computer screen. She had several reporter’s notebooks in front of her filled with copious notes she had taken during her investigation. But now that it was time to write she was blank about where to begin. Everything was coming at her at once. She felt overwhelmed by everything that had happened since Christmas Eve.
She sifted mindlessly through her notebooks. She set her hands on the keyboard to begin to write a lead. She had been a reporter for nearly eleven years, but now she felt like a cub reporter about to write her first major news story. Her hands were shaking.
She tried writing several leads, but none satisfied her. She killed each file and started over several times. Suddenly she wanted a drink, enough that she salivated.
She buried face in her hands. “Please,” she whispered. “I can’t fall apart now.”
“Sam, are you all right?”
Startled, Sam looked up into David Best’s eyes.
She smiled meekly, embarrassed.
“I’m fine, David, thanks.”
“Just checking,” he said.
She watched him walk to the kitchen before she returned her attention to her computer screen. It was still empty. She looked around the newsroom. No one was looking in her direction. She opened her middle desk drawer slowly and searched the drawer until she found the small flat silver thermos.
She pulled it from the drawer and quickly set it between her legs. She scooted her chair close to her desk, feeling terribly guilty. As her gaze flickered toward Wilson’s office Sam slowly opened the thermos. She reached for her empty coffee mug and brought it to her lap and poured. The thermos was empty. She couldn’t decide if she was more angry or relieved, relieved because she didn’t have the willpower to resist the drink and angry because she needed it. It was only when she returned the thermos to the drawer that she saw the white business-size envelope.
She pulled it from the drawer to study it. Nothing was written on the front, but when she turned it over to open it she saw the handwriting. She knew what it was.
“Oh, Robin,” she said faintly and ran her hand along her sister’s familiar handwriting. Tears began, but she cleared her throat and swallowed hard, insistent they would not come now.
The envelope belonged to Robin. She had received it when she attended her first AA meeting. Robin had scribbled the name and number of a woman who was leading the group that day, the one Robin wanted to sponsor her. Her name was Ruth.
Sam ran her hand over Ruth’s name and number. She thought of the afternoon before Thanksgiving when Robin came to her office with the envelope, weeks before she died. Robin had kept the envelope all these years, even though she didn’t need it. Robin had asked Sam that day to read the information inside. Robin also invited her to a meeting, but Sam declined, reminding her that she had already attended her one meeting for the year.
Sam was angry with Robin that day for implying she had a problem with alcohol. It embarrassed her now as she thought of that day here at her desk. Her defenses shot up immediately. “I don’t have the problem with alcohol that you and everyone else likes to think I do.”
Storyteller.
Robin’s voice came ringing like a crystal bell. She called Sam that because that’s what she was. Only that and nothing more.
A liar.
Sam was sorry now for being so furious with her sister. There was nothing she could do now to change that afternoon.
Except one.
She opened the envelope slowly and pulled out the first brochure. The cover read:
Is AA for Me?
She opened to the first page and began to read.
Answer each question ‘yes’ or ‘no’ the instructions said. Enough ‘yes’ answers will tell you if AA could help you.
Sam hesitated before turning the page, unsure whether she wanted to know what the answers might reveal. But Sam thought of April in Washington. She
knew she had to do something to change. She took a deep breath and flipped the page to the first question:
“Have I tried to stop drinking for a week or more but could not do it?”
She knew the answer and quickly turned to the next page.
“Have I wished people would stop talking to me about my drinking?”
She hurried on to page four.
“Have I changed drinks to try not to get drunk?”
Sam recalled times she had made her drinks weak, or tried to drink just wine, or just drink on the weekends. Or, or, or. It was always something.
She flipped to page five.
“Do I ever need a drink to get going in the morning?”
Sam remembered what Ruth had often told Robin.
“If we need a drink to start the day, then drinking is a problem.”
Page six.
“Do I envy people who can drink without getting into trouble?”
Page seven.
“Does my drinking cause problems at home?”
Sam swallowed hard, remembering the night she forgot April’s Christmas play. Sam caught the last few minutes of the play. She remembered that April had a smile on her face that beamed as wide as the moon.
“Dear God,” she said as she turned to page eight.
“Do I try to get extra drinks?”
Page nine.
“Have I tried to stop drinking but still got drunk?”
Again Sam remembered what Ruth often said to Robin: “You’re just kidding yourself, my dear, if you think you can stop with only one drink.”
She turned to page ten.
“Have I missed work because of drinking?”
The day she resigned from the Denver Post came to mind as she turned to page eleven.
“Do I have blackouts, times I cannot remember?”
Again she thought of what Ruth said. “In AA, we learned that blackouts are a sign that we have a drinking problem.”
Sam was ready to turn to page twelve when Anne buzzed her.
“Sam, there’s a Father Ken here to see you.”
“Father Ken?” Sam whispered to herself. “Do I know a Father Ken?”
“Sam,” Anne said. “Are you there?”
“Yes, Anne, I’m here, I’m on my way up.”
Sam covered the AA brochure with a manila folder and headed for the lobby.
The Friday Edition (A Samantha Church Mystery) Page 28
