Night Game

by Alison Gordon

  “Well, he’s the boss. It wouldn’t be proper to call him Cal. It might be old-fashioned, but that’s the way I’ve always done it. That’s what makes me comfortable.”

  “Fair enough,” I said.

  “His father called me Mrs. Burnett, of course. Cal doesn’t, but he’s from a different time. He used to call me Auntie Estelle, when he was little. I liked that. We never had children of our own, you see. My husband died in the war.”

  “You never remarried?”

  “No, I’m afraid I was never lucky enough to meet a man who could compare with Mr. Burnett.”

  “I think Cal’s lucky to have you,” I said.

  “So do I, dear,” she said, then winked.

  “You must have known Lucy Cartwright, too, when she worked here.”

  “Yes, I did. I can’t say I approved of the way she went about things, but I think underneath she was a very kind girl. Even if she did use her wiles for what she wanted. Maybe that was her undoing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, she wasn’t very careful about who she became intimate with, was she?”

  I got her drift. Sweet little old lady, my ass. Narrow-minded old bigot is more like it. She smiled at me, conspiratorially, then took my hand and squeezed it.

  “I think Mr. Jagger is ready to see you now.”

  “It’s amazing,” he shouted from his office. “You’re not going to believe this! Get in here!”

  I went.

  “There’s a second gun,” he said. “They found another .38 off the pier by the condo.”

  “But I thought they found the gun that did it.”

  “They probably did. But get this! The gun they found was identical. In other words, it could be Avila’s, and if it is, the one in his apartment was a plant. It’s the same model, and the serial number had been filed off both of them.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said.

  “Bringing another identical gun into the picture muddies the waters. What if the first gun, Gun A, the one that they say is the murder weapon, isn’t Avila’s gun? Then you have to ask how it got into his apartment. There’s only one way. The murderer put it there after he killed Lucy, then dumped Avila’s gun, Gun B, into the ocean. Because the two guns looked the same.”

  “I’m not sure I get the importance of this, Cal.”

  “It changes everything, including the time frame.”

  “You mean the murderer could have made the switch any time between the murder and when the gun was found, when, Monday?”

  “Right. A whole weekend during which someone could have planted the evidence that sent Avila to jail.”

  “The plot thickens,” I said.

  “And a lot of that time the place was empty, and the murderer knew it was empty because Avila was at the ballpark. So we’re not just looking at the night of the party anymore.”

  “Which means that a lot more people had the opportunity. Motive and opportunity. That’s what it’s all about, right?”

  “That’s what they say in the mystery novels.”

  “And speaking of motive, I’ve got some news for you, too,” I said. “I’ve got at least one addition to our list.”

  I told him about my conversation with Hank, apologizing for stepping on his turf.

  “That’s all right,” he said. “I was busy stepping on Esther’s turf.”

  “With any luck, she has found something out on mine,” I laughed.

  “So, there was more behind the hostility between Barwell and Lucy than I thought,” Jagger said. “There are some other things starting to make sense, too. The last time Hank got busted for drunk and disorderly, he took a run at Barwell. Unprovoked, apparently. Now I can see what was behind it.”

  “And Holy Dirk Hoving isn’t quite as holy as he seems.”

  “Like I said before, the seamy side of paradise.”

  “Can you call Esther and fill her in?” I asked, gathering up my things. “The second gun might have some bearing on Dommy’s defence. I have to get to the ballpark. You can get me there, or I’ll call you later on. I’m going to look at the ballplayer angle. The second gun widens the possibilities, but we can’t rule out the people who live there. After all, they were the ones who knew the gun was there.”

  The practice fields were empty when I parked at the training complex. The players were around the clubhouse, having lunch. They looked worn out.

  I saw Tiny heading towards the media room and honked my horn and waved at him. He stopped and waited for me to catch up.

  “Lady, you sure do keep some low-life company,” he said. “Who was that dude I saw you following from the funeral?”

  “Lucy’s father.”

  “That old hippie’s her old man? You don’t say. Looks like he’s got some serious problems with the juice.”

  “Right the first time, Detective Washington,” I said. “Now let me tell you about what I’ve done so far.”

  “Hold on, now,” Tiny said, holding up his huge hand. “There’s nothing so important it can’t wait until I’ve put something in this big belly of mine.”

  “Your belly doesn’t need any more help, Tiny. It’s taking on a life of its own. I’m surprised it hasn’t rented itself a separate apartment.”

  “Now Kate, don’t you be mocking me.”

  “Maybe if you disciplined it with a bit of exercise now and then, it wouldn’t boss you around so much.”

  “You can’t begrudge a man the pleasures of retirement, now. Just because you’re built like a fungo bat.”

  “Better a fungo bat than an equipment truck,” I said.

  “You’re a cruel woman,” he said. “Cruel.”

  “All right,” I said. “In the spirit of compromise, I’ll agree to eat if we can talk at the same time. And not in the media room.”

  “Hey, that’s free lunch.”

  “I’m buying.”

  My expense account was going to drive the bean-counters crazy this week.

  We went in Tiny’s car, a big, roomy Cadillac, to a barbecue joint in the black part of town. We sat at a picnic table behind the parking lot and split an order of ribs that would feed most average families. I had about a quarter of them, Tiny the rest, along with a side order of potato salad. We drank giant colas out of plastic cups. I couldn’t get much conversation going until there were nothing but sauce stains left on the paper plates. Finally, Tiny wiped his mouth and fingers daintily on a moistened paper towel from a foil packet, lit a cigarette, and smiled.

  “That’s better,” he said. “Now you can make your report.”

  Chapter 22

  Tiny listened closely to the stories I had heard from Cal and Hank Cartwright, interrupting me occasionally to ask questions, all his shuck and jive shelved.

  “This looks good for Dommy,” he said. “There are lots of other folks who had more reason to shoot her than he did.”

  “And if the gun was planted, it looks even better,” I agreed. “But the fact remains that the people in that condo are the ones who knew how to frame him. That means, among others, that we have to know which of the ballplayers who stayed there were involved with Lucy.”

  “It’s mainly just the rookies and minor leaguers she goes with. They stay at the hotel. They can’t afford the condo.”

  “What about Dommy?”

  “Alex wanted to look after the kid, so he let him move in. They stick together, you know. The team pays what Dommy’s hotel room would have cost and Alex takes care of the rest.”

  “The players stay there year after year, don’t they?”

  “Sure. It’s pretty handy to the ballpark. There’s a pool for the kids. There’s a pier out back for fishing, and it’s near the mall for the wives.”

  “How does it work? Is it arranged through the team?”

  “At first, it was, but n
ow we rent them directly.”

  “It’s a pretty good deal for them, then.”

  “Sure. They know that they’ve got guaranteed rentals for six weeks every spring. They just keep the booking open. And it’s good for us, because we get a break on the rent, and don’t have to hassle to find a place every year. It works good.”

  “You’ve forgotten again, Tiny,” I teased. “What’s this ‘us’ you’re talking about?”

  “Hey, give me a few weeks to get used to the idea, girl!”

  “But is that why you’re not staying there this year?”

  “Maybe that’s part of it. But I’m not here for the whole time, and my family is back home. The hotel is better for me.”

  “You’ve stayed before, though.”

  “For the last six years.”

  “How easy would it be for someone to get into the individual condos?”

  “Security is pretty good,” he said. “There’s the guard at the gate. The apartments have good locks. But if you’re asking if somebody already in the place could get into someone else’s apartment, I don’t think it would be too hard. People are in and out of each other’s places all the time. Having a beer, borrowing stuff, like that. When there are people around, the places are open. You can see any strangers who come around.”

  “So if you belong there, no one is going to notice if you go into the wrong apartment.”

  “I didn’t say that,” he said, shifting on the narrow bench. “There are places some people wouldn’t be expected to go.”

  “Stinger Swain or Goober Grabowski wanders into Joe Kelsey’s place, say,” I said.

  “You got it. Or if anybody goes in for no reason. Someone might ask. I’m sitting by the pool and I see Flakey going into my pad. Well, Flakey’s a nice guy, but he got no reason to be in my pad. So it would stand out, you know what I mean?”

  “I should get a chart of who is living where.”

  “I don’t know everybody. Some are in the same places, but other ones move when they have another kid or if their family doesn’t come down. Karin could tell you.”

  “I’ll go see her,” I said. “Now let’s get back to Lucy’s lovers. Did any of the guys in the condo have affairs with her in the past?”

  “I wouldn’t call them affairs, exactly,” he said.

  “Let’s not quibble over semantics. Flings, one-night stands, blow jobs in the car,” I said, impatiently. Tiny winced. He can’t stand women talking dirty.

  “Kate, please,” he protested.

  “Come on, Tiny.”

  “I never did, for one,” he said. “By the time I got to the Titans, I was too old for that foolishness. Besides, I’m too scared of Darlene to be messing around with someone like Lucy. She got wind of it, my marriage would be history.”

  “Not to mention your manhood. But not all your teammates have your remarkable good sense.”

  “You’re right about that one. All right. Some guys I know about, others I’ve just heard about. Okay?”

  “Sure,” I said, taking out my notebook. Tiny looked at it and grimaced.

  “All right. Eddie Carter, a long time ago, three years ago maybe. Alex Jones. Flakey Patterson. These are the guys I heard talking about her, anyway. I think maybe Atsuo, the Japanese kid, the way some guys were teasing him. I saw her coming out of Stinger’s place, one time about two in the morning, last spring when Tracy was home having the baby. Like I said, you notice when something don’t seem right.”

  “What about David Sloane?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Goober Grabowski?”

  “That time I saw her last spring? I think Goober was there too, at Stinger’s.”

  “I’d heard they like group stuff,” I said. “It’s good for sublimating homoerotic urges.”

  “Say what?”

  “Never mind. Who else?”

  “There are a bunch of guys from other teams who would know about the condo,” Tiny said.

  “Could you check and see if any of them have been hanging around this spring?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he said. He looked at his watch.

  “We’d better go,” he said. “It’s three-thirty and I’m meeting with my producer at four.”

  “Okay. I’ve got work to do, too.”

  We didn’t talk much on the way back. I was trying to figure out what to do next. It was probably time to visit Karin.

  Most of the players had left by the time we got to the park. Joe and Eddie were taking turns with the pitching machine in the batting cage; Olliphant had Watanabe and a couple of rookies out on the far practice field and was hitting them ground balls; Stinger and Goober were playing cribbage in the clubhouse. The equipment kids were sitting in the sunshine brushing dirt out of rows of cleats and polishing the shoes. Wet uniforms hung out on racks to dry. It was all very homey.

  There were no other reporters in the media centre. I had some messages stuck to my phone. One from Andy, one from Shelley Mitchell, the Planet city editor, and one from Esther Hirsch.

  I called the lawyer first.

  “What’s up?” I asked, when I got through.

  “What’s up yourself?” she said. “I’m just on my way to court. Want to get together later?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Can I call you?”

  “Sure, you’ve got my home number,” she said. “Hey, it’s great news about the second gun, huh?”

  “I guess so,” I said. “It’s getting pretty complicated, though.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll work it all out,” she said. “I’ve got my clerk looking into Barwell’s messy past. I’ll talk to you later.”

  I called Shelley Mitchell next. She wanted to know whether I would be filing anything for the front section.

  “I doubt it. There’s nothing much going on. The funeral was today, but I don’t think it’s worth a story.”

  “Probably not,” she agreed. “But you will have a feature for Saturday, won’t you?”

  “That’s what I’m working on,” I said.

  “Do you have any idea of length yet?”

  “Not really,” I said. “I won’t be able to talk to her mother until tomorrow afternoon, which means I won’t be writing it until Friday. Is that a problem for you? And is there a length you have in mind?”

  “Depends on what it’s worth,” she said. “Maybe we can talk again after you’ve interviewed the mother. And I’d appreciate it as soon as you can manage on Friday. The earlier it’s in, the more space I can get you. But aim for twenty-five inches, thirty, tops, unless you’ve really got a blockbuster.”

  “That’s a fair target,” I said. “I’ll try to make it short and early.”

  “Thanks,” she said, then hung up without saying goodbye. Mitchell lacks in the social niceties. Maybe she thinks she has to make up for her gender by being ruder than the boy editors.

  I decided not to call Andy until I got back to the apartment. I found the Gardiners’ number in my notebook and called Karin, who agreed to see me right away.

  Chapter 23

  Karin and Gloves were both in. He was lying on the couch with a can of beer, watching a golf game on television. He got up and turned it off when I arrived.

  “Would you like something?” he asked. “Karin can get you a beer or a soda or something.”

  “I’d love a coffee, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” I said.

  “I’ll put a pot on,” Karin said.

  “Sit down,” Gloves said, “and tell me how it’s going.”

  “Not until I get back,” Karin called, from the next room.

  “What did you think of the funeral this morning?” I asked.

  “I hate funerals,” he said.

  “Who loves them? I thought this morning was particularly awful. If that sanctimonious creep of a minister
could have gotten away with not mentioning Lucy’s name, he would have.”

  “Maybe he didn’t approve of her.”

  “Still, it’s his job to find something nice to say. She must have been nice to stray dogs or something.”

  “She certainly took care of stray ballplayers,” Karin said, coming back into the room. Gloves looked uncomfortable. She sat on the arm of his chair.

  “But you’re no stray, are you?” She put her hands around his neck.

  “No, I have a rightful owner,” he said, pulling one hand away from his throat and kissing its palm.

  “But she was a good-hearted girl,” Karin continued. “I liked her. She was great with kids, a terrific babysitter when she was a teenager. Our daughter adored her. I’m sure her sexual behaviour was just another expression of that generosity.”

  “That’s a very enlightened attitude,” I said. Karin shrugged.

  “A man does it, we say he’s a real super-stud. A woman does it, suddenly she’s a slut. I don’t think that’s fair.”

  She paused.

  “But if she had trashed around with my husband, I would probably have a different attitude.”

  “Well, maybe,” I said. “But you would be assuming it wasn’t Gloves’s fault. Women seldom get men into bed against their will.”

  “True,” she said.

  “Can we change the subject here?” Gloves asked.

  I turned on him.

  “How do you handle it when you know about infidelity in one of the other players? Where does your loyalty lie?”

  “It’s their business,” Gloves said.

  “Yes, but you tell me,” Karin laughed. “I know about all the bad habits on the road.”

  “Not quite all,” Gloves said.

  “And do you tell the other wives that their husbands are unfaithful?”

  “No,” she admitted. “I don’t really know why I don’t.”

  “I don’t write about it, either,” I said. “I see it, on the road. Married guys getting into the elevator with women.”

  “But why would you?” Gloves asked. “It has nothing to do with the game. You’re not supposed to cover our personal lives.”