A Hopeless Game

by Daniel Carson

  “Any idea why it was changed to Tough Guy?”

  “Yeah, now it’s coming back to me. There were grumblings about the drill, and the principal made Coach promise not to run Bad Man anymore. So Coach Mossback just changed the name and kept right on doing it.” Bruce put his key into the door and opened it. “Can I ask why you’re so interested in this stupid drill?”

  I thought about the suicide note. The note I strongly suspected was not written by Coach Mossback. The one that said, I Am A Bad Man. Somewhere deep in my bones, I knew there had to be a connection.

  “What can I say? I’m curious.”

  “I think it’s more than that.”

  “You’re probably right. Good luck tomorrow night, Coach. I know the whole town is pulling for you. And those boys will give the effort of their lives.”

  “We’ll need more than the effort of their lives. At this point, we’ll need a miracle.”

  My new phone buzzed while I was filling up my car at Frank’s Convenient Store.

  Done making out yet?

  How’d you get my new number already?

  Granny. She said you’re a fugitive from justice.

  I’m not.

  You’re NOT done making out yet?

  I’m not a fugitive from justice.

  I know you’re not a fugitive from justice. I want to know if you’re done making out with Captain Ron?

  His name is Fireman Bob.

  Whatever.

  And no, I’m not done making out yet.

  Seriously?

  I am not only on my fourteenth straight hour of making out with Fireman Bob, I did my monthly meal plan while I was at it.

  Was the date that bad?

  It was actually really nice.

  Then why didn’t you make out with him?

  I thought the mutual hotness might overload our circuitry.

  Huh?

  Long story. Let’s just say I had Coach Mossback’s death on my mind.

  Because murder’s so much more fun than kissing a cute guy.

  Exactly! Any chance you’ve got time to meet me at the Library so I can finally solve this thing?

  No kids this morning, so yes! See you in ten.

  Ten minutes later I had the whiteboard out into the middle of the bar and Katie stood before me with a Styrofoam cup of coffee.

  “Why don’t you have the kids this morning?” I asked.

  “I donated them to Goodwill yesterday.”

  “You can do that?”

  She nodded. “As long as there’s no dents or scratches. With the money I got for them I bought a pair of Uggs and three VHS tapes. I feel like I got the better end of that trade.”

  “You’re a terrible person. Where are they for real?”

  “This is the rare occasion when the sitter’s watching them so I can get some work in at the sheriff’s office.”

  “Then… why aren’t you at the sheriff’s office?”

  “Let’s face it, all he lets me do is answer the phone and file stuff. With you I get to solve crimes.”

  “And drink horrible coffee. Don’t forget the horrible coffee.”

  “It’s not that bad with the shot of whiskey poured in.”

  “You really are a terrible person,” I said.

  “And speaking of terrible persons… let’s find out who killed Randall Mossback.”

  I wrote Randall Mossback’s name in the center of the whiteboard and drew a circle around it. At the top of the board I wrote the names Susan Mossback, Arnie Duncan, and Everybody.

  “Everybody seems to be a common suspect in your investigations,” Katie pointed out.

  “And this time I mean it. Normally, finding out someone hated a victim makes them a pretty good suspect. But with Coach Mossback, pretty much everybody hated him. As a person, if not as a coach. So… Everyone. Though I would have to believe that whoever did this hated him far more than your average bear.”

  “You still think Susan Mossback and Coach Duncan qualify?” asked Katie.

  “Well, they definitely hated. Susan because he was a terrible husband and Arnie because Coach got his job and treated him like dirt.”

  “Have you found anyone else at the Susan-and-Arnie Hate Level?”

  “The coach from Mound City, Mason Hawes. He’s never beaten Coach Mossback.”

  “And if he got rid of him, there would be nothing to stop him from a state championship. Does he have an alibi?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “I’m still looking into it.”

  “Well then, his name’s got to be up there.”

  I wrote Mason Hawes beside Susan’s and Arnie’s names.

  “Is that it?” Katie asked.

  “Actually, lately I’ve been thinking it might have been a former player. You ever hear of a drill called Tough Guy?”

  “No.”

  “Let’s just say if some coach ever made me do that drill, I’d probably want to kill him,” I said.

  “Is that a confession?”

  “It’s a statement of fact. But I don’t think any of the current players did it. Whoever killed Coach Mossback is probably the same person who tried to kill Coach Duncan. And these kids all love Coach Duncan. Which is why I’m starting to think it might be a former player. Have I told you about the suicide note yet?”

  “No, but before you do, I think I need another whiskey. I mean coffee.”

  I told Katie about the suicide note and about how we originally interpreted it to mean that Coach was sorry for being a bad man.

  “But that’s not what it meant. For starters, I haven’t met anyone who thinks Coach Mossback was reflective enough to ever admit he was a bad man. Also, there’s a poster of Muhammad Ali in his closet with a quote from Ali, including the words, ‘I am a bad man!’”

  “That could just be a coincidence.”

  “There’s more. That horrible drill? It’s called Tough Guy… but apparently it used to be called Bad Man. I’ll skip the specifics, but basically the coach made the players fight, battle royale style. And whoever won would stand up and say, ‘I am a bad man!’”

  “Okay, that seems like less of a coincidence.”

  “I agree. What if one of Coach Mossback’s former players was scarred by that drill in some way? And what if he killed Coach Mossback out of revenge?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly blame him. How long has this drill been going on?”

  “Long time. But it ended two years ago, the first year Coach was here.” I explained to her about choosing the weak link, and how Elliot Sunderland chose himself, which somehow put an end to the whole thing. I also told her about Martin Gellman. “Sounds like Elliot saved him,” I finished.

  “I know Martin. His mom’s a little yoohoo and you hardly ever see her, but he’s a good kid. With a tough life. But he’s so little. I can’t imagine him playing football.”

  “Well, he hasn’t played since.”

  “How long had Mossback been coaching?”

  “Almost twenty-five years, spread out over at least four schools.”

  “That makes for a lot of potential suspects.”

  I tapped on the whiteboard with my fingernails. “I know. Maybe this is one of those mysteries that just can’t be solved.”

  Katie came up alongside me, taking a sip of her whiskey coffee. “So, other than everybody and a thousand or so ex-football players, any other suspects?”

  “Well…” I hesitated.

  “Well what?”

  “There is one suspect on my list, but I don’t think she did it.”

  “She? She who?”

  “The physics teacher. Ms. Broderick.”

  “Mandy?”

  “You know her?”

  “You keep forgetting that this is a small town. I sort of know most people. Why do you suspect her?”

  “I just got done telling you I don’t suspect her. You’re the one who was pushing me to name another suspect.”

  “And now that you’ve named her, defend yourself, woman.”

  �
��You’re irritating.”

  “In a cute best friend sort of way.”

  “You’re much perkier when your kids aren’t around.”

  “And when whiskey’s in my coffee. So, why Mandy?”

  “Well, she hated Coach Mossback even more than the other teachers, because of the special dispensations he got from the principal. And as she hates football—thinks it’s a bloody waste of time—she doesn’t even respect him as a coach, like most people do.”

  “Bloody?” said Katie. “Did you think that through, or did it just roll off your tongue?”

  “Too much?”

  “For an episode of Downton Abbey, it’s fine.”

  “Fine. Mandy Broderick thinks football is a terrible waste of time.”

  “No, bloody fits better,” said Katie.

  “It does, doesn’t it?”

  “So Mandy Broderick hates Coach Mossback and she bloody hates football, thus she killed Coach Mossback.”

  “I never said she killed him!” I said.

  Katie smiled. “I know. I just wanted to see how it feels to be you.”

  “There is one more thing about Mandy,” I said. “It’s a small thing, but still. She invited me out for drinks and she wanted to tell me her theory. She believed it was Susan and Arnie who conspired to kill Coach Mossback. And I’m thinking… what if she was trying to throw me off the scent?”

  “She’s a high school physics teacher, not a criminal mastermind,” said Katie. “I highly doubt she would…”

  Katie stopped. She stared at the board for a long time, then she turned to me with a big smile on her face. “What do you do when a big piece of the puzzle finally lands into place and everything makes sense all at once? Is there a special dance? Do you yell boom? Is there a lot of fist-bumping and chest-thumping involved?”

  “I only fist-bump with Fireman Bob. Now spill. What have you figured out?”

  “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it the moment you said it, but there’s another reason Mandy Broderick might have hated Coach Mossback.”

  “Which is…?”

  “I told you Martin Gellman has had a tough life. His dad died when he was little, and his mom works all the time, and like I said, she’s a little out there. What I didn’t tell you is that somebody in the community stepped up to act as sort of an unofficial guardian for Martin. Tutors him. Spends time with him. Mentors him.”

  “And are you telling me that that somebody is Mandy Broderick?”

  Katie put both fists in the air like she was Fireman Bob. “Boom!”

  Chapter 28

  I spent the next hour convincing Sheriff Kramer that Mandy Broderick was a credible suspect.

  “Okay, I get it,” he said. “So what do you want to do? That’s motive, but it’s not like we have any real evidence against her.”

  I smiled. “What do you think I want to do?”

  He blew out an exasperated breath. “Can you at least agree not to do it someplace public?”

  “Are you embarrassed by me, Sheriff Kramer?”

  “I’m embarrassed when you accuse innocent people of murder. Categorically so.”

  “Well, I think we can arrange something more private this time.”

  An hour later, Sheriff Kramer and I were sitting in Principal Booth’s office. The secretary had called Ms. Broderick down to the office. Said it was urgent.

  “What’s going on?” I heard Mandy say just outside the door. “I’m in the middle of class.”

  Principal Booth answered. “Don’t worry, I’ve got Mrs. Sunrise to cover it. I need you to come into my office. There’s something important we need to discuss.”

  When Mandy stepped into the office and saw me, her face was awash with confusion. And when she saw Sheriff Kramer, she stopped in her tracks.

  “What’s going on?”

  Principal Booth shut the door. “Mandy, the sheriff and Miss Walker here have some questions they’d like to ask you.”

  “Questions?” she said weakly.

  I shrugged. “Actually, I have a new theory—excuse me, hypothesis—about who killed Coach Mossback, and I wanted to run it by you.”

  “Okay…” She looked nervously at Alex, then back to me.

  “I haven’t worked all the details out yet, but I think there’s a very real possibility that the person who killed Randall Mossback… is you.”

  Her face went ghost-white.

  “Me?”

  “The key point, like you and I discussed, is motive. And the fact is, you hated Coach Mossback. You hated everything he stood for. You hated that he made more money than the rest of the teachers even though he barely taught. You hated that people treated him like a god. You hated that stupid sport he coached that doesn’t do anything to prepare kids for later life. And you hated the abusive way he treated the kids.”

  “But…” she protested.

  I kept going. “At first, I didn’t think it was possible for a woman to make Coach Mossback’s death look like a suicide. He’s a pretty big guy and, well, moving over two hundred pounds of dead weight would be a challenge for a grown man, let alone a woman of your size. But then I remembered, you’re not just a woman… you’re a superwoman.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Mandy, you’re a physics teacher! You teach your kids how to do seemingly impossible things by just learning the laws of physics. Moving a grown man might be a challenge for someone else… but not you.”

  “That’s not true,” she said.

  “I think it is. But you know what clinched it for me? What really clinched it for me? Mandy, you care about these kids. You treat them like they’re your own kids. But there’s one in particular that really is your own kid. And two years ago, when he was on the football team, Coach Mossback treated him… very badly. I’m talking, of course, about Martin Gellman.”

  “What’s Martin have to do with this?”

  “You hated Coach Mossback for how he treated those boys, but you especially hated him for how he treated Martin. I’m guessing you promised yourself that one day, you would get your revenge on Coach Mossback… and what better way than to wait for the week of his crowning achievement and then make it look to all the world like Coach Randall Mossback, high school football coach extraordinaire was actually a… big… fat… loser.”

  Mandy was speechless. She looked like she was in a complete daze. Finally, she looked at Principal Booth. “This isn’t true.” She looked at Sheriff Kramer. Then she looked back at me. And once again she said the words. “This isn’t true.”

  “Ms. Broderick,” said Sheriff Kramer, “can you account for your whereabouts this past Saturday?”

  “Saturday?”

  “It’s when Coach Mossback died,” I said. “Mandy, we need your alibi.”

  She ran her hand across her face. “I… I didn’t do this. I couldn’t have. I was in Boise all day.”

  Sheriff Kramer gave me a look, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing. Mandy Broderick was lying.

  “Can anyone corroborate this?” I asked.

  She sat quietly for one long, awkward moment. Then she shook her head. “No.”

  Principal Booth frowned. “Mandy, I’m so sorry about this, but until this matter is sorted out… I’m afraid I’ll have to put you on leave. With pay, of course. Hopefully this is only temporary.”

  That finally shook her out of her daze. She stood up, hands balled into fists at her sides. “I didn’t do this!” she screamed. She shook her finger at me. “You! I thought you were better at your job than this. You have no evidence. None! Yet you come in here spreading these lies about me to my boss? You’ve got a hypothesis, a very stupid hypothesis, and that’s all. So fine, I’ll take my paid leave, but don’t think I’ll take it quietly. And when you try to find your evidence, I’ll tell you this: you won’t find any. Because I did not kill anyone!”

  And with that she turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

  Principal Booth sighed. “That did not
go well.” He looked at me and the sheriff. “I’ll give you two a moment, and then I’d like my office back.” He left and closed the door, gently, behind him.

  Alex gave me a withering look. “She’s right, you know.”

  “That I’m not very good at my job?”

  “That we don’t have a shred of real evidence against her.”

  “Our inspection of the crime scene was cut a little short by Arnie Duncan’s mishap.”

  “No, Hope, it wasn’t. I went back in there with Dr. Bridges and did a complete forensic sweep.”

  “Without telling me?”

  “I wasn’t aware that sheriffs answered to newspaper reporters.”

  “It’s a newer policy, especially when the reporter is cute.”

  He made a face like he wasn’t sure about the cute part, so I punched him in the shoulder. He tried not to wince.

  “Did you find anything?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Two crimes in one house, and nothing. At least nothing obvious. But we’ve sent the samples along to state homicide, so maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “I’m an idiot,” I said, suddenly realizing something.

  “I wouldn’t say idiot. A little overzealous at times, sure, but not—”

  I punched him again. “No, I mean, maybe we’re looking for the wrong kind of evidence. Maybe it’s not forensic evidence we should be looking for.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Whoever attacked Arnie Duncan is also our killer, right?”

  “It’s a safe guess.”

  “And judging by Arnie’s story, it sounds like the killer was already there, in the Mossbacks’ basement, when Arnie showed up.”

  “You’re right. We got so distracted with what happened to Arnie that we forgot to ask the most important question.”

  “Why did the killer come back?” I said.

  “Exactly. And I’m guessing it was to cover up a mistake.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  Alex shrugged. “A fingerprint, hair fiber, missing piece of jewelry. Some evidence linking him to the crime.”

  “But you and Dr. Bridges had already gone over the basement by then. And you didn’t find anything.”