We carried our drinks into the living room. I excused myself and went to the bedroom, stalling. I came back fastening earrings, then sat down and raised my glass to him, straining to hear the sound of a car. I hoped they wouldn’t use sirens.
“To the Titans getting into the World Series.”
“To the Titans.”
I tried not to gulp my drink. Five more minutes passed in stupid chatter about playoff arrangements. Then he drained his glass.
“I guess we’d better get going.”
“We’ve got time for another. I need more fortification before facing that crowd.” I jumped up and took his glass. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Where were they? I mixed the drinks slowly and was just starting to pour them when Moose came into the kitchen.
“You know, don’t you?”
“Know what?” My voice didn’t sound natural even to me.
“How did you figure it out? You have figured it out, haven’t you? That’s why you’re acting so strange.”
He began to walk towards me.
“Listen, Moose. I don’t know anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Honest. Look, maybe we’d better get going. I don’t need another drink.”
He leaned against the counter with his arms folded across his chest.
“I didn’t mean to, you know. I never meant to kill Sultan. I just wanted to knock him out.” His voice was flat, unemotional.
“You were looking for the glove.”
“I didn’t know he’d given it away.”
“You got the drugs from Chambers and Wilder in New York.”
“I needed the money. Gambling. I was going to sell the drugs to get the loan sharks off my back. When the coke disappeared, I had to find another way. I read the papers that Sultan had, and when Steve came to the stadium Sunday night, I tried to get him to throw the playoffs. He wouldn’t do it—I had to kill him. He knew I’d killed Sultan because I knew about the blackmail.”
“And you got your old friend Hawkins to make the bet for you in Las Vegas.”
“It was my only chance,” he said, starting to pace around the small kitchen. “Why did you have to keep on? I tried to warn you. I tried to scare you off. I don’t want to hurt you. You’re my friend. Why didn’t you stop?”
“You sent me the blackmail files to make me think it was Sloane or Kelsey.”
He took a carving knife from the rack over the counter. “But it didn’t work.”
“You don’t want to do this. I won’t tell anyone.”
I backed away. He followed me. I used the only weapon I had. I threw the Martinis in his face, then the heavy crystal pitcher, and ran.
I was almost at the door when he caught up. He grabbed me from behind, by the hair.
I heard feet pounding up the stairs and screamed. The door burst open. Andy was the first one in, followed closely by MacPherson, guns drawn.
“Don’t do it, Greer.”
I could feel the point of the knife at my throat. Moose had my arms pinned behind me with the other hand.
“Take it easy,” Andy said. “Let her go.”
“Get out of here,” Moose screamed. “Just get the fuck out.”
Andy started to move towards us, his free hand stretched out in front of him. I heard a growl. It was Elwy, on the back of the couch, his fur standing on end.
“Just relax, Greer.” Andy’s voice was very calm. “Drop the knife. We won’t shoot you unless you hurt her.”
“No. Stay back.”
Moose took the knife from my throat and gestured towards them. With a yowl, Elwy launched himself through the air. Moose looked towards him. I bent my leg and raked the spike heel down his shin and into his instep. I wrenched free while he was off balance. I could hear my dress tearing as I rolled out of reach.
He started after me. MacPherson dove across the room and tackled him. Andy held the gun on Moose while MacPherson cuffed his hands behind his back.
Moose began to cry. MacPherson, panting, read him his rights.
“Are you all right?” Andy was kneeling next to me on the floor.
“I’m fine,” I said, but my voice wasn’t. “I’m a bit shaky. I’ll be all right.”
He helped me to my feet, then sat me on the couch and went to use the kitchen phone. Elwy climbed onto my lap and purred. In a few moments, I heard sirens screaming down the street. They choked into silence outside my front door and Andy’s partner ran up the stairs, followed by two more officers. Along with Constable MacPherson, they hustled Moose towards the door.
Before they left, Moose turned to me.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you, but you wouldn’t stop.”
“I’m sorry, too, Moose.”
The door closed behind them. Andy came and sat next to me. He took my hand.
“You’ve got some guts, Kate. Do you feel up to coming to the station and making a statement?”
“I can’t. I’ve got a story to write.”
“Goddamn it, woman. The story can wait.”
“Just let me phone the office and tell them I’ll be filing. Where are they taking him?”
I told the astonished night editor to hold some space for me, then called Jake Watson at home.
“I’ll write the main story, but if you want anything else, send someone down to the Hilton. There’s a team party going on. They’ll all be there. Someone will have to get the news to Ferguson. Problem is, he hasn’t got a PR man to handle it anymore.”
By the time I got back from the phone, Sally and T.C. were with Andy. They crossed the room to hug me.
“Looks like I’d better put on the kettle,” Sally said.
Over a pot of tea, we began to piece together the story.
“You’re going to have to help me on some of the details, Andy.”
“If you’ll tell me how you figured it out.”
“It was the blackmail material that put me on the wrong track at first,” I said. “It was such compelling stuff that it took my attention away from the drugs. That’s what it was all about. Sanchez and his blackmail had nothing to do with it.
“The drugs were smuggled in on the last road trip from New York. Whoever did it had to know the equipment isn’t checked crossing the border. He also had to know that Sultan rarely used his glove and wouldn’t notice if it felt different than usual. So it was a safe hiding place.”
“Then Sultan gave me his glove,” said T.C., his eyes huge behind his glasses.
“But Moose didn’t know it until Monday, when I mentioned it to him. He hadn’t been able to find it on Saturday in the clubhouse, so he went to Sultan’s apartment and broke in.
“I think Sultan came in while he was looking. He grabbed a bat and hit him, just trying to knock him out. When he realized he was dead, he searched the place and messed it up to look like a burglary. He also found the blackmail material.
“I even saw it Sunday night. He was trying to put it away when I brought him home. I didn’t notice at the time.”
“Why did he kill Thorson?” Sally asked.
“He was looking for the glove in the equipment room when Thorson came in for his fishing stuff. I think Moose just panicked. He needed money. When he lost the dope, he needed the money even more.
“He told me tonight that he tried to use the blackmail material to force Thorson to throw the games he was scheduled to pitch. Thorson refused, but realized that the only way Moose could know he’d thrown games in the past was if he had murdered Sanchez. Once he knew that, he had to die. How am I doing so far, Staff Sergeant?”
“Sounds good to me. Where did he get the dope?”
“That’s what started me thinking. Two former players were arrested on drug and weapons charges in New York last night. They’re friends of Moose’s, but he said he hadn’t seen them for year
s. Then Gloves Gardiner told me that they’d been at the stadium before a game last week. I wondered why Moose had lied.
“That’s probably when they made the switch. Moose often used Sultan’s glove to play catch. It would be the easiest thing in the world for his buddies, who had the drug connections, to replace Sultan’s with the one full of drugs.”
“What tipped you?”
“That was a fluke. When I was talking to a bookie in Las Vegas about the odds for the playoffs, he mentioned a guy had bet ten thousand dollars on the A’s on Sunday night. That’s not so big a bet, evidently, but the timing was odd. Thorson’s body wasn’t found until Monday morning. So I thought there might be a connection with someone here.
“Just before Moose arrived tonight, the guy from Vegas called me and told me the name of the better. He also told me that he had played professional baseball. So I looked him up in the Baseball Encyclopedia, found he came from the same little town as Moose, and everything fell into place. That’s when I called you.”
Elwy jumped up on my lap and butted his head against my chest.
“Right, Elwy, and then you saved my life.”
Andy snorted. “An attack cat.”
“Elwy is not your ordinary cat.”
I shooed them all out and wrote my story. I finished by midnight, despite calls from several other reporters. I politely refused comment, telling them to buy the Planet the next morning. Then I took the phone off the hook and took a long, hot bath.
At one I was in my bathrobe on the living-room couch listening to music and sipping a Scotch. Elwy was on my feet. I was about to turn in when I heard footsteps on the stairs, followed by a soft knock. I went to the door.
“Who is it?”
“Special delivery for Detective Kate Henry.”
Andy had champagne in one hand, flowers in the other, and a smile on his face.
“Feel like celebrating your first crime solved?”
Elwy rubbed against his ankles and purred.
About the Author
Alison Gordon is a Canadian journalist and writer. As the first woman on the baseball beat in the Major Leagues, Gordon was a trailblazer in the field of sports journalism, covering the Toronto Blue Jays for the Toronto Star for five years. Gordon is also the author of the Kate Henry mystery series, pitting the sleuthing talents of a baseball journalist against dangerous felons. The series includes the titles The Dead Pull Hitter, Safe at Home, Night Game, Striking Out, and Prairie Hardball.
Copyright
The Dead Pull Hitter © 1988 Alison Gordon
All rights reserved under all applicable International Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
EPub Edition December 2014 ISBN: 9781443442497
Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
Originally published by McClelland & Stewart Inc. in 1988. First published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd. in this ePub edition in 2014.
This is a work of fiction. The events and characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
HarperCollins books may be purchased for educational, business, or sales promotional use through our Special Markets Department.
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
2 Bloor Street East, 20th Floor
Toronto, Ontario, Canada
M4W 1A8
www.harpercollins.ca
About the Publisher
HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.
Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street
Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
http://www.harpercollins.com.au
HarperCollins Publishers (Canada) Ltd.
2 Bloor Street East - 20th Floor
Toronto, ON, M4W 1A8, Canada
http://www.harpercollins.ca
HarperCollins Publishers (New Zealand) Limited
P.O. Box 1
Auckland, New Zealand
http://www.harpercollins.co.nz
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
77-85 Fulham Palace Road
London, W6 8JB, UK
http://www.harpercollins.co.uk
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
10 East 53rd Street
New York, NY 10022
http://www.harpercollins.com
The Dead Pull Hitter Page 18
