by Lia Farrell
Fred finished making his coffee and picked up the mug. “I need to go wake Livy again.
Do you want to come with me?”
“Yes, and I can sit with her awhile if you need to shower or anything.” She wrinkled her nose. “You know I love you, man, but you’ve smelled better.”
He laughed. “It’s been a rough one. I’m not sure when I had my last shower. And thanks, Mae. I love you, too.” Fred squeezed Mae’s hand.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Sheriff Ben Bradley
On the morning of August 10th, the sheriff finished his report to the prosecutor and had Dory fax it over. Covington had been in the holding cell for forty hours. He rubbed his eyes. He stood up, sat back down, then he stood up again, this time walking out to Dory’s desk.
“Any luck getting info on the three guys on the football kicker squad?”
Dory was wearing dark red this morning. Ben wondered what that might say about her mood.
“I have all three of their names,” Dory said, her voice clipped and efficient. “Rob’s talking to one of them on the phone now. I’ve placed calls to the other two. Hopefully we’ll hear back shortly. The prosecutor has to file the charges pretty soon.”
“I don’t need you to remind me of that,” Ben snapped.
“Sorreee.” Dory rolled her eyes. “No need to get your undies in a bunch.”
Rob poked his head in to say he’d just finished talking to the field goal kicker. “Guy’s name is Charlie Armor. He lives in Nashville. I asked him to come in. He’ll be here at one o’clock.”
Ben turned on his heel and left the reception area. He called Detective Nichols again.
“Nichols.” Wayne sounded as if he’d just woken up.
“Sorry to keep bugging you, Wayne. We just got ahold of the kicker, name’s Charlie Armor; he’s coming in at one. Could we meet before that? I really need your help.” Ben hated how desperate he sounded.
“Okay, I’ll be in at noon.”
When Wayne came in, he was pale and limping.
“Are you feeling okay?” Ben asked.
“I’m fine,” Wayne said in the gruff tone that Ben knew meant he wanted the subject dropped. He and Ben discussed their strategy for over an hour and decided to make the conversation with Armor a casual one. Ben would conduct the interview. Wayne would observe from the two-way mirror.
At one point Dory knocked on his office door and when Ben yelled, “Come in,” she brought in sandwiches and fresh coffee. Ben heaved a sigh of relief. He hadn’t eaten in what seemed like days. He felt renewed appreciation for Dory.
Dory buzzed the intercom a few minutes later saying Mr. Charlie Armor had arrived.
Both Sheriff Bradley and Detective Nichols walked out to the front office to meet the former player. Armor was muscle heavy, with thinning hair and dark eyes.
“Mr. Armor, thank you for coming in. I really appreciate your making yourself available,” the sheriff said. “If you haven’t eaten lunch, we have sandwiches and coffee.”
“I’ve eaten,” Armor said, looking at them warily.
The sheriff showed him to the interview room. Once they were seated he said, “We’re not taping this interview, and as you see, I’m alone here. If this were an official interrogation, we would be taping and two of us would be present. Anything you say will go no further; you have my word on that.”
Armor nodded, but still looked suspicious. “What’s this about?”
“The 1998 Bowl Game between Southeast Tennessee and Florida State.”
Armor inhaled sharply.
“Just after that game, one of the guys in the Sigma Chi fraternity died. At the time it was thought that he killed himself by jumping out the window of the frat house. His name was Ryan Gentry. Do you remember that?”
“Yes,” Armor responded, looking down at the table.
“It turns out that it was murder, not suicide.” Ben waited, but Armor didn’t say anything. “We think Gentry’s murder had to do with him discovering some golden handshake money that came to Henry Covington and possibly Greg Townsend to shave the point spread on the bowl game. Do you know anything about that?”
Armor didn’t respond right away. Ben waited. Finally, Armor sighed and said, “If I tell you what I know, are you going to prosecute?”
“Unlikely, but tell me what you know first,” Ben said, “Were you offered a bribe to miss that last field goal kick?”
“I was offered ten thousand, but I turned it down,” Armor said. “Naturally, I got blamed for missing the field goal, but it wasn’t my fault. The guy who set the football did it wrong. I didn’t put it all together until later, but that’s what happened.”
“So you didn’t take the money?”
“No, never saw a dime of it then or later. I thought they might pay me after the game because of the missed goal, but that didn’t happen.”
“Then you didn’t commit a crime. Truth is, we don’t really care about the money or that game. If you know the other player involved in the kick, you can tell him we aren’t going after him either.” Armor was leaning back now and starting to look more relaxed. “The guy we want is the person who killed Ryan Gentry. We think it was Henry Covington.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised, but I don’t know it for a fact. There were lots of rumors after Ryan died—rumors that Covington and possibly Greg Townsend were involved.”
“Do you know anything that would implicate Townsend? We have a lot of evidence against Covington, mostly circumstantial, but we think it’s enough to nail him. Townsend is the guy who probably masterminded the whole thing and we haven’t got a thing on him.”
“About two weeks before the bowl game, a big time gambler from Las Vegas met with Townsend, Covington and me. I never got the guy’s name but he was the one who offered me the ten K. I was offended and walked out.”
“Would you testify to Covington and Townsend being at the meeting?”
“I sure would,” Armor said. “I always thought both those guys were bent.”
When Armor left, Ben called the ADA again. He put the phone on speaker so Wayne could hear the conversation.
“It’s Sheriff Bradley. I’m calling to let you know that we have some new evidence that links Covington to the Gentry killing.” He told him that Armor was prepared to testify that Covington and Townsend were at the meeting with the Las Vegas gambler.
“You still haven’t got anything but a circumstantial case,” Terry said. “You haven’t got any evidence. Covington could have turned down the golden handshake just the same as Armor did. Nor can you prove that somebody in that frat house killed Gentry to keep him from talking about the money. During your crazy trip up to Pinhook, you managed to lose the murder weapon. You’re going to have to let Covington loose.”
“What the hell? You’re the prosecuting attorney, Terry. You’re supposed to be on my side here. We’ve got plenty of evidence to nail Covington for the Ferris murder at least. We’ve gone all over that. He was in the house at the time of the murder. We’ve got his fingerprints on the shutter dogs. I don’t get this. Is somebody higher up telling you to let this one go?”
The prosecutor sighed. “Sorry man. All I’ve been told to tell you is that since you don’t have the murder weapon, you have to release Henry Covington.”
Ben stared down at his empty hands. He rubbed the heel of his palm against his sternum. His chest ached and he felt cold inside.
Wayne put a hand on his shoulder.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sheriff Ben Bradley
On August 11th, Sheriff Bradley and Dory stood in the basement of the sheriff’s office building hovering over Captain Paula’s IT expert, Mark Schneider, who was seated in front of the ancient computer. After several abortive conversations the previous day with Terry Arnold the prosecutor—who still insisted that Henry Covington be released—Ben realized he needed specialized help with the old computer. He had to obtain proof of the bribe Covington and probably Townsend had accepted to
change the point spread on the old football game. After the requisite begging and groveling, he was given access to Captain Paula’s whiz kid.
Mark Schneider was a skinny, nerdy looking youngster with spiky black hair and black-rimmed glasses. He reminded Ben of a punk version of Clark Kent, only without the muscles. He had three silver studs sticking out of his left ear, and a tattoo on the back of his neck. The head of a dragon stuck up out of his T-shirt. Mark’s fingers were flying over the computer. The language emerging from his mouth became increasingly more profane until he took a deep breath, turned around, and threw up his hands.
“My decryption software doesn’t seem to be working on this relic, and I can’t do this with you two watching me,” he frowned. “So unless you can come up with Ryan Gentry’s password, you need to leave.”
“Did you try Sigma Chi?” Ben asked.
“Seriously, dude? It was the first phrase I tried. So, I repeat, unless you can come up with Ryan’s password ….” He looked daggers at them.
Ben and Dory exited the basement.
“Do you think July might have any ideas?” Dory asked as they climbed the stairs. “You told me she visited Tom Ferris often at school before his disappearance. She probably got to know his fraternity brothers pretty well. If so, she might remember something about Ryan and what he might use for a password.”
Ben clapped her on the shoulder, “You’re brilliant. I’ll call and ask her.”
He dialed July’s cellphone on their way up the stairs. “July, it’s Ben,” he said cautiously, knowing he was far from her favorite person at the moment.
“What do you want?” Sounds like she’s still mad.
“We think we got the guy who killed Tom Ferris. We’re trying to get into Ryan Gentry’s old computer. We have a forensic IT guy here, but he needs Ryan’s password. Mae said you used to visit Tom at his college whenever you could, so I thought you might have gotten to know Ryan enough to give us some idea of his likes and dislikes—we’re trying to figure out his password.”
“I don’t really have time for this, Ben. Olivia had a concussion, and Fred and I have had to keep waking her up. We’re exhausted.”
“Is Livy okay?”
“I think so. It was a booger keeping her awake.” July stifled a yawn. “But her CT scan was fine. She’ll be all right in a few days.”
“That’s good. Can you remember anything about Ryan that might help?” he asked quietly. “Any ideas are welcome. I’ve got to get into that computer.”
“I thought Ryan committed suicide. Didn’t he?” July’s voice sounded calmer and suddenly sad.
“Doesn’t look like it. We think the same guy killed both Ryan and Tom Ferris.”
There was a long silence. At last July said, “Well, then you have to get him. The only thing I remember about Ryan is that he loved The Hobbit, the book by Tolkien. Does that help?”
“You know,” Ben said, “I think it might.” He said good-bye, trying to remember the names of the Hobbit, the Wizard, the names of all the dwarves and the dragon in that wonderful story. He walked back downstairs murmuring, “Bilbo Baggins, Gandalf, Balin, Dwalin, Fili, Kili, Ori, Nori ….” and told Mark that Ryan’s favorite book was Tolkien’s masterpiece.
“Piece of cake then,” Mark said, grinning. He pulled up his T-shirt in the back and Ben and Dory were greeted by a large fire breathing reptile. “The password’s got to be Smaug.” He typed the dragon’s name into the computer. The screen opened. “Okay, now what are we looking for?”
“We need to see if there are any unusual deposits in November or December prior to the 1998 Bowl Championship game that year. The final game was between Southeast Tennessee and Florida State. We were favored to win and we went down twenty-one to twenty.”
“I’m on it,” Mark said, turning his head and looking pointedly at the stairs.
“And we’re leaving. Thanks, man.”
Half an hour later Mark came upstairs with a flash drive. He stuck it in Dory’s printer. Mark had isolated all the deposits for the Sigma Chi account that year. A typed list with dates spit out of the printer. Most deposits were made in August/September and were payments for room, board, and dues for the inhabitants of the frat house. There were several deposits in October; late payments for room and board. In November, however, there were two deposits of $10,000 each, made on the same day.
“Anything else?” he asked with a cocky smirk.
“You’re da Man,” Dory told him. Ben shook his hand.
“You puny little crime fighters call me if you need my superhero skills for anything else.” Mark strode out looking supremely self-satisfied.
“You can practically see that boy’s Superman cape.” Dory grinned.
Ben called Wayne, who was still at home recovering.
“How are you feeling?”
“Stiff and sore.”
“It’s going to take a while,” Ben told him. “I called to give you some good news. The IT guy Captain Paula sent over got into the Sigma Chi records and found two ten-thousand dollar deposits the month before Ryan Gentry died.”
No reply from Ben’s detective. He continued.
“I tried to get the financial records from ’99 to see if any more payments were made into that account after Ryan died. The old records, all nice and tidy in boxes labeled by year, were in the basement of the frat house. I got the current fraternity president to go down and check it out. He found everything except the boxes for ’98, ’99 and 2000. Those are missing. I called Mrs. Trula Godfrey and found out that Greg Townsend graciously stepped forward and offered to assume the treasurer role after Ryan died. He conveniently lost the records for those years.”
“If you can’t find the records, do you want to focus on getting Greg Townsend for conspiracy to commit Ryan Gentry’s murder?”
“I looked it up again last night. You can’t get someone for conspiracy after ten years.”
“Damn, guess we’ll have to concentrate on Townsend’s role in the Ferris murder then.” Detective Nichols’ voice was rough with frustration.
“That’s going to be tough. We can’t exactly commandeer a computer from Townsend’s law firm and hack into it to see if Henry Covington got an extra payment from them on or about August second for the Ferris killing.” The sheriff sighed.
“Didn’t we get Henry’s financials from his bank?”
“Of course, but there’s no sign of a big deposit. The payment was probably made in cash. Or Covington has another account under a different name.”
“I think it’s time that you paid Mr. Townsend an unofficial visit, boss,” Wayne said. “I’ll follow up with the other two players, but my gut feeling is that they won’t have anything else to add. I’m thinking you need to put pressure on Greg Townsend and try to scare him into giving something away.”
“You read my mind, buddy. One thing’s still bothering me, though. That second man in the car with Covington when we all went up to Pinhook, the guy who escaped? You said he was searching the cabin. What do you think he was looking for?”
“If Greg Townsend paid Covington in cash for the hit on Ferris, maybe the money was hidden in the cabin. I don’t think he found it, though. He was looking pretty frustrated before he heard me under the window and we had our little scuffle.”
“When do you think you’ll be back in the office?”
“I’ll be in later.” He hesitated. “Ben, something’s happened in my personal life and I’m going to need a leave of absence for six months to take care of business.”
Ben was stunned. He didn’t know his detective even had a personal life. “Is it because of the gunshot wounds?” he asked, a stab of remorse hitting his gut.
“Hell no, it’s something else. I’m going to stay on board until this case is tied up. Don’t worry about that.”
The sheriff drank the last of his cold coffee, knowing he was drinking too much of the stuff lately. He ran a jerky hand through his hair and pinched the skin at his throat. “We’ll talk
when you get here,” he said.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
July Powell
After talking to the sheriff about Ryan, July put her phone down. She’d slept soundly for the first time since Olivia’s concussion and was back to feeling somewhat human. Time to give Fred a break. She went into their master bath. It was huge, with a marble tile floor, a tub with curved legs standing in front of a frosted glass window, a separate shower, and two raised marble sinks. A sparkly chandelier dangled from the ceiling, casting prisms of light around the opulent room. She gave her hair a quick comb, brushed her teeth, and hurried out to the kitchen.
Fred was nowhere to be seen. She filled a plastic pitcher with water and went out her back door to check on the dogs. Soot was sleeping in his favorite spot—on a patch of creeping jenny under the bird-feeder. Ricky, who Mae had originally named Eric the Red, was on top of the stone retaining wall that delineated the back boundary of the lush landscape. The pup tilted his head when he saw her, jumped down and ran over. She set the water pitcher down and picked him up.
“I missed you, Ricky.” She kissed him on the top of his reddish-gold head and stood there holding him for a minute. Soot uncurled his small black body and stretched in the sunshine. She put the pup down, filled the water bowl on the top step and called him over. She made much of Soot, too, petting him and talking to both of the porgis. The sun was warm on her back. The landscapers must have come recently, because the air smelled of freshly cut grass. It was good to be home.
With both dogs at her heels, July took the empty pitcher back inside. She scooped dry dog food out of the bin, watched them eat, and then scooted Soot and Ricky back outside. At the sound of Olivia laughing in the den, she smiled. Fred had to be back there with her. Her daughter must be feeling better. She hoped her headache was gone.
A towering stack of mail and newspapers caught her eye. July went over and began to sort through the accumulation. Bills, magazines, and catalogs, the usual. When her sister walked into the kitchen, she gave July a strange look.
