by Mark Gimenez
Chase was saying, "Aw, heck, Jay, I ain't nuthin' but a country boy like to swim nekkid in the creek down on the ranch."
That brought shrieks from the females in the audience.
"You can take the boy out of Texas, Jay, but you can't take Texas out of the boy."
Cain't.
"You have a big ranch down in Texas?" Leno asked.
"Outside Austin, but it's not a big ranch. Just seven thousand acres."
Leno laughed. "That's not a big ranch?"
"Not in Texas. Golly, Jay, Texas is a big state."
"Giant."
"Bigger than giant."
"No, the movie."
"What movie?"
"Giant."
"It's big."
Beck pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial for Wes. It was two hours earlier in L.A. Wes answered on the second ring.
"Wes, it's Beck. Get over to the studio where they do the Leno show. Chase Connelly is over there right now!"
"It's a rerun, Beck. I checked. Chase is in Africa, some kind of celebrity we-are-the-world AIDS tour."
They hung up. Beck watched the rest of Chase's appearance on Leno. He was thirty-four years old and earned $20 million for each film plus a percentage of gross. He was married with a four-year-old daughter he adored. His playboy days, he assured Leno, were a thing of the past.
Which brought groans from the females in the audience.
Dear J.B.,
I have to get you ready for them, and we don't have much time. I'll email everything you need to know about the kids, what they eat, school, immunizations, etc. Can you build bedrooms for them? I'll send photos and I'll order everything and have it shipped to you. I want it just like home for them.
Meggie won't understand for a while that I'm really gone. Be patient and let her little mind work through it.
Luke will understand and he'll get angry. He'll go inside himself, he's just like Beck. Get him busy. And playing sports. Get him on a baseball field, that's where he's the happiest. I was thinking, can you build a baseball field? 800 acres, there should be enough space. If you can build a winery, you can build a baseball field. Luke's good.
Beck is in denial.
Love, Annie
THIRTY-SIX
Every Texas county has an appraisal district. And every appraisal district has a website. And on those websites are searchable listings of all real property in the county. The next morning, Beck had searched the Travis County website for "Connelly, Chase" and found no properties recorded under his name. But Chase had said that he owned a ranch outside Austin.
So Beck had searched the counties adjacent to Travis County and the counties adjacent to those counties and the counties adjacent to those. He found no listings for Chase Connelly. Either Chase was lying about owning a ranch outside Austin or the ranch was listed in the name of an entity owned by Chase or … Chase Connelly wasn't his real name.
How would you find a movie star's real name?
But another thought occurred to Beck. A terrible thought. One he didn't want to even entertain. But he had to.
He logged back on to the Travis County appraisal district website. He typed in "Barnes, Randi." Randi's property listing came up. He scrolled down. Total land and improvement value was $3,250,000. Total annual property taxes for Travis County, the Travis County Hospital District, and the school district were $56,000. The deed date was 03152003.
He went to Mavis' office and asked her to pull the Geisel vs. Geisel divorce file. He took the gold file back to his chambers. He wrote out a timeline.
Heidi had died on December 31, 2002.
She was found on January 1, 2003.
She was buried on January 5, 2003.
Randi filed for divorce on January 10, 2003.
The divorce decree was signed by Stutz on March 12, 2003, the sixtieth day after filing, the statutory waiting period. Randi waived all community property rights; she didn't want her share of the house valued at $157,000, or the checking account of $952, or the savings account of $4,231, or Aubrey's state teachers' retirement fund of $47,850. She just wanted out. She packed her clothes into her 1991 Volkswagen and left. The Austin house had been conveyed to Randi Barnes on March 15, 2003, three days after the divorce.
Beck walked out and told Mavis he was driving to Austin. She said, "You got a girlfriend over there?"
When Randi opened her front door, Beck said, "You blackmailed Chase Connelly."
Randi exhaled a stream of cigarette smoke.
"I settled with Chase Connelly."
She turned and walked into the living room. Beck shut the door and followed Randi outside onto the deck. She was dressed in a sweater, jeans, and high heels.
"When he killed her, he took all I had in life. We were more like sisters, Heidi and me, than mother and daughter. She even called me 'Sis'."
"How did you know Heidi was with Chase?"
"She sent me a photo of them from inside the limo. Cell phone camera. My lawyer said that photo was enough to get a search warrant for Chase's DNA sample and once that sample matched what they found in Heidi, he'd be an inmate, not a movie star."
"Where's the photo?"
"In a safe place. And I won't give it up, Beck."
"That photo is enough to indict Chase."
"And mess up my deal."
"How much did he pay you?"
"Twenty-five."
"Million?"
She nodded.
"You sold out Heidi for twenty-five million dollars?"
"I settled a wrongful death claim for twenty-five million dollars."
"Why didn't you go public with that photo, after he paid you?"
"Confidentiality agreement."
"Where's that document at?"
"Also in a safe place."
"Chase Connelly isn't his real name?"
She shook his head.
"What is it?"
"I don't know."
"But you signed a settlement agreement with him."
"It was all done through an L.A. law firm. They wouldn't let me see his real name. I signed, and they wired the money to my lawyer. He wired it to me … after deducting his share."
"Didn't you get a copy of the agreement?"
"My copy is held by a trustee who can give it to me only if Chase fails to pay. He paid five million upfront then one million a year for twenty years. If I talk, the money stops." She waved a hand at the house. "All this goes away. If I ruin Chase's career, he ruins my life. My lawyer said that's what they call a Mexican standoff."
"Randi, I can't believe you let Heidi's murderer go free."
"What was I supposed to do, Beck?"
"Go to the sheriff. Give him the photo so Chase could be charged with murder."
"Oh, yeah, like a jury's gonna convict Chase Connelly."
"Those Germans out there would."
"Not once the national media descended on that small town. They'd get stars in their eyes like everyone else."
"He could've been convicted for stat rape."
"Maybe. Maybe not. But the whole world would've said Heidi was just a slut. I didn't want that."
"No, you wanted money."
"Beck, she was gone. My dream was gone."
"So he still owes you, what?"
"Sixteen million."
"Has he already paid you for this year?"
"Yeah."
"It'd be cheaper for him just to kill you, too."
"He's not a killer, Beck. He's just a movie star. Besides, that cell phone, the photo, and a complete statement are in a safety deposit box. My lawyer will go public if anything happens to me and Chase doesn't pay—my lawyer wants his third. I'm not stupid, Beck. If I die, the money goes to Aubrey."
"He won't want it."
"Then he can give it away."
"You knew about her abortion?"
"I took her to get it."
"Who's the father?"
"I don't know."
"I think you do."
&nbs
p; Beck gazed out on Lake Austin. The white sails of a dozen sailboats glowed in the sunlight.
"Randi, if Chase isn't indicted by midnight on New Year's Eve, he goes free. We've got twelve days to get justice for Heidi."
"Justice." She shook her head. "You're gonna mess up my deal, aren't you?"
"I always advised my clients to take lump sum settlements."
Beck returned to Fredericksburg and to his chambers. An hour of searching the Internet under "Chase Connelly" yielded names of two managers. One was Chase's former manager. His name was Billy Gray. Beck found a listing in L.A. Beck's experience had been that former employees often nursed grudges and could be sources of damaging information. Billy answered his own phone.
"Mr. Gray, my name is Judge Beck Hardin. From Texas."
Billy sighed heavily. "Who is it?"
"Who is what?"
"Which of my clients did something stupid in Texas?"
"Chase Connelly."
Billy laughed. "Good."
"Why is that good?"
"Because he's not my client anymore."
"When did you quit him?"
"I didn't. He fired me four years ago. I made him what he is today, a star worth twenty million per film, but I'm not getting my ten percent."
"Why'd he fire you?"
"Because Clooney won 'Sexiest Man Alive' instead of him. Five films since then, he owes me ten million."
"I doubt he'll voluntarily pay up."
"No, he's got lots of high-priced lawyers, Theodore does."
"Do you have his home—who's Theodore?"
Billy laughed. "His name's not Chase Connelly. I made that name up. His real name is … oh, I signed a confidentiality agreement … but he owes me money … so why can't I tell what I know? His real name is Theodore Biederman. He's a rich boy from Houston. His father's a doctor."
"Billy, do you have Chase's … Theodore's phone numbers?"
"These might not be current."
Billy gave Beck two numbers.
"Does he have a regular driver?"
"Rudy Jaramillo."
"You got his number?"
The numbers Billy Gray gave Beck were all disconnected, and there were no new numbers listed. So Beck called information for the Houston area code and asked for a home phone number for "Doctor Biederman." He dialed that number; a woman answered.
"Hello."
"Mrs. Biederman?"
"Yes."
"I'm Judge Hardin, from out in Fredericksburg."
"Oh, Fredericksburg. We loved to shop there, the doctor and I. Until he died."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Cancer. Six months ago."
"Mrs. Biederman, I'm trying to find Chase … Theodore."
"You'll have to go to Hollywood. He came home for the funeral, but he hates Texas. I don't know why."
"Do you have his phone number in L.A.?"
"You're a judge?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Because he gets mad when I give his private number out."
"Oh, he'll be happy to hear from me."
Beck dialed Theodore's private home number in L.A. A woman picked up.
"Hello."
"May I speak with Chase, please."
"He's out of town. May I take a message?"
"Is Mrs. Connelly home?"
"I'm Helen Connelly. Who is this?"
"I'm Judge Hardin in Texas. I need to speak with Chase."
"He's out of the country. What is this about?"
"Well, it's of a personal nature."
"Is it of a female nature?"
"Why do you ask?"
She sighed. "Because I know my husband."
THIRTY-SEVEN
He had taken his wife for granted. She had always been there, and he had just assumed she always would be. Then one day she wasn't there. She wasn't there to kiss him goodbye when he left in the morning or kiss him hello when he returned that night. She didn't answer when he absentmindedly pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial for her cell phone, to tell her he'd be late. She wasn't there when he turned over in bed and reached out for her and …
Beck sat up in bed. Where's Meggie? He got up and hurried down the hall to her room. She was sitting in bed talking to the doll.
"Hi, Daddy."
"You didn't have an accident last night?"
"Nope. We decided not to have accidents anymore. Mommy says you and J.B. are here to take care of me and I don't have to be afraid just because she's not."
December 22nd, and still no Chase Connelly. Nine days left, and Wes wasn't going to Africa to get Chase's DNA sample.
"Speed limit's sixty," J.B. said.
Beck was driving the Navigator. Riding in the third seat were Libby (reading the newspaper), Danny (listening to an iPod), and Luke (playing the Gameboy); in the second seat were Jodie, Janelle, and Meggie in the middle (holding the doll). J.B. was wearing another Tommy Bahama shirt ("Maiden Monaco"), riding shotgun, and giving driving instructions to Beck; he didn't like to back-seat drive, so he had sat up front.
"I know the speed limit," Beck said.
"Car must not. It's running sixty-five."
"J.B., you and that shirt can ride in the third seat on the way home. Jodie can ride shotgun."
"She's worse than J.B.," Janelle said.
They were driving to San Antonio along with most of the residents of Fredericksburg for the state football championship game. Slade McQuade and the Gallopin' Goats were overwhelming favorites to beat the team from Houston. The caravan of SUVs and pickup trucks stretched down Interstate 10 for miles. From the back, Libby said, "Mom, can we go to Austin next Saturday?"
"Why?" Jodie said.
"To go to a golf course."
"You want to play golf?"
"I want to watch Chase Connelly play golf."
Beck steered the Navigator to the shoulder and braked to a stop. He turned in his seat and said to Libby: "Chase Connelly is going to be in Austin next Saturday?"
"That's what it says here."
"May I see it please?"
Libby held out the paper. Jodie handed it forward to Beck. He read. Chase Connelly was scheduled to appear in a celebrity golf tournament next weekend at the Barton Creek Resort in Austin to promote AIDS awareness. Chase was an avid golfer and planned to arrive a few days early to practice. He would fly into Austin directly from Africa. His manager was quoted as saying, "Chase loves Texas. He can't wait to get home." He was also the newly crowned "Sexiest Man Alive."
Before dawn on March 6, 1836, eighteen hundred Mexican soldiers led by Santa Anna attacked one hundred eighty-nine men defending the Misión San Antonio de Valero, commonly known as the Alamo. By first light, the defenders were dead, including James Bowie, Davy Crockett, William B. Travis, a dozen Englishmen, eight Irishmen, four Scotsmen, one Welshman, and nine Tejanos. "Remember the Alamo" became the Texas battle cry, and the word "Alamo" came to symbolize all that was great about Texas. One hundred seventy-one years later, it was the name of a football stadium.
The Alamodome was built by the City of San Antonio in 1993 for $186 million as a state-of-the-art 65,000-seat football stadium for the specific purpose of attracting a pro football team to town. Build it and they will come.
They didn't come.
Today the Alamodome hosts home and garden shows, boat shows, dog shows, motocross and monster truck rallies, American Idol auditions, evangelical crusades, the Dallas Cowboys summer training camp, the Alamo Bowl, and the high school championship football game.
Few of the 65,000 seats were empty that day. The stands on the far side of the field were solid gold, the color of the Houston team; the Goats side of the field was solid plaid. The Goat band in their black-and-white uniforms was out on the field performing as part of the pre-game festivities. The Goat cheerleaders were performing stunts on the sideline, and the Goat Gals were doing dance routines. Television cameras surrounded the field; the game would be televised live across the State of Texas. Colorful advertisem
ents for cars, trucks, soft drinks, and sneakers decorated the arena. It was the super bowl of Texas.
The two best high school teams in Texas were playing, but everyone had come to see the best high school football player in the country. Everyone had come to see Slade McQuade.
Quentin McQuade was standing before a TV camera and giving an interview. Slade was warming up on the sideline. He had single-handedly won all five playoff games by lopsided scores; and with each game his on-the-field behavior had become more bizarre. Taunting, fighting, cursing, spitting—he was a football player coming undone. Each time he ran the ball, he wasn't just trying to score; he was trying to hurt someone.
Homicidal rage.
When Slade took the field for the first time, the sea of plaid seemed to hold its collective breath, as if waiting for him to explode. They didn't have to wait long. Slade's first play was a thirty-five yard run; he got up and pushed the defender who had tackled him. He scored on the next play. He threw the ball in the tackler's face. The referee threw a yellow flag.
Slade scored four more times in the first half. He taunted the other players, he started fights, he cursed, and he got four more unsportsmanlike penalties. He came off the field and pushed one of his teammates, kicked over the Gatorade table, and threw his helmet at the mascot. Aubrey came over to calm him, but Slade pushed him away and walked twenty yards down the sideline. He stood there by himself until the half ended.
Slade's game ended with the first play of the second half. He ran the ball around end for sixty-seven yards and another touchdown. Then he stood over the last defender lying on the ground and taunted him; then he kicked him. The Houston players on the sideline ran onto the field en masse; Slade attacked the bunch of them. He punched players who weren't wearing helmets, he grabbed the facemasks of those who were and flung them to the ground, and he picked up one boy and threw him to the ground. He looked like something from a Schwarzenegger movie.
Police and security staff ran onto the field and separated Slade and the Houston team. The referees ejected Slade from the game. He walked toward the locker room, undressing along the way. He removed his helmet and flung it onto the field. His jersey and shoulder pads were next. Then came his tee shirt and wrist bands. Finally his doo-rag. His massive muscular body disappeared under the stands. Quentin McQuade jogged after his son. He didn't look like a man worth two hundred million dollars.
