They drove to Corpus Christi then flew to Lubbock early the next morning. They had five days to track down three football players from two years before, figure out which one was the killer, and then convince him to confess.
There was no time to waste.
They rented a car at the Lubbock airport and drove to the Texas Tech campus. They went directly to the football stadium. They parked and walked to the main entrance. The gate was locked.
"Wednesday, they'll practice today," Chuck said. "But not in the stadium."
A maintenance man pointed them in the direction of the practice fields. They crossed Mac Davis Lane—
"Man, I loved his songs," Chuck said.
He tried to sing a Mac Davis song but fumbled the lyrics.
"Damn concussions."
"Mac was born right here in Lubbock," Chico said, "just like Buddy Holly."
"Played the quarterback that was supposed to be Don Meredith in North Dallas Forty," Chuck said. "Best movie ever made."
Dwayne gave him a look of disbelief.
"You're saying it's better than the Die Hard movies? You are brain-damaged."
"Well, maybe not the first one. That's a classic."
"Damn straight it is."
"That's what I said."
The athletic complex building sat across the street. Behind the building were the practice fields. They stood at the fence and watched the team.
"There he is," Dwayne said. "Number fifty-one. John Smith."
They stayed until the practice ended an hour later then waited out front of the athletic complex building for John Smith. When he exited the building, they approached him. He was stocky and muscular with short blond hair. Wet hair. He wore a sweat suit and sneakers.
"John Smith?" Frank said.
The player stopped. "Yes, sir?"
"Hair's wet—you just shower?"
He recoiled. "Hey, if you're one of those creeps like that Penn State guy, likes to hang out in gym showers—"
"I'm Frank Tucker. William Tucker's father."
John Smith held a hand out and started to walk off. "I don't want to talk about that."
Dwayne flashed the badge. "Police business, son."
John Smith stopped and surrendered. But his face did not register guilt. Instead, he offered a sad shake of his head.
"Sorry, Mr. Tucker. That was a strange question."
"Here's another one: Texas versus Tech game two years ago in Austin, did you shower after that game?"
"Not sure why you're asking, but I did. I shower every day. Did William really kill Dee Dee? I guess he did. He confessed."
"He didn't. Confess or kill her."
John frowned. "But they said on TV that—"
"They're wrong. Did you know Dee Dee?"
"Yes, sir. Everyone did. She was a sweet girl."
"Was she promiscuous?"
John pondered a moment then nodded. "That's what I heard."
"You didn't have sex with her?"
"Mr. Tucker, I'm a Mormon. And a virgin. Like Tebow."
"I've got two daughters I want you to meet," Chico said.
"You see Tebow signed with the Patriots?" Chuck said. "No way he's beating out Brady."
Everyone stared at Chuck. He turned his palms up.
"Just saying."
Frank returned to John Smith. "Did you know Darrell Jackson and Bo Cantrell?"
"Yes, sir. The three of us, we were the starting linebackers back then. They were seniors."
"Did they have sex with Dee Dee?"
John sighed. "Darrell had sex with every girl on campus, from what I heard. He was this handsome cowboy. He modeled for book covers, romance novels, had copies in his room."
"What about Bo?"
"Bo, he was …" John shook his head. "A swamp rat from the bayou."
"Did they shower after the games?"
"I didn't keep tabs on that, Mr. Tucker. You'll have to ask them."
"We will. Where are they now?"
"Last I heard, Darrell is back cowboying on his family ranch in Wink, and Bo is up in Omaha."
"Doing what?"
"Playing pro ball, for the Wranglers."
"Thanks, John."
"Yes, sir. I hope William is innocent."
They watched John walk off.
"He ain't the killer," Dwayne said.
"How do you know?" Chico said.
"I've interviewed a hundred killers in my time, and none of them were Mormon." He paused. "Course, sometimes they fool you."
"I know," Frank said.