Chapter Twenty
“I have the names,” Marsha Russo said as she plunked herself down in one of my visitor chairs. “I identified them according to the group they sat with at the memorial. I matched them with their yearbook photos.”
“And?”
She shoved a copy of the yearbook across the desk. “You might want to have a look at them. The photo pages are all marked with yellow stickies.”
I picked up the book and leaned back in my chair. I studied each photo carefully. “There’s an odd consistency in the groupings,” I commented. “Good-looking versus not-so-good-looking.”
“You sure know how to hit the nail on the head, big boy. The mixed group, boys and girls, they’re all very attractive. The other groups, not so much.”
“Which you interpret as?”
“I don’t know, Buddy. If what Kimber suspected regarding the possibility of sexual shenanigans is true, the fact that there was this grouping of only good-looking kids sitting together at the memorial might have some bearing.”
“It might.”
“It’s certainly worthy of further investigation.”
“It certainly is.”
Marsha sat back in her chair, more than a little self-satisfied with her findings. “Would you want to interview any of these kids?”
“I would.”
“Which ones?”
“Let’s start with the questionably unattractive ones.”
“That’s an unfortunate nomenclature.”
“Okay. How about the not-so-good-looking ones.”
“Too subjective.”
“Then how about separating them by sex? Boys and girls.”
“Bingo,” she said and stood. “I’ll start organizing the list.”
“This is very good work, Marsha.”
“I thought so.” She sauntered out of my office.
Peter Bry agreed to meet me in Longdale, a couple of towns over from Freedom, in a small, family-owned sandwich shop where it was unlikely we would be spotted.
I arrived before he did and from a table in the rear, I watched as the muscular young man stepped tentatively up to the shop window and scanned the place. When he noticed I was there, he came inside and joined me.
“Thank you for seeing me, Peter.”
He nodded.
“Coffee?”
“Maybe an energy drink.”
I signaled the waitress who took the order, then wandered off to fill it. Bry turned to me. “This is about the murder, right?”
“Yes.”
“Horrible tragedy.”
“It was, yes.”
“I don’t really know anything about it.”
“I didn’t expect you would.”
“But you wanted to speak with me just the same?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
The waitress delivered his order then scurried off.
I watched Peter Bry as he opened and then poured his can of electrolyte-packed liquid into a plastic cup. He gulped some of it down. He was a strapping young man, fit but unfortunately burdened with a nose the size of a small country and ears almost equally as large. He was bright-eyed, however, and quick-witted. He was engaging and engaged.
“I’m trying to learn as much as I can about Henry Carson is why. Since you’re the swim team workhorse, or so that’s what I’ve been told, I thought you might have some insights that could be helpful.”
“Such as?”
“Well, for openers, did you like him?”
He reached for his right ear and scooped out a piece of shmutz which he stared at for a moment before whisking it away. “I never really thought about that before. Did I like him? No. Actually, I didn’t like him at all.”
“Why not?”
Bry shifted uneasily in his chair, seemingly nervous to be speaking so frankly. “He was a weird guy. He paid lots of attention to the good-looking kids. A few of the boys. All of the girls. He would nod and say hello to me. He wasn’t rude or anything. But he pretty much ignored me.”
“And the other coaches?”
“Coach Fred is great. So are the others. They evaluate my performances and offer suggestions as to how I can improve them. They’re involved in the details and are amazingly helpful and encouraging.”
“But not Coach Hank.”
“Not Coach Hank.”
“And that’s why you didn’t like him?”
“I didn’t like him because he never invited me to any of the play parties.”
“The play parties?”
The young man vanished into his thoughts for a moment, then stared at me and said, “Look, I don’t think I want to go into this stuff. I don’t really have a whole lot of information about it.”
“What’s a play party?”
“I don’t know. I never went to one. I only heard rumors.”
“What kind of rumors?”
“That there was fooling around.”
“What kind of fooling around?”
“Like I said, I only heard rumors. You should ask some of the girls.”
“How often did these play parties take place?”
“Look, I already told you I don’t really know anything about them. Only the bits and pieces I overheard.”
“Like there was fooling around going on.”
Bry leaned forward and planted his elbows on the table. “This is making me real uncomfortable. I’m sorry I ever said anything. All I know is that there were play parties. Parties to which me and most of the other team members weren’t invited. That’s all I know.”
“Parties where there was fooling around, as you termed it. I’m presuming fooling around refers to some kind of sexual activity.”
Peter Bry pushed back his chair and stood.
“I never said that. I told you all I know. I could get in trouble for this.”
He looked around the sandwich shop as if to make certain he hadn’t been noticed or overheard. “I gotta go now.”
He looked at me for a couple of moments, then made tracks for the door.
I watched him go. I paid the tab and headed for my car. “Play parties,” I muttered to myself. “What in the hell is a play party?”