Chapter Thirty-one

My cell phone began buzzing and when I looked at it, the caller ID was blocked. I answered and the voice on the other end said, “I need to see you, Buddy.”

“Kimber?”

“Can you come now?”

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m all fucked up, Buddy. I need to talk.”

“I’m on my way.”

She quickly closed the door behind me. “I heard,” she said.

“What did you heard?”

“About the girl who was assaulted.”

“How?”

“Her mother phoned me.”

We wandered into the kitchen. I sat at the table while Kimber poured us freshly made coffee. She sat opposite me. “She wanted to tell me about her daughter and to insinuate my husband had in some way been involved.”

“Involved in what?”

“The cause of the beating. Look, Buddy, I told you that Henry and I had less than a perfect union. I said I suspected he was sexually involved with members of the swim team. Mrs. Lincoln added to my knowledge.”

“How?”

“She told me about the play parties.”

“What about them?”

“She insisted Steffi had never attended any of them, but admitted she knew about them. One of her teammates who participated had spilled the beans.”

“Meaning?”

“They took place. Frequently. And they were organized and supervised by my husband.”

“What else did she tell you?”

“As you suspected, there had been a great deal of resentment.”

She stood and started to pace. “So, in order to insure privacy, Henry engaged a security detail. He went outside the swim team and recruited a pair of football players.”

“To provide security?”

“According to Mrs. Lincoln, yes.”

“There’s more?”

“The football players were invited to the play parties.”

“Thereby despoiling the swim team’s exclusivity.”

“That’s not all they despoiled.”

“Go on.”

“In the weeks before Henry died, the party dynamic changed. It became rough. The football players considered themselves dominant.”

“Meaning?”

“The sex was no longer consensual. According to Steffi’s source, the parties had been cordial and even courtly, but once the football guys established their dominance, they took whatever they wanted.”

“Rape,” I muttered.

“It appears so.”

“And your husband?”

“They threatened him. He was a physical coward and they took advantage of it.”

“And?”

“I gather things went haywire. The parties spun out of control. And then Henry was killed.”

“Did Steffi’s source identify the killer or killers?”

“No. She didn’t.”

“Does she know who these football players are?”

“According to Selma Lincoln, no one is willing to identify them. The swim team kids are terrified of them.”

Kimber left the kitchen and moved to the living room, which is where I found her, in her favorite chair, her head in her hands.

“What do I do?” She looked up at me.

“We find them.”

“I meant what do I do?”

“You’ve done your duty, Kimber. You sit tight.”

“I’m a train wreck here, Buddy.”

“Does your shrink know?”

“About the football players?”

“Yes.”

“She does.”

“What does she say?”

“Almost word for word what you said.”

“That you’ve done your duty.”

“That and also I’m not responsible.”

“For what Henry did?”

“Yes.”

“So?”

“So...what do I do?”

I wanted to ease her suffering by saying something that might help deflate her anxiety. She was clearly rattled and in need of support. I spoke up. “My shrink used to say that sometimes it’s best to do nothing and abide the events.”

She looked at me. “It’s not easy to do nothing. I feel cornered...trapped.”

“Change.”

“Change what?”

“Things are going to change. And once they do, you’ll be free.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“You’re not responsible, Kimber.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

She stared at me and then stood. “Will you hold me, Buddy?”

She stepped into my arms and we held onto each other for several moments.

Then I extricated myself.

“It would be a mistake,” she said, as if by rote.

“It would be.”

“I knew you’d say that.”

“My bad.”

“My bad luck,” she said.

“You think?”

“I know,” she said.