LANA HAD MOVED from tea to her third cup of strong coffee by the time Detective Clark had returned to the station with Coach Robby. He wasn’t cuffed, so not under arrest yet.
Hard to believe this old man had murdered Dan, but Gary had struck a deal and turned over his phone with a recording he’d made of Coach giving him Danny’s ring after the murder. Listening to that recording changed everything she thought she knew about life.
Coach had lied so convincingly when she’d gone to see him a few weeks ago. But he’d been lying for a long, long time.
Seated at a desk, she rolled her chair behind a file cabinet so Coach would be less likely to see her as he stumbled his way across the squad room. He’d already started drinking.
She glanced at the clock, shocked to realize it was after 6:00 p.m. Coach had probably been sitting down for dinner with his wife. Lana closed her eyes, thinking of the animated conversation she’d had with Beth Robertson at the retirement party. Had she known about her husband’s secret life? Beth had been Coach’s alibi the night of the murder.
She opened her eyes when Clark said something to Coach, who laughed with good humor. Lana took a sip of lukewarm coffee, fascinated by Clark’s methods. She needed to learn how he’d persuaded a suspect to come to the station voluntarily and in such a pleasant mood.
But then she had a lot to learn.
Hopefully all of her lessons wouldn’t be this painful.
Once the two had disappeared into the interrogation room, Lana threw the coffee into the trash and rose, her heart racing. She couldn’t wait to talk to Chip.
But would Coach deny Gary’s allegations? Coach didn’t give permission to be recorded, so that made this interview tricky. In the state of Florida, both parties had to consent.
Lieutenant Marshall stood before the window inside the observation room with his arms folded when Lana entered.
“LT,” she said warily.
He nodded, the ghost of a smile playing on his mouth, and turned back to the window.
“Everyone still talks about that state-championship game,” Clark was saying to Coach on the other side of the window. “Your coaching was epic, man.”
“I had some great players on that team.” Coach held up his hands, as if warding off the praise.
“Right.” Clark glanced at a file on the table. “We appreciate your cooperation,” Clark said. “There’s just a few things we need to get sorted out.”
Coach spread his arms. “I’m glad to help, Detective.”
“First you have the right to remain silent.”
Coach Robby’s eyes had narrowed to suspicious slits by the time Clark had completed the Miranda warning.
“Do you understand these rights?” Clark asked.
“Yes. So what’s this conversation really about?” Coach asked. “I thought you wanted me to ID some photos.”
“Your vehicle was spotted at the home of a suspected drug dealer.”
Coach frowned. “It was?”
“Yes. Gary Shotwell.”
Coach’s face flushed a deep red, and Lana bit her bottom lip. Whatever Clark had used to get Coach here, he hadn’t known it involved Gary.
“Gary,” Coach said slowly.
“Also known as The Shotman, I believe.”
Coach’s eyes darted around the room. He leaned back in the chair and then sat forward. “Gary is a former student of mine.”
“Eight years ago,” Clark said. “The state-champ team.”
Coach laughed, a fake, nervous sound. “Has it been that long?”
“Yes,” Clark said.
“Hard to believe,” Coach muttered, rubbing his nose.
“So, what connection do you have with Mr. Shotwell now?” Clark asked, his tone altered, harder. “What took you to his home at 2:00 a.m. on Wednesday last week?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Really?” Clark spread an array of photographs on the table. Coach glanced down and then quickly looked away. Head shots of Gary and Dan were included in the group.
Clark placed his finger on Gary’s photo. “Mr. Shotwell alleges your visit was to deliver his weekly supply of a product the two of you have been jointly selling for a long time.”
After a long pause, Coach said carefully, “You’ve talked to Gary?”
“Gary is sitting in a jail cell not far from here.”
Coach swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement. He didn’t respond.
Clark leaned across the table, getting in Coach’s face. “Gary had a lot to say about you, Coach Robertson.”
“Gary has always been a troubled young man,” Coach said. He glanced to the photo lineup again and shook his head. “I did my best for him, but don’t believe everything he says.”
“So you deny any knowledge of the murder of Daniel Paul Lettino?”
Coach blinked once, twice. “That little weasel.”
“Interesting response.”
“Am I under arrest?” Coach demanded.
Clark shrugged.
“I’m done,” Coach said. “Not another word until I get an attorney.”
LANA PACED THE STATION, guzzling coffee. She refused to go home while waiting for Coach’s attorney to arrive. She’d already waited eight long years. What were a few more hours?
Coach’s attorney, one Carl Harnett, arrived to consult with his client. Then an assistant DA huddled with Clark and LT.
LT joined Lana in the observation room when Clark and the DA joined Coach and his attorney around the interrogation table.
“Showtime,” her lieutenant said. “But the DA is worried.”
“Why?” she demanded.
“Harnett is an experienced criminal lawyer. The fact that there’s a recording won’t rattle him. He’ll file a motion to suppress.”
“But it might spook Coach,” Lana said.
“Maybe,” LT said. “That’s the move Clark wants to make.”
So they were going to play Gary’s recording for Coach.
If a judge ruled the recording inadmissible and it came down to Gary’s word against Coach’s, who would a jury believe? A legendary football coach or a kid who’d used steroids to alter his body? And would Coach be allowed out on bail while waiting for a trial that wouldn’t happen for months? Maybe years.
He needed to be behind bars.
Lana leaned forward to watch what unfolded. Coach looked scared. No, defeated. His hand shook as he raised a soda can to his mouth. He was probably in desperate need of alcohol. To Lana’s eyes, Harnett appeared confident and in complete control.
Clark placed Gary’s phone in the center of the table.
Coach lowered the can, his gaze focused on the phone.
Harnett spoke first. “So, what are we doing here, gentlemen?”
Clark leaned forward and pressed an app on the phone that started the recording. Gary’s panicked voice floated from the device.
“Where is Danny?”
“You don’t need to worry, son,” Coach said. “I’ve taken care of everything.”
“What the hell did you do, Coach?” Gary demanded.
Coach uttered a curse and said something that Lana couldn’t understand.
“What’s this?” Gary demanded.
“Danny’s ring. It’s yours now.”
“What are you talking about, it’s mine? Where is Danny?”
“Danny is gone.”
“Gone where?”
“He won’t cause us any more problems,” the voice from eight years ago said.
“No more,” Coach yelled, startling Lana. He grabbed for the phone.
Clark slammed his hand over Coach’s before he could snatch the device. Coach’s voice, muffled under the detective’s palm, continued to speak.
“Enough,” Coach said. “Please. Enough.” He placed both arms on the table and buried his head, his shoulders shaking.
Harnett gave Coach a disgusted look and held up his hand.
Clark terminated the recording.
“Do you have something you want to tell us?” Clark asked, his voice kind, like that of a mother encouraging a wayward kid to confess.
“Do not say a word,” Harnett instructed his client.
Coach raised his head. “Danny threatened to report me, ruin my career. I couldn’t let him do that. The U had just made me an offer, a damn good one.”
Once Coach began, the words gushed from him like a tsunami of guilt.
When it was over, too stunned to leave the station, Lana sat across from Detective Clark as he worked on a computer keyboard, eyeglasses perched on the end of his nose. All she could think was that Chip needed to know that Danny had been clean. He hadn’t been a choirboy. He’d taunted Gary about not receiving a ring in front of everyone at the year-end banquet, which was why Coach had given him Danny’s. But Dan had been clean. He hadn’t been murdered because he’d used drugs. That was something, at least.
That was what she’d tell her mother.
Clark paused his furious typing and shot her a look. “Why are you still here?”
“I can’t believe my brother died because of a stupid game,” Lana told Clark.
“Stupid game?” Clark removed his glasses. “Football is a mega-industry that pumps millions of dollars—hell, probably billions—into the economy.”
“And I’ve enjoyed watching football my whole life,” Lana said. “But it is a game, and Danny hadn’t made it to the pros. He hadn’t even started his college career.”
“Your brother threatened to end Coach’s career, ruin his reputation. If Danny had gone to the Florida Amateur Athletic Association and reported that his high school coach supplied steroids to his players and the juice necessary to mask the drug from tests, they would have taken away the crowning achievement in Coach Robby’s life.”
“The state championship?” Lana spat out the words. “Whoopee. Was a championship worth a young man’s life?”
Clark swiveled to face Lana. “You heard Robertson. After that win, he’d been approached by several major universities for coaching positions. U of M had even sent out feelers. That was Coach Robby’s ticket to the pros, the big-time.”
“Ironic how Danny’s death ruined all that,” Lana said. “Coach’s chances evaporated in the heat of the media attention.”
“Karma,” Clark said with a shrug. “Take comfort in the fact that Robertson never recovered. His drinking pushed him on a long downhill slide.”
“Not good enough,” Lana said.
“Thanks to your persistence, he’ll spend the rest of his life in prison.”
“And Dan is dead.”
“Go home, Officer Lettino,” Clark said. “You need some perspective. You’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again.” Lana placed her hands on the desk and pushed herself to her feet, feeling a hundred years old yet wide-awake and wired. Probably from all the coffee. She never drank coffee.
“You did good work here, Officer,” Clark said. “You need to remember that.”
“I wish my lieutenant and my sergeant agreed.”
“You’ll weather the storm. When you get ready for a change, you should consider a career in Vice.”
And spend my time hanging out with drug dealers? Lana shook her head. She definitely intended to become a detective and Clark was giving her high praise, but she preferred investigating cold cases, righting old wrongs.
“Thanks, Detective Clark,” she said. “You’re right, I should go home. I’ve got to make a long-awaited phone call.”
“To your mother?”
She nodded. “How long do you think it’ll be before we can send her Danny’s ring? I know she’ll want it.”
Clark thought for a moment. “The ring isn’t needed as evidence, since there’ll be no trial. As soon as the DA signs off on the plea bargain, I’ll do the paperwork to release it.”
“Thanks. I’ll tell her.” Would that give her some peace about Danny’s death?
Lana gave Clark a little wave as she left the squad room, unsure whether she was looking forward to or dreading all the conversations she needed to have in the next few days. She should also call Cindy.
Well, she’d done it. She’d promised her mother she’d never give up until Dan’s murderer had been caught, and she’d solved the crime that had haunted her family for so long. Now she needed to put the past behind her once and for all.
She ought to feel good, but the truth had changed so much. Mostly she felt sick.
Jacked up on steroids himself that night, Coach Robby had killed his star player in a rage because he was going to tell the world his coach was a scummy drug dealer. No wonder he’d turned into a drunk.
She checked her phone, looking for any sort of message from Chip. Nothing.
Did he hate her for involving him in this mess? Because of her, he’d missed an entire afternoon of classes, the worst possible thing that could happen to him.
First she’d talk to her mom. She deserved to know what had happened to her son and why. With this closure, maybe her mother could finally start to recover.
But then Lana had to find Chip.
She needed to talk to him. God, so much had happened. He needed to know the truth about Danny’s death. And he needed to know that she loved him.
But had she realized that too late?
CHIP SAT ON the beach off Rickenbacker Causeway and watched a huge orange sun slowly descend toward the horizon, his butt on a towel and his bare feet in the warm sand. The wind off the bay remained strong, and its play across his damp skin felt great.
He wished the wind could blow away all his thoughts.
He’d just kiteboarded for the first time in months...one hell of a ride. His shoulder ached and so did his knees—not to mention his sore jaw, thanks to Gary—but the physical effort had been exactly what he’d needed.
He still hadn’t wrapped his head around the fact that Coach Robby had killed Danny. The way Lana had explained it in her voice message, yeah, it all made sense. Yet it made no sense at all. The man he remembered from high school had been beyond proud of his skilled quarterback.
Chip withdrew a cold beer from his cooler, twisted off the cap and took a long drink. How had Coach gotten away with his illegal activities for so long?
Because he’d been so successful that anybody in charge looked the other way. That was the way of the world.
How could he blame Lana for not recognizing her brother’s bullying when he hadn’t seen Coach’s true colors, either? Chip sighed. He was just as clueless. We see what we want to see.
His phone signaled a text, and Chip checked the readout. Lana again. He wasn’t ready to talk to her. He already knew what she wanted to tell him. She’d found her murderer. Her case was over. She was moving back to her apartment.
He’d always known she would. He needed to find a new roommate, so he’d posted a notice on the bulletin board when he’d gone to campus to talk to Professor Nichols about making up the missed class. In case he needed to show the house, he’d cleaned up the mess from their struggle with Gary. He’d gotten some old wood from his parents’ garage and temporarily boarded up the window she’d shattered with her warning shot.
The good news there was his dad was progressing well in his rehab. The bad news was, as his sister had predicted, Mom was stressed.
Chip shook his head and took another sip of beer. So many changes.
Working with Lana on her case, witnessing a seedier side of life, had been a game changer for him. He’d decided to specialize in criminal law, maybe become a prosecutor. He no longer wanted the safe, boring life of a corporate attorney. He even liked the idea of being a public defender. Sometimes the police make mistakes, and defendants need an advocate to prove their innocence. Gary was a bad guy, a drug dealer, but he’d been innocent of killing Danny and had come close to going down for a murder he didn’t commit.
Chip had figured out what he wanted to do with his life because of his collaboration with Lana.
Lana. The image of her smiling face, her dark flashing eyes acted like a punch to his gut. He didn’t want to see her. Seeing her would only make him want her again. Time to let go of that old dream.
He was happy for her. She could finally move on from Danny’s death and start living her life. She didn’t need him as a constant reminder, dragging her into painful memories. He loved her too much to do that to her. She’d been through enough.
And she’d be relieved he didn’t press her. He’d sleep on the couch at his parents’ again tonight. He’d eventually explain to his family that it hadn’t worked out. They’d be disappointed but would understand.
Chip stood and gathered his gear. Maybe someday he’d understand, too.
LANA HURRIED UP the steps to the front porch of the Peterson home and knocked on the door. Chip still hadn’t returned any of her messages, and she was a little nervous about coming here. What had he told his parents about them?
She glanced next door to the house where she and her family had once lived. Different roof, different paint color. The trees were huge now. Seemed like a million years ago that she’d lived in this neighborhood and had been terrified of her father.
So much had changed. Including me.
The cruelty of her father had caused a cascade of violent events that had disturbed so many lives. Her father had beaten her mother, so Dan had hit Cindy, which ruined Lana’s friendship with Chip. Dan’s treatment of Gary had made him mean, so he had beaten his own wife.
Violence was never the answer to anything, and she was tired of thinking about the whole sick mess.
Chip’s mother opened the door. “Lana. How are you, dear?”
“I’m fine, Mrs. Peterson. How is Mr. Peterson?”
“He’s coming along.” She smiled, but Lana sensed worry behind her blue eyes. Eyes that reminded her of Chip. “Thanks for helping out. Are you still coming in the morning?”
“Of course,” Lana said.
“Do you want to come in?” Mrs. Peterson asked.
“Actually, I’m looking for Chip. Is he here?”
“No, he’s at campus, doing some sort of makeup work. Didn’t he tell you?”
“Well, no,” Lana said.
“Peterson men.” She sighed, as if exasperated. “You’ll have to get used to that, Lana. They never remember to tell you about a change in schedule.”
Feeling awkward, Lana grinned at Chip’s mom. Apparently she had no idea Chip was avoiding her. Interesting. “Thanks for the tip.”
“Is something wrong?” Mrs. Peterson asked. “Can I help?”
“No, no,” Lana replied quickly. The last thing she wanted to do was cause this woman more worry. “I just need to tell him something.”
“It must be important.”
“Yes,” Lana said, still smiling. “It is. Thanks. I’ll find him.”
“See you tomorrow.”
Even though she knew finding Chip would be a long shot at best, thirty minutes later Lana drove into in the visitor lot of the University of Miami campus, parked and headed for The Bricks. When she didn’t spot him anywhere in the courtyard, she released a frustrated breath. Where the hell was he?
She decided to hang out at a table in case he showed. She wasn’t crazy about having their discussion in a public place, but at this point she was out of options and she didn’t want to wait any longer.
She hurried inside the food court to see if he was grabbing coffee, but the place was deserted. Deciding to wait in case he was in the restroom, she wandered over to the bulletin board, where she’d seen him before, and idly scanned the notices.
Her eyes narrowed on the newest posting.
“Bedroom for rent in quiet neighborhood near campus. Washer and dryer. Kitchen privileges.”
The number listed was Chip’s phone.
What the hell? Lana jerked the notice from the bulletin board and stared at it in disbelief.
Chip was moving out.
How could he advertise his bedroom for rent without telling her?
Well, she’d see about that. And she now had one foolproof way to get him to talk to her. Although she couldn’t use her phone.
Who would help her? She called Dale, who was on duty, gave him the information and asked him to set an appointment with Chip to see the house.
“Insist on this afternoon,” she said. “And don’t use your real name. He has a good memory.”
“What’s going on, girl?” Dale asked. “I heard you’d solved the murder of your brother.”
“I did,” Lana said. “This is about something else.”