There was no news on Henry’s condition. Word spread that the equipment and personal effects that escaped the crash and the fire were gathered in a high school gym two blocks away. A little after ten a bunch of us trooped down. After twenty minutes I found my duffel bag. This isn’t as much of a minor miracle as it might seem. Not all that much stuff survived the accident.
It was scorched around the edges but the plastic containers and stuff inside, such as deodorant, had neither melted nor congealed. I checked all the little side pockets where Duncan usually crammed stuff. I found a phone and a flash drive that weren’t mine.
These two bits of electronic detritus were intact. Where did they come from? Were they placed there before we started the trip by Duncan? After the fire? Or hell, five minutes before we walked into this small gymnasium? By whom? And why?
I pressed the on button on the phone, but I couldn’t use it. It was password protected. I wanted to examine these two items at my leisure, but would their presence on my person be a clue or implicate me in something? I slipped them into my pocket.
Finished looking for stuff, the guys began to gather in the coffee shop we’d been in the night before.
About ten of us put together five tables so there’d be room for us and more if anyone showed up. Donny sat next to me. His leg touched mine. I liked it there.
The waitress told us the meal was on the owner. A steady stream of townspeople brought in cookies, brownies, pies, and cakes. By the time they were done it looked like they had enough food to stock a bakery for a year.
When we were all settled, Malcolm Dowley asked, “Anybody heard what caused it?”
Jamie McDaniels said, “We had the oldest possible kind of bus. The hardest to get out of. We were all almost killed because Connor Knecht was too cheap to get us a decent bus. A goddamn new stadium and he can’t afford a decent bus! Anybody try to use the john in that thing? It was filthy. The least they could have done was cleaned it, and I had to push the handle three times to get it to flush properly. Knecht hired a college kid to drive us? How cheap is that? Maybe if we’d had a professional driver, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Dowley said, “We don’t know if it was Henry’s fault or not, or if it’s because we had a fucking lousy bus. If they can prove negligence on Knecht’s part, all of us could probably sue him.”
Trader Smith walked in. He looked like he hadn’t slept. He stumbled over to us and sat down. He wiped his hand across his face. He said, “I just heard. Henry didn’t make it.”
Exclamations of dismay and woe filled the air. They talked about Henry for quite a while. They all liked him. They called him professor because he read books. They repeated some of his stupidest jokes.
A wrinkled old man who must have been in his nineties tottered into the diner. He supported himself with a cane as he shuffled to a table.
“What’s going to happen to us?” Dowley asked.
Smith said, “The games this weekend are cancelled. We’ll have a brand new bus here this afternoon. We’ll be going directly back to Butterfield. We’ll make provisions for anybody who wants to attend the wake and the funeral.”
I asked, “What caused the accident?”
Smith said, “Nobody knows for sure.”
Brandon Saldovi walked in. He saw us and hurried over. He pointed at Smith and me, “Mr. Knecht wants to see you.”
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I dunno,” the kid said. “He’s talking to the cops in a conference room in the motel.” Trader Smith got up. I followed him.
As I passed the booth where the old man sat blowing on his spoonful of soup, he glanced at me and nodded. He reached out a withered, splotched hand, and in Georgia’s huskiest whisper, said, “I’m here if you need me.”
I patted the hand and said, “You’re most kind to think of us.”
In the conference room in the hotel across the parking lot were two state cops in uniform, two gentlemen in suits, and a well dressed woman. She was Alice Ginetti, the mayor of the town.
She was asking, “Is there anything else we can do for you?”
“You’ve been most kind,” Knecht said. “We’ll let you know.”
I found out later that Knecht had rushed to the scene as soon as he got the news.
Smith and I were introduced. The fact that I was a private eye was mentioned. The cops didn’t comment about that bit of news. Spike Dermer was the Minnesota state cop in charge of the investigation. He was in his fifties with white hair cut short and a trim figure. He said, “We want to discuss what happened last night.”
Knecht said, “Henry was a very responsible young man. He was highly recommended. We hadn’t had the slightest problem with him. He was always on time. He kept the speed limit. He never caused any trouble. I can’t imagine him falling asleep at the wheel.”
Dermer said, “Our preliminary investigation indicates that he probably didn’t.”
I felt my heart begin to beat a bit faster. I leaned forward.
“What do you mean?” Knecht asked.
“The engine had been shut off. The emergency brake had been pulled. He tried everything he could to stop the bus when the brakes didn’t.”
“The brakes failed!” Knecht interjected.
Dermer said, “Somebody sabotaged them.”
Moments of stunned silence and looking back and forth at each other with Smith murmuring, “Someone was trying to kill us all?”
Dermer said, “Someone was certainly trying to cause harm.”
Knecht asked, “How is that possible?”
Dermer said, “Doesn’t take much and it doesn’t take long. Somebody crouches down behind the wheel, cuts the brake cable, the fluid leaks out, and the brakes fail.”
“Why wouldn’t the fluid just leak out when the killer cut the line?” Knecht asked.
“You make a small cut. It can take a while.”
I said, “So the killer was taking a chance that the leak could show up before we even left, or while the bus was stopped, but he was hoping it happened while we were rushing down an interstate? Why wouldn’t the ‘check brake’ light in the display panel go on?”
“It isn’t working now,” Dermer said. “When it stopped working is anyone’s guess. If the driver knew it was out and continued anyway, that could be negligence. Although with him dead, we may never know. When was the last maintenance on the bus?”
“It’s regularly inspected and tuned up,” Knecht said.
Dermer said, “I’ll need to see the reports, receipts, and all other documentation on that. It could be negligence. It could be attempted mass murder. With the driver’s death this is now a homicide.”
Knecht gave the full story on everything that had happened to the stadium, the threats, and the reason for my being hired.
Dermer said, “You’ve had cops shot at and wounded and arson. What the hell is your local police chief doing?”
“Not enough,” Knecht said.
“Did the bus make any stops?” Dermer asked.
Head shakes.
Dermer said, “Then whoever did it must have done it before you left.”
Heads nodded.
“Whose jurisdiction is this?” Knecht asked. “Where the crime started or where it happened?”
“If we catch somebody, it’s not going to make any difference to me,” Dermer said. “The guilty one is going to pay. We’ll have to talk to each of the guys on the bus to see if they saw anything suspicious.”
“Is the team going to be staying over another night?” Smith asked.
“I don’t think it will take that long,” Dermer said. “You’d think if someone saw anything they’d be eager to come forward.”
Neither Smith nor I had seen anything.
When the meeting was over, Smith and I walked back to the motel. He was to organize the guys to come talk to the cops. As we crossed the parking lot, he said, “At least we know now that it isn’t one of the players doing this.”
“Why not?”
“He’d risk killing himself.”
“Unless he was a very demented killer.”
“You think he’d risk dying?”
I said, “I’m not sure what people involved in all this would be willing to do.”