Sudden Death Part 16

Lying in bed is when I do some of my best thinking. Tonight Laurie lies next to me, awake, so instead of just rattling around in my head, the words I am thinking come out through my mouth. "The thing that gnaws at me, in a good way, if there can be such a thing as good gnawing..."

Laurie gets frustrated with my lengthy preamble. "Spit it out, Andy."

"Okay. None of these other deaths were ruled murder by the police, not a single one. a.s.suming the worst, that Kenny killed all of them, why would he have done such a good job covering up his guilt those times, and then with Preston he just about holds up a neon sign saying 'I'm guilty'? That doesn't make any sense to me."

"So maybe someone else did them all, including Preston."

"That fails the same logic test," I say. "Whoever it was that did it, why would they make all of the others not look like murder and this one so obvious? To frame Kenny? They could have done that just by killing Preston. Why kill all the others?"

"Somehow the Preston killing is different," she says. "If it wasn't Kenny that did it, but instead somebody trying to frame him, the other killings weren't part of that plan. Don't forget, if Adam didn't happen to notice them, we'd think Preston was the only death in the case."

I'm just about to fall asleep when something makes me think of Bobby Pollard, the wheelchair-bound trainer who has known Kenny since high school. Pollard was in a terrible accident, one that cost him his ability to walk. It clearly could have cost him his life but did not. Should he be on our list as well? Was he supposed to be another victim?

It's eleven-thirty at night, but the Pollards told me I could call on them at any time, so I take that literally and dial their number. Teri answers, and I explain that I need to talk to her husband. My plan is to meet with them after court tomorrow, but such is their eagerness to help that they give me the option of coming over tonight. They apologetically say that they can't come to me because their son is asleep and it takes Bobby time to get dressed and become fully mobile.

I'm wound up too tight to sleep, so I figure I might as well go over there. I wake Laurie and tell her where I'm going so that she won't be worried again. She offers to go with me, but I tell her I'm fine on my own, and she seems quite happy to accept that and go back to sleep.

I leave the house, glancing around for Marcus on the way to my car. I don't see him, but I know he's there. I hope he's there.

Twenty minutes later the Pollards are serving me coffee and cinnamon cake in their dining room. "Bobby, I want to talk to you about your accident" is how I start.

His face reflects an understandable confusion. "My accident? I thought this was about Kenny."

"There's a great deal I can't tell you, including how the various pieces come together. I just ask that you answer my questions as best you can, and reserve any questions of your own until the time I can answer them."

Bobby looks over at Teri, and she nods her a.s.sent, which I think is the only reason he lets this continue. "What about my accident?"

"Tell me how it happened."

"I already did. I was driving in Spain, and I went off the road. The car rolled over, and I never walked again." His voice is angry, as if I shouldn't be making him go through this. He's right; I shouldn't.

"What caused you to go off the road?" I ask.

"Another car went out of its lane. I tried to avoid it, give it room, but I ran out of room myself."

"Who was driving the other car?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know. They didn't stop. I don't even know if they saw what happened to me."

"Do you think they did what they did intentionally?"

"I never have, no. Do you know something I don't?"

I ignore the question, trying to get through this. "Who was with you on the trip to Europe?"

He thinks and names four male friends, unfortunately including Kenny. Then, "Teri and I had just gotten married a few months before; it was sort of a last fling with the guys." He looks at her. "Not that kind of fling... you know what I mean."

She smiles her understanding, not particularly jealous of anything that might have happened almost a decade ago, before her husband was paralyzed. Then she turns to me. "I was pregnant, so we got married. We were only eighteen."

I ask Bobby, "Why weren't your friends with you when you went for the drive?"

He shrugs. "I don't remember. They probably went to the beach."

I'm learning more than I need to know, so I apologize for bothering them and leave without answering their questions. What I did was not fair to them, but it provided me with another piece of information. The list of tragically unlucky friends and acquaintances of Kenny Schilling's now includes Bobby Pollard.

Heading to court for the first day of the defense's case, I can't remember ever being a part of a situation like this. I'm defending my client against a murder charge while at the same time leading an investigation to determine whether or not he is a serial murderer. And whether I win or lose the trial, I can never reveal the results of that investigation.

I've decided to break our defense case into two parts. The first will deal with showing the jury who Kenny Schilling is and how unlikely it is that he would suddenly turn killer. The second phase will be devoted to presenting the jury with other alternatives, other possible killers, and to show them the dangerous world in which Troy Preston lived. Neither of the two parts is likely to carry the day; the overwhelming physical evidence, plus Kenny's behavior during the siege at his house, are still looking impregnable. We are in very deep trouble.

Just before the session begins, I call Sam Willis and ask him to add Bobby Pollard to the list of people he is investigating. I tell him not to bother checking whether Kenny had the geographic proximity to have caused the accident, since Bobby has already said that he did. Rather, I want Sam to check into the accident itself, to learn whether the Spanish police considered it a possible attempted murder.

I spend the day parading a group mostly consisting of professional football players in front of the starstruck jury. Each witness talks of his admiration for Kenny and the total absurdity that anyone could believe Kenny could take another life.

I would be bored to death if Dylan did not look so uncomfortable. He's afraid that the jury will buy into what these people are saying just because of who they are, and he spends little time cross-examining so that they'll leave more quickly. Dylan does get each to say that he has no actual knowledge as to the circ.u.mstances of Preston's death and cannot provide Kenny with any kind of alibi.

I call off our meeting tonight; I'm well prepared for tomorrow's witnesses, and I'm better off spending the time trying to extricate myself from my well-deserved depression. It's not one of our regular sleepover nights, but I ask Laurie to stay, and she does. I barbecue, and in deference to my fragile mental state, she doesn't even insist on fish.

We're just sitting down to eat when Pete Stanton, with characteristic perfect timing, shows up. We invite him to join us, since I always make extra, and he does. At least he didn't bring his extended family with him.

Once Pete is finished inhaling his food, he gets around to telling us why he came by. Quintana was released from custody this morning, and the police have heard from informants that he's going to come after me. Pete wants to make sure that I'm well protected, and Laurie tells him that Marcus and Willie are on the case.

"But you're sure it was Quintana that had Adam killed?" I ask.

Pete nods. "It was Quintana, unless you've got some other homicidal maniacs after you. With your mouth it wouldn't surprise me."

"So the investigation is closed?"

He shakes his head. "Unsolved murders are never closed. But this one ain't getting solved, if that's what you mean."

I know exactly what he means, and I don't want to spend the rest of my life fearing for my life. I'm forming the germ of an idea on how to deal with the situation, but I'm not ready to verbalize it yet, and certainly not to Pete.

"When can I get Adam's notes?"

"There weren't any."

"Come on, Pete, of course there were. He took notes on everything." Pete's shaking his head, so I ask, "Did you check his hotel room? And his car?"

"What kind of a moron do you think I am?" he asks. "I'm telling you, there were no notes, zero."

Laurie jumps in. "He had them, Pete. Legal pads... lots of them. I watched him take them."

Laurie and I look at each other, each knowing what the other is thinking. If whoever killed Adam took his notes, then it may not have been Quintana's people at all. They would have no use for them. And if it was somebody else, and they wanted those notes, then it's just possible that I wasn't the target after all.

The murderer may have killed exactly whom he intended to kill. Adam may have come upon something that caused his death, something that he never got a chance to tell me.

We tell our suspicions to Pete, who cautions us against jumping to quick conclusions. Adam could have done something else with the notes. He could have s.h.i.+pped them back to LA or left them in some storage place we don't know about.

I don't buy it and I tell him so, which causes him concern that we are going to view Quintana as less of a danger. "He's coming after you, Andy. We know that, whether he killed Adam or not."

"Pete, do you know that Quintana is a murderer? I mean, know it for a fact?"

"Of course."

I press him. "I don't mean know it like you 'knew' he killed Adam. I mean absolutely know it beyond any doubt."

He nods. "I know it beyond any doubt. And I'm not talking about the people he's destroyed by selling his drugs. I'm talking about murder. I would flick the switch on him tonight if I could."

Pete thinks I'm asking the questions in order to confirm that Quintana is a danger to me, but I'm not.

I have no intention of telling him why I'm asking.

I CALL A SEVEN A.M. CALL A SEVEN A.M. meeting at my office with Kevin, Laurie, and Sam Willis. Laurie and I lay out our developing theory about Adam's murder, and Kevin's excitement is obvious. Not only does he agree with our reasoning, but he makes the point that if someone killed Adam because of what he learned about the deaths of the athletes, then Kenny is innocent. He's been in jail and is thus the one person with an ironclad alibi for Adam's murder. meeting at my office with Kevin, Laurie, and Sam Willis. Laurie and I lay out our developing theory about Adam's murder, and Kevin's excitement is obvious. Not only does he agree with our reasoning, but he makes the point that if someone killed Adam because of what he learned about the deaths of the athletes, then Kenny is innocent. He's been in jail and is thus the one person with an ironclad alibi for Adam's murder.

I ask Sam if it's possible to go on my computer, the one Adam was using, and retrace where he had been on it.

"I can't do it in depth, but I know someone who can. I'll bring him in right away."

"What about the phone records?" I ask. "If he made calls those last couple of days, can you find out who he called?"

He nods. "That's easy. And once I'm in there, I can also lower your phone bill if you want."

We agree to meet right after court at my house to get an update on Sam and Laurie's progress. Kevin and I head for court; we've got a case to put on and a client to defend. A client who just might well be innocent.

Just before court starts, I go out to the side of the building where I won't be overheard. I call Vince Sanders on my cell phone and tell him I have a big favor to ask.

"What else is new?" he asks sarcastically.

"I want you to set up a meeting for me tomorrow night with Dominic Petrone." Vince knows Petrone fairly well, as he knows pretty much everyone in America, and he has served as an intermediary between myself and the mob boss before.

"You mind telling me why? 'Cause he's gonna want to know."

"Just tell him it's about Quintana. That's all I can tell you right now."

"I'll get back to you." A click indicates the call is over; Vince never says goodbye.

My first witness today is Donald Richards, a private investigator whose main client is the National Football League. Walter Simmons had put me in touch with him. I take Richards through the way he works for the NFL, leading him into a discussion of the great lengths they go to in protecting the integrity of their game.

"What kinds of things does the NFL worry about?" I ask.

"Gambling is number one. Drugs are a close second."

He describes the drug testing program, which is not as rigorous as it could be, but substantially more intrusive than those for the other major sports. The NFL, he explains, has comparatively good relations with the players' union, and therefore the players will submit to testing that the baseball players, for example, will not.

"Was Troy Preston one of the people you were hired to investigate?'

He nods. "Yes. On three separate occasions."

He goes on to explain that Preston had failed a drug test, which is a red flag for the NFL. Richards was a.s.signed to find out the extent of Preston's involvement with drugs, and based on his initial reports, follow-ups were deemed necessary.

"Why is that?" I ask.

"Because I learned that Mr. Preston was not just using... he was selling."

I ask Richards to provide the details of his investigation, and he doesn't hesitate to implicate the deceased Paul Moreno and the unfortunately very alive Cesar Quintana. It's a weird sensation that I feel while he is doing this, knowing that Quintana will freak out and redouble his efforts to kill me when he finds out that I have once again exposed his name to unwanted worldwide publicity.

Richards is on the stand all morning, and his performance is impressive. I make a note to mention him to Laurie, in case we want to add him to our team on future cases. It hits me that Laurie may well not be on that team, the first time I've thought about that possibility in a while. This has been a difficult and frustrating case, but if nothing else, it has served its purpose as a diversion from my personal concerns.

Judge Harrison cancels the afternoon session because of some other matters that he has to attend to, so Dylan's cross-examination of Richards will be put off to Monday. I call and ask Sam to come to the house at three to report on what he's learned, and I tell Kevin and Laurie to be there as well. Willie Miller joins us, along with his dog, Cash. Willie has been hanging around as part of my "security detail," and it does make me feel more secure, though I would never admit it.

Sam starts off with an apology that he hasn't made more progress, but he's only had a handful of hours to work on it. Sam has learned that Adam was apparently focusing on something involving the media; he was trying to locate a Web site for a magazine called Inside Football, Inside Football, which hasn't existed for a number of years. He also placed three phone calls to the which hasn't existed for a number of years. He also placed three phone calls to the New York Times New York Times in the thirty-six hours before he died. in the thirty-six hours before he died.

"Any other significant calls?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "No, doesn't seem to be. Mostly to players Kenny knew... families of the deceased guys... that kind of thing."

"Any idea why he would be interested in a sports magazine and the New York Times New York Times?" Kevin asks me.

"No... but Adam's parents mentioned that he was excited about talking to famous sportswriters. I thought they meant football players, but I didn't question them about it. Maybe they were right."

I call Vince, whose connections would make him the ultimate authority in matters of this type. He's not in, and I leave a message for him to call me back ASAP. In the meantime Laurie brings us up-to-date on what she has learned.

None of the deaths were considered possible homicides by the various police ent.i.ties that investigated, which we already knew. However, Laurie has checked into four of them so far, and when viewed through the prism that we now hold, they could look quite suspicious. As examples, she cites the hit-and-run and Matt Lane's hunting accident. The five heart attacks are bewildering, and I ask Laurie to check with a doctor, one we sometimes use as an expert witness, about whether there is a drug that can cause a heart attack and not show up in an autopsy.

Vince calls back within a few minutes and sounds annoyed. "I told you I'd call you back when I set up the meeting," he says.

"That's not why I'm calling," I say.

"Jesus, what the h.e.l.l do you need now?"

"Vince, I'm going to ask you a question. I just want you to answer it and not a.s.sume it's important to the Schilling case. I don't want you to start tracking it down as a possible hot story."

"Then you must be trying to reach a different Vince," he says.

"You'll get whatever I have first. But this can't go public in any way now."

He thinks for a moment. "Okay."

"Did you ever hear of a magazine called Inside Football Inside Football?" I ask.

"Sounds familiar, but I can't place it."

"It's a magazine that's folded. I need a list of the people that wrote for it in the last ten years and copies of any stories that included Kenny Schilling or Troy Preston." I have a hunch and decide to throw it in. "I also want to know if any of the writers are currently at the New York Times. New York Times."

"That's all?" he asks.

"That's all."