The Dead Pull Hitter (10 page)

“You’ve made your point.”

“Thank you.” He stood up. “I think I’ll leave while I’m ahead. Past my bedtime.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. Do you want a bag for the glove and stuff?”

“No. I’ll take it like this. Tell the boy I’ll get the glove back to him as soon as I can. And call me if you remember that voice.”

I stuck out my hand. He shook it solemnly.

“Thanks for the coffee. And the drink. And the suggestions.” At the door he turned. “And don’t forget to lock the door. Good night.”

While I made up the couch in the study, a surprisingly small part of my mind was engaged in thinking how good the staff sergeant looked in sweats. Most of it was worrying and wondering.

Specifically, worrying about Joe Kelsey and wondering whether I should have told Andy that it was Joe’s voice on the tape.

Sally woke me with a cup of tea in hand.

“It’s almost nine,” she said. “Don’t you have to be somewhere at ten?”

“Thanks. How’s T.C.? Did you tell him about the glove?”

“I didn’t know how much I should tell him. I just said the police needed it for evidence and he’d get it back when they were through. He’s so excited about skipping school that he hasn’t asked any questions.”

“Good. I’m going to have to rush.”

I gulped the first cup of tea in the shower. Sally brought me a piece of toast and marmalade while I dressed and T.C. nattered at me while I put on makeup. I was out of there in twenty-five minutes with a half-hour drive ahead of me, if there wasn’t too much traffic.

The Thorsons lived in the same waterfront condominium complex as half a dozen other players, a modern tower poking out of several acres of parkland. The concierge stopped just short of asking me for my mother’s maiden name before he let me in.

I could hear a child crying as I knocked nervously on the penthouse door. Karin Gardiner let me in. Sandi Thorson was on her knees, comforting her sturdy little two-year-old, kissing away his hurt.

“Stevie fell,” Karin explained.

I made sympathetic noises and looked around. The view of the lake was spectacular, but otherwise it looked like any other dull modern apartment.

“Come on, Pooch,” Sandi said. “I’ll get you some juice and you can watch
Sesame Street
. You want to see Big Bird?”

The kid’s face lit up, and he ran down the hall, shrieking “Sesame, Sesame!” in delight.

His mother filled a bottle with apple juice and handed it to Karin, who took it to the boy. She cut short my apologies for disturbing her.

“Do you mind if we talk in the kitchen?”

“That’s fine.”

Looking into the living room, I could see why. It was filled with trophies and framed newspaper clippings, a shrine to her husband. The kitchen was her turf, filled with cheerful domesticity. There were letter magnets on the fridge at Stevie level and cartoons and lists at grownup height. We sat on padded stools at a counter in the corner that had a fresh pot of coffee at one end. Sandi poured into three flowered mugs.

“How’s Stevie doing?”

“I don’t think he really knows what’s happened. He thinks his father’s just on another road trip. I’m doing my best to keep things as normal as I can.”

“That can’t be easy.”

She looked at me as if I were crazy.

Karin came into the kitchen and sat down.

“Stevie’s fine.” Sandi nodded, and the three of us sat for a moment in awkward silence.

“I’ll try to make this as painless as possible. Can you tell me about Sunday night?”

She used both hands to push her streaked blonde hair off her face. It wasn’t clean and looked as if it hadn’t been brushed. She was dressed in jeans and a man’s rugger shirt, striped in green and blue. She was washed out without makeup, and her eyes were puffy. The diamonds in her ears and on a gold chain around her neck looked harshly frivolous against her skin.

“We got home about six and had dinner with my folks. After we heard about Sultan we didn’t feel much like celebrating. Just after we finished, Steve got a phone call from Tony Marsden, a friend of ours. He runs the car dealership we lease from.

“He invited Steve to go fishing on the off day. He said it was probably the last chance of the year and the weather was going to be good. Steve had been to his cottage before. He really wanted to go, but there was a players’ meeting. So he called Ted Ferguson to ask permission and told him he wanted to play the rest of the season.

“Ted said he could go, so Steve left at about seven-thirty. He had left his gear at the stadium after his last trip, so he was going to pick it up and drive from there up to the cottage to get an early start.

“And that’s the last time I saw him. Alive.”

She stopped and stared into her coffee cup.

“We had a fight before he left. His folks were arriving in the morning and he expected me to take care of them all day while he was fishing. I don’t get along with them very well. They didn’t approve of our marriage. I was divorced when I met him, and he was a big star. They think I’m after his money.

“It was one of those whisper fights, you know? I didn’t want my mom and dad to hear us. I try to hide any problems when they’re around.”

She paused again, and her eyes filled with tears.

“The last thing I said to him was that if he went to Tony’s cottage he shouldn’t bother to come home. But I didn’t mean it.”

She began to cry in earnest.

“I lay in bed that night thinking up ways to get even. And he was probably dead by then.”

Karin put her arms around her sobbing friend and glared at me. I tried to look blameless.

“I’m sorry,” Sandi said, fumbling at a box of tissues. She blew her nose, then pushed the hair off her face again.

“I just can’t help spilling my guts out these days.”

“I understand. I’m sorry I have to make you go through it again.”

“It’s not your fault. Let’s go on.”

“Is there anything you can think of that could explain what happened?”

“I’ve been trying to figure that out, and I just can’t. I know that Steve didn’t have a lot of friends, but he didn’t have real enemies either, not ones that would want to kill him. He could be difficult, sometimes, but he wasn’t harmful. All I keep coming up with is Sam Craven. Did he hate Steve enough to kill him? I don’t know. I like Sam, but he was real angry at Steve. He was in Toronto that day, too.”

“What about a motive? Surely Sam would profit most by changing Steve’s mind.”

“Steve wasn’t going to change his mind. No way.”

“What about links between him and Sanchez? Were they connected off the field in any way?”

Something evasive passed across her eyes, then was gone. She looked firmly at me and shook her head.

“The problem with it being Sam Craven is, how could he have known Steve was going to the stadium? Unless they had arranged to meet there.”

“Steve would never have arranged to meet him without telling me. But what about if Sam was following him?”

She had a point.

“I don’t know how to put this, but could there be some personal reason someone might be out to get him?”

“You mean an irate husband or something? I thought of that, of course. But I don’t think so. Look, I’m not stupid. None of us are as dumb as our husbands think. I’ve known about Steve’s women on the road since one of them answered the phone when I called him to tell him I was going into the hospital to have Stevie. But he never cheated on me here. He wouldn’t dare.”

I believed her. I had underestimated Sandi. Because of her looks and dress, or perhaps the way she spelled her name. She was no bimbo.

We talked for half an hour more about Thorson and their life together, about her anger and fear, and the loneliness she was just starting to feel. We talked about her plans, too. She hoped to go back to school one day for a master’s degree and get a job, options that had been denied her as a baseball wife. But not until the child she was carrying was in school. It would be hard enough for the kids to cope without having a father.

“What happens now?”

“After the funeral I guess I’ll go back to Denver with my parents and wait for the baby.”

“There’s one more thing. When I told you all that Sultan Sanchez was dead, you fainted. Why?”

The evasive look came back.

“It was hot in the lounge,” Karin said, quickly. “Sandi’s been having a bit of trouble with the pregnancy.”

“Was that it?”

“Yes. That was it.”

Something was going on.

“Look. I think maybe I know. I’m not going to write about it—not yet, anyway, and never with any details—but I’d like you to tell me if I’m on the right track. Was Sanchez blackmailing Steve?”

Their faces told me I was right.

“How did you know?”

“I can’t tell you that. Have you told the police?”

“No, of course not.”

“Do you know where Steve was on Saturday night?”

“He was with me. He didn’t kill Sanchez. I swear it.”

“How long had the blackmail been going on?”

“All season. Sultan found out something . . . about Steve’s past. At spring training, he told him that he would tell the story unless Steve paid him money. We paid him $5,000 every month.”

“Forgive me, but that doesn’t seem like a lot of money for someone making Steve’s salary.”

“I don’t think it was just the money. I think Sanchez liked having control over us. He was a terrible man.”

“What did he have on Steve? Was it so bad?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“I understand. But this could be tied up with the murders. Do you know anyone else he was blackmailing?”

“No.”

She got up and began to rinse out the coffee cups. I took my cue.

“If you think of anything else, please let me know. I appreciate you giving me this time, Sandi. I really hope things work out for you.”

“Thank you for being understanding.”

Karin Gardiner walked with me to the elevator.

“You’ll be careful, won’t you? She shouldn’t have told you. She doesn’t realize how it might look.”

“But it might help catch a murderer. Don’t worry. I’m not going to write anything about blackmail.”

As the elevator came, we shook hands.

“Trust me,” I said.

“I haven’t much choice.”

I went from Sandi’s to the office. I tried to reach Joe Kelsey, but he wasn’t at home or with Eddie Carter. I left a message for him with Carter’s wife, then called the gallery. Sally answered.

“How’s T.C.?”

“Great. He thinks it’s all a terrific adventure.”

“I’m worried about you both.”

“Don’t worry. Your cute cop friend has sent an inconspicuous young man to stay with us for the next couple of days. I’ve put him to work helping T.C. with his homework. I called the school and got some assignments. There was one creepy thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

“The principal’s office said that a man had called, someone saying he was his father. He said he was going to pick him up after school. Roger is still in Windsor, and he didn’t call.”

“Someone’s looking for him, or the glove. The break-in wasn’t a coincidence.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I’m not too fond of it myself, but we’re well protected.”

“Good. I’ll call you from the ballpark and see you when I get home.”

“Okay. Don’t worry.”

I was working on my story when Jake Watson wandered by.

“What have you got?”

“Bereaved widow ponders the meaning of life and death, while small son with big blue eyes wonders where his daddy’s gone. And she’s not pondering it anywhere else but the
Planet
.”

“That’s my girl.”

“Right. Am I covering alone tonight?”

“No. Glebe’s going to be there to do a column. Do you need any more help?”

“At some point I will. You’re working me pretty hard these days.”

“I’ll make it up to you when the season’s over.”

“If I last that long.”

“You can do it, kid.”

“Not if you don’t leave me alone and let me finish this heart-rending piece of work.”

“I’ll buy you a beer when you’re done.”

“You’re on.”

I’d finished by three-thirty and Jake and I adjourned to the Final Edition, the bar on the main floor of the
Planet
building. It was full of the drunken dregs of the lunch crowd, complaining about their editors’ insensitivity, churlishness, and general stupidity. The same scene was played out by the same crowd almost every day. We managed to get the waitress’s attention and ordered a couple of beers, cold and fast.

“That was a tough one. I like Sandi Thorson. She’s going through a hard time.”

“I’m surprised at your sentimentality, Kate.”

“This cactus-like exterior hides a sensitive flower underneath, boss. You know that.”

“Yeah, sure. What else have you got? Any line on the killer?”

“None I can write about yet, but there’s some interesting stuff I can use after it’s over.”

I told him what Munro had told me and what I’d been able to dig up about blackmail. I also told him that I had recognized Kelsey’s voice on the tape from Sanchez’s apartment. Jake was a friend as well as a boss, and I trusted him absolutely. He wouldn’t betray a confidence, and I needed him as a sounding board.

“The problem is, none of it hangs together. Thorson appears to have had a motive, but if he killed Sanchez, who killed Thorson? And it certainly couldn’t have been Thorson in Sally’s apartment last night.”

“Have you talked to Munro today?”

“Not yet. I want to talk to Joe Kelsey first.”

“Are you sure? You’re taking a risk.”

“Not at the ballpark. There are lots of people around. Besides, I know it couldn’t be Joe.”

“Just be careful.”

I finished my beer, stood up, and saluted.

“Yessir, boss. I’ll talk to you later.”

I went back to the office and picked up a phone message from Andy Munro. No more “Staff Sergeant Munro,” eh? I put it in my pocket and left for the ballpark.

I went immediately to the Titan clubhouse, which the police had reopened. No Joe. I went into the players’ lounge, which was empty. I heard noises from the weight room and poked my head around the corner. Joe was there, alone, working on one of the machines.

“Hi, Kate,” he grunted. “I got your message. Sorry I didn’t call back.”

“That’s okay. I knew where to find you. Can we talk?”

“For a minute.”

I didn’t know how to begin.

“This is a bit tough, Preacher. We’ve got to talk, but you must trust me. What you tell me never has to come out.”

He stopped working the machine and picked up a towel.

“Yeah?”

“I heard a tape of the messages left on Sultan’s answering machine Saturday night. The police wanted to see if I recognized any of the voices. I lied and told them I didn’t.”

He wiped his face and sat down on a bench.

“They’re going to ask you about it eventually. They know which players were at Brandy’s that night.”

“What if I did call?”

“Preacher, was Sultan blackmailing you?”

“Why are you asking?”

“I know he was blackmailing at least one other player. Was that why you were calling him? You said something about having the money. If it wasn’t blackmail, the police think it was for drugs. Which was it?”

“Not drugs, Kate. I’m through with that. I swear it.”

I wanted to believe him.

“You’ve got to talk, Joe. They’re suspicious of you because of the bat and because of your fight with Steve. This is no time to be hiding anything.”

I put my hand on his arm.

“Kate, believe me. There are some things I have to hide.”

“And Sultan found out?”

He nodded, and was about to speak when Stinger Swain walked in. He stopped, then leered at us.

I stepped back, embarrassed.

“Looking for some Christian counselling, Miss Lonelyhearts? Or is God’s own Superstar looking for a bit of ink? Or are you both looking for a little privacy?”

“Shut up, Stinger.” Kelsey brushed past him and left the room.

“Do you work at being an asshole, Swain?”

“Watch your language, Katie, baby. You wouldn’t want me to think you’re not a lady, now, would you?”

He was still laughing, a horrible cackling sound, when I went out the door.

I looked for Joe, but he was shagging fly balls in right field. He avoided me until it was time for the press to leave the field.

Gloves Gardiner had nothing new to tell me.

“Look, Gloves. I know that Sanchez was blackmailing at least two players. That could be why he was killed, but I’d bet big money it was neither of the two I know about. Are you sure you can’t think of anything a little bit out of the ordinary that might help?”

“There’s one thing. Karin and I were out for dinner a couple of weeks ago and we ran into Sultan having a drink with David Sloane. Sultan was drinking, that is, not Sloane.”

“That’s an odd couple.”

“Yeah, especially in Toronto. David usually spends all his time at home with his family.”

“Thanks. I’ll check it out.”

“Just split the reward with me when you’ve captured the killer.” He grinned.

“Will do.”

Sloane was at the bat rack.

“I need to talk to you,” I began.

“Not now. I’ve got batting practice.”

“It’s important. Just a few minutes.”

“Make it fast.”

If that’s the way he wanted it, I wouldn’t waste time.

“Why was Sultan Sanchez blackmailing you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Sanchez was blackmailing you. I think it may have something to do with his murder.”

“And I think you’re nuts.”

“You don’t know what I’m talking about?”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

He chose a bat and trotted to the batting cage. He was staring at me a few moments later, but he looked away quickly when I caught his eye. I couldn’t read his expression.

The law finally caught up with me in the press dining room. Andy Munro moved some dirty plates to the next table and sat down across from me.

“You’re not very good at returning phone calls.”

“I was busy. Besides, I thought you’d be here.”

“And here I am.”

“What’s up? You called me.”

“I was just checking to see if you were all right.”

“I didn’t know the police were so concerned about their witnesses.”

“The police aren’t. I am.”

“Oh.”

“We’ve found out who made that call, by the way. It was Joe Kelsey. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize his voice. Isn’t he a friend of yours?”

“Well, I guess all the background noise . . .”

“Come off it.”

“I wasn’t sure.”

“I can appreciate that you want to protect your friends, but did it ever occur to you that you might just protect the wrong one? And you might discover your mistake too late for your own good.”

“I’m not protecting anyone.”

“Besides, I don’t appreciate your mistrust.”

“But—”

“We’re not in the business of fabricating evidence and harassing innocent people, no matter what you think.”

“I didn’t—”

“You didn’t what? Didn’t lie to me? I’ve talked to Kelsey. He told me about your conversation. Who are you, Nancy Drew? Leave it to the professionals. It’s a dangerous business, and I don’t need amateurs messing up my investigation. So butt out.”

I tried to defend myself.

“I’m in the investigation business, too, you know. I’m a reporter trying to get a story, that’s all.”

“Just don’t keep things from me anymore.”

Moose’s arrival saved me from making promises.

“You’ve got a call in the press box, Kate.”

It was Sally.

“Bad news, Kate. Last night’s prowler came back sometime today. He went through your place, too. It’s a mess. The police are here now.”

“Oh, no. Is anything gone?”

“I don’t think so. He just dumped all the drawers and went through everything.”

“Damn. Is Elwy all right?”

“Yes. But it looks like your friend Andy was guarding the wrong thing. He should have put one of his people here instead of with me and T.C.”

“Exactly. I just might mention it to him, too.”

Munro was in the corridor. I didn’t waste any time.

“Where were we? Oh, right. You were telling me to leave things to the professionals? Does one of your professionals want to put my house back together? While your professionals were busy doing whatever it is professionals do, my house was being trashed.”

“Damn.”

“So don’t give me any more crap about not getting involved. I’m involved.”

Not a bad exit line. I turned and marched back into the press box, only ruining the effect slightly by tripping on a wastebasket on the way to my seat.

“What was that all about?” asked Moose.

“Stupid cop tries to tell me how to do my job when he can’t even do his own.”

“What happened?”

I told him about the break-in.

“And that insufferable jerk tells me to keep out of his precious investigation.”

“He may be a jerk, but he’s probably right, Kate. You could get into trouble. It could be dangerous.”

“So could driving to work, Moose. That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop doing it.”

“I just don’t want to see you in any danger.”

“I’m a big girl. I’m not going to get into anything I can’t handle.”