Three Strikes and You're Dead (31 page)
Read Three Strikes and You're Dead Online
Authors: Jessica Fletcher
“I assume we’ll find out soon enough,” I said.
A particularly loud clap of thunder caused us all to wince and look up into the increasingly threatening sky. I felt a raindrop on my nose. “I think it’s time we got inside,” I said.
As we approached the entrance, I stopped and pointed to a Dumpster thirty feet away. A few stray pieces of yellow crime scene tape fluttered from it in the breeze. “That must be where the murder weapon was found,” I said. “The aluminum bat.”
“That’s right,” Buddy said. “The cover must have broken off. They’d better get it fixed before garbage piles up and flows over the top. Great for the birds, though,” he said with a chuckle.
Those who’d already arrived were mingling in the team’s locker room when we walked in. A row of benches fronted the lockers and some of the players were already seated. Murph stood by his locker, twirling the dial of his combination lock. The president of the Rattlers’ fan club, whom I knew only by his first name, Lou—surely Dweeb wasn’t his last name—had grabbed a seat at the end of one bench in the midst of the players. He had his signature Hawaiian shirt on and a Rattlers baseball hat worn backwards, the fashion of the day with young people.
Harrison Bennett waited near the door. He was immaculately dressed, as usual, a patrician figure lording over his domain. He was alone, and despite all that had transpired over the past few days, I felt a certain sympathy for him. No matter how much money he’d managed to accumulate, and regardless of the power he generated in the community and within his own family, this was a man who would always be alone, isolated from those human qualities that bring us love and respect, and inclusion in the human race. Even though they owed their minor-league jobs to H.B., the Rattlers players, who undoubtedly feared his wrath, were scornful of the man in private. A sad legacy.
“I don’t see Sylvester Cole,” I said to Jack, as we took an empty bench. “Did you call him?”
“I did exactly what you asked me to do, Jess. I told him there was going to be a team meeting here and asked him to meet me. He said he would.”
“I assume he asked why you wanted him here.”
“Sure. He asked, but I said I’d explain it to him later. Of course, I’d be more comfortable knowing
why
I asked him to meet me.”
why
I asked him to meet me.”
“He might have some light to shed on what happened to Junior Bennett,” I said.
“You think he knows something that would point to the real killer?”
“Yes,” I said. “I think he does.”
Buddy Washington clapped his hands and asked for everyone’s attention. There was a lot of shuffling and quips between the players, but they eventually settled down. Buddy turned to Bennett. “Want to start us off, Mr. Bennett?” he said.
Bennett looked at me, turned to his manager and said, “Not at the moment. You go ahead, Buddy.”
“Okay then,” Buddy said, “listen up. Mr. Bennett called this meeting. I got some announcements for you, like where to send your off-season addresses if you want to find out if we want you back. Then H.B. wants everyone’s lockers cleaned out. No dawdling on this.”
“Now?” Carter asked, amid rumbles of complaint from his teammates.
“Couldn’t we do this tomorrow?” Sam said. “I’ve got a date tonight.”
His teammates whooped. “What’s this date look like?” Murph shouted.
“She must need glasses if she wants to go out with him,” said Nassani.
“Or a guide dog,” another player put in.
“Very funny. Very funny,” Sam said.
“I know, I know,” Buddy said, holding his hands in a defensive position. “But let’s just get it done and—”
Carter leaned forward to talk to Jack. “You here to empty out Ty’s locker, Judge?” he asked.
Jack nodded.
“I could have done that for you. You didn’t have to come yourself.”
“And I wanted to see what a baseball locker room looked like,” I said. “The judge said this was a good time.”
Carter turned back to Buddy, who was making announcements, just as Sylvester Cole walked into the room.
“Hello, Sylvester,” Buddy said. “Didn’t expect to see you.”
“Didn’t expect to be here myself,” Cole said, taking a seat next to Jack and leaning close to his ear to say something. Jack wiggled his fingers, a nonverbal response that indicated they’d talk later.
Buddy glanced at his boss, as if waiting for him to take over the meeting before he released the players to clean out their lockers. Buddy’s expression mirrored his confusion. The same question he’d posed outside was obviously on his mind at this moment: Why had H.B. called this last-minute meeting? The owner had told Buddy he wanted to address the team about some issue. What was it? Had it been a ploy by Bennett just to get the locker room cleaned out? What was going on here?
Some of the players began to talk among themselves, darting glances at Buddy and H.B.
Bennett cleared his throat and came to Buddy’s side. “What I have to say,” he said haltingly, “has to do with my son’s death.”
The voices in the locker room hushed immediately.
“I know that none of you like me, and probably most of you didn’t give a damn about Junior or the way he died. But I think Mrs. Fletcher might change a few minds.”
All eyes turned in my direction.
“I want you to listen carefully to what she has to say.” Bennett nodded at me and stepped back. I stood, straightened my skirt, and went to the front of the room.
“Thank you for coming here on such short notice,” I said. “I wouldn’t have asked Mr. Bennett to call this meeting unless there was a very good reason for it, and murder, I think, ranks high on any list of good reasons. Junior Bennett’s murder was a tragedy that didn’t have to happen. It’s devastated his family, and has had an impact on everyone in this room.” I allowed my gaze to wander over the assembled, stopping briefly at each face, each set of eyes, finally coming to rest on Carter Menzies. He looked away and shifted in his chair.
“Junior Bennett was killed with an aluminum baseball bat,” I said. “You, Carter, were the last person to have one in your possession at the Crazy Coyote, yet when I asked you if you’d seen it that night, you said no.”
He looked right and left at his teammates, none of whom said anything. “Um, I don’t remember.”
I pointed at the president of the Rattlers’ fan club. “Lou, who seems to live and die for the Rattlers, might remember. He’d brought a bat to the Crazy Coyote. Want to tell us why, Lou?”
Lou pushed himself up off the bench. “You know, I love this team,” he said. “I’m your biggest fan, even when you’re not nice to me. I know a lot of you make fun of me behind my back.”
Many of the players looked away, uncomfortable.
“But I don’t care. I just like hanging out with you guys. You’re the greatest. Even when you don’t win. But you did. We’re the champs!” He pumped a fist in the air, hoping for a cheer. No one responded.
“Lou,” I said. “Tell us about the bat.”
“Oh, okay. Sorry. I, um, brought my bat to the Coyote for Junior and all you guys to sign. But Junior didn’t want to do it just then. He would have done it later. I know he would. He was just in a bad mood. He was having a fight with his girlfriend. Anyhow, Carter took the bat and said he’d get Junior and the rest of you to sign it for me. You’re the best, Carter.”
Carter sat with his forearms resting on his knees, eyes trained on the floor. He swiveled his head to look at Lou. “Thanks, Lou.”
“And Lou,” I said, “was it an aluminum bat?”
“Yeah.”
“Carter.” I fixed the handsome young outfielder in my stare. “When I asked you and some of your teammates if anyone had seen the bat, you all said no. Was that true, Carter? Is Lou lying?”
Carter started to speak, stopped, shook his head. Finally he looked up at me. “No, Mrs. Fletcher. I saw the bat.”
“So you did take the bat from Lou and promise to get Junior to sign it. Isn’t that right, Carter?”
“That’s about right,” he said. “Yeah, that happened.”
“Which could mean you were the last person to have possession of that bat—the bat that turned out to be the weapon that killed Junior.”
His teammates began whispering to each other.
“Wait a minute,” Carter said. “Are you accusing me—?”
“I’m not accusing anyone right now. Don’t jump to conclusions. I’m simply tracing the possession of an aluminum bat.”
“Did Junior sign it?” Billy Nassani asked Carter.
“No,” Carter said. “I mean, I wanted to get Junior to sign it for the dweeb but—”
There were snickers around the room.
“I think you mean Lou, don’t you?” I said.
Carter blushed. “Yeah, sorry. I wanted to get Junior to sign it for Lou, but he wasn’t around.”
“What did you do with the bat?” I asked.
“Shoot. I don’t know. Oh, wait a minute. I remember all the guys running outside, so I went outside, too, and I brought it with me. That’s when I saw Ty deck Junior. I just left it propped up against the building and went to stop the fight.”
“And that’s the last time you saw it?” I asked.
“Yes. Right. Absolutely. I never saw it again.”
Billy Murphy, the team’s catcher, guffawed.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Carter asked angrily.
“Nothing, man. Chill.”
“It means,” I said, “that anyone who went into the parking lot to watch the fight between Junior and Ty—any one of you—could have picked up that bat.”
The ballplayers squirmed in their seats, eyes darting around the room.
I turned my attention to Lou, the fan club president. “Did you ever see the bat again, Lou?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, ma’am, I never did.”
“But someone did,” I said. “Whoever killed Junior found that bat outside the bar and used it as a murder weapon.”
There were nods and verbal sounds of agreement.
Sam spoke up. “I bet it was his girlfriend, that reporter, Karen Locke. She was fighting with him all night.”
“Speedster’s right,” Murph called out.
“Did any of you witness that fight?”
“I saw them argue,” Nassani said, “but I don’t know what it was about.”
“That’s right,” someone else said. “She and Junior didn’t get along. They were always fighting. Man, I never knew what he saw in her.”
I wondered whether Karen could hear this exchange through the walls of the locker room. I’d called her after returning to the Duffys’ home, told her of the meeting that was planned, and suggested she might want to come to the stadium.
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