Helpless (20 page)

“Heck of a pickle you’ve got yourself in, Tom,” he said. “Did you speak with anybody?”

“Police tried to get me to sign a confession, told me I could go home if I did.”

“And?”

“And I didn’t sign it.”

“Good.”

“An agent from the FBI came to see me as well.”

“And?”

“And she was cute.”

“And.”

“And I didn’t say anything. Just that I’d speak only with my attorney.”

“Good man.”

“Tell me about Jill.”

“The social worker you’ve been working with is going to make a huge difference here,” Marvin said. “They’re not going to force her into state custody. She’s going to let her stay with Cathleen Wells until after your arraignment.”

“Good.”

“Maybe.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We’ll get to that in moment,” Marvin said.

“Is Murphy keeping his word?”

Marvin nodded. “They’ve had patrol cars pass by the Wellses’ house at random intervals, like he said he would. He’s taking your concern about her safety very seriously. I spoke with Jill, as well. She told me she’s staying indoors and won’t be alone for a second.”

Tom leaned back in his chair until the two front legs were elevated off the floor. “You’re looking good, Marvin,” he said. “Have you been doing the exercises I sent you?”

“That workout is pretty intense. But the results seem to be worth it.” Marvin patted his belly, which was still ample, but visibly less so.

“And the salt? Have you dropped the salt from your diet?”

“Gone. Well, mostly gone.”

“More potassium, less sodium. Remember that. And keep checking the labels. Amazing how much sodium they cram in there.”

“I think we should worry less about me and focus more on you. Deal?”

Tom wasn’t ready to take any deal. “Have you worked up the nerve to ask out Rebecca Bartholomew? I’m telling you, she’s a real catch.” This was stalling, but the pleasant chitchat was helping Tom relax.

Marvin smiled and seemed to understand Tom’s motivation. “No, but she did come up on my
Match.com
suggested matches,” he said. “I didn’t go through with it, though. Too nervous, I guess. Maybe in another ten pounds.”

“I’ll get you that ten. No problem.”

“Let’s win your case first, and then we can figure out my social life.”

Tom inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. It was time to get down to business. “I’m being set up,” he said.

“That’s our working premise.”

“It’s got to be Kip Lange.”

Marvin’s expression darkened. “Tom, I’m advising you not to implicate yourself in another crime. I don’t want to know any more about Lange. You’ve alerted the police to your concerns. That’s enough for now.”

“What about Murphy? The guy has been gunning for me from day one. Could he have planted the evidence just to make an arrest?”

“Anything is possible.”

“I don’t think it was a player. But I can’t be sure. A rival coach, maybe?”

“We’ve got a long road ahead of us, Tom. This is going to take time, and I’m not going to tell you that it’s going to be easy.”

“Marvin, can you tell me that you’re good at this sort of thing?”

“I’m good.”

“Tell me how we’re going to beat this,” said Tom.

“Do you remember the controversy around your state scoring title?”

“Sure. You found out that the state’s official statistician didn’t record all my goals.”

“Not only did he not record all your goals, but it was his kid who was nearest to you for the most scored in state history. And lo and behold, it was his kid who ended up with the title.”

“I’m liking the memory-lane trip, Marvin, but can you tell me what that’s got to do with my case?”

“Ask yourself, what is it about Marvin Pressman that made him start digging into that scoring record in the first place?”

“You thought it was bullshit,” Tom said.

“More than bullshit. I knew it was an outlier.”

“Outlier?” Tom said.

“You know, something that deviates from the norm. You being beat out by that kid, in my mind, was simply impossible. I knew it right away. He wasn’t even a senior. So I went back and watched all your games on tape and documented the date, time, and minute when you scored each goal. That’s how I figured out his daddy was cooking the official books so that his kid came out on top.”

“All very interesting, but how does this help me?”

“Why did Bjorn Borg generate more topspin with his backhand than any other player on tour?”

“Marvin, does it matter?”

“Because his backhand was almost like a hockey slap shot. It was that loose style that gave the ball its unique spin. Why can Rory Delap execute a longer throw-in that is more accurate than most corner kicks?”

“Why?” Tom said, going along with this thought train.

“It’s all in the way he throws the ball. Low, flat trajectory, tons of backspin, which counters gravity, even though his release is at a low angle.”

“And what does this have to do with my case, Marvin? Help me out here. I’m putting my life on the line with you.”

“What it means is that even though I’ve never tried a case exactly like yours, I’m really good at finding explanations for unusual events. I’m good at picking up insights that will make a jury nod their heads and say, ‘Hey, that does present us with some reasonable doubt here.’ I think it’s that wiring that gives my clients the edge. So the first rule of working with me is that you’ve got to trust me. Second rule ... See rule one.
Comprende?
”

Tom nodded. “Okay. So what do you know?” he asked.

Marvin reached behind him to close the door. “I’d like some privacy with my client,” Marvin said to the police officer standing guard. The door closed with a soft click. “Why don’t we start by you telling me what you know?”

Tom scoffed. “I have no idea. Somebody created these bogus blog posts claiming they were having sex with me. Supposedly, one of my players. The police turned it into a public spectacle by questioning my players about the post as a group. Nothing came of it. Then I gave Sergeant Murphy my school-issued laptop computer—”

“Gave it to him?”

“He asked for it, and I had nothing to hide. So yeah, I gave it to him. Then some girl sent me text messages with pictures attached. Naked pictures. Obviously, that’s part of the setup. I know that now. But at the time I thought it wasn’t related. I didn’t want to shine an even brighter spotlight on me, and subsequently on Jill. In hindsight, that was probably a mistake, because the next day someone used Facebook to say that they knew which player I was sleeping with. I got the police involved then, school officials, too. Now, why would I have done that if I was guilty? Doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe you knew the jig was up. Maybe the police think you were trying to make it look like it was a setup.”

“I don’t know what they’re thinking,” Tom said. “All I know is that a few days after somebody sent me that picture, I got arrested, booked, and questioned by the FBI about my connection to somebody named James Mann.”

Marvin nodded. “They’ve booked you on numerous counts of possession and trafficking of child pornography. Did she say why she wanted to talk to you?”

“She thinks I’m involved with a case she’s investigating. But that’s insane. I didn’t do any of what she said I did. It sickens me to even think about it.”

Marvin took off his glasses and stared through the lenses. He polished away some grime. “That’ll be the last time you tell me you’re innocent. Deal?” Marvin put his glasses back on.

“But—”

“I’m here. I’m your lawyer. I’m going to defend you.”

Tom had to close his eyes to keep from saying anything more.

Marvin continued, “Now, usually when I conduct my first interview, I don’t know much about the evidence, and the cops generally aren’t too forthcoming. But ...”

“But what?”

“But on my way in, Murphy said to me, ‘Don’t waste your time on this one, Pressman. The case is a slam dunk.’ So I say, ‘Why’s that?’ And he starts blabbing about things he probably shouldn’t be blabbing about.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the consent search you gave them for the laptop. And the evidence they found linking you to a sexual relationship with Lindsey Wells.”

“Lindsey Wells?”

“Apparently, they found a number of pictures of naked girls from Shilo on your computer, Tom. Including pictures of the girl you described to Rich Fox at that meeting. Murphy said ten are from Shilo and about thirty they couldn’t ID. He was being sarcastic when he said he’d ask your help with that.”

“Which I can’t do,” Tom said.

“Of course you can’t. But they think you recruited other people, kids probably, to help you obtain these images, which you then allegedly sold on the Internet.”

“And they found all this on my school-issued laptop?”

“Well, according to the forensic report—and again this is what Murphy told me—there is no sign of any tampering with the machine. No viruses. Nothing. It’s clean.”

“What about my home PC? They searched that, too.”

“I don’t know,” Marvin said. “But they also found alleged correspondences between you and Lindsey Wells. They got a search warrant, and a computer forensic team is over at Lindsey’s house right now, working on her machine.”

“But you told me Jill is staying there.”

“That’s why I said it might not be so good that Jill’s staying there. Murphy also showed me a printout of a Facebook message spreading around. Apparently, a Facebook user calling himself Fidelius Charm made a new profile after the company deactivated his old one. This person sent out a bunch of new friend requests and more messages after your arrest.”

“What did the message say?” Tom asked glumly.

“The secret is out,” Marvin said, reciting what he had read. “Coach Hawkins is sleeping with Lindsey Wells.”

Tom groaned and rubbed his manacled hands vigorously through his hair.

“My guess is the police are going to find out that it was Lindsey who made the initial blog posts about you. It’s one way to link you to the naked images of hers they found on your school computer. Don’t ask me how they’ll try and link you to the images of the other girls.”

“If Lindsey says anything to the police about our having a relationship, she’s lying. What does Jill know?”

“Tom, I haven’t spoken to Jill about it,” Marvin said. “But what I do know is that at your arraignment on Monday, you’re going to plead not guilty.”

“That won’t be a problem. Can I get out of here now?”

Marvin appeared glum. “The bail commissioner came down. Murphy sent him away. Bail commissioners almost never go against a police officer if they recommend you be detained until your arraignment.”

“What happens at my arraignment?”

“You’ll hear the charges against you. Bail will be set. You are presumed innocent. The judge should give you personal recognizance bail. They’re not supposed to bootstrap the current charges to your bail condition.”

“That sounds positive,” Tom said.

“But these are very serious charges,” Marvin said, “and just because a judge isn’t supposed to bootstrap current charges to bail conditions doesn’t mean they don’t. The prosecutor is probably going to argue that you’re a flight risk given your extensive military contacts and training. Bail could be high.”

“How high?”

“Fifty thousand,” Marvin said. “Maybe even a hundred.”

Tom’s mouth fell open. “I don’t have that kind of money. What happens if I can’t post bail?”

“You’ll sit in jail until your trial.”

“How long will that be?”

“Your case could come up for trial a year from now. Even longer.”

Chapter 30

W
oonsocket County was home to five district courthouses. The morning of Tom’s arraignment, a team of three officers entered his tiny cell to secure their prisoner for transport to the closest courthouse, in the bordering town of Millis. Sergeant Brendan Murphy oversaw the transport effort, with an expression, Tom thought, more appropriate for a big-game hunter than a police officer. Then again, Tom Hawkins was the biggest game in town, as evident from the hordes of media types, from Boston to southern Maine, closing around the disgraced coach as soon as he exited police headquarters. They shouted their questions and blinded Tom with camera lights, which they used despite the bright, cloudless morning.

Tom decided not to conceal his face from the onslaught of photographers and TV news crews documenting his every step. Whenever he’d seen people hiding their faces under hoods or jackets, Tom always thought they looked guilty of something.

On the short walk to the waiting police car, Tom’s thoughts drifted back to Kip Lange and what he had done to protect Kelly and Jill almost sixteen years ago.

Had Kelly told Lange that he’d been the one to hide the drugs?

Tom felt certain the man in the woods that night was Kip Lange. But that certainty left him with two vital questions he couldn’t answer. What did Lange want? And what did Lange know?

Marvin had some friends, former cops who did investigative work for him from time to time. To help ease Tom’s worry about Jill, Marvin had coordinated a 24/7 watch over his daughter until after his arraignment. No way would Tom be able to afford to keep up that watch if he didn’t make bail. According to Marvin’s report, the PIs hadn’t seen anybody lurking around Cathleen Wells’s house. They’d been watching it nonstop for the last forty-eight hours. No prowlers. No strange cars. Nothing. If Lange was going to make a move on Jill, it would have been while Tom was locked up. Soon he’d be out on bail, ending what would have been Lange’s best opportunity to get to his daughter.

Why didn’t Lange take a shot?

Tom could think of only one answer to that question. Lange’s plan wasn’t to kidnap Jill.

He was going to blackmail Tom.

Tom’s police escort drove to the back of the Millis District Courthouse. The parking lot was unusually full, even for a Monday morning. If the police didn’t have designated spots for cruisers, they might not have had a place to park. Tom didn’t know the type of car Marvin Pressman drove, but felt certain that his lawyer was among the early arrivals.