The Dead Pull Hitter (11 page)

There was a minute of silence before the game began. The Titan starters stood at their positions with their heads bowed, caps held over their hearts, facing the flags in centre field. Each wore a double black armband on his left sleeve. The other Titans and the Tigers lined up in front of the dugouts in the same pose.

It was eerie. The stadium was filled to the rafters, as usual for a series against the Tigers. There were dozens of buses from Detroit in the parking lot, and almost as many fans wore Tigers colours as wore those of the Titans. But they were all so quiet, even after the game began.

“Spooky, isn’t it?” Jeff Glebe sat down next to me.

“It sure doesn’t feel like a ballgame.”

By the seventh inning, the game seemed to have gone on forever. Flakey Patterson was behind most of the hitters, and he littered the basepaths with runners in every inning. Helped by good fielding and luck, he held the Tigers to two runs, but the Titans couldn’t score. The fans didn’t seem to mind. They stayed quiet. These games didn’t matter, except to the Tigers, who wanted second-place money.

Red was resting a lot of the starters, but he didn’t want the team to go into a losing streak to end the season. They had to keep sharp to get into the World Series.

The crowd stirred when David Sloane led off the sixth with a double. Billy Saunders, the Tigers manager, walked to the mound signalling for his right-handed reliever, with three right-handed hitters due up.

I took advantage of the pause in the action to go get a cup of tea. Moose handed me a slip of paper when I got back to my seat. I looked at it, then stuck it in my pocket while Moose watched, none too subtly. Andy Munro could wait.

Gloves walked. Billy Wise was due up, but he was called back to the dugout. Orca Elliott took his place.

“Why doesn’t he leave Wise in to bunt?” Jeff Glebe was second-guessing immediately.

“Red doesn’t believe in bunting. It’s against his religion,” I said. “Orca only leads the team in double plays.”

As I spoke, Elliott rolled an easy grounder to the Tigers second baseman, who bobbled it, trying to throw to second before he had it in his hand, and the bases were suddenly loaded.

“Horseshoes up his ass,” I said.

The fans, glad for an excuse, began to cheer and clap their gloved hands, making a strangely muffled din. There were a couple of pitchers up in the bullpen, a right-hander and a left-hander, but Eddie Carter, due up, was a switch hitter. Saunders stayed put.

He probably regretted it when Carter took the fastball they tried to sneak by him and lined it into the power alley in right centre field. While two outfielders chased it all three runners scored and Carter ended up on third. He scored on Alex Jones’s sacrifice fly to the warning track in right. With two out, Kid Cooper, playing in Washington’s place, hit a home run to give Patterson a three-run cushion.

Flakey used every bit of it. It took a bases-loaded double play in the ninth to end the game. Final score, 5–4 Titans.

With all the late action, it took me longer than usual to file my first story and get down to the clubhouse. When David Sloane saw me coming, he raised his hand, palm out, in a dismissive gesture.

“Not in the clubhouse,” he said.

“Lighten up, Sloane. I’m just trying to do my job.”

“Do it somewhere else.”

He took his street clothes out of his locker on hangers and, in full uniform, marched to the trainer’s room to change. Moron.

“You didn’t miss much,” said Toby King. “He thanked the Lord for giving him the opportunity to help the team.”

I made a few retching sounds and went to see Eddie Carter, who was talking with Kid Cooper and Tiny Washington.

“Mr. Speed and Mr. Power, how are you both tonight? You better watch out, Tiny. The Kid’s after your job.”

“He can have it, soon enough. I hear you’re playing detective these days.”

“No. I just don’t know how to keep my nose out of a good story.”

“You be careful, hear?”

“Can you gents give me a couple of quotes about the game?”

“Like I said all along, when the leaves turn brown, we’ll be wearing the crown,” Eddie said, posing regally, a towel wrapped around his shoulders.

“But you better remember who’s the king around here, Carter.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Carter said, bowing in Washington’s direction.

Joe Kelsey sat at his locker, on the other side of Carter, quietly ignoring the foolery.

“Hey, Preacher. Don’t worry. It’s going to be fine.” I spoke quietly.

“Thanks,” he smiled nervously.

“Take care. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sure, Kate. Have a good night.”

“You, too, Preacher. Sleep well.”

I was the last one in the press box by the time I filed my story, well after midnight. I locked my equipment in a cupboard at the back of the room and took the elevator down to field level.

It was dead quiet in the corridor to the players’ exit. Even the cleaners had packed it in for the night. My footsteps clattered hollowly in the stillness. Just past the entrance to the Titan clubhouse I heard another sound. It was just an echo, really, as if someone had dropped something. I walked more quickly.

Then there was another sound, the suggestion of footsteps. I stopped, looking back over my shoulder. No one. I laughed. I was getting spooked.

Suddenly a baseball flew past my head and crashed into the gate at the end of the corridor. Another bounced next to my right ankle. I moved closer to the wall and ran. It was only a few more yards to the exit, but by the time I got there, half a dozen balls had just missed me. Going through the gate, I heard ghostly laughter.

I ran to my car, fumbling in my purse for my keys. Once inside, I locked the doors, turned on the engine, and hit the road, tires squealing. I was having trouble breathing. Once I got to King Street I pulled over until I stopped shaking, then lit a cigarette and pulled back into the road.

I noticed a car behind me, the only other car on the street. I speeded up and ran a red light at Bathurst, then turned north on Spadina and east on Adelaide, narrowly missing a drunk on his way home from his local. There was no sign of the other car. Either I’d lost him or he hadn’t been following me in the first place. Probably the latter. I would laugh at myself in the morning. All I wanted to do was get home and pour myself a stiff drink. I only hoped the prowler had left my liquor cabinet alone.

I pulled into the garage and sat for a moment before I got out of the car. Remembering something I’d once read about self-defence, I clutched my keys in my right fist, the points extending between my fingers. Fat lot of good that would be if I was attacked, but it made me feel I was doing something.

I walked quickly up the front steps and was just putting my key in the lock when a shadow on the corner of the porch moved towards me.

“Get back or I’ll scream,” I shouted. “I have a fierce guard dog inside.”

So, it wasn’t original. The shadow chuckled.

“Nice try, Kate. Except I already know Elwy.”

I stood, frozen with fear, as he moved into the light. It was Andy Munro. I burst into tears.

“Hey, hey, stop that. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

He had the panicked look men get when faced with tears. He took the keys out of my hand and unlocked the front door. He put his arm around me and led me inside.

The door to Sally’s apartment opened, and a uniformed constable looked out. Andy reassured him and helped me up the stairs.

Elwy was waiting in the living room, meowing indignant questions. Andy took my bag, put it on the coffee table, and let me down onto the couch. Elwy came and sat on my lap.

“You need a drink.” Andy went into the kitchen. I sat snuffling, cuddling Elwy and wishing I’d learned how to cry pretty. I never could figure out how Audrey Hepburn managed it. When I cry, my eyes get puffy and my nose runs. By the time Andy returned, I was calm and, I hoped, not too horrible-looking.

“Do you want to tell me what that was all about? I don’t usually have this effect on women.”

I hiccupped, trying to laugh.

“I think I let my imagination run a little bit wild. Everyone has been telling me to be careful, you included, and it finally got to me.”

I told him about the incident with the baseballs, which seemed to worry him; but by the time I’d described my hair-raising ride through the empty streets of downtown Toronto, we were both giggling.

“You’re lucky you didn’t get arrested for dangerous driving.”

“But I was awesome. Just like James Bond.”

That turned him serious again.

“But you’re not James Bond. You’re Kate Henry. A reporter, not a secret agent. If you go around bursting into tears at the sight of a policeman, what would you have done if it was the murderer, faint?”

“I don’t faint, you sexist. I merely cried out of relief. If you had been someone else, I would have . . .”

“Yes?”

“Screamed. And the officer you’ve got in with Sally and T.C. would have heard me.”

“In this case, yes. What if the crazy at the stadium with the baseballs had wanted to do something more than scare you. What then?”

“I can run fast.”

“You can outrun a baseball? Ben Johnson can’t outrun a baseball.”

“I’m in good shape. I could get away.”

“Fine. You go on believing that if you want to. But do me a favour. Don’t hang around empty ballparks until this thing’s settled. Can’t you write your stories somewhere else?”

“I guess.” I yawned.

“I’d better go. It’s getting late.”

“And I’ve got to clean this place up.”

“That can wait. You look exhausted.”

“Right. I’ll do it in the morning.”

“Don’t go out until you’ve talked to me. I’ll call at ten. Promise?”

I nodded, yawning again, and walked him to the door.

“Any problem, just shout. I’ll speak to Constable Santos before I leave.”

We stood awkwardly at the door for a moment. Andy put out his hand. I took it.

“Take care,” he said, finally, and left.

“I will,” I said, to the closed door.

I was carrying the glasses to the kitchen when there was a soft knock on the door. I went back.

“Who is it?”

“Andy.”

I opened the door.

“Um, I came back because I forgot to say what I came over here to say. I wanted to apologize for yelling at you at the stadium. You wouldn’t return my call, so I came to say it in person. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“Apology accepted.”

“But I was right, damn it. Wasn’t I?”

He started down the stairs before I had a chance to answer, a smug smile on his face. I locked myself in again and picked up Elwy from the couch.

“Come on, my fat friend. I need a cuddle tonight, and you’ll have to do.”

I didn’t open my eyes until nine-thirty, when the Elwy Wake-up Service went into phase two. Phase one involves sitting on the next pillow, staring at me and purring loudly. In phase two, he walks around on my body. If that fails, he nips my ear. I’ve never slept soundly enough to experience phase four.

I groaned and cursed a bit, but Elwy was right. It was time. I looked out the window. Rain.

I went down and knocked on Sally’s door, but they’d already left. The papers were on the bottom step. My exclusive with Sandi Thorson got good play. Jimmy Peterson had a piece from the police desk on page one, too. The other papers didn’t have anything for me to worry about.

I was on my second cup of tea, engrossed in the crossword puzzle, when the phone rang. It was just ten. Nice to find a man of his word. I answered in my best voice, the way I used to do when I was a teenager.

What a waste. It was Tiny Washington.

“We want to talk to you, Kate. Preacher, Gloves, and me. It has to be private.”

“Okay. Where do you want to meet?”

“Can we come to your house?”

“Sure, I guess so.”

“We’ll be there in half an hour.”

I had just given him directions and hung up when the phone rang again.

“Good morning, Kate. How are you?”

“Much better, thanks, Andy.”

“What are your plans today?”

I crossed my fingers. I wasn’t really going to lie. “I’m not going anywhere for a while. I don’t even know if there will be a game tonight if this rain keeps up, but I’ll be here until this afternoon, for sure, cleaning up.”

“Okay. I’ll check with you later. Call me if there are any problems.”

“I will. Andy, one question, if you don’t mind. Did you find anything in Sultan’s safety deposit box?”

“No. Just some contracts and financial papers. It looks like the murderer got whatever it was that Sanchez was using for blackmail. Either that or it was hidden somewhere else entirely. If we could find it, we might have a few new suspects.”

“Who do you have on the list so far?”

“Of blackmail victims or suspects?”

“Either, or both.”

“We know Kelsey was paying him off, and Thorson. Thorson paid $5,000 a month, Kelsey $2,000. But Sanchez was putting more than $10,000 in the bank each month.”

“Try David Sloane. He was seen with Sultan in a bar here. He doesn’t drink, he doesn’t spend time away from his family in Toronto, and he couldn’t stand Sanchez.”

“Thanks for the tip. Anything else?”

“No, not really. Except that I don’t much like being a target for this guy. Isn’t there anything else you can do? Can’t you set a trap for him with the glove?”

“Not without putting the child in danger.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“I have someone watching your house in case he tries to come back, but I don’t think he will. He was pretty thorough last night.”

“Tell me about it,” I said, distractedly. I hadn’t realized there might be cops around. I thought they were with Sally and T.C. When I hung up I went to the front window. Sure enough, a cruiser was parked up the street. Damn.

I dialled Tiny’s number. No answer. It was the same at Joe’s. Karin Gardiner told me Gloves had gone out. It was too late to head them off. I’d have to get them inside quickly.

I watched for Tiny’s car while cleaning up the living room. When I saw the Cadillac coming down the street I went to the front door and rushed them upstairs into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry about that, but there’s a policeman watching the house.”

“Oh, man. What have you got us into?” Tiny was upset.

“I tried to call when I realized, but you’d already left. They think the murderer might have broken in here last night.”

“That explains the mess,” Gloves said. “I thought you were just a bad housekeeper.”

“Why are they here, Kate?” Tiny asked.

“I can’t tell you right now. Please don’t ask.”

I poured coffee and sat at the table with them.

“What did you want to see me about?”

“Preacher told me what you were talking about yesterday,” Tiny said. “Then I talked to Gloves, and we decided that we should tell you everything we know.”

“Why not go to the police?”

“There are things we’d rather not talk to them about,” said Gloves, “things that could get some of the players in trouble. That’s their business, but it might help find the murderer.”

“Go ahead.”

“You’ve treated us fairly as long as I’ve been with the team. So you can decide what we should do.”

“Some of it has to come out eventually, Gloves.”

“But you’ll keep quiet about it now?”

“I can’t write anything until the murderer has been caught unless the police want to release it.”

“All right. What do you think is going on here?”

“There are two possibilities. One has to do with the blackmail,” I said, looking at Joe Kelsey, “which I know is going on. The other has to do with drugs, which is what I can’t really talk about. But there is a drug connection with Sanchez, too. One or the other has to be connected with the murders. Or both.”

“Preacher, why don’t you tell Kate what you know,” Tiny said in a tone of voice that was more an order than a request. Kelsey squirmed, but began.

“There was something I did when I was in the minor leagues that I’m ashamed of. If it came out, my career would be over. I’ve never told anybody about it.”

“We don’t want to know,” Tiny said.

“Well, last spring, I found an envelope in my locker. It had something in it from that time. Something that got into the papers down in Tennessee. There was a note with it, telling me to come to the batting tunnel early the next morning.”

He paused. Tiny and Gloves nodded encouragement at him.

“Sultan was there, working in one of the cages. He didn’t say anything at first. After I’d been waiting for about five minutes he asked me to help him load the pitching machine. While we were doing it, he said, ‘Sure is interesting what you can find in old newspapers.’

“Then he told me that it would cost me two thousand dollars a month to keep quiet.”

“So you paid him?”

He shrugged.

“Some guys spend that much on tips. I had the money. It was better than losing my career. But the money wasn’t the problem. I hated knowing that he knew. Every month when the payment was due he would look at me a lot when he was talking to people and laugh, just to show me how easy it would be.”

“The bastard. Do you know of anyone else?”

“It’s not the kind of thing that comes up in conversation, Kate,” Gloves said, a bit exasperated.

“I know he was blackmailing Thorson. Sandi told me. And from what you said yesterday, Gloves, maybe David Sloane, too. I tried to ask him about it, but he wasn’t saying anything.”

“Sloane? What’s Sultan have on him? Drinking coffee?” Tiny was incredulous.

“Maybe he was caught exposing himself,” I said.

“But you don’t seriously think that Sloane did it?” Gloves said, when we’d stopped laughing.

“He has a powerful temper,” said Tiny. “But what about Thorson? Why was he killed?”

“The police haven’t found the blackmail material yet. It wasn’t in Sultan’s condo or his safety deposit box, so they think whoever killed him took it. What if Thorson killed Sultan, then tried to blackmail Sloane with the evidence he found?”

“Did Thorson say anything to you, Joe?”

“No.”

“Kate, you talked about drugs. What did you mean by that?”

“I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

“Come on, Kate. We’re trusting you.” I decided to follow my instincts.

“Tiny, remember on Saturday, when Sultan gave T.C. his glove?”

“Yeah. He was trying to show me up.”

“Whatever. On Monday night, T.C. gave me the glove to fix because one of the laces was coming loose. I found baggies full of cocaine inside the padding. Yesterday was the second time someone broke in here trying to find it.”

“Who knew he had it?”

“You were there when Sultan gave it to him, Tiny. I don’t know who else saw. But he had it at the ballpark Sunday. Any number of people could have seen it. He was getting autographs.”

“I signed that glove on Sunday,” Tiny said. “I told him he’d never be able to catch anything with it.”

“I did, too,” Kelsey said. “I didn’t really notice anything about it.”

“Me, too,” said Gloves.

“Exactly. So did Stinger, Alex, and Mark Griffin. And heaven knows who else noticed it.”

“So where does Thorson fit into that one? He was killed Sunday night.”

“Damned if I know.”

We’d put four brains together and come up with zilch. “Let’s forget motive for now,” I said. “What about opportunity? Who has keys to the stadium?”

“You mean who could have been there Sunday night? Any of us could have hung around,” Gloves said. “And some of us have keys. I got one from Moose one time when I had to go in on an off-day. I never gave it back. It could have been me.”

“Or me,” Tiny said. “No one has ever worried about keys. Quite a few of the guys have them.”

“That doesn’t really matter, come to think of it,” I said. “The way that clubhouse lock was taped, anyone who bought a ticket to Sunday’s game could have hidden in the stadium and got into the clubhouse later.”

I was making more coffee when the knock came on the door. I’ll rephrase that. I was making more coffee when the irate pounding came on the door. I wasn’t surprised when I opened it.

“Staying home this morning to clean up, are you? And you’ve invited a few friends in to help you, I suppose. They look like they’re really handy with a broom.”

Staff Sergeant Munro stormed into the kitchen.

“Look. I am the policeman here. I am the one investigating these murders. I don’t tell you how to write stories, Kate. I don’t tell you guys how to play baseball. Because I’m an amateur at your jobs. Correct?”

“We were just . . .”

“Just what? You have coffee together often, do you? This is a regular occurrence, is it? Do me a favour. Don’t treat me like an idiot.”

The players had got up from the table as soon as Andy arrived. Now they were trying to sidle inconspicuously out of the door. It would have been funny any other day.

“We’ll see you at the ballpark later, Kate,” Tiny said.

“Thanks for the coffee,” said Gloves.

“Yeah, guys, thanks for dropping in.” I wished I could sneak out with them.

When they left, I turned on Andy angrily. The best defence is offence.

“What do you mean by barging in here?”

“What do you mean by lying to me?” He was shouting, too.

“I never lied to you.”

“You said you were going to stop playing detective.”

“I never did. And besides, I’m not playing detective. If they want to come and talk to me, they can. I didn’t
ask
them to come.”

“Don’t give me that crap.”

“Crap?! You want to talk crap?”

We were practically nose to nose, screaming, when the phone rang. I picked it up and barked a hello.

“Kate, it’s Moose. Are you all right?”

“I’m just fine,” I shouted.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Sorry.” I turned my back on Andy and lowered my voice. “What can I do for you?”

“I was just calling to tell you about the memorial service. If it’s a bad time you can call me back.”

“No, it’s fine. When’s the service?”

“Tomorrow, at three.”

“Where?”

“At the ballpark.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Thorson was Protestant, Sanchez was Catholic. We couldn’t hold it in a church. And we needed lots of room.”

“Moose, that is really tacky.”

“How can you say that? We’re going to do a very tasteful service.”

“All right, Moose, I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it. But, Moose?”

“Yes?”

“What if it’s still raining?”

“It’s not supposed to.”

“Whatever you say. Who’s conducting the service?”

“The mayor, Father Scanlon, a Spanish-speaking priest from Our Lady of Perpetual Help, and the Anglican archbishop. Some of the players will speak, too. We haven’t got a rabbi lined up yet.”

“Moose, you’re too much. See you later. You going to get the game in tonight?”

“We’re going to try. Get ready for a long night.”

“Is there likely to be batting practice?”

“I doubt it.”

“Okay, see you later. Thanks for calling.”

I hung up the phone and went to the stove.

“Coffee?”

“Please.”

I brought the mug to him, avoiding his eyes.

“Sugar’s on the table.”

“Thanks.”

I’m not sure who began to laugh first. Probably me. He looked so contrite.

“Let’s start again. How very nice of you to drop by, Staff Sergeant. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“I just happened to be in the neighbourhood.”

“Would it insult you if I said you are lying through your teeth?”

“I guess not. I came because I got a call telling me that three suspects had just arrived at your house. Why didn’t you tell me they were coming when I talked to you?”

“Who called? The guy across the street?”

“Yes, Constable MacPherson.”

“The boy scout from the ballpark the other day?”

“The very one.”

“Why?”

“To keep an eye on you.”

“Is this person going to follow me around? When did you plan to let me know?”

“I was going to tell you when I took you out for lunch.”

“When you . . .”

“And that was going to be when I just happened to drop by around lunchtime.”

He shrugged. I laughed.

“I give up.”

“I’ll pick you up at one.”