Caught Off Guard Read online

  “I looked through crime blotters, and there are no reported break-ins or such at McVay’s house. So why was he so paranoid about what was outside?”

  Paulie scratched his chin. “Rethink it. Maybe it’s not about what’s outside but what’s inside.”

  I narrowed my eyes, pondering what he was implying. But the cameras being focused on what was inside would imply McVay was a prisoner in his own home. I had a hard time wrapping my mind around that.

  Paulie did a chin nod in the direction of the dogs. “Heads-up.”

  I turned to find Simon in the poop position, but before I could even dig a poop bag out of my pocket or take a step, the Dog Park Mafia had their Q-Beam flashlight on Simon’s poo.

  “Hello, dog owner,” the one without the light said. “Pay attention.”

  I gritted my teeth and walked across the park to scoop the poop. After dumping the tied bag into the garbage, I went back to Paulie. “You really should come at a different time.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not going to change my routine because of those two bossy battle-axes. You mentioned the wall of photos. I agree—it’s weird no pics were of family or a girlfriend. Dig around, but the answer might be something simple, like a bad breakup, and he recently scrubbed the house of her image.”

  True.

  Paulie continued, “And this Sweezy? What do you know about him?”

  RS was Rich Sweezy. “He used to be McVay’s agent. But McVay dropped him a few months ago and took on a different agent, a Nick Hutton. My dad said when this happened, the papers went nuts. Lots of speculation on social media, and not a lot good about Sweezy. Apparently, an unnamed source said McVay dropped Sweezy because he didn’t feel like Sweezy was representing him as much as he did the franchise. You know how people like to vilify on social media. Rumors of kickbacks and such floated around Sweezy.”

  Paulie nodded. “What do you know about the new agent?"

  “I researched him, and he’s the agent for a few other quarterbacks who were recently in contract negotiations, and he gets his clients fat cash.”

  “And—”

  I knew the next question before he asked because it had been the question I asked too. “Yes, McVay dropped his first agent in the middle of contract talks, and no, Sweezy doesn’t have another QB on his roster. Other NFL players, some baseball guys, and a few musicians.”

  Paulie gave me a quizzical look.

  “Yeah, I thought it odd about the musicians too. One is Lil’ Megalodon. So I looked into that.” I’d had Toby do it. “And Sweezy signed Lil’ Megalodon while he was in college around the same time he signed McVay. The way it looks on paper, Sweezy was building his roster any which way he could.”

  Paulie pointed a bony, crooked finger at me. “Don’t assume.”

  “I’m hypothesizing. I’ll only know for sure when I talk to him.” I’d gone over that with Lockett, and he agreed I should talk to Sweezy and gave me some questions to ask.

  Paulie said, “When you meet this guy, you have to know that he’s likely going to lie to you. He’ll give you just enough truth to pacify you.”

  “Why lie? It’s not like I’ll be accusing him of anything. Yet.”

  Paulie shrugged. “People can’t help themselves, and typically, they’ve got some skeletons in their closets they don’t want people to know about. You need to go through this world assuming everyone is lying. Even your client didn’t tell you the truth. I can promise you that.”

  Paulie’s words gave me a stomachache. I pressed a hand to my belly, hoping if I pushed against the queasiness, it would stop hurting. Thinking about AJ and lies and going through life suspicious of everyone didn’t sound fun or stress free. I blew out a breath.

  “Okay, I’m going to talk to the agent. I’m having my guy look into who stands to inherit McVay’s estate. What else?”

  “What about the coaches and the franchise owner?”

  I made like I was checking off a list. “Lockett’s talked to all the coaches and met with Austin Strong a few days ago. Strong is helping pay AJ’s defense bill.”

  “Has he actually sent the money, or is it all lip service?”

  I shrugged, unsure. “I don’t think we’ve got any money yet.”

  Paulie’s lip curled, and he spat on the ground. “These rich ones like to offer and never come through with it. Wanna make a bet? I’ll take lip service. You can have genuinely wants to help.”

  I waved my hand, passing on the bet. “Any other pearls of wisdom you have for me?”

  “Look at the neighbor. Sometimes, the path to the answer is the easiest and most obvious one.”

  I tried not to let my confusion show. “The neighbor?”

  Paulie shook his head at me in disgust. “I used to make a list of all the possible scenarios I could come up with for why a person was murdered, harassed, stalked, or what have you. I always started with the spouse or girlfriend. You’re already working on that. Then I’d add coworkers and such. But what I hate to admit is that in more than one case, my bad guy was the neighbor.” He shook his head sadly. “You’d be amazed at what pushes people over the edge. But start with an ex. They always have the best motives and means.”

  “The dumbbell weighed twenty-five-pounds. I can’t see a woman swinging that upward unless she was crazy strong and as tall as McVay.”

  Paulie chewed his gum and looked at me hard. “A possibility, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then put it on the list. I can see you’re already dismissing my idea of the neighbor.”

  “I’m not. I’m not sure I’m sold on it, though.”

  Paulie’s lips thinned in frustration. “Maybe they’ve had beefs with each other over time. Maybe McVay drives his speedboat late at night or blasts workout music or something. You won’t know until you talk to the neighbor.”

  “You’re saying McVay coached AJ, ate some Indian food, then AJ left, and McVay had a lot of beers, started working out—”

  “Maybe he stood on his deck and pissed in the neighbor’s yard. Who knows? But the neighbor comes over, pounds on the door, McVay answers, they get in an altercation, the neighbor picks up the dumbbell, and boom! Bashed McVay in the back of the head. Hell, the neighbor’s not even a Pioneers fan. So good riddance.”

  Crap. Paulie was making sense.

  I continued the story. “Horrified, he drops the dumbbell and leaves a gouge in the wood floor.” I’d uploaded the pictures from McVay’s house to a file on my phone, and I showed Paulie.

  He nodded. “Yeah, but there are a ton of other reasons that gouge could be there. Don’t forget that. You know what they say about cops who follow the evidence and cops who assume and see how the evidence fits?”

  I nodded. In Wind River, our police chief was the come-up-with-a-theory-and-see-how-that-evidence-fits kind of guy. Leo was a follow-the-evidence-trail kind of guy. Leo’s method had been my saving grace when I was a person of interest a few months earlier in the murder of a charter school principal.

  Paulie continued, “PIs are the same. Which one do you want to be?”

  “The open-minded kind.”

  Then make a list. Make lots of lists. How did that gouge get there? Scenarios of what happened that night. And let the people and clues tell you the story.”

  For all his crass mannerisms, Paulie was all right.

  He slapped me on the arm with the back of his hand. “Look, Lady Laser Light’s dog is dropping a turd bomb in the corner, and she’s too busy gabbing to see it. Man, I wish I had her light.”

  I grinned and said, “I came prepared for this moment. Watch this.” From my pocket, I took out a coach’s whistle I’d gotten from Precious.

  I gave a good blow, and the shrill, long shriek caused both dogs and people to look my way. When I had the owner’s attention, I used her words and said, “Pay attention. Your dog just emptied his bowels over there.”

  Paulie lifted a hand and pointed. “Just walk in that direction. I’m sure you’ll find it. It'
s large. I can see it from here.”

  She glared at us. Then she huffed and tromped off toward the pile.

  I said, “That felt good.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, it did.”

  I handed him the whistle. “For next time.”

  “She looked ticked.”

  I shrugged.

  He said, “Oh, I don’t care either. But let’s not turn our back on her as she might brain us with her flashlight. Never can tell with people.”

  Point taken. I added the neighbor to my interview list.

  16

  Tuesday

  I dropped Simon off at the apartment and decided to give Java Magic another try. My first visit had been a success, but talk around town was that the place was hit or miss. That made me curious, and besides, I liked getting coffee made by other people and considered it a luxury. But if the coffee wasn’t palatable, that was enough to put me in a bad mood. And I was currently teetering between a good or bad mood every day because of the case.

  Java Magic was unusually quiet. In the past, the coffee shop had been hopping, so much so that June, the previous owner, had kept a chalkboard of which groups were scheduled to use the tables in the shop at different times.

  But Java Magic was devoid of patrons. No writers were on their laptops. No moms were in workout gear, having just finished a yoga class next door.

  The owner, Lark Ogilvy, was leaning against the counter, her head resting on her hands and a frown on her face. One table was taken, and I was surprised to find Precious there with a man. His back was to me, so I didn’t recognize him—likely a business meeting for her. That didn’t stop me from approaching, but first I stopped near Lark to place an order.

  “Black coffee, please.”

  She shook her head. “Your aura is all out of whack. You need something calming to help it. How about a chamomile tea?”

  “How about a black coffee?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Didn’t you hear what I said about your aura? To not realign it—”

  “I’ll take my chances. I like living on the edge.” I tapped the counter twice to signal we were done then approached Precious.

  She glanced up at me, smiled, and sat straighter. “Sam, come here.” She waved me over and gestured at the man. “You remember Austin Strong. We met him—”

  “At the Pioneers game. Right. You’re the owner.” I held out my hand, and we shook.

  Precious gestured to Strong. “Austin’s considering hiring me to do some work with his company.”

  I nodded. They were having a business meeting.

  Strong was dressed in jeans and a V-neck sweater. An unwrapped scarf hung around his neck. He stood and pulled a chair over from another table. “Erika’s been telling me a little about the case. I’ve had a few conversations with AJ’s lawyer, Mr. Lockett, as well. If there’s anything I can do to help with the investigation, please let me know.”

  Precious said, “Austin’s offered to contribute to AJ’s defense fund.”

  I raised my eyebrows and glanced at Strong. “That’s very nice. So you think AJ is innocent, then?”

  Strong glanced at Precious then back at me. “I was just telling Erika here that it’s not for me to say if he’s innocent or not. That’s for the courts to decide. But I’ve met AJ a few times. He’s a nice kid. Squeaky clean. It’s hard for me to imagine he’d do something this horrific. Regardless, I want him to have a fair trial, and if contributing to his defense means you get to follow all the leads so that if he is convicted, it’s done so without a doubt, that’s money well spent, to me.”

  Squeaky clean and if convicted—the two phrases were at odds with each other. As I’d grown up with a newspaper man and a lawyer, words meant a lot to my family. I’d learned the definition of semantics at an early age. Strong was being generous, but I would’ve preferred the offer come with a firm belief that AJ was innocent. And, of course, Paulie’s words played back in my mind—offering to contribute and actually giving were not the same.

  I said, “I’m going to see AJ’s lawyer in a bit. I can take your donation if you want.”

  Strong patted his shirt and pants pockets. “Sorry. No checkbook on me. But I’ll call my secretary and have her send it today.”

  I would wait a few days to pass judgment.

  Strong studied me. “Erika says you’re going to talk to Keith’s old agent tomorrow.”

  I cut my eyes to Precious, hoping she’d read my confusion regarding why she was sharing anything with Strong. But she smiled at me as if she didn’t see the problem.

  I said, “Following all the trails. Even if they’re dead ends.” I took the opportunity to do some more trail following. “I know McVay wanted to sign a big contract. I know you weren’t crazy about it. Care to share why?”

  Strong gave a closed mouth smile. “I think—well, I thought—we could win the Super Bowl. And if we didn’t this year, I believed we could next year. But had I given Keith a big contract, I wouldn’t have had the money to pay the other top-notch players, and I’d lose them. And with them my Super Bowl hopes.”

  “But if you lost McVay, there went your chances as well.”

  Strong crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “I wasn’t going to lose McVay. He was bluffing.”

  Bluffs were only that when the people making them had nothing to back them up. Being a sports writer’s daughter, I found it hard to believe McVay didn’t have any other offers on the table.

  I suppose my skepticism showed because Strong said, “The situation with Keith wasn’t as cut and dried as you think. There’s more to football than playing the game and contract negotiations.”

  I didn’t want to cross my arms in case that look too combative. Instead, I folded them on the table and leaned onto them as if we were just friends talking sports. “Is there really? When boiled down, isn’t the end result a bigger contract from playing high-level football? Bring the wins, get paid.”

  “Everything can be boiled down. That doesn’t mean it’s as simplistic as you just made it.”

  “True.”

  Strong smiled again, this time a sincere grin. “What else you got for me? Any questions I can answer?”

  “Yeah, can you tell me if Brad Jenson, the trainer, is missing or away due to a family emergency? He’s been off the grid for a few days, and when I call the facility, they won’t answer my questions. They put me through to his voice mail, which is now full and not taking any more messages.”

  Strong’s eyebrows went up. “I don’t know everyone who works for the Pioneers, and I haven’t heard anything about a missing trainer, but I’ll look into it. Can you give me a few days?”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  He put out a hand. “Give me your phone, and I’ll put my information in. Give me a call in a few days, and I’ll know more.”

  Handing over my phone made me nervous, mostly because I was suspicious by nature. But I figured that since I was right there, he wasn’t going to steal my personal information. And also, he had endless money, so I probably didn’t have anything he could want.

  I slid the phone across the table to him.

  Lark called from behind me, “One black big mistake of a coffee without the ability to adjust an aura.”

  I turned to her. “I think that’s mine.”

  She nodded. “I did a slow brew because at least the fact that the coffee wasn’t made in a rush will give some good energy. A slow and steady energy.”

  I rose and went to the counter. “Slow and steady? I’ll take it because apparently, that means I can win the race.”

  Apparently, Lark didn’t find me funny. “You’ll need all the help can get.”

  I smiled. “I’ve heard that all my life.”

  I went back to Precious and Strong, coffee in hand. My phone was sitting on the table near my chair, and I scooped it up and stuck it in my back pocket.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  He nodded.

  I pointed at Precious. “See you tonight?
”

  She smiled. “Of course.”

  I waved to them and exited the coffee shop, my mind already going over my notes and making a list of what would come after my visit with McVay’s former agent.

  17

  Wednesday

  McVay’s agent had a Seattle office. Requesting an appointment on behalf of Tyson Lockett, defense attorney for AJ Gunn, got me on Sweezy’s calendar, and I didn’t even have to threaten him with a subpoena like Lockett cautioned I might have to do. Sweezy’s willingness to meet helped me remain open about him.

  The drizzly rain and gray skies didn’t inspire skirt wearing, so I went with black trousers, black Klogs, a lime-green button-down shirt, and a black corduroy, tailored jacket. I pulled my hair into a clip at the base of my neck and kept my makeup simple.

  Sweezy’s office was on the third floor of a six-story building in downtown Seattle. But nothing of interest was nearby—not Pike’s Market, not The Crumpet Shop, just a row of chain shopping stores and a head shop.

  His receptionist walked me to his office and opened the door for me.

  Rich Sweezy came from behind his desk with a hand extended.

  “Samantha True.” I shook his hand firmly. “I appreciate you seeing me on short notice.”

  If McVay had traded up in agents, I couldn’t image the snazziness of the new guy’s office. Rich’s was all glass and chrome with a black leather couch and two black leather club chairs. One wall was lined with pictures of him and several public figures, actors, athletes, and musicians.

  “Well,” he said, “I’ll admit that it’s awkward for me as I want to see Keith’s murderer go to prison for a long time.”

  “As do I. And if AJ’s the guy, then we’ll let the justice system do its job.”

  He gestured for me to take a seat in one of the club chairs. Once seated, I faced his desk and the window behind him, which showed a decent view of the buildings across the street.

  He said, “But you don’t think Gunn’s the guy, do you?”