Caught Off Guard Page 5

  I stopped walking, turned my face up to the misty-gray sky, and sighed deeply. “Lockett. Duh.” AJ’s lawyer and my friend was going to be my first point of contact. AJ had asked me to help him, but I couldn’t do that if Lockett thought I might damage AJ’s defense. I looked back at Precious. “I know what to do now.”

  She shook her head. “You’ve always known what to do. It’s only now that you’re listening to yourself.”

  I smiled. “You’re a good life coach.”

  “Duh,” she said. “Also, Leo mentioned that if this meeting went sideways, you could find Paulie Bea at the gun range on Mondays and Wednesdays. Maybe you go tell him then what your plan is and see if he can help.”

  Paulie Bea might turn me away and laugh at me again, but having another PI for checks and balances wasn’t something I could walk away from without trying again. I pulled out my phone and called Tyson Lockett, lawyer extraordinaire. We’d met because he was my not-so-legal husband’s best friend. Tyson had helped me get to the bottom of Carson’s death and lies.

  Two hours later, I was dressed in my best black skirt, white button-down shirt, and a pink cardigan sweater and was waiting for Lockett outside the Multnomah County Sheriff’s Office. My long hair was pulled back into a French braid, and with Precious’s help, I’d even done my makeup. I planned to meet first with Lockett and AJ and listen to his recounting of events, then I was going to find the arresting cops and try again for a chat.

  Upon my arrival, Lockett gave me a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. He was tall, blond, and built like the surfer he was, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His skin was far too sun-kissed for our Pacific Northwest rainy season.

  “Where did you come from? You have a nice glow about you.” I hadn’t seen him in several weeks.

  He grinned. “Maldives. Nothing but pure tube riding.” He mimed skimming a wave. “It was glorious.”

  “Sorry to drag you back to the world of glum.” Surfing across the globe had to be far better than being a defense attorney.

  “I was back for another case anyway, and my next trip isn’t until February.”

  “I hope this is all over by then,” I mumbled.

  Tyson cut me a puzzled look. “Are you kidding? AJ has the dream team. Me and you. Two weeks.” He held up two fingers. “We’ll have it wrapped up.”

  “I hope you’re right.” I was sick of bemoaning my fears and didn’t want to let Lockett down with them, but I also wanted AJ to get the best. “But if at any time you think another PI would be better for AJ, you let me know.”

  Lockett flung an arm over my shoulder. “What you may lack in experience you make up in grit. Let’s get started.”

  Twenty minutes later, after a very uncomfortable pat down, we were seated in the same visitation room where I’d met with AJ earlier that day. That morning had felt like weeks before.

  AJ sank into the seat opposite us, shoulders slumped. “I’m glad to see you both.”

  I made the introductions since they hadn’t met in person—only a quick phone call during which Lockett gave AJ the rundown on what not to do while he was being held.

  Lockett jumped right into it. “You won’t be arraigned for a few days. The arraignment is where you’ll enter your plea—”

  “Not guilty,” AJ said, sitting up suddenly. “I didn’t kill Keith.”

  Lockett held up a hand. “I know. We’ll get there. But first, you’ll enter a plea of not guilty. Then we’re going to try to get you out on bail. You might not like the conditions. We’ll need to talk about your limitations. You’re being charged with murder, so I’m guessing at a minimum they’ll want a high bail and maybe even a tracker on your ankle.”

  AJ nodded. “I can live with that. Not that I have a lot of money.”

  Lockett pulled up his briefcase. “You play pro football. You’re perceived as having money. And sometimes, perception gets confused for reality.” Lockett pulled out a legal pad and a pen and scratched a few things at the top.

  Up until then, he’d been nothing but professional, but I did a double take when I saw the pen. It was designed to resemble an ordinary pen found anywhere, but when it was held up to write, a film slid down the shaft of the pen to reveal the phrase “You’ve already lost.”

  I pointed at the pen. “What’s that?”

  Lockett held it up. “A message to the prosecution. Freaks them out every time. I had them made in bulk. Some say ‘Bad call’ or ‘You’re screwed.’ They’re my favorite.” He turned back to AJ. “Now, why don’t you start at the beginning? Why were you at Keith McVay’s house Wednesday night?”

  I took out a notepad as well. I knew my fear was keeping from firing on all cylinders. I also knew I couldn’t count on Lockett’s notes. Reading them would be a struggle because of his chicken-scratch handwriting and his shorthand, which didn’t mesh with my own dyslexia-created code.

  AJ wiped his hands down his face then looked at me with tired hazel eyes. His normally dark Mediterranean complexion was sallow.

  I smiled softly. “I know this is hard. What was supposed to be a great day for you has turned into a nightmare. But we’re going to get this worked out.”

  He nodded mechanically. “Throughout the day, Keith and I had been texting about the game. He was giving me tips about the opposing team and certain films to watch to help with prep. Around dinner, I asked him how he was holding up. He was pissed about the drug test and kept saying the lab got it wrong.”

  Lockett interrupted. “Yet he failed two more subsequent tests.” He pulled out some papers he’d tucked under his notepad and flipped through them. “He demanded they try a different lab, which they did, yet he got the same results: a failed drug test.”

  AJ said, “Keith was adamant that the tests were errors. He said he’d taken some painkillers after a car accident he had and was trying to find out if maybe that was messing up his test. We had a game the night after his accident, and he was pretty sore. He still played. He was sacked three times. Maybe he took more than he was supposed to take of the pain meds?”

  My brain flashed on a news image I’d seen. McVay had been in an accident Thanksgiving weekend.

  Lockett read from his secret papers. “Sunday evening, McVay was T-boned by a delivery truck a few miles from the Pioneers' training facility. He was taken to the hospital and given Cataflam, an anti-inflammatory, nonsteroidal drug. He was released that night. The drug in his system when he bombed his pee test was an anabolic-androgenic steroid. Not related.”

  AJ looked dejected. “You know, Keith told me that had he been driving his Porsche that day, he likely would have been killed in that accident, but he was in his Mercedes SUV. Pure luck, he’d said.” AJ shook his head sadly. “Doesn’t sound very lucky to me.”

  Me neither, to be honest. I made a few notes. “Is it normal for McVay to be at the training facility on a Sunday night?”

  AJ nodded. “Yeah, there’s no rest when there’s games to prep for. He had specific days when he watched game videos. I had gone to the facility to watch videos too. We even went over some footage together.”

  Needing to understand the habits of players better, I asked, “You go even when you have a game the next night?”

  AJ shrugged, confusion on his face. “Yeah. So?”

  Okay, point taken. All that nighttime studying was normal regardless of the game schedule.

  Lockett gestured for AJ to continue. “You were saying that Keith was pissed about the failed test. Did he say anything else? Did he accuse you of anything?”

  AJ cut his eyes to me then back to Lockett. “No.” He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table then his head in his hands.

  Lockett said, “Tell me why there’s speculation that you might have spiked his smoothie.”

  AJ sighed.

  AJ and I filled Lockett in about the smoothie-making event, and I explained that the one blender and one pour meant they’d all had the smoothie from the same batch.

  AJ said, “A few g
uys ribbed me about spiking the smoothie, but no one meant it. To prove the smoothies were spiked, we all volunteered to be tested that Friday too.”

  Lockett asked, “We?”

  “Me and the two other guys who drank the smoothie. Four total if we count Keith.” AJ gave Lockett their names. “And we all showed clean.”

  “What time was this?” I liked to see things linearly, and setting the time helped me.

  AJ mumbled, “Around eight.”

  Lockett wrote on his notepad. “And you said the trainer delivered the drink. His name is Brad Jenson. We’ll want to talk to him.” He said that last part to me.

  I wrote Brad’s name on my pad.

  Lockett continued. “How was Keith the week after the suspension? Leading up to your start?”

  “He was acting a little weird.”

  “Weird?” Lockett asked. “Weird toward you, weird?”

  AJ shook his head. “No, at least I didn’t take it like that. I assumed his behavior was because he was going to miss a game. He’s the ultimate competitor and hadn’t missed a game in his career yet. Until now. But he was angry and jumpy.”

  “Jumpy?” I asked.

  AJ nodded. “That’s the best I can describe it.”

  “Tell me about the day before the game,” Lockett said. “You went to McVay’s house?”

  “Coach was making him stay home. He’d work out at home, attended meetings remotely. I felt bad for him. Like I said, we’d been texting, and that evening, I offered to bring him some food and company. I figured he could coach me a little more. Maybe that would make him feel better. And I would reassure him that I wasn’t out for his job.”

  “But you want a starting position.”

  AJ nodded in his hands. “Yeah, but that doesn’t make me a killer. Every second string wants a starting position.”

  Lockett said, “So you go to his house…”

  “I picked up takeout from an Indian cuisine place he likes in Portland.”

  “Any alcohol?”

  AJ looked up at Lockett with an angry expression and shook his head. “No, I had a big game the next day. That would have been stupid of me.”

  Lockett looked at his papers again. “His urine analysis says he was drinking a lot the night he died.”

  “Anything else of interest on the toxicology report?” I asked.

  Lockett shook his head, his attention returning to AJ. “Okay, you go to his house with curry and naan bread. Then what?”

  “Yeah, how did you know that’s what I took?”

  Lockett tapped the papers. “Coroner’s report.”

  “I get there, and it’s weird at first.”

  Lockett probes. “What’s weird? You’ve said that before. Explain weird.”

  “Keith. He’s antsy, restless. When he opens the door, he looks past me like he thinks someone else is out there. Then gestures for me to hurry and come in.”

  That time, I interrupted. “Any guesses why?”

  AJ shrugged. “The media had been hanging out there a lot. I figured that was why. Keith’s in negotiations”—AJ closed his eyes and groaned—“he was in negotiations for his contract, and some reporters were dogging him about it. They picked up the hounding when he popped positive.”

  Currently, top quarterbacks were making fat money on their new contract deals. But if a player had a history of trouble or drugs, that deal could go sideways really quickly.

  I asked, “Keith never popped before, right? He’s squeaky clean.”

  AJ nodded, confirming what I’d thought. That was unlike McVay. If I’d had something happen to damage my reputation, I would be acting weird too.

  “You go to Keith’s. He invites you inside. You take curry and share a meal. Then what?” Lockett was gently grilling AJ, his questions on point and moving the information along.

  AJ shrugged. “We watched some film, and he coached me a bit about the other team’s defense. Prepped me.”

  “And?” Lockett probed.

  “And then I left.”

  “What time was that?”

  “About nine thirty. I remember thinking I could get home in time to watch Ridiculousness. That starts at ten.”

  “And you’re sure no alcohol was consumed?” Lockett asked. “Think. Try to picture his place when you were there.”

  AJ pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, and long seconds passed. “There was an open beer on the coffee table when I got there. He maybe took a few drinks from it, but he didn’t even finish it while I was there.” He dropped his hands. “He wasn’t on a bender or anything.”

  “Did you get in a fight? Exchange heated words?”

  AJ shook his head.

  “You sure?” Lockett pushed.

  “Yeah. I think I’d remember getting in a fight.”

  Lockett tossed his pen onto the pad. “It’s amazing what people forget. McVay had a cut across his nose. Like he’d been punched.”

  AJ nodded. “I saw that. I asked him what happened, and he said he got it while having a trainer do reps with him. Said Brad came out to the house. Keith said one ball caught him off guard and got him in the face.”

  Lockett said, “Okay. We’ll get you arraigned and try to get bail. I have a meeting with the prosecutor to see what evidence they have. They’re dragging their heels with disclosure. This is a high-profile case already. You’re gonna be persona non grata for a long time. If you don’t have thick skin, you’d better get it fast. You don’t talk to anyone but me and Sam. Understand?”

  AJ paled and nodded.

  “No phone-call confessions. No secrets that I have to hear from the other side. You go back to your cell and wrack your brain for what it is that the cops have on you, whatever it is that put you here.”

  AJ said, “I just thought wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Maybe that’s some of it. But that’s not enough to charge you. But let’s hope it is, because I can get that tossed out in a heartbeat.” Lockett stuffed paper and pens into his briefcase.

  “I didn’t do this, AJ said. “I’m innocent, and there has to be a way to prove it.”

  Lockett gave a quick bark. “You ever heard of the Innocence Project? It’s an entire team of lawyers helping to get wrongly convicted people out of prison. Besides, everyone says they’re innocent. In this current day, you’re guilty until proven otherwise, and social media will find a good conspiracy theorist to keep people believing there’s always a chance you’re guilty. Buckle up. It’s going to be a tough ride.”

  AJ gulped.

  So did I.

  7

  Friday

  After another rebuff by the cops handling AJ’s case, I made my next stop the training facility for the Portland Pioneers, a massive three-story building in Troutdale, the length of three football fields. Behind it, those fields ran end to end, overlooking the Columbia River with stunning views of the Columbia River Gorge.

  My goal was to talk to the trainer and anyone else I could get in to see then to head across the bridge back into Washington to follow my other client’s fiancé. I knew where he’d gone the previous week, and I wanted to make sure he was doing the same, within reason, that week.

  I parked LC in a visitor spot and checked under his carriage to make sure he wasn’t going to leave a trace of oil. In the back of my Wagoneer was spare cardboard to slip underneath in case he had post trip drip. But for the moment, he was clean.

  The grand entrance, two glass doors flanked by a wall of river rock, stood twenty feet tall. Stepping inside was like entering a high-end lodge with solid wooden beams running the length of the room and dark barn-board floors contrasting with light-green furniture. Hanging on the walls were banners of playoff championships—no Super Bowl wins yet. But if sports radio chatter was any indication, the team was getting close—well, had been getting close with McVay at the helm.

  The receptionist was a cool number with a silver buzz cut and earrings the size of my palm. She met my gaze with a steely one of her own. />
  “How may I help you?” Her nameplate read Amber North.

  I showed her my private-investigator badge. “Hi, I’m Samantha True. I was hoping I could speak with the trainer Brad Jenson.”

  She showed no reaction whatsoever. “About?”

  Um, none of your business. I impersonated a fish for a few seconds as I searched for words. “I just need him to verify a few facts for me.”

  Her gaze flicked to my backpack, where I’d tucked my badge. “But you’re not a cop.”

  I wasn’t sure if she was asking or talking out loud. “Is Mr. Jenson here?”

  She crossed her arms. “Leave your card. I’ll tell him you came by, and he can call you if he wants.”

  “I only need five minutes of his time.” That was kind of a lie. But I really didn’t want to have to stalk Brad Jenson to find an opportunity to run into him conveniently.

  Amber North stared back at me without blinking. I was pretty good at that game, having spent my childhood in stare-down battles with Rachel, but I didn’t want to burn my bridge here, so I thanked her and headed out, not leaving a business card because I knew she’d probably trash it before I even made it out the door.

  I leaned against LC and was staring at the building, thinking about another way in, when a Ralphs click-and-shop delivery truck came rumbling into the lot and drove to the end before turning the corner toward the back. I jumped into LC and followed, parking at the very end of the complex. I worked about ten hours a week at the Ralphs grocery store in the click-and-shop department. None of my coworkers would be making this delivery because the store I worked at was in Vancouver, and this delivery was likely from the Ralphs distribution center because the order was larger than what a store could accommodate. But none of that mattered. What did matter was that I knew how those deliveries went and thought I might have an opportunity I could work to my advantage.