Caught Off Guard Read online

  I stepped aside, and she hurried in. Toby followed, with Lady G peeking out from her new pouch, a large felt carrier shaped like an orange. I was about to close the door when footsteps pounding up my stairs stopped me. Leo came into sight, and I broke into a smile. I’d never thought I would be happy to see Leo Stillman, but I was. He was carrying two growlers. I pointed at them.

  He held one up. “Hard cider for Toby and Precious.”

  “And IPA for the rest of us.”

  He winked. “You got it.” He stopped in front of me and scanned my face. “You look tired.”

  “It’s been the longest day ever.”

  “Everything okay with Paulie Bea?”

  I shrugged. “It will be.”

  “Should I have not introduced you two?” His brow furrowed.

  I smiled. “I’ll let you know when this is all over. Or ten years from now, when I’ve learned all I can and he’s annoyed me one too many times.”

  Leo chuckled and went inside, and I followed. Precious was setting out several Styrofoam containers. Toby was holding a handful of forks. The aroma of perfectly cooked beef and something slightly spicy filled the air.

  I inhaled deeply and enjoyed. “Do I smell chicken wings?”

  Precious looked at me and grinned. “Yes, buffalo, Hawaiian, and teriyaki.” She popped open the tops to three containers then moved on to the rest. “And in this one is poutine. Here are mushroom-and-swiss beef sliders, and this one is nachos.” She went down the line, opening containers. “And this one is spinach-artichoke dip.”

  She and I said simultaneously, “Because everyone should have at least one vegetable.” Then we gave each other a high five.

  I said, “This is a comfort food-a-palooza gold mine.”

  The room got quiet as if they knew something I didn’t. I looked at each of them before coming back to Precious. I knew she wouldn’t ever bullshit me.

  At my questioning look, she said, “I saw the comments on The Wind River Journal. I was on the phone with Tyson when he found out about the dumbbell.” Her gaze darted briefly to Lockett’s. “And I lost a client today because of my association with AJ.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  She gave a nonchalant shrug. “Me too, but I’d rather my clients be open-minded.”

  That made sense. Being a life and professional coach and helping people change their lives would be hard if they’re shortsighted.

  Toby sighed with delight as he surveyed the spread. “All this good stuff needs a little something special.” He gave us a smile and wagged his brows.

  Lockett tossed his bottle cap at him. “Weed is not an accessory to everything.”

  Toby dumped fries on his plate. “It should be.”

  Leo twisted the top off a second IPA and handed it to Lockett. “Only for you, Toby.”

  The conversation went from ribbing Toby to ribbing each other. At some point, Lockett took off his tie and shoes and became more the surfer guy we knew and less the lawyer. Briefly, I wondered if that’s how he did it, morphing into what his clients needed by putting on a power suit. Precious wore a coach’s whistle and actively used it, and she was always dressed like the successful business owner she was.

  After we were all fed and hydrated, I handed Precious the large marker then went into the kitchen to straighten up.

  I said, “Let’s start listing what we know.”

  We’d done this before, and it helped me later with recall. At the moment, everything was a jumbled mess in my head. After that night, I would easily be able to recall these giant Post-it notes and the information on them. As a dyslexic, reading and spelling were not my strong suits, though I’d gotten better over the years. But seeing the world through pictures was where I excelled.

  I stacked the dishes in the small dishwasher as Precious kicked off her heels and took her coach’s whistle from around her neck. The men sat around her.

  Once done, I moved to a barstool and sat behind them all.

  She pointed at the first giant notecard. “McVay. What do we know?”

  I started the conversation. “He was a first-round draft pick. His rookie contract was up, so he stood to make big money getting a franchise contract. He’s an All-Pro quarterback with a winning record. Current salaries are one hundred million plus. He’s single. And recently, he was busted with performance-enhancing drugs in his system.”

  “An insanely large dose,” Toby added. “Anabolic-androgenic steroids.”

  Lockett turned to Toby, mouth agape. “How do you know that? I’m still waiting for the judge to give us permission to access McVay’s medical records.”

  Toby looked down at his nails then glanced from Leo to Lockett. “Do you really want to know how I know?”

  Leo shook his head. “Not if it’s illegal.”

  Toby snorted. “It’s only illegal if you’re caught, and I never leave a trace.”

  Precious and I looked at each other and smiled. She believed that bit about it being only illegal if caught no more than I did, but we knew Toby had a renegade side. He just expressed it online. Then he needed a sugar glider as an emotional-support animal to help him get over whatever he saw or did.

  Getting us back on topic, I said, “And this was the first drug test McVay failed? Am I right?”

  Toby nodded.

  I put a few of the pieces together. “Drug testing is random. McVay got notice that day at the team meeting, from what I understand. And he can’t leave without taking the test. If McVay was doing PEDs, he knows he’s going to pop positive. Yet he does nothing to get out of the test. He even demands to redo the test and have an independent lab do one.”

  Lockett pointed at Precious to write that down.

  I asked Toby, “How hard would it be to get anabolic-androgenic steroids online?”

  Toby shrugged. “You ever heard of the Silk Road?”

  “Wasn’t that the dark-web black market?”

  The Silk Road was known for selling all kinds of drugs to anyone across the globe. Then it branched out—human organs and likely more unthinkables.

  Toby nodded and scratched Lady M’s head. “Yeah, the FBI shut down the site in 2013, but that doesn’t mean a handful of others didn’t pop up afterward. Getting a steroid on the dark web takes no more than some Bitcoin, a VPN, and some clever packaging to fool the post office.”

  Leo asked, “Are you talking from experience?”

  Toby picked up an empty vape-pen vial and held it to his lips. “No, man. I may hang out in dark alleys, but I’m not stupid. I wouldn’t trust none of that crap coming off the dark web.” He tapped the vial. “I gave up vape juice that I could buy right at a store by my house because it wasn’t safe.”

  Leo nodded. “Good point.”

  I addressed Toby. “So finding out if anyone who works or plays for the Pioneers bought online steroids is impossible.”

  Toby shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe. I’ll hang out in some rooms and see if anyone talks. But any shady doc could get it too.”

  “Look into the team doc, please.” I looked at Precious. “Write this too: McVay had been in a car accident the weekend after Thanksgiving.”

  Toby shook his head sadly. “The last few weeks for McVay were really bad. Do we know if he was impaired when he was behind the wheel?”

  Lockett laughed. “The only one in this room that would know would be the guy who saw the records that a lawyer hasn’t been given yet.”

  Toby pulled out his phone and tapped away. “This is why it’s important to have a designated time when you get high, and people know it, no one expects me to drive or do anything that could endanger others or myself.”

  Leo nodded. “You are a very responsible pot user.”

  Toby nodded with him. “Yes, I am.”

  Lockett got up and went into the kitchen. “By chance, was blood drawn while McVay was at the hospital after that accident?”

  Toby shook his head. “Nope. You would think, if you were T-boned by a large delivery truck, y
ou’d be jacked up. But he was in a Mercedes Defender. The police report was graphic, but McVay walked away with some cuts and bruises. They gave him a prescription for the aches and pains. Nothing addictive or illegal.”

  Leo closed his eyes and mumbled, “I’m gonna pretend like I didn’t even hear that because I doubt the police report is accessible by the public yet.”

  Toby snickered. “Dude, you would be wrong. The report became available a few hours ago. Sorta.”

  “Sorta?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “It was uploaded and set to publish at midnight. I just saw it a few hours earlier. Website plugins are like leaving the back door open. And as for the other stuff… well, I’m not the only hacker out there.”

  “You mean to say others are hacking this info and posting it online?” Lockett said.

  Toby nodded. “Just need to know where to look.”

  “Wait, go back,” Precious said. “The hospital gave him a prescription, but did they fill it? When I was discharged following my concussion, they gave me a prescription for superstrong ibuprofen. I had to go fill it.”

  Toby scanned his screen. “I can’t tell from this. My guess is if you’re Keith McVay, they make sure you leave with the prescription filled.”

  Lockett said, “I’ll follow up on this.” He scratched a note on his notepad.

  Toby looked around the room for a sign that he should continue. When he had everyone’s attention, he said, “McVay graduated from Stanford over five years ago. Sam mentioned his draft in the NFL—I’ll skip that. He owned his house on Lake Oswego, paid just over two mil for it. He wasn’t married and wasn’t dating anyone that I could find. McVay was the only child of Barb and Bob McVay, both schoolteachers in small town Minnestoa. That’s where he grew up. His parents were killed in a car accident his first year in the league.”

  I said, “Leo mentioned that McVay went to college with the Pioneers' owner, Austin Strong.”

  Toby tapped on his phone some more. “Yeah, but Strong graduated a couple years ahead of McVay. Looking at this, I can’t see where their paths might have crossed. Strong’s course load was all business and computers. McVay studied communications. No excessive debt. Money in the bank. Nothing of concern. And you asked about Brad Jenson? He graduated University of Washington ten years ago. Lives in a town house near the training facility. He doesn’t own it and doesn’t have any money in the bank, has a maxed-out credit card.” He looked around the room at us. “He likes to hang out at the casinos.”

  Lockett touched my shoulder, drawing my attention, and said quietly, “You still good with this?”

  I met his gaze. “I can’t walk away from this and live with myself.”

  He nodded. “I got your back.”

  I smiled. “And I got yours.”

  I looked around the room, wondering how I could cover all these people and my family. That’s what scared me the most.

  11

  Saturday

  After a heated and frustrating conversation with Rachel and my parents about everyone’s safety, no one could come up with a solution we all liked, so we left the discussion open for more talks.

  My plan for the day was to stake out Brad Jenson. I didn’t believe for a moment he’d open his door to me, hence the stakeout. As I didn’t see him as much of an outdoors enthusiast, I was banking on him leaving for food or something, and I could corner him for more conversation. In the worst-case scenario, I would don a food-delivery hat borrowed from Toby and knock on his door.

  Brad’s town house was nondescript, like him. Actually, the place reminded me of the one I used to live in with Carson. The row of conjoined two-story rentals was painted different colors lest somebody try to enter the wrong home. Brad’s was a light green.

  I idled in the corner spot of the lot, facing Brad’s home. The blinds on the front were closed. No lights were on that I could tell. After a ten-minute wait, I decided to walk around to the back. I’d staked out someone before, only to find they’d fled the country. I didn’t want to waste my day if Brad was already at the casinos even though his truck was parked out front.

  A walking path at the end of the complex was where I started. I counted town houses, afraid I might peer into the window of the wrong one in case the back sides weren’t painted to match the fronts, then started down the path. I wished I had Simon with me. Walking a dog would be the perfect disguise. I was picking him up that day, so if I needed to, I could come back with him.

  The day was wet and gray, with wind occasionally stirring through the space and lifting some fallen ugly brown leaves. The path took me to a small park with two benches and a simple play structure with a rock wall and a slide. I slipped onto a bench. My butt instantly got wet from the seat as I looked toward Brad’s place. I counted just to make sure.

  No lights were on. The blinds were more open than in the front but turned down slightly, like people do when closing themselves in for the evening.

  My watch said eleven o’clock. Brad was either a late sleeper or not home.

  I pushed up from the bench and beelined for his back door, not caring if I looked suspicious. I should’ve been giving people pause—neighbors should’ve been questioning me. I stood on the small square concrete slab that served as his back patio and angled to try to see through the slats.

  The interior felt still. I pounded on the sliding glass door.

  Nothing.

  I pounded again with no response. Without reservation, I cupped my hands around my eyes and looked into the town house. Nothing.

  “Food delivery!” I yelled while pulling Toby’s hat from my back pocket and putting it on my head.

  The sliding door next to Brad’s opened. A lady in a bathrobe, with white hair, colored curlers on the sides, and a tiny dog tucked in the crook of her arm poked her head out. “He’s not there. Left last night. I didn’t hear him come back.”

  My expression probably showed my skepticism.

  She continued, “He’s the noisiest neighbor. Keeps his TV loud and is always screaming at it.”

  “Football?” I asked.

  She hitched the little dog up to her chest, under her chin, and stroked its ears. “Mostly. Or hockey or horse racing—anything a person can bet on is my guess. I used to be married to a gambler, may he rot in hell, and if the curses my neighbor shouts are any indication, he’s no good at it, like my Larry. Spent all our retirement, he did.”

  “I’m sorry—you think Brad’s not around because there’s no shouting at the TV?”

  “That, and I watched him leave last night—late, after I went to bed. I know this because I was just about to drop off to sleep when I heard a door slam and some shouting. Pinkie here started barking like mad, trying to get at the window. I looked outside, and sure enough, this idiot is out there”—she jerked her chin toward Brad’s place—“and someone is trying to get him into a car.”

  My interest was piqued. “They were forcing him into a car?”

  Her lips thinned as she thought. “No, more like trying to help him in.” She lowered her voice. “I think he might have been hitting the sauce. He looked a little wobbly.”

  “But did he seem like he wanted to get into the car?”

  “He got in on his own.”

  “And what kind of car was it?”

  “One of those big ones. Full sized.”

  “A sedan or town car?” I was thrown by the full sized. “Or an SUV like that Explorer?” I pointed across the way, where a few of the parking spots could be seen.

  She nodded. “Yeah, like that but bigger.”

  Excursion or Suburban. “What color was it?”

  “Dark, with dark windows. But silver running along the bottom, like a skirt.”

  She was very observant for someone who had been woken up. “Any chance you caught the plates? Washington or Oregon?”

  “Oregon. And your friend got in the back.”

  I took a business card from my backpack and handed it to her. “My name’s Samantha. You’ve
been very helpful. I appreciate it. If Brad comes back, would it be too much to ask you to give me a call?”

  She shook her head and stared at the card. “Private investigator, huh? Sounds exciting.”

  I scratched Pinkie’s head. “Mostly, it’s not.” I tucked Toby’s ball cap in my back pocket.

  The neighbor’s eyes widened. “I know you. I saw you on TV. You’re helping that killer.” She dropped my card then stepped on it.

  I sighed wearily. “Actually, I’m trying to get to the truth. Did you know that AJ is raising his kid brother while his mom is getting treatment for cancer?”

  I didn’t know why I bothered to tell her that. But people blindly accusing AJ was wrong.

  “The BTK killer was a Cub Scout leader,” she retorted.

  “Fair enough,” I said. “Thanks for your time.”

  I returned to the path to make my exit and glanced back once before turning the corner. Her door was closed, my card still on the ground. I had a choice—I could leave or stick around and hope that Jenson showed up. In today’s tech world, a way had to exist to have my cake and eat it too. The trouble was that if I put a camera on Jenson’s front door but he came in any other way, I’d miss it. Or if he came in to grab something then left right away, I’d miss my chance. I had to pick up Simon by dinner, so I had some time to contemplate my next move while I waited to see if he would show.

  I got into LC and pulled a bag of popcorn from between the seats. Next, I dropped a quick text to Toby to see if he could find any activity on Jenson. I gave him Jenson’s cell number, which I’d gotten from Lockett. The entire evolution took thirty minutes and ended with a text from Toby.

  Toby: Nothing. No activity. Used Find Friend App. Phone not on.

  Me: Poop.

  I made myself comfortable and settled in for the duration.

  Two hours later, I was desperate to pee; the popcorn was all gone, and the rain was coming down. A cop car pulled into the complex lot and stopped in front of LC, blocking me in. A short, squat man got out of the car and pointed a flashlight into LC’s window, right at me, which was kind of unnecessary as it was midday and overcast, not dark.