The Friday Edition (A Samantha Church Mystery) Read online

  “What a loser I am. A worthless good for nothing,” she said into the darkness.

  She stirred to find the phone and felt Morrison lying next to her. He looked at her in a huff as though she had disturbed his nap.

  “Sorry, Morrison, guess I’m making life miserable for you, too, huh?”

  Sam reached for the phone and dialed the number from memory.

  A man answered on the end of the third ring. He was groggy. She must have pulled him from a deep sleep.

  “Wilson?”

  He recognized her voice immediately. “Sam, what it is?”

  “I screwed up.”

  Twenty-one

  The basketball Brady Gilmore shot toward the hoop missed easily. His second shot came closer to the rim, skimming the bottom of the net. His third shot hit the rim with a dull thud and teetered for a moment as though deciding which side to fall.

  Brady clasped his hands together against his chest and watched. He held his breath in the anticipation and sheer hope that the ball would fall through the hoop. It fell away from the net to the floor. Brady watched the ball dribble and come to rest against the long nets that surrounded the court.

  “Brady!” Todd Matthews yelled to him from the sidelines. “Come on, Brady! Don’t let that stop you! You’ve got more basketballs to shoot. Practice isn’t over yet!”

  Brady immediately grabbed another ball. He shot, but it missed the basket. He hung his head and didn’t go for the next ball.

  Todd left the sidelines and trotted out to Brady. He put a comforting hand on Brady’s shoulder and squeezed hard.

  “Hey, bud,” Todd said. “What’s the deal?”

  Brady shrugged his husky shoulders and stuck his hands deep in the pockets of his sweat pants. He kept his concentration fixed on his tennis shoes, making one swirl against the smooth, shiny surface of the gym floor.

  “I’m not makin’ any baskets.”

  Todd chuckled and remained upbeat and light.

  “Yeah, so I noticed,” he said. “Why is that?”

  Brady shrugged again.

  “I’m not thinkin’ ’bout what I’m supposed to do.”

  Todd nodded and smiled.

  “Here, let me show you, but you know the routine, Brady. I’ll show you how, but you grab a ball and do exactly as I do. We do it together. Got it, bud?”

  “Yeah,” Brady said nodding.

  Each grabbed a basketball.

  “It’s all in the wrist, pal,” Todd said. He looked at Brady, who was doing his best to copy his stance.

  “Use your wrist,” Todd went on, “and keep your eye on the basketball and know where you want that ball to go. Got it?”

  Brady nodded.

  Todd shot the ball. It sailed through the hoop so effortlessly that the net hardly moved.

  “What a shot!” Brady said.

  Todd stepped away from Brady to give him room to shoot. Brady’s concentration on the hoop became intense. His tongue protruded slightly out the left side of his mouth and he squinted and bounced his stocky body several times on the balls of his feet. Todd watched, seeing in those movements traces of an erstwhile Brady, who could once shoot like Todd.

  The ball left Brady’s hands last touching the tips of his fingers and sailed toward the basket. It had all the makings of a sure basket, height and good arc. The ball hit the rim one time and bounced up and fell through the hoop. Brady leapt in the air as high as his husky body would allow.

  “Good shot, bud!” Todd said and patted Brady hard on the shoulder.

  “I can do it now. Go back to the sideline,” Brady told Todd and shooed him away.

  “You’ve got six more balls to shoot and you got to make all of them,” Todd said.

  A looming presence near the gym doors captured Todd’s attention as he returned to the sidelines. Wyatt Gilmore was watching his son practice. He acknowledged Todd with a slight wave. Todd nodded. As he walked toward Wyatt he thought of Robin. She used to tell him often that there was something about Wyatt that she didn’t trust. When Todd asked her to be more specific, Robin would just say it was something she couldn’t put her finger on.

  Both men stood over six feet, but Wyatt, a big-boned, solid man, seemed to tower over Todd. A quick glance told Todd that Wyatt came to the practice from work. Wyatt wore a casual dark blue blazer over a polo shirt. Todd saw the butt of his service revolver protruding slightly from his shoulder holster.

  “What brings you here?” Todd asked as they shook hands.

  “Brady told his mother at breakfast he had practice this afternoon. There’s a game tomorrow night?”

  “Yeah,” Todd said. “Our first after the holiday break.”

  Wyatt nodded silently. It wasn’t the kind of basketball league he had envisioned for his son. Brady’s team was the Grandview Warriors. They were part of a special needs basketball league, implemented and maintained for the last four years by a Grandview man whose son was disabled. The father wanted to develop something productive for his son to do to pass his time in a meaningful way. The man had loved basketball and asked several service clubs to sponsor a basketball league. The Warriors practiced and played their home games in the Grandview High School gymnasium.

  “You like coaching this team?” Wyatt asked, watching his son collect basketballs.

  “I like seeing the guys do their best,” Todd replied.

  “Brady’s never going to get the hang of this game again,” Wyatt said not bothering to hide his disgust.

  Robin’s doubts about Wyatt had an effect on Todd too. He looked at Wyatt, undecided about how he felt about him. “No,” Todd said matter-of-factly. “Not like he once could, if that’s what you mean.”

  Brady shot another basketball toward the basket.

  “He’s missed every single one of those shots,” Wyatt said eyeing his son intently, not liking what he saw.

  Wyatt’s arms were folded tightly against his chest as if to hold the anger inside.

  “Give the kid a break,” Todd said.

  “There was a time he wouldn’t have missed any,” Wyatt said. “I went to every single one of his high school games. He was the best on the team. He hardly missed a shot. He was so quick he was hard to cover and he had a lay-up that guaranteed two points.”

  “That was a long time ago,” Todd said.

  If Wyatt had heard Todd, he gave no indication. He focused on watching his son, who was jogging the length of the basketball court with his teammates. As the basketball practice drew to a close, Wyatt headed for the gym doors. Todd stopped him before he could leave.

  “Aren’t you going to talk to Brady?” he asked. “He’ll be happy to know you came this afternoon.”

  “He won’t be too happy when I tell him how badly he played,” Wyatt returned.

  “Why would you say something like that?” Todd asked trying to stay patient. He could hear Robin’s voice in his mind. Wyatt’s comment would have angered her. Todd responded as if he was speaking for her.

  “Can’t you think of something you saw Brady do well this afternoon and mention that instead of focusing on what he didn’t do well. That will make him very happy, especially coming from you.”

  “It’s a good idea, Todd, but I can’t recall anything Brady did here today that was worth mentioning,” Wyatt said. “My son had been accepted to the Air Force Academy. He was supposed to be what I was, a fighter pilot. Then he was going to go into law enforcement. We had it planned. It was our dream, but he messed everything up.”

  The dream never materialized. The near-drowning accident left that Brady with brain damage destroyed it all. Instead of becoming an Air Force pilot, Brady was the mail clerk for Grandview City Hall. It didn’t pay much, but Brady still lived at home and didn’t need much money. He liked the job because Robin often came to the police department. There they would talk. In those fleeting moments, he was happy again.

  “Now look at him,” Wyatt continued. “He can’t shoot a basketball and he pushes a mail cart around city ha
ll. I got him the job so I could keep an eye on him.”

  “You shouldn’t be so hard on him,” Todd said. “He needs you now.”

  “Now? What could he possibly need me for now?” Wyatt glared at Todd and their eyes locked.

  Todd stepped back from Wyatt, retreating from the conversation, but Wyatt continued to speak as though he couldn’t stop himself.

  “The money that was meant for my son’s college education paid his medical bills,” he said. “When that was gone, we scraped to get by until we filed bankruptcy. I have nothing left to give Brady now, Todd. I don’t know what else he needs from me.”

  It was difficult for Todd to listen. He knew now what Robin meant. This was a dark side of Wyatt people seldom saw.

  “Your son is still as good as he was in high school, only in different ways and in different things,” Todd said, the anger in his voice apparent. “It’s a shame you can’t see that he’s just as good a person as a mail clerk as he would be if he were a fighter pilot. And now that Robin is gone, your son really needs and wants your support. If you’ll excuse me I have a practice I need to wrap up.”

  Todd turned and walked away feeling his hot blood pumping like a volcano. He helped Brady collect the basketballs.

  “How come Dad didn’t come over here?” Brady asked when they put the last of the balls away.

  The comment caught Todd off guard and he stalled for an answer. He wanted to tell Brady the truth, but at the last moment heard himself say, “He got called away on an emergency, Brady. But he said he’d see you later at home.”

  ****

  It was 5:30 p.m. Though he was certain everyone in the outer offices had left for the day, he poked his head outside his office door to make sure.

  The hallway was quiet. He left the door ajar and returned to his desk and to his computer. The blue screen glowed and reflected in his glasses.

  He programmed Sam’s number: 555-2159.

  He placed his fingers lightly on the computer keyboard, poised to type. He hesitated, having trouble finding the exact words.

  He felt distracted. And it made him angry. He had felt this way all day. Two weeks had passed since he had murdered Robin. Still the images of her final moments had not left him. If anything, they had intensified.

  He shrugged and made himself concentrate on the keyboard. He typed slowly, using only his two index fingers to strike the keys.

  I am watching you, Samantha. I know that you’ve been to see Ruth, and I was watching you the night at Tim’s Place. Champ’s a great guy, isn’t he? I wanted to buy you a drink, but you were doing so well on your own. I know when you come and when you go. I am watching you. Remember that. Always remember that ...

  He clicked the ‘send’ key and the text message was gone. He turned off his computer. He smiled slightly. It was the first to leave his lips all day.

  He would love to witness her reaction when she read the message.

  To be a fly on the wall.

  Twenty-two

  “Sam.”

  Wilson stood at the entrance to the newsroom, his hands stuffed deep inside his dark blue overcoat. She looked up and he motioned her to his office. She followed him.

  “Close the door,” he said.

  He had removed his overcoat and was hanging it on the rack as she closed the door. He was dressed smartly in a crisp gray suit. The stark white of his shirt deepened the gray in his hair.

  “Sit down,” he said, extending his hand toward the chairs.

  She sat in the chair across the desk from him. He studied her for a moment. She felt his gaze travel the length of her face, so she directed her attention to a pattern in her slacks.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded, too embarrassed to speak.

  “How are you this morning?”

  She laughed slightly. “My head feels like I’ve been swimming on the bottom of the ocean, but other than that I’m on top of the world.”

  He nodded knowingly, rubbing an index finger over pursed lips.

  “What happened at Tim’s Place?” he asked calmly.

  Sam told him.

  “So this Champ guy said Robin had been coming in for a couple of months?” Wilson said when Sam finished telling her story.

  “That’s what he said,” she said confirming her facts.

  They were silent.

  “Now what?” she asked, finally.

  “We wait for Rey to call and hope it won’t be long.”

  She nodded, not trusting her voice.

  “You had a few too many?” Wilson asked.

  Sam felt her face flush and her entire body felt intense with heat.

  “Wilson, I’m so sorry,” she said, wanting to crawl under his desk.

  “Want to tell me why?” he asked, ignoring the need she felt to apologize. The gentleness in his voice eased her.

  She took a deep breath, wanting to say ‘no,’ but heard herself begin to explain what had happened with April before going to Tim’s Place. There was something satisfying about talking to Wilson. He could draw from her what she had no intention of telling. When Sam finished, she waited for the inevitable lecture. Wilson said nothing.

  He considered for a moment what she had told him and said, “Let’s just hope it won’t be long before Rey contacts you.”

  It wasn’t.

  Sam was working against deadline to finish a story when her cell phone vibrated.

  It was Rey and she smiled with satisfaction. She returned the call and, within minutes, Anne was buzzing her to pick up a call holding. She punched the line blinking.

  “Sam Church,” she said, knowing he would know.

  “It’s Rey.”

  She closed her eyes, excited and relieved to hear his voice.

  “I’m glad you called,” she said.

  “I’ll pick you up at the diner on Wadsworth,” Rey said without preamble.

  “What time?”

  There was silence as he considered an appropriate time.

  “Midnight.”

  “Got it,” Sam said. “I’ll be there.”

  “See you then,” Rey said and Sam heard the click in her ear.

  Sam looked toward Wilson’s office, but Nick Weeks was standing at the door. She waited until he left, then went to the office door and poked her head inside.

  “Got a moment?” she asked.

  “Just working on a column that’s going nowhere,” Wilson said and stopped typing. “Come in.”

  “Rey called,” she said.

  “And?”

  “And he’s picking me up tonight at the all-night diner.”

  “What time?”

  Just as Sam told him, her cell phone sounded again. She read her incoming message, shaking her head. “No,” she whispered and dropped heavily into the chair. Her face clouded and turned gray.

  “Sam, what is it?” Wilson asked leaning forward in his chair. “Are you okay?”

  Sam nodded, too overcome to speak. She read the message again.

  “Someone … someone … is watching me,” she said and could not help the tremble in her voice.

  “What?”

  “Someone is goddamn watching me, Wilson. They know I’ve been to see Ruth and that I was at Tim’s Place last night.”

  Sam reread a portion of the message …

  “Champ’s a great guy isn’t he?”

  “They saw me talking to Champ,” she said in a perplexed and frightened tone.

  Sam handed her cell phone to Wilson. He read the message.

  Wilson looked at her hard. “Who else besides me knew you went to see Ruth and were going to Tim’s Place last night?”

  She thought a moment, then shook her head.

  “No one. I haven’t told anyone where I’ve been going, what I’ve been doing or who I’ve been talking to.”

  “Didn’t you tell me you had confided in Rey?”

  She thought another moment.

  “But you’re wrong about Rey,” she said and leaned over
his desk. “Yes, Rey did know I had a conversation with Ruth, but I only saw Champ last night.”

  “Didn’t you ask him about Tim’s Place on your ride-along the other night?”

  She nodded.

  “Didn’t you tell him you were going there?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t tell him when I’d planned to go. I didn’t know for sure then.”

  Wilson frowned. “I don’t know about him. I don’t know if we can trust him.”

  “Robin trusted him,” Sam said. “And my sister always was a good judge of character.”

  Wilson looked skeptical. He removed his reading glasses, folded them and slipped them in his shirt pocket.

  “Maybe not this time, Sam,” he said. “If she was drinking again and under a lot of pressure, who knows what she was thinking?”

  “No,” Sam said adamantly and pounded her fist lightly over a pile of papers. “Robin wasn’t drinking. I trust Rey because ...”

  Wilson stopped her. “Why?”

  She looked at him earnestly. “Because Robin did.”

  He sighed and leaned against his chair. After a thoughtful moment, his face softened. “All right,” he said. “No one knows Robin better than you, so maybe she was right about Rey. But from here on out, talk to no one. Got it?”

  Sam nodded with a small smile of satisfaction.

  Wilson rubbed an index finger along his lips. “I hate to see you go alone tonight. Where are you going anyway?”

  Sam shrugged. “Rey hung up without saying.”

  “You don’t even know where you’re going?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t go, Sam.”

  “Wilson, I’m going.”

  Wilson returned her cell phone. She took it in silence and with a sense of falling clipped it to her waistband.

  “You know,” she said softly. “I had expected a lecture from you after I told you about last night.”

  “Why, Sam? What do you think I could say to you that you haven’t already heard or that you don’t already know?” Wilson considered her for a moment. “Besides, I don’t give lectures.”

  She smiled and nodded. Her fondness and appreciation for Wilson grew deeper each time they spoke.

  “Be careful tonight,” Wilson said.