Anya waited for any new insights.
‘Yeah, well, she can’t change her mind with her panties around her ankles.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong, I’m afraid. And if you don’t listen when a woman says no, you could find yourself charged with a criminal offence, and labelled a sex offender if you’re convicted. You can’t play for the team if you’re in prison.’
‘Like that would ever happen. It’s her word against ours,’ the dark-haired man scoffed.
His choice of words alerted Anya. He deliberately said ‘our’ not ‘my’, as if there were safety in numbers when a woman complained about being raped. She caught Linda’s eye and could tell the prosecutor had picked up the reference too.
While Linda explained what would happen if they were charged with sexual assault, Anya flicked through her list of players and found the profile she was after. Liam McKenzie had a lot to say, just like Peter Janson.
She wondered where the ten percent of conscientious objectors were in this group, if they actually existed.
L
ater that afternoon, Anya slipped on her ballet flats, left the hotel and walked north with Ethan. So far, all she knew was that the owners of the New Jersey Bombers wanted to meet her.
Ethan seemed to think the news was positive. ‘I’ve done a lot of work for them over the years and I really think they want to clean up the game, not just pay lip service. I just spoke with Lyle Buffet. Five Bombers’ players are being hauled in for questioning over an alleged sexual assault. No one was more upset than him over the allegations that some of his players may have been involved in the reported assault last night.’
Except the victim, Anya thought. She thought of Kirsten scrubbing her skin with a scourer.
Yellow taxis lined the roads and horns blared with almost monotonous frequency. No one on the street seemed to notice. Rain began to sprinkle and they walked a little faster, past tourists who had stopped for photos. As with the noise, it seemed the locals accepted the imposition and stepped around the foreigners without a second glance. Nothing impeded the flow of pedestrians.
For Anya, being outside the hotel was like being allowed to breathe, despite the grey clouds obscuring any trace of sun. The air on her face made her feel alive and helped clear the fog of
tiredness. A long walk was just what she needed before a good night’s sleep.
The pair strode up Lexington Avenue in comfortable silence. The more north they headed, the more doormen appeared, to open car doors and help residents with shopping.
‘I assume it’s prestigious to have a doorman here,’ Anya mused.
‘Did you know there are more doormen in NY than taxi-drivers? When elevators became self-service, it was actually made law for buildings to have them, for the safety of tenants and owners. Mind you, none of the doormen I know would ever live in a building that had one.’
‘Because they’re treated poorly?’
Ethan shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and smiled. ‘Not everyone is appreciative, but doormen know far more about the residents’ business than the residents would want them to, or probably realise.’
It made sense. They saw who came and went, who had packages and mail delivered and from whom, and probably knew how much they paid in rent, earned and spent. She glanced sideways at Ethan.
‘I imagine you’ve milked one or two for information in your time.’
The investigator grinned. ‘A good source can save weeks of leg-work.’
Eventually they turned into East 72nd Street and stopped outside a high-rise called the Oxford. The building was set back from the street, with its own private plaza complete with European-style stone seats and greenery. The gated entry led them undercover to the foyer of the building. The doorman seemed to know Ethan and bade him good afternoon.
‘I could cope with this.’ Ethan pressed the button for the forty-fourth floor. ‘Indoor pool, health club, basketball court. If I had a spare three million or so.’
Inside the condominium, the white marble hallway and Art Deco columns were stylish but lacked warmth. Anya wondered
how difficult it was to keep the floor clean. A secretary showed them inside the palatial dining room with its walnut floor boards and white marble table. Chairs upholstered in white damask suggested young children weren’t well catered for in this apartment.
Seated at the marble table and drinking from china demitasses were a man and a woman, while an older gentleman in a Bombers jacket sat at one end, matching cap pulled down over grey wisps of hair.
‘Good afternoon, Catcher. And this must be Doctor Crichton.’ The man who spoke was in his late forties and dressed in a tailored suit. He had a soft wave in his greying hair; his teeth were glaringly white, and a shiny gold nugget obscured the lower half of his ring finger. He moved across the room and shook Anya’s hand.
‘I’m Bentley Masterton. Thank you for meeting us at such short notice.’
‘This here is Kitty Rowe, one of the youngest and brightest media moguls in this country and a woman with fine taste in football teams.’
The woman stood and touched what looked like an antique pearl choker. It complemented her pink Chanel suit. Blonde hair was swept back off her face, and her makeup was heavier than Anya would have worn but it highlighted her dark brown eyes. Even with stilettos the woman was shorter than Anya.
‘Oh, Bentley,’ she winked at Ethan. ‘You are prone to exaggeration. I’m the second youngest. Welcome to my home away from home,’ she said, as if it were a holiday shack. From the dining room, two walls of windows had dramatic city views to the north, west and east. ‘Please, take a seat. Can we offer you a drink?’
Anya and Ethan both declined politely and sat down. As soon as Ethan had told Anya about the hastily arranged meeting with the owners of the Bombers, she had gone online to search for information about them. Bentley Masterton was a preacher who had become prominent as a late-night television evangelist. He purportedly had a congregation of ten million
people over more than a dozen States. Articles on the man were usually accompanied by photos of him driving expensive cars to do God’s work. His church saw wealth as a reward, but was against a system of social welfare. His God seemed to be a different God from the one Anya had learnt about at school. Masterton’s father had been a Republican senator until his recent retirement. Blogs were rife with rumours about Bentley’s political aspirations and discussion of his charitable works and support for women’s shelters. The comments were largely favourable.
Kitty Rowe, on the other hand, had a mother who was a professor of law and a father who ran a media empire. He had a reputation for influencing presidential election outcomes by overtly favouring his preferred candidate in his publications. There was mention of an older brother who worked in Dubai, but he didn’t seem to be involved in the family business. Kitty had expanded the empire to involve digital broadcasting and telecommunications and had been photographed a number of times with her controversial father at Bombers football matches. From the number of Internet pictures over the years of him with players, he was a dedicated fan. Given the daughter was in the family business, buying into the club was probably a smart career move.
It did not take a genius to see that a possible political career for Bentley could be greatly enhanced by support from the Rowes.
Masterton held court. ‘The New Jersey Bombers were once the pinnacle of this great sport. Our players were admired for their strong Christian values, and their sportsmanship, integrity and dedication to their team, their families and fans. They were the envy of all the other clubs in this league. Our reputation was forged on players who were living legends. Parents right across this country admired them and children aspired to be like them.’ The fingers on his nugget hand gnarled into a fist.
Anya was unsure where the one-sided conversation was headed.
‘But the Devil has infiltrated our army of believers. Temptation has besmirched our glorious name.’
‘Christ, Masterton. We’re paying her to work, not listen to you preach.’
The older man, Lyle Buffet, appeared to be the highest authority in the room. A Google search had brought up thousands of articles about his hiring and firing of players, team doctors and management; it seemed he had one of the most hands-on approaches in the game. He clearly expected unquestioning loyalty from his employees and wasn’t afraid to speak bluntly to the other two owners of the club.
Kitty Rowe flashed a smile. ‘What we’re all trying to say is that we want to represent a clean, drug-free team untainted by scandal and sexual impropriety. It’s come to the media’s attention that there are a number of bad seeds ruining the game for all of us.’
Anya decided to cut to the chase. ‘I am aware of the statistics that around twenty-five percent of football players are convicted felons – for crimes involving drug dealing, domestic violence and sexual assault. There appears to be a plethora of steroid, substance and alcohol abuse as well. Like so many other team sports involving men, I believe there is a certain degree of misogyny embedded in the culture.’
The woman stroked her choker with an outstretched middle finger. ‘That is one point of view.’
Buffet made a sucking noise as he worked a toothpick around his top teeth. In front of him sat a half-eaten tuna sandwich. ‘The bottom line is there’s more competition for the attention and dollars of fans today than we’ve had to face before. Football has always been a national sport. An institution. A religion.’
Buffet glanced in Masterton’s direction, but there was no contradiction.
‘With all these so-called scandals, families – in particular mothers and therefore their children – are turning their backs on the game. Fewer fans mean fewer backsides on seats and fewer gate takings. That means fewer sponsors. Unless we turn
this thing around soon, the club won’t survive the next few years.
‘That’s why we have turned to your particular area of expertise, Doctor Crichton. We want to be the club that leads the way – we want the New Jersey Bombers to be the most family-friendly team in the country.’
Anya knew that if the owners really were sincere, they could attract more women back to the game. In all football codes women had always been the most desirable audience, because they brought their families with them, which ensured long-term, loyal fans. Anya was wondering when the sexual assault allegation was going to be mentioned.
‘As you know, I’m here with the league to conduct a series of seminars that involve educating the players about appropriate and inappropriate treatment of women, anger management and education about sexually acquired infections, safe sex and discussions of scenarios in which men and women are vulnerable to assault.’ She pulled out three summaries of the course content and handed one to each owner.
Masterton flipped through and paused at a section. ‘We do not condone sexual relations outside the sanctity of marriage. I suggest you eliminate this portion —’
‘For God’s sake, man. Some of our players can barely read and write. Sex education has never been a priority, and you know that as well as the rest of us. They’re young, fit and red-blooded. Women hound them. Face it, most of these boys would screw a knot in a piece of wood.’ Buffet glanced up at Masterton again. ‘Judging by today’s reaction, most of what was taught was news to them.’
Anya didn’t recall seeing Buffet, but he could have been in the ballroom.
Kitty Rowe took up the brief. ‘Catcher, as you heard, a rather delicate situation has arisen today that we would like you and Doctor Crichton to investigate. For the sake of the league and our team, we agree this should remain private until more facts are known. An incident occurred at the Rainier Hotel that allegedly
involved five of our most valued players. A young woman has accused them of assault. Of course, we have no idea if there is any veracity to the claim but feel it is in all of our best interests if you could discreetly review the medical evidence, talk to the police – and perhaps the woman – and let us know if you believe there could be a case to answer, or if these players are a legal liability.’
Anya was expecting the incident to be raised but felt uncomfortable giving advice to Linda Gatby
and
the owners. She would have to consider the victim’s privacy first.
In Anya’s experience, the number of women who voluntarily had sex with a group of sportsmen was very low. Footy chicks, as they were known in Australia, were a particular breed of women, akin to rock groupies, but they did exist. Some didn’t even mind being degraded and humiliated. One biography she knew of described how famous soccer players would make naked women hop like bunnies, or crawl around the floor barking, just for laughs. The reality was that there were a very small number of women prepared to do almost anything to say they had slept with someone famous, rich or powerful.
Masterton refilled his coffee. ‘We spend a fortune each year preparing for the draft. In his capacity as a private investigator with the league, Catcher assists us in background checks on some of the players we hope to bring to our team. Our handpicked doctors thoroughly assess them for potential susceptibility to injury. What we would like from you, Doctor Crichton, is your professional opinion as to whether these men have committed a serious crime, and the chances of them being brought to trial. We are looking at stricter morals clauses in our contracts with the intention of enforcing them to reduce the escalating costs of defending criminal charges.’
Anya suspected that being female also helped give the public the impression that the owners were committed to finding out whether their players had committed gang-rape. She had a feeling her involvement would not stay secret for long, if the club wanted to set itself apart as family-friendly and respectful of women.
Anya had a lot to think about before she could give them a full answer. How long she wanted to stay in New York was the obvious first question. She told Masterton she would find out what she could in the short-term, providing it did not impinge on the victim’s rights. It sounded vague, but she couldn’t promise any more at this moment. The trio nodded, accepting that for now.