Inside, Kitty Rowe, in a mauve tailored suit and silk scarf spoke on the phone at a work desk, a notepad in front of her full of scribblings. She glanced up but barely acknowledged them. At the dining table, three men with shirts and ties sat answering phones, while two others talked at the same time. The suite also contained a long lounge and separate armchairs. A giant flat-screen TV resembled a monitoring station, with multiple images onscreen at the one time, all of news stations and ESPN.
Bentley Masterton stood alone at the bar.
Buffet pointed to the seats. ‘Sit down.’ It was an order, not a gesture of hospitality.
They each sat in separate chairs.
‘We need to put a lid on this thing before it goes any further. You two were brought into our team to help clean up our game, improve our public image. Fan numbers are falling, which means sponsorship and income are plummeting. Unless we do something, this team will be defunct within two seasons.’ He moved to the bar and unscrewed a bottle of Scotch. He took two swigs straight from the bottle.
‘Do you have any idea how much of my life has been spent building the Bombers? The name, the reputation? I made it what it is today. And because of Janson, it’s all in jeopardy.’
Something caught his eye on the screen and he picked up the remote from the coffee table. A female reporter stood outside the hospital. The other images faded and this one was enlarged.
‘Tonight New Jersey Bombers fans, and fans around the country, are mourning the loss of one of football’s finest players. Pete Janson has died after an apparent heart attack in his hotel room this evening. Desperate efforts by paramedics to revive him were unsuccessful. The hospital has issued a statement saying that Pete Janson was pronounced dead at 11.15 pm this evening.’
The reporter became mute as a montage of Janson images filled the screen.
‘Rosseter had the good sense to describe it as a heart attack. That should buy us a few days.’
‘My network will run a special on the great charity work Janson was part of and offer it to the others as a simulcast,’ Kitty said.
Masterton chimed in, ‘Did he actually do any charity work?’
‘That’s the good news. He was always first out for a photo op with a crippled kid or homeless black person, anything that would get him a headline. We’ve already put together some footage that’s previewing,’ she checked her watch, ‘in seven minutes. We’ll run it on the half-hour overnight and through the morning. We’re also getting anyone who met the guy in passing to say how great he was, yada, yada, yada and how he inspired them to change their lives.’
There was no hint of grief or sadness in the room. It was as if an election campaign was in full swing and Janson was running for an important office. Anya couldn’t believe the man who allegedly raped a young woman a few nights ago was being held up as a saint.
In death, almost everyone was stripped bare of all pretence, their public face inevitably unmasked. In contrast, these people were creating a special death mask for Janson.
‘On your instruction, the grieving widow is refusing interviews. We’ll line up an exclusive once we hear from Oprah and Barbara Walters. Ellen might even throw her hat in the ring. Those two young daughters are gold.’
‘Have you contacted the Vatican for a statement?’ Anya muttered under her breath. She wanted nothing to do with a PR campaign for a sex offender and moved forward in her chair, ready to stand up and leave.
‘Doctor Crichton,’ Buffet said, ‘we brought you here to help us assess the liability some of our players presented, and educate them in sexual health. I speak for all of us when I say you’ve been following our brief.’ He stopped and, as if on cue, the
minions in the room finished their conversations and quietly filed outside.
The three owners, Ethan and Anya remained.
‘What happened in that hotel room, and what’s the autopsy going to reveal?’
Anya was unsure what Buffet wanted from her, and hoped it wasn’t more of the good spin campaign.
‘Autopsy will approximate time of death, which had to be at most an hour before we found him. Initial assumption is that he died of asphyxiation from a belt pulled tightly around his neck, which was tied to the wardrobe. He was naked apart from a condom on his penis.’
‘You think he did himself in?’
‘The odd thing is that he could have stood up if he wanted to and was able. The rail was a lot shorter than he was.’
‘So you’re thinking murder?’ Buffet certainly did not mince words.
‘The only way would have been if he were drugged, and it would take an incredibly strong person, or people, to stage it. It took four of us just to get his body down.’
Buffet puffed on his pipe.
‘Any of the players could have done it. Janson didn’t exactly go out of his way to be popular. If we think about suspects, half the women he met could qualify, along with his wife and any of the players whose wives he slept with.’
Ethan placed his hands on his thighs. ‘There’s another couple of possibilities. That Janson was engaged in a dangerous sex act that went too far, or the woman he most likely had sex with before his death was involved.’
‘What kind of sex ends up with a dead footballer?’ Masterton sounded outraged. ‘What sort of organisation are you running?
She
was supposed to teach these boys all about safe sex. Now what sort of message does that send to the younger fans?’ He threw both hands in the air.
‘A responsible message,’ Anya replied. ‘One in four Americans now has a sexually transmitted infection, and if your players
go around having unsafe sex, they can infect any number of women, not to mention their own wives and girlfriends. And what about unwanted pregnancies? A tribe of single mothers with illegitimate children suing for paternity and child support would tarnish the team even more. Judging by their collective ignorance, I’d say sex education was way overdue for these pampered men, who have the maturity of pre-pubescent boys.’ She knew she should stop speaking and leave with dignity, but if they were concerned about money and public image, they had to hear the complete truth.
‘AIDS is not something from the past, it’s on the rise and an infected player risks infecting other team members as well if he gets an injury and isn’t even aware he’s infected with the virus. How much litigation and scandal would that open you up to?’
‘Don’t take that tone with me, young lady. For all we know, Janson learnt this “sex act” in your so-called lecture.’
Anya stood to leave, her anger boiling over. Before she could speak, Ethan interjected.
‘I attended the doctor’s talk and it was the height of professionalism. Many of the players, including married ones, told me how much they’d learnt and how they wished they’d been given that information years ago.’
Masterton guffawed like a child. ‘We can see why you’re defending her.’
‘Settle down, Bentley,’ Buffet scolded. ‘Janson was no choir-boy and you knew that when we signed him. We asked Doctor Crichton to investigate the sexual assault complaint made against a number of our players, including Janson.’ He turned to Anya. ‘Does the Byrne woman have a case?’
Anya glared at the evangelist. ‘I believe it’s strong. The physical injuries are consistent with her story of gang-rape.’
‘This just gets better and better.’ Masterton’s hands were in the air as though he was indeed praising the Lord. ‘Who the hell screened the players for good character? When I bought into this organisation, you assured me there would be no more sex
scandals after that court case fell through. My congregation will not tolerate me being associated with something so —’
‘Oh do hush up,’ Kitty said. ‘You only care what’s made public. I’m sure Doctor Crichton here is wanting to get to the truth.’ She stroked the silk scarf around her neck as though it were a cat.
Buffet took command. ‘Find out the truth, Doctor Crichton, so Janson’s family can be told before anyone else learns it. If any of my other players are involved in his death, we need to know. I’m doubling your fee because the matter is so pressing. Now, please excuse us while we get back to work.’
Anya stood, trying to comprehend what had just taken place. Ethan opened the door and followed her out.
‘They loved you,’ he said with a grin.
‘You think that went well?’ Anya asked incredulously.
‘Hell yeah. They’ve just given you – which means us – a free hand in finding out what happened tonight.’
She wasn’t sure she wanted to be involved at all. ‘Yes, but at what price?’
‘I saw the way you were in that room with Janson’s body. You were in your element. And come on, you have to admit, you want to know as much as I do. The first thing we need to do is confirm whose those voices were in the room next to Janson’s just now.’ He extended a hand. ‘Are you with me?’
For Kirsten Byrne, Darla Pinkus and any of the other women these men had assaulted, she would do what she could. The pair shook on it.
T
here they were. The only photos on the cell phone. Pete Janson, blue and lifeless, in all his naked glory. Certain outlets would pay a fortune to publish them. And Lyle Buffet would pay more to keep them hidden. It wasn’t difficult to imagine Bentley Masterton’s feigned disgust at the images either. There was a fortune sitting right here.
Anya Crichton was proving too smart for her own good. She needed to be monitored. A loose cannon, not the foreign token she was supposed to be, damn it. There were other ways to clean up the league.
The cable connected the phone to the laptop. Step one. Download the photos and keep the originals. Crichton would never suspect they had been copied. If she realised the phone was missing, there would be a good few hours for her to panic. It wouldn’t hurt to keep her rattled.
She’d have the device back soon enough and be loath to let it out of her reach again. Even better.
The second step was more time consuming. The spy software took much longer uploading. From now on, no matter where she was, it was possible to hear everything the clever doctor said and heard.
Switching it off was fruitless.
The phone was now a listening device, even when it was switched off. It was amazing that something so innocuous could be a veritable wealth of ongoing information. The software made the job so much easier.
Everything Anya Crichton discovered about Kirsten Byrne and the five players, and whatever she learnt about Janson and Keller’s deaths, would be recorded.
The chances of her putting it together were remote, but this was insurance and the stakes were higher than the naïve doctor would ever comprehend.
The final step: activate the GPS tracking device on the phone. Task complete.
Now, Anya Crichton would never be out of sight or earshot.
* * *
Back in her room, Anya kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the bed. It was almost time to ring Ben. Reaching inside her bag for her phone, she removed her wallet, tissues and a muesli bar, but there was no trace of the phone. She checked in the pockets and compartments – twice. The phone wasn’t there.
Where was it? Damn. This was the phone she used to call home using Skype. More importantly, it contained the photos of Janson hanging in the wardrobe. It had to be here. Tipping out the contents, she rummaged again, with no luck. She could feel her heart pounding faster in her chest. She searched under the bed and pulled off the covers. She ran to the bathroom but all she found were her toiletries. She wanted to throw up. This could not be happening. If those pictures got out, it would devastate Janson’s family and have serious legal repercussions for her. The thought was too horrible. It had to be somewhere. She tore the sheets off the bed and felt every inch of them for the phone. Nothing. God, where was it?
She mentally retraced her steps from the time they’d found Janson’s lifeless body. The last time she had it in her hand was in Janson’s hotel room. She rubbed her elbow, remembering the trip in the corridor.
It must have fallen out when she dropped the bag. She rushed downstairs and scoured the corridor. Someone had to have picked it up, but there was no record of it having been handed in at reception.
Whoever had the phone may not yet know what was in their possession. Either that, or someone had stolen her phone. She didn’t know which was more disturbing. By now, her clothes were sticky with perspiration from panic.
The events of the night played like a horror movie in her mind. She checked under the bed, pillows, chairs and cushions for the umpteenth time before giving up the search, short of breath and riddled with guilt. Ethan and Buffet would find out soon enough. She dialled home from the phone in her room.
Ben answered straightaway, as if waiting for her call.
‘Hi, Mum.’
‘Hi, sweetie, how was your day?’
‘Good.’ The word always ended with an upward inflexion as if it were a question. That made her smile, despite the ongoing sick feeling about the phone.
‘What was good about it?’
‘I got a sticker for being a good reader, and being helpful. And I played soccer at lunchtime and kicked a goal.’
Anya had seen her son play soccer, which at his age consisted of a pack of boys all running together in the same direction.
‘That’s great. Your dad must be teaching you well. Did you bring any notes home from school?’
Despite being so far away, she wanted to be involved in the day-to-day workings of his life.
‘There’s a fête in a few weeks and we’ll have rides on the oval, and fairy floss and games and … I can’t remember what else but there’s other stuff.’ He giggled, which was what he usually did when he forgot something in the middle of a story.
She laughed with him.
‘Will you come? Pleeeeeeaaase?’
Anya scratched the base of her throat.
‘I’ll do my best, but you have to let me know when it is.’
Hopefully it would be after she arrived back home.
‘Mum, I really miss you.’
She closed her eyes. ‘Me too, sweetie. I miss you so much.’
‘I think Dad does too.’
Ever the matchmaker. Sometimes she thought Ben was a little old man stuck in a child’s body.