After ordering the grilled chicken paillard with mustard sauce and French beans, Ethan ordered wine. Anya opted for the steak to boost her iron levels, with side orders of greens and potato gratin.
A table of six clinked champagne glasses as they toasted an elderly gentleman in their party. The waiter brought a cake with one candle as the group sang ‘Happy Birthday’. Alldridge’s auburn-haired friend listened to and applauded the song. She had long fingers, which she continually used to emphasise parts of her conversation. Notably absent were any flashes from diamond rings. A gold filigree bracelet adorning her right wrist was the sum total of jewellery on display. Again, this woman was unusual.
The body language across the table was relaxed. She was the more tactile of the two, frequently reaching forward to touch his hand or arm. Lance sat back in the chair and seemed to speak less often, but still seemed to be fully engaged in their conversation.
Drinks arrived, the mains soon after, cooked to perfection. Anya watched the couple share entrées and main meals, each selecting a portion from the other’s plate without fuss or encouragement. That single act was their most telling sign of intimacy. The woman stood and placed her serviette on the back of her chair. The two shared a laugh as Lance quickly swapped his empty plate for her half-finished course.
Meandering her way past tables on her way to the bathroom, she had the contented look of a woman in requited love. Anya saw she’d left her purse and phone at the table. It seemed unusual to miss an opportunity to touch up makeup when press photographers could snap a picture at any time. She, like Ethan, was intrigued by this woman.
Something towards the door caught her attention. The maître d’ acted as if he was ejecting someone just inside the front door, but the close contact and quiet conversation between the men signalled a pre-existing relationship.
‘See that?’ Ethan said. ‘The maître d’ pocketed a bribe before security ejected that press photographer. Info about celebrities doesn’t come cheap.’
At least one person on staff had just taken payment for information about their patrons. As Anya was fast learning, celebrity was an industry in itself.
She ate the last of the steak, mopping up every morsel. In the woman’s absence, Lance signed a couple more autographs between finishing his meal and waving for the bill.
After paying in cash, he pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and either texted or checked messages.
‘Those smart phones are a nightmare,’ Ethan complained. ‘You never know if someone’s making a call, checking sports results or playing a game. The only good thing is the amount of information stored on them if you ever have to borrow one during a case.’
Anya gave him a sideways glance, wondering how many laws he broke in the course of an investigation.
The woman returned and Lance stood, all smiles, thanking the staff on their way out. Ethan swiftly moved to the door, pausing by the maître d’, a twenty-dollar bill in reserve.
‘Don’t suppose you know who the glamorous woman in the green dress is?’
‘I’m told, sir, she’s a violin virtuoso with the New York Philharmonic. They’re performing tonight.’
By the expression on Ethan’s face, he hadn’t expected the footballer to be dating a prominent classical musician. Lance kept very different company from his colleagues. This girlfriend could have some insights into his off-field behaviour. Or maybe she didn’t know about his penchant for gang-rape. Anya was concerned she could be at risk of being sexually assaulted.
‘Do you know what’s playing?’ Ethan rallied.
‘Rachmaninov. It’s a sellout, but I can arrange tickets if you’re interested.’
Nothing like entrepeneurs in New York, Anya thought. If a dollar was to be made, guaranteed someone down the chain would make at least two.
‘I’m more of a sports fan.’ He patted the man’s back. ‘Thanks anyways. But where are they performing, in case I change my mind?’
‘Avery Fisher Hall at the Lincoln Centre.’
Ethan thanked him for a lovely evening. Outside, paparazzi photographed the couple, flashes catching the face of other
patrons. The woman shielded her face as the doorman held open a taxi door.
Ethan made sure he secured the next taxi for the short drive, the twenty-dollar note now back in his pocket. The couple was easy to spot near the entrance to the concert hall. The woman reached up to kiss Alldridge on his cheek, before handing him a ticket and heading towards the stage entrance.
Once out of the cab, Anya and Ethan followed from a distance. Lance entered the foyer and bought a drink at the bar. Instead of going inside the actual hall when the doors opened, Lance checked his phone and headed back out to hail a taxi.
Ethan grabbed Anya’s hand. Another taxi pulled up to the curb. He quickly opened the door to usher out its occupants. By the time the elderly man had paid the driver and assisted his wife safely onto the sidewalk, the taxi Lance was in had turned the corner and was out of sight.
* * *
‘He went inside as if he was going to listen to the performance. Next thing, he’s out and gone.’ Ethan ran his hands through his hair.
‘Maybe he felt ill and headed back to the hotel.’
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ he said. ‘Wait until the show’s over and see if he slips back in.’
They headed for the centrepiece of the Lincoln Centre, a yellow lit fountain. Tourists surrounded it like moths to a flame, sparking a flurry of flash photographs. The smell of chlorine reminded Anya of days spent as a child at the local swimming pool. Something about the sound of running water was calming. She wondered where Alldridge had gone. The concert would have been a thrill to see; then again, maybe he was only pretending to like music to get to the girl, just as Pete Janson had pretended to be interested in Kirsten’s business proposal.
‘You can go back to the hotel if you like,’ Ethan offered.
The night was fresh and being outside felt better than being inside a stuffy hotel room.
‘We haven’t had dessert yet.’
Ethan kept an eye out. ‘Maybe he’s gone to get flowers and is coming right back.’
On the street, a mobile vendor sold ice creams. Anya bought two while Ethan watched the entrance to the Avery Fisher Hall.
They enjoyed the ice cream in silence and strolled despite the humidity.
Eventually, Anya spoke. ‘The waitress before we saw the basketball game. Why did you give her extra money?’
Ethan did a double take. ‘Wow. Where did that come from? Why? Are you jealous?’
‘Hardly. So do you tip every waitress wads of cash?’
He licked ice cream from above his top lip. ‘She’s an old friend. Husband walked out and left her with two little kids. I help out sometimes when I can, and she pays me back whenever she can.’ He looked sideways. ‘And in case you’re wondering, there are no strings attached.’
‘OK.’ She felt a little foolish. ‘Did you mean it when you mentioned the job to Darla Pinkus?’
‘She’s got an interview with the Dream Foundation next week. It’s associated with Madison Square Garden and does a lot with kids. She can take her daughter on the job most days.’
At the museum, this man had told her that belonging was overrated, yet he acted like family to people he barely knew. She couldn’t work him out.
An hour and a half of conversation quickly passed, and then a taxi pulled up and Lance Alldridge climbed out. Anya and Ethan turned their faces to each other, to avoid being seen. They need not have bothered. Lance seemed intent on one thing: getting back inside the auditorium before the performance finished.
They headed back to the street. ‘The night wasn’t a total loss. He’s met with a woman he doesn’t want his team mates to meet, then left her for somewhere he doesn’t want her to know about.’
Ethan gave a self-satisfied smile.
‘We just got our leverage. Alldridge is our weakest link.’
E
than headed back to the conference room and opened the door with the key the hotel had provided. Anya ordered coffees from room service and two Cosmopolitans for nightcaps. Neither of them wanted to be seen in the bar or to deal with any of the players they might run into there.
They sat through footage of people entering and leaving the hotel elevators.
‘Was this before or after Janson died?’ Anya asked.
‘By the number of people, you’d think it was after, but there were a lot of women prowling that corridor. It could have been any one of them going into his room.’
He sat forward in his chair. Janson, arm in arm with a smaller woman, entered the frame. His formidable size obscured her face from the camera.
‘Damn.’ Ethan ran his hand through his hair. ‘It’s impossible to identify her.’
‘Can you at least see what she’s wearing?’
‘New York’s unofficial all-weather uniform: black dress and heels, sunglasses and scarf, only it’s around her hair. Doesn’t exactly narrow it down.’
Anya had yet to tell him of an email she had received during the taxi ride back. By now, the widow and her lawyers would know.
‘I just got a call. Janson was positive for the APoE4 gene component. He was at greater risk from head injuries than someone without it. The wrongful death suit could set a precedent that could have a big impact on football.’ The pun was unintended.
Anya had to admit to leaning on the side of knowledge rather than civil liberties. If she had the opportunity to discover what sports placed her son at greater risk, she would want to keep him safe by knowing what activities to avoid. Surely every parent deserved that. Civil libertarians often didn’t consider a parent’s right to protect their children.
She let the information sink in.
‘Don’t underestimate the league. It will throw everything it can at the case, to prevent a precedent being set in the courts. If it loses, the issue will be tied up for years. I suspect Terri Janson will settle before too long.’
The head-injury research was going nowhere without funding, and any results, no matter how legitimate, would be tainted since Roman Bronstein had been formally arrested for drug dealing.
Ethan didn’t seem too concerned. ‘Having to deal with this rape case is going to be a bigger problem. Five Bombers players involved doesn’t look good. And the team could end up with a huge hole in their offence.’
Anya could not believe what she was hearing. Ethan sounded most concerned about the skill deficit left if the rapists were excluded from play.
‘They’ll be out because of the morals clause anyway, given what we’ve found out so far about McKenzie and Dorafino,’ Anya said. ‘Garcia is already benched, and we know Lance Alldridge has something to hide.’
Ethan rubbed his forehead.
‘If the case goes ahead,’ Anya continued, ‘Janson will become a martyr to those who demand genetic testing by high schools and colleges before letting kids play sports. His lawyers will want to preserve his reputation for tributes. They’ll
deflect blame to the other four. And that’s the good news for Kirsten.’
Ethan disagreed. ‘That venomous piece that maligned her is only the start. The strategy defence lawyers use is deny, deny, then denounce. They’ll go at Kirsten with every resource possible, and what they don’t know they’ll make up. Hell, a team of guys like me is already back in her home town digging up any bit of dirt they can find.’ He rubbed his index finger and thumb together. ‘People who want to be quoted will have more than enough incentive to come forward.’
Anya felt as if she had been hit with a fist to the chest. She thought Ethan believed the same things as she did. Now she had no idea what to think. The way he was speaking, Kirsten would be better off staying silent and avoiding a trial. The men would be free to rape again, but at least the team’s offence would still be strong.
He wheeled the chair to his computer. ‘Look at some of these. A court case will only make this worse.’
Anya tentatively read some of what was on the screen. It was a blog discussing the accusations made by Kirsten against the five players. So far, there were eight thousand comments on this site alone.
Why would they bother with a whore like her when they could have anyone they wanted? She’s a fucking liar.
Kirsten Byrne should burn in hell. She’s willingly slept with all those men and now lies about it. She doesn’t deserve to live.
Let the fans show her what justice means. Anyone have her address?
I’d die to sleep with any of them. She ought to be grateful.
The skank is only after money. Where do I donate to the defence fund?
She killed Pete Janson. He died because of the stress brought on by her bullshit accusations.
Anya could not read any more. Without knowing any of the facts, these anonymous people were threatening and libelling Kirsten. She could not see one entry offering support.
‘That blog was started by a female fan. One page has 200,000 fans supporting the boys. It’s only been up a couple of days. The public is already passing judgement, and most everyone blames the victim. She needs police protection now more than ever. If you think Darla got a hard time, that was nothing compared with what Kirsten will face.’
She sat silently, attempting to understand the degree of hatred towards an innocent victim. ‘Do you really believe that Kirsten shutting up and disappearing is the right thing to do?’
Ethan pulled the hair back off his forehead.
‘What’s right and best aren’t necessarily the same thing.’
‘So that’s it then. You stop investigating Alldridge, even though you know Garcia recited his statement and can’t possibly have written it.’
‘I didn’t say that.’ He advanced the tape. ‘Dorafino says he never saw the woman’s face. I wondered if he was lying but …’ He leant forward again. ‘Why would she be wearing a scarf and sunglasses inside?’
The drinks arrived and Anya thought about it. ‘She wasn’t only avoiding being identified by players or people in the hotel, she was avoiding the cameras.’
‘Given that CCTV recordings are on a loop and are wiped if no incident requiring review takes place …’