miss. You’ll have to talk to Staff Sergeant Munro.”
On cue, the door opened. The man who came out looked as much like a cop as I look like Dolly Parton. He wasn’t big, he wasn’t beefy, and he wasn’t wearing polyester. He was slim and elegant, dressed in what looked like a good silk tweed jacket and pants with a fashionable pleat. His tie was loosened slightly and the jacket undone. I could see his gun.
He ran his fingers through his dark, wavy hair.
“What’s up, MacPherson?”
“I found this lady attempting to interfere with the witness, sir,” the constable said. “She’s a reporter.”
“You make it sound as if I was molesting him, for heaven’s sake. I was just trying to comfort him. He was almost in shock, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Amusement flashed in Munro’s eyes briefly, then he turned to his young colleague.
“Thanks for your vigilance, Constable,” he said, dismissing him. Then he turned to me.
“You’re Katherine Henry, aren’t you? I’ve seen your picture in the paper. I’m pleased to meet you.”
A bit taken aback, I shook his hand.
“I’m just as glad you’re here. I can’t tell you much for the record, but maybe you can tell me some things. You knew Thorson and the rest of the Titans well. I’d like to ask you some informal questions, if you don’t mind.”
“I’ll do anything I can, but I have to get something back to my paper. When are you releasing information?”
“Not until we know more ourselves.”
“Are you sure it couldn’t have been an accident?”
“Not the way his skull was broken. There’s nothing in the shower room that could have caused that kind of injury if he fell. Also some other things I can’t talk about. There’s no chance he wasn’t murdered.”
“Do you think it’s connected to Sultan Sanchez’s death?”
“It certainly puts a new light on it. You know all the people around the team. Do you have any idea of who might want to kill either one of them?”
“Couldn’t Thorson’s killer have been a stranger, too? Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”
“We don’t believe much in coincidences where I work.”
“It’s crazy. Who would want to kill Thorson? Thorson had enemies, but not murderous ones. Some of his teammates didn’t like him, and guys on other teams, but baseball players don’t go around killing people.”
I realized I was babbling and shut up.
“I thought Thorson was the biggest star on the team,” Munro said. “He wasn’t popular?”
“Well, the fans liked him, and he was still one of their best pitchers, but he wasn’t the nicest guy. But that’s no reason to kill him.”
“Were you in the dressing room after the game yesterday?”
“Yes, of course. Why?”
“Well, after we talk, maybe you could have a look around and see if anything seems out of the ordinary now.”
I didn’t want to go in there. But I couldn’t pass up the chance.
“I guess,” I said. “Is he, is it, still there?”
“No, no. The body has been removed. Would you mind?”
He held open the door, then stopped.
“Do you know if this lock is usually taped like this?”
The door was one of a pair of self-locking steel doors with a bar to open them from inside. Where the lock met the latchplate in the matching door, there was a torn scrap of adhesive tape.
“It looks as if the lock was taped to let someone get in here without a key,” I said. “I don’t know if it was like this yesterday or not. But a couple of times I’ve tried to get in this way after a game or when I arrive really early and it’s been locked.”
Munro grunted. Approvingly, I guess.
“Good,” he said. “You’re observant. You might be some use after all. We’ve already taken samples. It appears to be the kind of tape they use on bats.”
The clubhouse was actually a complex of rooms off a zigzagging central corridor. Just past the dugout entrance was a washroom for players to use during a game. Around the corner was the
On cue, the door opened. The man who came out looked as much like a cop as I look like Dolly Parton. He wasn’t big, he wasn’t beefy, and he wasn’t wearing polyester. He was slim and elegant, dressed in what looked like a good silk tweed jacket and pants with a fashionable pleat. His tie was loosened slightly and the jacket undone. I could see his gun.
He ran his fingers through his dark, wavy hair.
“What’s up, MacPherson?”
“I found this lady attempting to interfere with the witness, sir,” the constable said. “She’s a reporter.”
“You make it sound as if I was molesting him, for heaven’s sake. I was just trying to comfort him. He was almost in shock, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Amusement flashed in Munro’s eyes briefly, then he turned to his young colleague.
“Thanks for your vigilance, Constable,” he said, dismissing him. Then he turned to me.
“You’re Katherine Henry, aren’t you? I’ve seen your picture in the paper. I’m pleased to meet you.”
A bit taken aback, I shook his hand.
“I’m just as glad you’re here. I can’t tell you much for the record, but maybe you can tell me some things. You knew Thorson and the rest of the Titans well. I’d like to ask you some informal questions, if you don’t mind.”
“I’ll do anything I can, but I have to get something back to my paper. When are you releasing information?”
“Not until we know more ourselves.”
“Are you sure it couldn’t have been an accident?”
“Not the way his skull was broken. There’s nothing in the shower room that could have caused that kind of injury if he fell. Also some other things I can’t talk about. There’s no chance he wasn’t murdered.”
“Do you think it’s connected to Sultan Sanchez’s death?”
“It certainly puts a new light on it. You know all the people around the team. Do you have any idea of who might want to kill either one of them?”
“Couldn’t Thorson’s killer have been a stranger, too? Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”
“We don’t believe much in coincidences where I work.”
“It’s crazy. Who would want to kill Thorson? Thorson had enemies, but not murderous ones. Some of his teammates didn’t like him, and guys on other teams, but baseball players don’t go around killing people.”
I realized I was babbling and shut up.
“I thought Thorson was the biggest star on the team,” Munro said. “He wasn’t popular?”
“Well, the fans liked him, and he was still one of their best pitchers, but he wasn’t the nicest guy. But that’s no reason to kill him.”
“Were you in the dressing room after the game yesterday?”
“Yes, of course. Why?”
“Well, after we talk, maybe you could have a look around and see if anything seems out of the ordinary now.”
I didn’t want to go in there. But I couldn’t pass up the chance.
“I guess,” I said. “Is he, is it, still there?”
“No, no. The body has been removed. Would you mind?”
He held open the door, then stopped.
“Do you know if this lock is usually taped like this?”
The door was one of a pair of self-locking steel doors with a bar to open them from inside. Where the lock met the latchplate in the matching door, there was a torn scrap of adhesive tape.
“It looks as if the lock was taped to let someone get in here without a key,” I said. “I don’t know if it was like this yesterday or not. But a couple of times I’ve tried to get in this way after a game or when I arrive really early and it’s been locked.”
Munro grunted. Approvingly, I guess.
“Good,” he said. “You’re observant. You might be some use after all. We’ve already taken samples. It appears to be the kind of tape they use on bats.”
The clubhouse was actually a complex of rooms off a zigzagging central corridor. Just past the dugout entrance was a washroom for players to use during a game. Around the corner was the
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