Last Shot (19 page)

“Braman,” Susan Carol broke in.

“And she probably still uses that name at work,” Chip said. “Which explains why I couldn’t find her in the phone book.”

Dean Wojenski continued, his audience now paying rapt attention. “Steve Jurgensen was angry, bitter that he didn’t get hired. He told people your dad had put the knife in his back to get the job, which, from everything I knew, could not have been further from the truth.”

“My dad’s not like that,” Chip said.

“I know, Chip. Anyway, Steve Jurgensen decided coaching wasn’t for him at that point, and as it turned out, they did him a favor. He’d gotten a law degree from North Carolina while he was a young coach, so he got a job in a Charlotte law firm and within ten years had become one of the managing partners. He started to give a lot of money to his alma mater, and, I don’t know, four or five years ago, they made him a member of the board of trustees. If I’m not wrong, he’s on the executive committee now, and on track to be chairman of the board in a few years.”

“What’s his alma mater?” Susan Carol asked.

The dean smiled. “Duke.”

“Duke!” they all shouted in unison, looking at one another.

“I don’t remember a player named Steve Jurgensen,” Susan Carol said. “And I know most of the Duke players going back to the 1960s.”

“He wasn’t a player,” Professor Wojenski said. “He was a manager.”

“A manager who became a coach?” Chip asked.

“That’s not unusual,” Stevie said. “Lawrence Frank of the New Jersey Nets was a manager at Indiana.”

“And Jeff LaMere at Virginia Commonwealth was a manager for Coach K,” Susan Carol added.

“The difference is, he left coaching and got rich,” the dean said.

Stevie could see Chip doing the same kind of mental two-plus-two that he was doing. “Okay, let’s just say this Steve Jurgensen is involved in this somehow,” Chip said.
“He’s still carrying a grudge against my father and he wants to see him lose and Duke win. How does he hook up with Whiting?”

“It
would
help explain why Whiting made the comment about playing Duke in the final,” Stevie said to Chip. “Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered to Jurgensen if you guys were playing UConn.”

“Maybe not,” Chip said. “But if Jurgensen and Whiting are in this together, why would Jurgensen’s wife help us find you, Dean?”

“Yes, why?” the dean said. “Maybe he knew I’d be unlikely to be much help and hoped you’d be discouraged. Maybe he thought you were on to something and he wanted to divert suspicion from himself by seeming to help you.”

“But we can’t be sure that Jurgensen is involved at all, can we?” Susan Carol asked.

“If he’s not, it’s one hell of a coincidence,” Dean Wojenski said.

“I don’t believe anything is coincidence at this point,” Chip said.

Chip stood up and looked at his watch. “I have to get back downtown for a press conference,” he said. “Thanks for seeing us, Dean Wojenski. You’ve been a big help.”

“Not really, I’m afraid. What will you do, Chip?”

“I’m handing it over to these two.”

“Us?” Stevie said.

“You bet. My guess is Steve Jurgensen is in New Orleans to watch his alma mater win the national championship tomorrow night. You guys have got to find him.”

Once they were back in the car and headed back to New Orleans, Chip gave Susan Carol his cell phone so she could try to call Bill Brill. They knew the Duke team wasn’t staying at its assigned hotel downtown, but Brill had said the rooms were being used by alumni, fans, and donors. Problem was, neither of them could remember the name of the hotel. Brill would know.

They got lucky. Susan Carol caught him walking out the door to get a late breakfast before the press conferences. It was getting close to noon and Chip was pushing eighty as he pulled onto I-10. Susan Carol talked to Brill briefly, said she wasn’t sure she would be at the press conferences—which were being held at the Dome—and then closed the phone.

“He says the Duke players are out by the airport; the fans and alums are at the Embassy Suites, but the really big shots are at the Windsor Court,” she said. “He even had the phone number because he’s been trying to call the chairman of the board for a story he’s writing on their search for a new president.”

“Well, if the chairman is staying there …,” Stevie said.

“Right.” She dialed the number and asked for Steve Jurgensen. A moment later, she hung up. “She said she would ring the room. I hung up when it started to ring.”

“Okay then,” Chip said. “We know where the guy is. Now—” He stopped himself and glanced in the rearview mirror.

“What is it?” Susan Carol asked.

“Company,” Chip said. “I think someone’s following us.” Stevie started to turn around but heard Chip say, “Don’t look back.”

“Are you sure?” Susan Carol asked.

“No. Could be a coincidence, but that black Town Car got on the highway at the same place we did, and he’s been staying the same distance behind us ever since.”

“So what do you want to do?” Stevie asked.

“I want to find out if I’m paranoid or not,” he said, suddenly swerving the car to the right onto an exit ramp. He pulled up the ramp, glancing in the mirror as he did. At the top of the ramp, he grimaced. “Our friend got off, too,” he said.

Stevie felt a slight tremor go through him. “Maybe we should get right back on the highway,” he said.

“Easy, Stevie,” Chip said. “Look, there are gas stations and fast-food places right here. I think we could use some gas.”

He swung the car into an Exxon station on the right. As they pulled up to the pumps, they saw the Town Car go past them.

“Hey,” Stevie said, “maybe … oh.”

“No, they’re following us, all right,” Chip said as they all watched the car make a quick left into the Burger King diagonally across the street from the Exxon. “They’re just going to wait for us over there.”

“What should we do?” Stevie asked.

“Get some gas and get back to town,” Chip said.

He hopped out of the car and began pumping gas while
Susan Carol and Stevie kept an eye on the car. It had pulled around to the section of the Burger King parking lot that faced the gas station.

“No one’s getting out,” Susan Carol said. “They’re just sitting there waiting for us to leave.”

“Well, who is it? Why are they following us?” Stevie asked.

“I could maybe find out who …,” Susan Carol said as Chip got back in the car. “Chip, go to the drive-thru at that Burger King.”

“You’re
hungry
?” Chip asked.

“No, but from the drive-thru window we’ll have a perfect view of his license plate. I have a friend who might be able to trace it.”

They got lucky because there was no line. Chip ordered a hamburger, three fries, and three Cokes. When they pulled up to the window, Susan Carol and Stevie squinted at the back of the car while Chip paid. The windows were tinted, so they couldn’t see inside. Never had a car seemed so ominous.

“Oh my God,” Susan Carol said. “It’s a North Carolina plate!”

“Can you make it out?” Chip said, pulling a bag of food into the car and passing it to the backseat without looking back.

“I can,” said Stevie, always proud of his vision. “DTC-145.”

“Someone write that down,” Chip said, accepting his change, “and let’s get out of here.”

Stevie didn’t need to write it down—he wasn’t likely to forget it—but Susan Carol whipped out her notebook.

Chip pulled out quickly and they were back on the interstate in under a minute. Soon after, Chip glanced in the mirror and said, “They’re right back with us.”

Susan Carol called her friend and gave him the plate number.

“Who
was
that?” Stevie was incredulous. “You really know someone who can track down a license plate?”

“He’s a friend. His father’s a big shot in the state police and he can get into his computer. Once his dad caught him checking out the license plates of all the teachers at school to find out if any of them had ever been in trouble.”

“But he’s still willing to do this for you?” Stevie asked.

“Oh, yeah.”

“And he didn’t ask
why
you need to know this?”

She blushed. “He kind of likes me. He said he’d call back as soon as he could.”

That answer didn’t exactly thrill Stevie, but he resisted the urge to ask more questions.

Chip looked at his watch. It was almost twelve-thirty. He asked Susan Carol for his cell phone back and dialed a number. “Tom, it’s Grabes,” he said. “Do me a favor, tell my dad and Coach Ames I’m not going over to the Dome with the team, that I’ll meet them there. I might be a minute or two late but don’t panic. I just had to do something.”

He snapped the phone shut.

“Okay, what now?” he said. “We know where Jurgensen is staying, but how does that help us?”

“Should we try to find him at his hotel? Talk to him?” Stevie asked.

“Or maybe just follow him?” Susan Carol offered. “See where he goes and who he talks to?”

“He could talk to lots of people, but how will we know who they are?” said Stevie, feeling frustrated.

“True,” Susan Carol admitted. “We don’t even know what
he
looks like.…”

Chip’s cell phone broke into their conversation. It was Susan Carol’s friend, calling back with a name to go with the license-plate number.

“Well, we don’t have to wonder how to find Steve Jurgensen anymore,” she said, hanging up. “He’s right behind us.”

“What?!” Stevie and Chip yelled in near-perfect unison.

The idea of following Jurgensen was decidedly less creepy than the reality of being followed
by
him.

“Yeah,” said Susan Carol shakily, “how’s
that
for a coincidence?”

“I knew he had to be connected …,” said Chip, slamming his palm on the steering wheel. “Damn it. I wonder if he followed us
out
there, too? That means he’s seen you guys. And if you went to see Wojenski with me, then he’ll know you
know.…
”

“Oh, great,” said Stevie, almost too scared to even process what that might mean.

“Okay, don’t panic. These guys are more interested in me than in you,” said Chip. “If you guys come to the Dome with me, I’ll bet you can lose him there. You have press clearance
and Jurgensen doesn’t. You have your credentials on you?”

For once, Stevie was prepared. “I stuck it in the back of my notebook just in case,” he said. “Susan Carol?”

“Got it.”

“Okay,” Chip said. “Once we’re in, you guys can take off and probably not be followed.”

“Probably not?” Stevie said.

“Stevie, no guarantees right now,” Chip said. “You want out?”

“No! That’s not what I meant.”

“Okay, then,” he said. “Who’s got an idea?”

“I do,” Susan Carol said.

“Of course you do,” Stevie said.

Chip laughed. “Okay, little sister,” he said. “Let’s hear it.”

He picked up his speed a little more, and they flew along the highway, the black Town Car keeping pace not far behind.

IT WAS ONE O’CLOCK
precisely when Chip wheeled the car up to the gate behind the Superdome that was marked
NCAA PERSONNEL ONLY
. The Town Car was holding a block back. He rolled down the window as a guard walked up to greet them, waving his hand to indicate they were in the wrong place.

“Chip Graber—Minnesota State,” Chip said to the guard, showing him his player pin and his driver’s license. “I’m due inside for the press conference right now.”

“Sorry, pal, no one parks in here without a pass,” he said. “The van with the Minnesota State people just came through here a couple minutes ago.”

“I know,” Chip said. “I had to run an errand with my
cousins here, so I missed the team van. I was told to meet everyone here.”

The guard was still shaking his head when a second guard walked over to see what the problem was. The first one hooked a thumb at Chip and said, “Kid claims he’s a player. He’s got a pin but no parking pass.”

“Player, yeah right,” the second guard said. He bent down a little to look in the open window, and Stevie saw his eyes go wide. “Chip Graber? Holy …” He stopped before the next word came out of his mouth. “Bill, it’s Chip Graber. Open the damn gate, will ya? Chip, sorry, thought you’d come with the other guys. No one told us.…”

“It’s okay,” Chip said, waving his hand as if granting forgiveness.

“Go right in there and up to the ramp,” the second guard said. “There’s spots down there. You know how to get to the interview room from there, right? There’s signs and all.…”

“Yeah, yeah. Got it,” Chip said. “Thanks.”

The gate opened and he pulled through with a wave to Bill, and they watched the black Town Car continue slowly down the block.

Chip got almost to the entrance of the building before parking. It had started to rain again and they walked quickly to the nearby door. The guard there was insistent that Stevie and Susan Carol go outside, upstairs, and over the ramp to the media entrance. He said that he knew who Chip was and that he was expected at the press conference but orders were orders.

“Get someone from the NCAA out here,” Chip said.