The Innocent: The New Ryan Lock Novel (3 page)

He tried to comfort himself with the fact that it had to be pretty easy for the cops to work out who had been there. He had given them a picture of the car, complete with the plate. There had been no sign of forced entry, so it had to have been someone who had access to the stadium after hours. That had to be a pretty short list.

It would all be fixed, he told himself. The cops would find whoever had been there with the boy and the system would swing into action. And maybe, just maybe, there was a reasonable explanation.

At six thirty, with less than ninety minutes’ sleep under his belt, Malik admitted defeat, threw back the sheets on his side of the bed and padded into the bathroom to take a leak. He closed the door so he wouldn’t wake Kim. Malik could get by on very little sleep, his wife not so much. She needed a solid eight hours – minimum.

He washed his hands and went into the hallway. Flint was lying next to the stairs, ostensibly on sentry duty, but in reality dead to the world. Malik crossed to the kids’ bedrooms and, ignoring the various signs warning parents and other adults to keep out, took a peek inside. Landon, the older of the two, was stretched out on his bed, his calves and legs hanging over the end. Like Malik, he was tall, and likely to end up taller than his dad. He played basketball for his local high school and was already drawing some serious college interest. He could empty a refrigerator in seconds flat, had a smart mouth, and didn’t much like being told what to do. Those were qualities Malik recognized in himself.

Malik closed Landon’s door, and went to check on Katy. In contrast to the bombsite that passed for Landon’s room, Katy’s was immaculate. She lay on her side in bed, wide awake and reading: the Kindle they had got her last Christmas was propped up on a pillow next to her. Boy, could that kid read. He and Kim weren’t wild about kids staring at screens all day, but the local library couldn’t keep up with Katy’s voracious habits so they had broken down and got the Kindle.

She looked up at him and yawned. He walked in and sat down on the edge of her bed. ‘You’re up early. You have a nightmare?’ he asked her.

‘Nope. Just wanted to finish this book. It’s
so
good.’

She put down the Kindle and sat up. ‘Big game tonight. We going to win?’

‘Hell, yeah. Why you even ask me a question like that, girl?’

She seemed to study him. ‘You look tired.’

‘Didn’t sleep too good. Big game. You know how it is. You go finish your book. I’m gonna let Flint out.’

‘Okay, Daddy,’ she said, rolling over onto her other side, Kindle in hand.

He walked back out onto the landing. He should have felt comforted by the kids, safe, warm and happy in the home he and Kim had made for them. But he wasn’t. It made him think about the boy he’d found last night. How had that happened? How could someone not know their child was out at that time of night?

He stopped himself right there. He knew the answer. He’d grown up in a place where lots of parents had no control over their children, and for the ones who did, keeping control was a constant battle. He guessed he hadn’t expected it to happen in small-town white Minnesota.

The dog studied him with one eye, slowly got to his feet, and padded after him down the stairs. Malik walked into the kitchen, and opened the door that led into the backyard. Damn, it was cold. Right now, back in California, it would still be in the low sixties, even with the time difference. The cold in Minnesota was the one thing he’d never get used to. It bordered on painful. You’d step out into it and the wind would be knocked from you.

Out front he heard a car drive down the street and stop.
Weird
. There was almost never any kind of traffic on the street before seven. He closed the back door and walked through to the front of the house.

He saw a college-security patrol car pull up right out front of the house. The driver’s door opened and Tromso levered his fat ass out. He waddled toward the front door.

Malik didn’t want the whole house woken. Not to mention the questions he’d have to answer about why the cops were there first thing in the morning. He opened the front door and, still in his boxer shorts and T-shirt, braved the cold in his bare feet, meeting Tromso halfway up the path.

Tromso greeted him affably enough. ‘Hey, Coach.’

Malik nodded toward the upstairs bedrooms at the front of the house, the drapes still closed. ‘Family are sleeping.’

Tromso lowered his voice. ‘Sorry. I just figured you’d need this.’ He dug into various pockets before coming up with Malik’s cell phone. He handed it to him.

Malik took it. ‘Thanks.’

Tromso about-turned and started back toward the cruiser. Malik called after him, forgetting that most of his family were still asleep,

‘Hey, wait up.’

He caught up to Tromso at the sidewalk.

‘You figure out what was going on last night?’

Tromso turned with a smile, and a gee-shucks shrug. ‘Crazy story. One of the trustees was showing his nephew around. Lost sight of the kid entirely. Freaked out when he couldn’t find him, went searching all over the place. Turned out the kid had been hiding where you found him.’

Ordinarily when someone was spinning a yarn, Malik would have greeted it with ‘Uh-huh,’ or ‘That so?’ But this was such an obvious bunch of lies that, before he’d even thought about what he was saying or who he was saying it to, never mind why they might be saying it, the first word out of his mouth was ‘Bullshit!’

Tromso’s smile fell away. ‘Excuse me?’

Malik didn’t know why the hell Tromso was feeding him this line, but he was insulted. ‘Come on, man. That’s the guy’s story and you believe him? You have to be kidding me, right? That kid wasn’t hiding. He was crying. Brother, you saw him.’

‘He was upset that he’d been caught. He thought he was in trouble when you showed up.’

Malik stared at Tromso. He was half expecting some cheesy-ass TV presenter to step out from behind a bush with a camera crew and tell him he’d been punked, only this was so far from funny that he couldn’t imagine even the TV dirtbags trying to squeeze a laugh out of it.

‘That’s not what was going on there last night, and you know it.’

Tromso was pissed. His little piggy eyes were boring into Malik and his lips had all but disappeared. ‘So, what
was
going on, Coach?’ It wasn’t so much a question as a challenge.

‘Well, it sure as shit wasn’t hide-and-go-seek between some uncle and his nephew.’

He and Tromso were almost nose to nose now. Malik glanced down to see the chief’s left hand resting on his pepper spray. If he even thought of threatening to use it, Malik would kick his ass all over town, all day long, cop or no cop. Malik had never liked cops, and now he was remembering why.

‘So who was this trustee?’ Malik said, his voice calm. ‘You get a name?’

The question seemed to throw Tromso off. He backed up a little. ‘Take it easy, Coach. I looked into it. I can see how you might have got the wrong idea. Hell, I was thinking what you were when I arrived. But there’s no mystery. It was a misunderstanding.’

He was around the other side of the patrol car now.

‘I’m going to follow up on this,’ Malik told him.

‘Do yourself a favor, Coach. Just win that game for us tonight,’ said Tromso, clambering into the car, starting the engine and taking off before Malik could react.

Malik turned back to his house. His wife was at the bedroom window. She looked worried. He wondered how much she’d heard. Their elderly next-door neighbor was peering out too. Likely most of the street had woken up by now.

Malik headed back inside, his cell phone in his right hand.

‘What was that about? One of your players in trouble?’ Kim asked, as he walked into the kitchen for a refill of coffee from the pot on the counter.

He put his arms around her, swept aside her long black hair, and kissed the back of her neck. Katy looked up from the library book she was reading at the kitchen table. ‘Gross, you guys.’

‘No,’ said Malik. ‘Something else. I’ll tell you about it later.’

It was natural for Kim to assume that a visit from the cops was connected to the team. Over the years the kids he’d coached had had numerous run-ins with the law. Although there were exceptions, sports, especially basketball, tended to attract the ones who saw it as a way of escaping bad circumstances. That had certainly been the case for Malik.

Landon came loping into the kitchen, heading straight for the refrigerator. Malik was amazed at the boy’s capacity to eat and not put on so much as a pound. ‘What were the cops here for, Dad?’

‘Just something at the stadium last night.’

Kim studied him. ‘That where you were? Someone break in?’

Malik really didn’t want to have this conversation with Landon and Katy present. He did his best to shield them from the sickness in the world.

He took a sip of coffee. ‘Yeah, a break-in. Someone goofing around. Nothing was taken. That was the head of security checking in.’

Kim stood there, hands on hips. He couldn’t get anything past her. ‘So how come he had your cell phone?’

‘I’ll tell you later, okay?’ Malik said softly, hoping his tone would convey that he didn’t want to discuss it in front of the children.

‘Uh-huh,’ said Kim. ‘Well, I’m going to shower.’ She turned to her son, who was still busy looting the refrigerator. ‘Leave some food for the rest of us, Landon.’

With Kim out of the way, Malik dug out his cell phone and scrolled to the picture folder on the display. He tapped it open. He was going to email that photo to himself so he’d have a copy. He couldn’t. The picture he’d taken last night of the grey sedan had been deleted.

Malik blew straight past the line of people waiting patiently in the anteroom of Allan Laird’s office. Laird was the chancellor. He had headed the committee that had appointed Malik to the job. Malik liked Laird well enough, in as much as there wasn’t anything actively to dislike about the man. He was a glass-of-milk kind of guy, the type who ended up in jobs like chancellor because they’d never held an opinion strongly enough to piss anyone else off. Laird’s secretary got up from behind her desk, attempting to block him.

‘Coach Shaw, the chancellor is in the middle of––’

But her 120 pounds was no match for Malik in full flow. She was used to blocking access, but Malik had spent years in the NBA getting the ball to the basket past ghetto-determined men who were a lot bigger than he was. He dodged round her with a polite ‘Don’t worry, Suzanne. He’s expecting me.’

He turned the handle and walked into Laird’s office. Laird was on the phone. He looked vaguely startled by Malik’s appearance, but waved him into the chair opposite. He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. ‘Be right with you, Coach.’

Many men in Laird’s position would have resented the intrusion, and reacted accordingly. Not Laird. He didn’t do ruffled, or not that Malik had seen. It was a power thing. When you held the whole deck, you deployed power differently. Power was an absence of reaction. Malik knew because he had seen the same trick from the head coaches of pro teams. There were only so many times you could lose your temper before it lost its impact. It was more effective to leave players and staff to fill in what you were thinking for themselves. As a management style, it worked.

Laird was playing another trick that Malik knew all about. Giving someone who was clearly agitated time to cool off. Laird was likely done with the call but he kept the other person on the line, asking about the man’s family and kids.

Malik used the time to study Laird’s office. There was something in particular he was looking for. He found it easily enough. Then he waited for Laird to finish the call.

Laird hung up, and smiled benevolently across the desk. ‘Coach, always a pleasure. You ready to win this for us tonight? Eleven and two. Pretty incredible.’

Malik got to the point. ‘Captain Tromso speak to you about what happened last night?’

Laird’s smile vanished. He stretched his arms into the air. His hands settled behind his head, a hostage to fortune. ‘I know what you’re thinking, Malik.’

Malik had never heard Laird use his first name before. It unsettled him. It was the language of someone who badly wanted him on-side. ‘That so?’ he said.

‘You think I’m going to ignore this but, believe me, I’m not. Whatever went on last night, innocent or not, was wholly unacceptable to me and this institution. I’m going to deal with it.’

Malik locked eyes with Laird. ‘How?’

‘Firmly,’ said Laird. ‘The individual in question has been asked to tender his resignation from the board of trustees. Furthermore, he is going to be told that he is no longer welcome anywhere on campus. His relationship with this university is over.’

Malik didn’t say anything. The rage he had felt when he’d arrived was nothing to what he felt now. He wanted to stand up, grab Laird by his fancy tie, drag him over the desk, and explain to him what ‘firmly’ meant where he came from. Malik counted to ten. Slowly. It didn’t help. Finally, he said, ‘That’s it?’

Laird leaned forward, steepling his fingers under his chin. ‘What more would you like me to do?’

Suddenly the room felt hot. Malik reached up and loosened the tie he was wearing. ‘You’re serious? What do I think you should do? I caught a kid in the shower with one of our trustees and you’re asking
me
what I think
you
should do?’

Laird appeared taken aback and, for a second, Malik took it at face value.

‘That wasn’t what I was told, Coach. Captain Tromso said that …’ he flicked through some notes on his desk ‘… shortly after midnight, this morning, campus dispatch received an agitated call from you that you had a found a young man in the shower area.’ He kept reading from the report. ‘And that, furthermore, you had seen someone flee the stadium. No one told me that you had caught both parties actually
in
the shower together.’

Malik knew what Laird was doing. ‘You’re playing with words, Chancellor. Okay maybe I didn't actually see them together, but you don’t have to be a genius to know what was going on. What was a grown man doing with a child — not a young man, a child — alone in the middle of the night?’