AC05 - Death Mask (28 page)

‘There are a lot of people with vested interests in football and its ongoing success. No one in my lifetime is likely to thank us for this research. We have to protect our players in spite of the game, if we are to save the league.’

A
nya arrived back at the hotel and found Ethan sitting in the lobby with his laptop, munching on a box of Cracker Jacks.

‘Glad you’re back, because we’ve got work to do.’

She wondered what he imagined she had spent the entire day doing. All she wanted now was to sit and have a coffee before she did another thing. Ethan clearly had other plans.

He closed his computer, shoved it into a bag and stood up, brushing the crumbs from his trousers. ‘We’ve got a meeting in the bar. And good news, it’s happy hour.’

‘One drink and I’m likely to be under the table.’

‘That I would pay to see.’

Either the investigator had had a restful day, or he had found what he had been looking for. With a bit of luck, she could sit quietly with whomever it was they were meeting. After that, the evening was free so she could take a long bath and grab an early night.

They trekked around to the bar, which was full of business suits. They secured a spot in the corner, with a bench seat, coffee table and square leather chairs. She wondered how many they were expecting. Ethan grabbed four menus from a nearby table.

Just about every snack on it had appeal. ‘They don’t do knish here, I checked the other night,’ she admitted.

He smiled warmly and nudged her shoulder. ‘We’ll turn you into a real New Yorker before you go.’

Two Bombers players, dressed in jeans and buttoned shirts, sauntered around the corner and nodded in Ethan’s direction. One of them was Vince Dorafino.

‘Clark, Vince, I believe you know Doctor Crichton.’ Quiet music played in the background, which at least made conversation easy to hear.

‘Yeah, sorry about jokin’ with you the other day,’ Dorafino said.

What he’d done was neither clever nor funny, but Anya said nothing, more curious to know what Ethan had uncovered. She was uncomfortable enough sitting opposite two of the men who had in all probability raped Kirsten Byrne, although she tried not to show it. When the men sat down, Ethan moved a little closer to her.

‘As you may know, we have been asked by league administrators and your bosses to look into the incident at the Rainier Hotel the other night. Hey, before we start, would you like something to eat? It’s on me.’

The men nodded sheepishly and straddled the square leather seats. Ethan handed them each a menu. Garcia looked at it; Dorafino knew what he wanted.

‘I’ll have nachos and a beer.’

‘Sounds good,’ Garcia agreed. ‘Same for me.’

Ethan signalled a waitress who took their orders. Anya ordered fries with aioli, and a lemon, lime and bitters to drink, while Ethan settled for a beer. It was the first time she had seen him refuse the opportunity to eat.

‘Guys, we’re sorry about what happened to Pete and know how hard this is, but we want to hear your versions of what happened that night. So far no one’s given you a chance to tell your side of the story.’

They looked at each other, neither volunteering to go first. Eventually, Garcia spoke. ‘We said it all in the police statements.’

Dorafino sat straighter. ‘Our lawyers told us not to talk
to anyone about that night. We said everything in our police statements.’

‘We know that, but those things are so formal, we wanted to hear your story, in your own words. We just want to hear it for ourselves, then Mr Buffet and the others will know we’ve done our job.’

Mention of Buffet seemed to make a difference. Garcia rubbed his hands down his jeans. ‘There isn’t much to tell. There was a party in Janson’s room and someone said a woman was doing half the team. The door was open, so we went in and she was humping McKenzie. After he finished, she invited us to have sex with her.’

Anya was intrigued by the sudden change in his language from casual to more formal.

‘I asked if she was okay with it, and she agreed. She even appeared to be enjoying the sex and asked for more.’

The waitress arrived with the drinks, much to Garcia’s relief. He drank half of his in a couple of mouthfuls.

‘I read your statement, and that’s exactly what it says.’ Ethan took a swig of his beer. ‘Did you have to write them yourselves?’

Garcia’s eyes darted to his team mate then to Ethan.

‘Sorry, that was a dumb-ass question. Of course you wrote them. They’re typed and signed by you. What I meant was, did anyone suggest what to say in your statements?’

‘No,’ they said in unison.

‘In your words, Vince, what did you see and hear that night?’

‘Like Clark said, we were drinking downstairs then went up to our corridor. Pete was having one of his parties and the door was open. This woman was humping McKenzie then invited us to have sex too. Group sex isn’t against the law, you know.’

The hairs on Anya’s arms prickled. It was the same line Brett Dengate had used to justify his friends raping Hannah on their wedding night. Only she got the distinct impression these men had rehearsed their lines in advance.

‘I know. Guess it happens a fair bit with all these women trying to sleep with you.’

Both men grinned like children. They had begun to relax.

‘What happened then, Vince?’

‘Like I said, this woman was humping McKenzie and invited —’

‘No, I mean, did she talk to you, did she tell you her name, give you her number? You can tell me, was she a looker?’

Dorafino hesitated. ‘We didn’t talk much, if you know what I mean.’

‘You forgot to mention in your statement if the lights in the room were on or off.’

Dorafino looked at Garcia. ‘I don’t remember. On I think. Yeah, they were on.’

Garcia nodded.

‘I was a bit confused by the order of things you described, and Pete Janson isn’t here to help us out. When did Alldridge have sex with her? Before or after you?’

‘He came in last and he wanted her all to himself. Even stopped some other guys from coming in. Once he stepped up to the plate, we were out of there. He likes his privacy, if you know what I mean.’

Anya tried to hide her discomfort at hearing the men speak so casually about the episode.

‘Did the scar across her face put you off?’ Ethan tried. ‘Beauty is only skin deep, but,’ he whistled, ‘it’s still pretty nasty.’

‘Who looks at the mantel while you’re stoking the fire, right?’ Dorafino’s attempt at humour failed.

‘So she asked you to have sex with her, but you didn’t look at her face?’

‘Like we said,’ Garcia repeated, ‘she invited us to have sex.’

Ethan reached into his bag and pulled out the police statements. ‘There’s one thing in here I don’t understand.’ He groped around for something else in his bag. ‘Sorry, but I left my reading glasses upstairs.’ He handed the papers across. Dorafino took one look and switched his with Garcia.

The men had memorised the same statement. Anya realised what Ethan was doing.

‘You’ve each got your own?’

The men nodded. Garcia ran his hands down his jeans, twice.

‘Vince, in your second paragraph, can you just go over the first sentence.’ Dorafino read from the page.
‘On the night of 12 August I was in my room having drinks when
—’

‘Thanks, I wanted to make sure the date was correct. Clark, there was a bit of yours that I wanted to double-check what you meant. A fancy lawyer could make you sound like you were contradicting yourself. It’s in the second last sentence.’

The player sat, looking at the paper then back at Ethan. ‘It’s all pretty clear. I don’t know what your problem is.’ He put the copy on the table. ‘Man, you’re supposed to be helping us, not asking us bullshit questions. We’re outta here.’

He stood and Dorafino followed.

‘Before you go,’ Ethan said, ‘please take this. If you can remember anything about that night that could help us, please call me straightaway.’

He wrote on the back of his card. ‘This is my private address.’ He moved to hand the card across to Garcia.

Anya intercepted it. ‘Your writing is worse than a doctor’s,’ she jibed.

The player took the card from her and examined it. ‘I can read it fine. And sorry about losing it just then, we’re all a bit rocked by what happened to Pete.’

‘No sweat, appreciate you coming.’

They left the bar.

Ethan leant back against the headrest.

‘Clark Garcia can’t read a word.’

‘That was clever, writing nonsensical letters and numbers on the card.’

‘We now have two identical handwritten statements, one of which is supposed to have been composed, reread and signed by a college graduate who is completely illiterate.’

T
he second time the phone rang, Anya exhaled heavily, drew in a breath and was tempted to hide under the warm water. Instead, she climbed out of the bath and wrapped herself in a towel.

‘Quick, turn on the TV,’ Ethan said through the phone. ‘Go to CBS.’

‘I was getting ready for bed, can’t this wait?’

‘By tomorrow this will be all over the media. You need to see this now.’

Unenthusiastically, she pressed the power button on the remote and located the channel. ‘Now what?’

‘It’s about to come on. An interview with Terri Janson, the grieving widow. Jim Horan did the deal.’

It seemed very quick for a wife to appear in any media so close to the death of her husband. Anya immediately thought of the two little girls and the impact losing their father would have. No doubt the agent was thinking of them too, and the emotional interview Terri could deliver. Tears and pathos were what the gossipmongers and voyeurs wanted to see.

An ad for mouthwash finished and a woman behind a desk announced an exclusive interview revealing the shocking truth behind Pete Janson’s death.

‘The popular quarterback for the New Jersey Bombers was found in his New York hotel room this week hanging from a rail in the closet. The police are conducting an extensive investigation as mystery shrouds Janson’s final moments. Was it homicide? Was it suicide? Terri Janson believes she knows the truth. Please be aware, this story contains graphic sexual references.’

A montage of Janson playing football, as a child and a teenager, with disabled children and cancer sufferers, and on his wedding day filled the screen, accompanied by orchestral music. A voice-over gave a brief biography concluding with his marriage to Terri and the arrival of their two daughters.

It resembled a political campaign – for a saint.

The scene then faded to the white couch, with the attractive widow heavily made up, her platinum-blonde hair done in a loose bun.

A box of tissues was visible by her side.

‘Terri Janson, thank you so much for joining us.’ The interviewer leant forward and touched her subject’s hand. ‘I understand this is an extremely difficult time for you. Let’s start with how the children are coping.’

‘They’re what’s keeping me going. Pete called them his little princesses, and they adored him. He would be so proud of how brave they’re being.’ She dabbed her eye with the padding of a finger with false nails.

‘What have you told them?’ the interviewer asked.

‘That their daddy’s an angel in heaven, and he can see us but we can’t see him any more.’

For Anya, the image of Janson’s body was anything but angelic.

The reporter continued with the puff piece, asking what Terri loved about her husband, how proud his family was of him.

Anya tightened the towel as the air conditioner chilled the air.

‘Ethan, is there any point to watching this? I’d really like to catch up on sleep.’

‘Hang in there, a contact told me she’s about to drop a bombshell. One the owners are not going to be happy about.’

She hoped it was worth getting out of the bath for. This was the first time she had relaxed and unwound since getting on the plane, and the idea of an early night was too tempting to resist.

‘Terri …’ The female reporter spoke with a considered, level tone; it sounded as staged as the whole interview. ‘Do you think your husband committed suicide?’

The camera zoomed in on her face. ‘There is no way he would ever kill himself. I know that for a fact.’

‘How can you be so sure? I mean, he was hanging by the neck, with his own belt.’

Terri clutched a tissue and dabbed her eyes again. The pause couldn’t have been planned better for dramatic effect.

‘I know, but it isn’t what people think.’

‘What do you think happened that night in the hotel room?’

‘He said how lonely he got whenever he was away from me, and how much he missed sleeping in bed together when he was forced to stay in hotels with the team for weeks on end, as he was for this summit in New York. We were all here but unable to live like a family in that time. That hurt him.’

Ethan was still on the line. ‘Wait for it …’

Anya’s heart rate accelerated. Was the wife going to out her husband for being an unfaithful wife basher who raped women for entertainment?

The camera panned back, first a little, then more. ‘You see, to keep our marriage interesting, we used to, well, be very active sexually and would try different things. One of those things was what some people call erotic asphyxia.’

Anya sat on the edge of her bed in disbelief, the phone still near her ear. A grieving widow was talking on national television about a sexual fetish she and her husband shared.

‘She’s going to tell the world he died of extreme masturbation.’ Ethan sounded as shocked as Anya felt.

Without any concept of privacy, Terri Janson proceeded to
show a series of silk scarves, handcuffs with blue feathers covering the cuffs and other bondage paraphernalia.

‘Convenient how she’s chosen to omit details like the other woman who was in the room before he died and the fact that he was wearing a condom.’

‘Maybe he was a clean freak and didn’t want to make a mess.’

Anya laughed.

‘Any luck finding out who the woman in the room was?’

‘None so far. Still working on accessing CCTV footage. Police got the files first but I’m hoping to get a lead on them.’