Change of Heart (17 page)

“No.”

“You're sure?”

“Well ...” he began. He frowned.

“What is it, Wayne?” Morgan said.

“There was one person,” he said slowly. “I saw him go into the locker room during second period. When he came out, I asked him what he'd been doing in there. He said he was looking for some tape. He had some in his hand.”

“Did you tell Sean's coach?” Morgan said.

“He was just looking for tape,” Wayne said. “And he was an assistant coach.”

“For Sean's team?”

“For the other team. But a coach would never tamper with equipment. A kid maybe. But not a coach. Coaches know what can happen when you monkey with equipment. They know how serious it can be.”

“Do you know this assistant coach's name?” I said.

“Lyle something, I think,” Wayne said. He thought it over. “Yeah. Lyle something.”

“Thanks, Wayne,” Morgan said. She pushed open the locker room door. “Colin?” I heard her say, surprised. “You're still here?”

“Are you sure I can't give you a lift?” he said. “It's no problem.”

She stepped outside, and the door closed behind her. Wayne went back to his mopping.

“Can I ask you one more question, Wayne?” I said.

He glanced at me.

“You saw someone go into the arena the night Sean died, right?”

“Yeah. It was that kid, the one they arrested.”

“Did you see him leave, too?”

“Couldn't have,” Wayne said. “I wasn't here. I was on my way home when I saw him go in.”

“But your car was in the parking lot when he left.”

“No it wasn't. Like I told the cops, I saw the kid, I told him to remind Sean to lock up, and then I went straight home.”

“Were there any other cars in the parking lot when you left?” I asked.

Wayne shook his head.

“You're sure?”

“Positive.”

I thanked him and left the locker room. Something wasn't right. Billy had said he'd seen a car. He'd said it was Wayne's. But Wayne said it wasn't. Was he lying?

I found Morgan outside the locker room door.

“We're just trying to figure out a few things,” she was saying to Colin.

“What things?” Colin said. “Why were you asking Wayne about the day of the game?”

“Because someone tampered with Sean's helmet,” Morgan said.

“Yeah. The same creep they arrested for killing him. That psycho ex-boyfriend of yours.” If you looked closely, you could see the resemblance between Sean and Colin. But that's all it was—a resemblance. Sean was tall, rangy, and handsome, with boyish good looks and a winning smile. Colin was stockier, beefier, with heavier features and, at that moment, a sullen scowl.

“Billy has an alibi for the whole day when Sean's helmet was tampered with,” Morgan said.

“Are you trying to tell me he didn't kill Sean?” Colin said. “Because the cops said—”

“We're just saying that it looks like someone else besides Billy messed with Sean's helmet,” I said.

“Yeah? So? What difference does that make now?”

“Maybe none,” I said. On the other hand, maybe it would make all the difference in the world.

When I got home, I called the police homicide department and asked to speak to Charlie Hart. He sounded surprised to hear from me. His surprise turned to skepticism when I told him why I was calling.

“When did Billy tell you this?”

“A few days ago,” I said. “He said it was the head janitor's car. But I just talked to the janitor, and he told me he went straight home. He also says he didn't see any other cars in the parking lot. So either he's lying, or someone pulled into the lot after he drove away and was still there when Billy left Sean in the arena. Maybe it was Sean's killer.”

I didn't get the reaction I had hoped for.

All he said was, “Thanks for calling, Robyn.”

It wasn't until I told my dad about it that I understood Charlie Hart's apparent lack of enthusiasm.

“It sounds like Billy didn't tell him what he told you. If that's true, then Charlie is probably wondering why Billy told you something just a few days ago that he never mentioned to the police at all,” my dad said.

“But why would Billy lie about seeing a car in the parking lot?”

“Maybe he wants the police to think someone else went into the arena after he left.”

“What if someone really did?”

“Who?” my dad said. “What motive did that person have for killing Sean Sloane? And how did the murder weapon end up in Billy's backyard?” When he saw the look on my face, he added quickly, “I'm not saying that Billy is lying, Robbie. I'm just saying, if I were on that case, those are the questions I would have.”

“Would you follow it up?”

“Definitely. A good cop follows everything up.”

I expected to be waiting alone at the arena for Jon Czerny first thing the next morning. Sure, Morgan had said she was going to be there. But Morgan is not a morning person. At least not a cheerful morning person. So I was stunned to find her already pacing in front of the main doors when I arrived. She was holding an extra-large latte and, judging from how frenetic she was, she must have almost finished it.

“I thought you weren't going to show up,” she said.

I glanced at my watch. It was only quarter after six. “How did you get here so early, Morgan?”

“Colin drove me.”

“Colin Sloane?”

“He called me last night after I got home. He's been calling me a lot since ... well, you know. Mostly we talk about Sean. He's really broken up about what happened. I've been waiting for you since six.”

“But Wayne said practice doesn't start until six-thirty.”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “Don't you know anything about hockey?”

“No,” I admitted. “And neither did you until you met Sean.”

“They're supposed to be on the ice at six-thirty. They have to get all their gear on first,” Morgan said. “Most of the team has already arrived.” Her eyes skipped to some place behind me. “There he is.”

Sure enough, Jon was striding across the parking lot toward the team entrance. Morgan and I started toward him. He smiled when he saw me and spit out the gum he was chewing. Then, like a blur, someone charged at him. It was Colin. He tackled Jon to the pavement and started punching him.

“Colin,” Morgan screamed. “Stop!”

I ran toward the two of them and tried to pull Colin off Jon. Bad move. When I grabbed Colin's arm—his left one, it turned out—he lashed out with his right. He caught me right below the eye. The force of the blow sent me reeling, and I hit the pavement with a thud. I looked around for Morgan. Correction, I tried to look for Morgan, but both my eyes were blinded by tears and one of them, the one Colin had punched, was starting to swell shut. I could hear Colin pounding away at Jon.

“You tampered with my brother's helmet,” he said. “You could have killed him.”

I forced my good eye open. Jon was on his hands and knees, struggling to get up, but Colin kicked him in the ribs. Jon collapsed. As Colin drew his leg back to kick him again, Jon groaned and rolled into a ball. He protected his head and neck as best he could with his hands and arms. Morgan had vanished.

I staggered to my feet. I knew it was foolish to wade into the middle of a fight—again. But this wasn't really a fight. It was a beating. And that's exactly why I felt compelled to do something. I lurched toward Colin.

Just then the team entrance burst open and Morgan flew out. Two coaches and a couple of players followed her. They stopped for a split second to assess the situation. Then the coaches raced toward Colin and grabbed him by the arms. It took both of them to haul him away from Jon. A couple of players took over for one of the coaches, who knelt down to examine Jon. Colin was really worked up. He kept trying to break free so that he could charge at Jon again.

“He's the one,” he said. “He tampered with Sean's helmet. It was him.”

The coach kneeling next to Jon turned to the coach who was still working to restrain Colin.

“Call an ambulance,” he said. “And the police. And get him,” he pointed at Colin, “inside and sit on him until the police get here.”

The second coach and the players had to drag Colin inside.

Morgan came over to me.

“Are you okay?” she said.

The coach who was kneeling beside Jon glanced up at me. “What happened to you?” he said.

“She tried to break up the fight,” Morgan said.

Jon moaned.

The coach said, “How do you feel, son?”

Jon murmured something that I didn't hear.

The coach stood up and came to where I was leaning unsteadily against Morgan. I had never been punched in the face before. Not only did it hurt—really hurt—but it was scary. I couldn't believe that someone had actually hit me—hard enough that I'd been knocked off my feet. Hard enough that the very last thing that I wanted was to be hit ever again. I was trembling all over.

The coach took me gently by the chin and tilted my face up so that he could get a good look at me.

“You're going to have a real shiner,” he said. “We should get you looked at, make sure there's no damage to your eye.” He glanced at Morgan. “Take her inside and see if Wayne can find some ice. Make her sit down until the ambulance gets here.”

Morgan took me by the elbow and steered me into the arena. I balked just inside the door when I saw Colin, flanked by a couple of players and being watched over by the second coach. His eyes met mine, but I didn't read any regret in them, only rage.

The ambulance came. So did the police. The two responding officers talked to Morgan and then to me. They spoke briefly to Jon after the paramedics had examined him and were getting ready to lift him into the ambulance. I heard one of them tell the police that they would have to take Jon to the hospital to see if anything was broken and whether he had a concussion. They'd probably keep him in overnight for observation. He also said that Jon was lucky—people don't realize how much damage kicking can do—and that he'd been smart to protect his head and neck. He told me that I should go to the hospital and get checked out too.

After the ambulance took Jon away and the officers had put Colin into the back of their car, one of the coaches, the one who had stayed with Jon, offered to drive me to the hospital. Morgan came too. When we got there, the coach started to come inside with us, but Morgan said it was okay, she would stay with me. She said that she would call my parents.

“Don't,” I said as soon as the coach had left. “If you call my mom, she'll freak.”

“What about your dad?”

“He left before I did. He'll be out of town all day. With any luck, I'll be in bed before he gets home.” That way I wouldn't have to explain anything to anyone until tomorrow morning.

I was sent for an X-ray. After that, we waited almost an hour before a doctor examined me. All he said was, “You're going to have one heck of a bruise.” He told me what to do for the swelling and prescribed some extra-strength painkillers.

“Come on,” Morgan said. “I'll go home with you.”

“What happened to Jon?” I said.

“I think they admitted him.”

“We still need to talk to him.”

“Are you sure you're up to it, Robyn?”

My face was throbbing, and I had a monster headache. But we were already there ...

We asked at the information desk and were told that Jon was on the third floor. We found him lying in bed, facing the window. He was alone. Morgan and I looked at each other. I knocked softly on the doorframe. When Jon turned his head to look at us, I gasped. There were cuts on both cheeks. One eye was swollen shut. There was a nasty bruise on his forehead.

“That bad, huh?” he said, reading my expression. “You don't look so good yourself.” The words came out slowly, as if he were having trouble shaping them. “The cops said you tried to pull him off me. Thanks.” He tried to smile. It came out lopsided.