CHAPTER SEVEN

“She said the team killed him,” said Mac into the speakerphone.

“Did she say why she thought that?” asked Gaspar.

“All she said was that her father wanted out of football, but he wanted out in his own way. It doesn’t make sense with everything that everyone has been telling us about him. Why would he insist on continuing to play if he wanted out?”

“I don’t know. Are you guys on your way back?”

“Tomorrow,” said Gabe. “Lara and Carigan both suggested we go speak with a woman in Tucson whose father played with Butch. They just said we’d find it interesting.”

“Well, that’s not strange, is it? Alright. Just be careful and let us know if you need anything.” Gaspar ended the call and turned to Ian, Ghost, and Nine, shaking his head. “This is just fucking weird. I think we need to speak with Trevon again.”

“I’m up for a drive. Let’s go.”

“They’re probably at the practice field prepping for the game,” said Ian.

The drive into New Orleans was more crowded than usual with the holiday traffic picking up. Temperatures were cooler, offering soothing breezes. After showing their ID and explaining why they were there, security finally allowed the four men onto the field.

Standing on the sidelines, they watched as the coaching staff barked orders, pulled men aside to give them shit for not performing, and patted their new golden boy quarterback on the head every time he did something right.

“Seems like they’re pleased with their replacement,” said Ghost.

“He definitely seems happy. Look at the faces of the others, though. Look at his offensive line. They’re definitely not happy,” said Nine.

Lined up to run a play, the defense came forward as if to get to the quarterback but, instead, dove toward Trevon.

“Oh, damn,” muttered Gaspar. “That was a fucking cheap shot.”

Trevon jumped off the ground, shoving the defensive lineman.

“What the fuck!” he screamed. “This is practice, asshole, and I’m on your damn team.” The other man just smiled, flipping him the bird. Whistles blew, and the coach threw his hands up.

“Alright! We’re done. That’s it. Hit the showers.”

Trevon looked up and noticed the four men giving a nod. As he walked toward them, others slapped his back, shaking their heads.

“Hey, man. That looked like it hurt,” smirked Nine.

“Fucking asshole is what he is,” said Trevon.

“Wasn’t that part of the play?” Ian asked innocently.

“Fuck no. He’s pissed because I’m digging in on Butch. He thinks I should leave it alone. I can’t, y’all. I just can’t.”

“Hey, Trevon. You okay?” asked a young man.

“Yeah. I’m good. Fellas, this is Kurt Michaels, our new quarterback.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Nine. “We’re investigating Butch’s death. Maybe we could ask you a few questions later.”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he said nervously. “I’ll see you later, Trevon.” He quickly walked off, not looking back as he headed to the locker room.

“That seemed odd,” frowned Ian.

“He doesn’t like any questions about Butch at all. I think he feels like people are thinking he should have refused the starting position, but that’s ridiculous. If he did, he’d have lost millions of dollars and might not ever play again. He’s a kid. He’s got a bright future ahead of him. He just needs to learn to manage the media better.”

“Trevon, we wanted to speak with you about something that Carigan told our guys. They went out to visit her and Lara, and Carigan said her father told him that the team was trying to kill him. She said that he repeated it several times. What do you think that’s about?” asked Gaspar.

Trevon looked around, seeing some coaches and other staff cleaning up the sidelines. He didn’t want anyone to overhear the conversation, so he waved the men onto the field, standing at the forty-yard line.

“Butch wanted to finish his career here in New Orleans. One last year. But he wanted to do it his way, through the injuries and no sidelines.”

“Okay, that makes sense,” said Ian.

“No. No, it doesn’t. The team had said that he was injured and needed to leave because they wanted Kurt to move up to the QB slot. If he left due to injury, he wouldn’t get his full payout. The payout he wanted to have for Carigan’s future. If he died, as he obviously did, there would be an autopsy, and he said that the team would find themselves libel.”

“Libel? For what? His injuries?”

“I don’t know. I’m guessing so. If you asked the owner, she would say they wanted Butch to play as long as he was healthy. Butch said they encouraged him to play until this last concussion when they wanted him to retire. It’s a million different stories, and none of them feel like the truth.”

“What do you think the truth is?” asked Gaspar.

“The truth is a mix of lies, man. Butch said he wanted to play but was blaming everyone else for his injuries. Coach said he wanted Butch to go on injured reserve but that the owners wanted him to retire. If you ask the owners, their line is that Butch was their guy. I can’t even filter through all the bullshit anymore. To top it off, I heard Glenda, the owner, yelling at coach this morning because the autopsy wasn’t complete yet.”

“Why yell at him? He doesn’t control that,” said Ian.

“That’s what he said, but apparently, the league is putting pressure on her to produce the autopsy so they can lay this to rest. It all fucking sucks,” he said in frustration.

“Hey, man, we didn’t mean to upset you,” said Nine. “We know you’ve got a big game tomorrow. Just focus on that.” He nodded.

“I’ll try. Hey, how was Carigan and Lara?”

“Our guys said they were good. They both loved Butch,” said Gaspar. He nodded again, biting his lower lip. “Trevon? What aren’t you telling us?”

“Lara and I had been seeing one another,” he said quietly.

“Fuck,” muttered Ghost. “You didn’t think to tell us this?”

“Look, she lives in Scottsdale, so it’s not like I could see her that often. We got to be friends the last few years, trying to help Butch. Lara’s three years older than I am, but it didn’t matter. We totally clicked. We kept it quiet because we didn’t want Carigan upset by it all, and we didn’t want the press to find out.”

“Did Butch know?” asked Ian.

“We think he did, but he never said a word to me. He loved Lara, but he wasn’t in love with her. He wanted what was best for their daughter, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?” frowned Nine.

He stared at the four men in front of him, then turned, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Looking up at the press box, he saw the face of the owner and turned back to the men.

“Honestly? No.”