Come Dark (13 page)

Torrez held out a hand to stop her as she started to turn. “We looked hard down in the locker room. Lavin ain't cleaned the locker room yet, like he usually does right after a game. He was fixin' to do it today. We got footprints on the tiles, all over the place, most likely from the girls.”

The sheriff locked his fingers through the chain-link fence and rocked it gently in frustration. “The killer didn't step in the water that was runnin' when he fired that last shot, and then he didn't track it over the dry tile floor in the locker room. We ain't going to get that lucky. We looked everywhere that the overflow wouldn't have flushed away. Scott didn't step out of the shower to greet his visitor, or to grab a towel and cover up. I'm thinkin' that whoever shot him just did it before Scott had any chance at all. He might have been able to take a couple of steps—about from the shower to the center floor drain—before the first shot was fired. And that was it.”

“It looks that way.”

“What I'm sayin' is that there didn't look to be no conversation goin' on before the shots. No threats, no negotiations, no nothin'.”

“And that's unusual. Shooters usually have to work up the courage to pull the trigger.”

“Yep.” He glanced over at Lavin. “I got some things I got to do, so when you're finished, lock up with a sheriff's seal. Ain't no doubt that we're going to be spending more time back in here. Perrone said he'd push the autopsy as fast as he could. Tox is going to take forever, but I'm thinkin' that's not going to tell us much. Not this time. We might get some help from the State Police, but it ain't going to be before tomorrow.”

Chapter Fifteen

The custodian had his back to them, gazing out into space, studiously avoiding the appearance of eavesdropping. As Estelle approached, he glanced at his watch. She opened the outer door for him and beckoned.

“You want everything locked up now?” he asked.

“Do what you usually do.” She watched as he made a great show of snugging the interior chain tight, snapping the hefty lock in place.

“Ain't nobody comin' in now,” he said. “You folks going to need a key?”

“If we don't already have one, we'll borrow one from Dr. Archer.” She steered him gently toward the stairs. “Tell me what you did today, when you found the body. What time was that?”

“Look, you don't need to tell Dr. Archer this. I took the morning off. Well, that ain't true. I decided I was gonna take the
day
off. But then I come in right around lunchtime, maybe. The
front
door. I was feelin' a little guilty that I hadn't cleaned the showers and locker room, see. Each time they're used, we disinfect 'em. Squeegee down the tiles, spray the floor. It don't take long, and I was going to do that so they wouldn't sit dirty over the weekend, both sides. Boys' and girls'.”

They walked down the stairs and stopped in front of the locker room doors. “These doors were locked when you came in today?”

“Yes. But unless you shoot the pin to lock 'em
open,
they always lock by themselves. Never had trouble with 'em.”

“Then…”

He pulled the right-hand door open, away from the rubber stop on the floor. “I went in, and right away, I could hear the shower running.” He held out a hand as if leading the way to the locker room, but remained rooted in place. “I walk in, and I see water's overflowing out onto the main locker room floor, the river headed right to the floor drain, and I think,
What the hell?
And I go to see, stayin' clear of the water overflow, and there's coach lyin' in the middle of the shower room floor, naked as a jaybird, right over the drain, water just like Niagara Falls comin' out over the threshold. It looks like he's floatin' in the Red Sea or something. And it don't take no rocket scientist to see that he's got to be dead. I mean,
dead.”

“Did you enter the shower room?”

“Not me. Not this kid. I know better'n that. I mean, I knew there wasn't a damn thing I could do for him.”

“But the shower was still full on?”

He nodded vigorously. “But I'm not about to go sloppin' through four inches of water to turn it off. I know better. So I just go into the boiler room and shut things down.”

“Just the one showerhead?”

“Well, sure. Just the one. Hell of a lot of water, though. Them are those old-fashioned institutional showerheads with a hell of a flow. Damn near knock you down.
”

“And you didn't step into the shower room, maybe walk around the body? To turn off the water.”

“Nope.” He nodded vehemently. “I already told you I didn't. I
know
better than that, see. Just turn it off in the boiler room.”

“When you left on Thursday night, when you last spoke with Coach Scott, would you have been able to hear the showers if they had been running?”

“'Course. They weren't. And I could tell from his voice that he was just workin' in the office. I could hear him talkin' on the phone.”

“Show me where you turn the showers off.”

“Right in through here.” Across the locker room foyer, across from the coaches' offices, Lavin opened a plain, gray steel door with a No Admittance sign. The hardware all looked decades old but spotless, and he bent down near the far wall. He touched a large bright-blue valve. “This right here? All it does is control cold water to the showers and the bathrooms. That's why it's painted blue. On, off. That's all. Just cold.”

He dropped his hand down to another valve six inches below, this one red. “This one controls the hot water. It's regulated at one-eighteen degrees. That's kinda low, but we don't want kids scalded. You can see that they're both off now. You want 'em turned on?”

“In a minute. Who has access to all this besides you?”

“Just the boys in maintenance. Them and me, we got the only keys to this door.”

She looked back through the door toward the office. “I'm puzzled why Coach Scott would have used the main shower room. Don't they have a single shower in the coaches' office?”

Lavin stared at the floor. “Well, that's our fault, Sheriff. See, there's a leak somewhere with that little unit. It's leakin' down behind the wall someplace. We're going to have to tear a section of wall out, and…well, we just ain't got to it yet.”

“So he doesn't walk around to the other side of the building to use the facilities in the boys' locker room? Over where his own office is?”

“Well, I guess he
could.
But sure as hell, this time he didn't. Maybe he likes the smell of perfume or something.”

The last comment surprised Estelle, and she looked hard at Lavin.

He added quickly, “I mean, a lot of 'em, kids and coaches both, don't shower here at all. Lots of kids would rather go home a little stinky and use their own bath, you know what I mean?”

“Exactly.” Estelle remember her own aversion to the gang showers.

“So you saw the body, went and turned off the water, and called 911.”

“Yep. That's exactly what I done.”

“You didn't check the body for signs of life,
then
call for help?”

“Nope. I ain't touchin'
nothin'.
I've been a hunter all my life, been in the service. I know what the hell bullet holes look like.” He rubbed his own chest as if chasing away sympathetic pains. “And I know what
dead
looks like. Somebody did the coach in proper. CPR wasn't going to help.” He sucked in a hard breath and pointed at the water control valves. “Unless you guys have messed with 'em back at the showerhead, if I turn on those two valves, away we go. The shower's going to be on, still. Just the way he left it.”

Movement behind her drew Lavin's attention, and Estelle turned to see the sheriff standing quietly in the boiler room doorway.

“We're wrapped,” he said. “State's going to send down a two-man team in the morning if they can.” He nodded in question at the valves.

“Mr. Lavin, in just a minute or two, I'm asking you to put the main control valves where they normally would be,” Estelle said.

“No problem.”

“I want photos of the spray pattern,” Estelle said to Torrez. “We need to know how far out the spray goes onto the shower room floor. Mr. Lavin, will you wait here, please?”

“Sure. I got all day. All night, too, if you need it.”

She patted his arm at the sarcasm. “I know. We're going to be upsetting a lot of people with this investigation. But I'm sure you understand how important this all is.”

As the two officers returned through the locker room, they heard the loud hiss of the shower.

“Two possibilities,” Estelle said to Torrez. “And either one is going to shed some light.”

With camera in hand, she stopped at the shower entrance. The showerhead directly across the shower room launched its large stream with gusto.

Chapter Sixteen

Traces of fingerprint powder marked the chrome handles, and with a gloved finger, Estelle turned the cold water control by touching the very tip of the handle. It rotated closed easily from the full open position, and the flow dripped to a stop. “Cold on, hot off,” she mused.

Torrez, who had not stepped into the room, said, “Hot, stuffy evening, got to be double-stuffy in here after the team's done. Cold shower might feel good.”

“Scott was using number five, right here in the middle of the back wall.” Estelle looked toward the sheriff, who stood with one boot up on the threshold. “Suppose the shooter appeared where you're standing now. Coach is at the farthest point from the door, but natural enough. The spray reaches out halfway to the drain.” She turned the cold water on again, marked where it sprayed the floor tiles, and turned it off. She waited for the final drip to stop, then stood directly under the showerhead, where the main body of spray would be.

“So he's standing here. The killer appears in the doorway. What would the normal person taking a shower do when company suddenly appears?”

“Gotta wonder why he wouldn't turn his back to the door and then maybe turn off the water,” Torrez replied. “Try to figure out how he was going to get to his towel, out there on the bench. Unless he's some sort of exhibitionist.”

“That would be the expected thing.”

“Unless he expected his visitor to join him.” Torrez grimaced down at the floor and shook his head. “Somethin' goin' on here we don't understand, Estelle.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. I think.” He didn't laugh at the frustrated amusement in Estelle's voice. “In the first place, the coaches got their own shower in the office up front. Same on the other side. Why would Scott parade all the way down here to the girls' gang shower?”

“That's an interesting choice of words, Bobby.”

“What?”

“Why would he
parade
down here. His clothes were folded neatly out on the bench, so we could assume he undressed right there. For one thing, Lavin tells me that the coaches' shower back in the office is out of commission just now. So it's either this one or walk around the building, through the cafeteria and all that, over to the boys' side. And on top of that, is
he
the one who made sure the back door was open and inviting?”

She surveyed the shower room, the aroma of the heavily chlorinated water just starting to overshadow the other smells, and then glanced at her watch. “Before we turn him loose, let's talk with Mr. Lavin again, Bobby.”

“What are you thinkin'?”

She shook her head quickly. “My mind is scrambled. Maybe with the two of us…” She didn't add that, even though tact wasn't his strong suit, the sheriff's intimidating presence might shake some small memory loose from the custodian. “And when we've done about all we can do here, I need to know what Coach Avila has to say.”

Barry Lavin was sitting in the coaches' office, chair leaned far back against the wall, his scuffed brown work shoes propped on the edge of Coach Avila's desk. At the sight of Estelle and the sheriff, he snapped his feet off the desk and leaned forward in the chair, hands clasped tight over his belly as if he'd eaten something that didn't agree.

“We appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Lavin. We're just about finished up here, but this building will be sealed and off-limits for the weekend, at least. The State Police Crime Lab is on the way to give us a hand.” Estelle sat in one of the wooden chairs, but Torrez stood in the center of the doorway, one shoulder against the jamb.

“We're puzzled.” Estelle leaned toward Lavin, elbows on her knees. “I need your help with something. The hot water in the shower was off, just the cold on. That's not so unusual, the weather being what it is. Do you have any idea how many gallons a minute those showerheads run?”

“You mean like full on?”

“Yes.”

“Don't know. They're no water-savers, that's for sure. Old-fashioned, but we've never had no problems with 'em. They get cleaned regularly, that's one reason.”

“What's your best guess?”

Lavin pushed out his lower lip in thought. “Three gallons a minute, maybe. Take a five-gallon bucket and count would be the easiest way.”

Estelle frowned and sat back in her chair. “That still wouldn't tell us anything. I mean, let's say that once the drain was plugged it might take two hours to fill the shower room with four inches, until it overflowed over the sill.” She shrugged. “That doesn't get us anywhere. You talked to Coach Scott for the last time at what time?”

“Be right at ten o'clock last night, when I was leavin'.”

“
Ten
o'clock. And you found him just after noon today.”

“Just about.”

“All right. That's a window of fourteen hours. The water fills the shower room, and overflows down to the next drain in the locker room. All that could have happened by midnight. And then it just runs all night, and all the next morning. We don't know.” She took a deep breath. “This is what puzzles me, Mr. Lavin. You personally chained and locked the back door at the end of the day yesterday. After the game, after everyone
except
Coach Scott had left.”

“That's what I did.”

“So it follows that unless there was someone else with a key to the padlock in the building, Coach Scott would have been the one to unlock the back door.” When Lavin remained silent, Estelle asked, “Was Coach Scott meeting somebody here after-hours?”

Lavin didn't answer, but Estelle saw his fingers tighten. Following suit, his lips compressed into a thin line of disapproval as his face struggled with emotions.

When it became clear that Lavin wasn't about to answer, she said, “Who was he meeting?”

The custodian's face jerked as if he'd been slapped, and he refused to meet her gaze.

“Look, it ain't my place to get in the middle of all this and I ain't going to do it.” His back straightened a little with resolve. “I do my job best I can, and what else goes on just ain't my business.”

Estelle let the silence hang for a moment, then said, “Mr. Lavin, let me make this as clear to you as I can.” Her voice was scarcely more than a whisper. “Someone murdered Clint Scott in cold blood. The killer didn't just jump him outside a bar and beat the crap out of him so he could rob him. Or stick a knife between his ribs. That's not what happened, sir. Someone came into
your
school, after-hours, when Scott was here alone. That door up on the landing tells me that either the killer was
invited
in, or he just took advantage of the open door. When it's chained and locked, it's not possible to open it, short of using a wrecking ball. And the door wasn't accidentally left unlocked earlier. You said it was locked. And you'd know. You don't make mistakes like that.”

She paused when Lavin looked up, taking her gaze full-on. He said nothing. She continued, “I think that the killer was invited in. Maybe Scott opened the door and left it open for just that reason. That makes sense to me. And your reaction to my questions tells me that you know more than you're saying.”

It was Robert Torrez who broke the ensuing silence. He hooked over a chair and sat close enough to Lavin that the custodian shifted uncomfortably. “Look, this is the way it's gonna play, Bud,” Torrez said. “You can either talk to us, right now, or you can answer to a Grand Jury. That's the route we're going to have to go. Other than the killer himself, y
ou
were the last one to see Scott alive.
You
discovered the body.
You
had time to make whatever arrangements you wanted.” He stopped and regarded Lavin impassively. “This ain't something that's just going to go away, Bud. You need to talk to us. Tell us the way it was.”

“This whole thing…” Lavin began uncertainly. “The whole thing
isn't
my affair.”

“Yeah, it is,” Torrez snapped unsympathetically. “Your school, your turf. You know what goes on.”

Lavin looked off at the far wall as if reading the events calendar that hung there. His head shook slowly, more of a nervous oscillation than a ‘no.' “I don't think I should be sayin' any more.”

“That's what the killer counts on, Bud.” The sheriff leaned back in his chair. “He counts on you keepin' your mouth shut. He figures you're too gutless to speak up. And that makes you an accessory.” Lavin's jaw dropped open and he blew two or three quick breaths. Torrez read the incredulity, the panic, and pressed it. “An accessory to murder. By not tellin' us what you know, you're aiding and abetting—you're covering for him. So, do the right thing.”

Estelle reached out and rested a hand lightly on Lavin's knee. “You said that this wasn't your affair, Mr. Lavin. I understand that, and I understand your apprehension. But if not yours, whose is it?” Her open hand became a fist, and she gently thumped his kneecap. “Who came through that door, found Coach Scott, and then executed him? Because that's surely what happened. There are no signs of struggle, not even a dropped bar of soap. He didn't even have time to turn off the water or grab a towel.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but both Estelle and Bobby Torrez let it hang there uninterrupted.

“All those years,” Lavin said finally, “I was sitting here thinkin' it through. All those years Coach Scott has been coaching the volleyball, and track before that. All that, and goin' on five championships, sixty-five games now without dumpin' one. And that ain't all he's done. You know how many scholarships he's pulled down for the kids?” His face scrunched up. “It isn't fair. It just isn't.”

“It happened for a reason, Mr. Lavin. And that's what we need to know.”

Lavin drew a long, shuddering sigh. “You could be diggin' a ton of dirt, Sheriff.”

“That's a possibility.”

“Yeah. A ton. And it is
not
up to me to take the first shovel.”

Estelle stared at him until he finally lifted his eyes and met her gaze. “Mr. Lavin,” she said, “let me tell you what seems like one obvious way this all could have gone down. Coach Scott had something going on the side here. A lot of tongues in the community are going to be wagging in that direction. But look…he was single, good-looking, successful—what's the big surprise? Sure enough, maybe he was planning to meet someone here. There's nothing wrong with that, when you come right down to it. Unless he was meeting a favorite student. Maybe somebody underage.”

She paused when Lavin's eyes flinched, but he didn't rise to the bait. “And then it all went wrong, somehow. Whoever showed up
wasn't
the person he expected. But I have to wonder. When the killer appeared in the shower doorway, was Scott surprised to see him?”

“Not
him,”
Lavin said, then looked as if he wished he hadn't.