Read Three Strikes and You're Dead Online
Authors: Jessica Fletcher
Three Strikes and You're Dead (8 page)
“That’s all that was on the table, beer?”
“There might have been a couple of Jell-O shots, too.”
“What’s a Jell-O shot?” Meg asked.
“Who knows?” Jack growled, “But they can’t be good.”
“They’re shot glasses of Jell-O made with vodka or other liquor in place of water,” I said. “Isn’t that right, Ty?”
He nodded, his gaze on the pencil he now twirled in his fingers.
“You’re not old enough to drink in Arizona,” I said. “Who bought the drinks for you?”
Ty’s eyes met mine and then he looked down again. “Carter went to the bar first. There was a Diamondbacks game on, so I don’t think the bartender was paying much attention.”
“He’ll pay a lot more attention when I have him hauled into court,” Jack said. “Who else was there besides Carter?”
“Just the guys on the team and some people.”
“Some people?” asked his lawyer.
“Some girls and stuff.”
“Did you know these girls?” Pierce asked.
“Sure. They’re nice girls; they work up at the Biltmore spa.”
“Can we get to the point, please?” Jack said. “I want to know what happened.”
Ty heaved a sigh. “We were just sitting around, hanging out. Next thing I know, Junior comes in with some guy I don’t know. He’s not a player. That reporter was with them.”
“Which reporter?” I asked. “One of the ones from the locker room?”
“Right. You know—Karen. Miss Locke.”
“She was with Junior and this friend of his?” Jack asked.
“Yeah, only she spent most of the time in the bathroom. I heard Junior say she didn’t feel good.”
“She probably drank too much,” Meg said.
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“The answer isn’t ‘yeah,’ Ty, it’s ‘yes,’” Jack said sternly.
“Sorry, sir.”
“And speak up, Ty, don’t mumble.”
“Jeez, Jack,” interrupted Pierce. “Cut him some slack. He’s not in a courtroom yet. Let him speak. He’s tired. This is not an interrogation. Not yet, anyway.”
Jack got up from his chair and leaned against the wall. “You’re right,” he said. “Sorry.”
“Go ahead, Ty,” Pierce said.
“Well, Junior starts giving it to me. You know, telling me that I suck and stuff like that. Then he said how my mother was a Latina—only he said it real snide—and how she didn’t want me and . . .” His voice trailed off and he squeezed his eyes shut.
Everyone gave him his moment of silence. Without further prompting, he continued, but there was a quaver in his voice. “Then—then I began to feel kind of sick, like the room was moving a little. But I was mad, really mad that he’d said those things to me about my mom. I know she loves me—” He started to sob. “I know she loves me.”
Meg went to where he sat, put her hands on his shoulders, and rested her cheek on the top of his head. “Your mother loved you very much, Ty,” she said. “She did the best she could, and she wanted you to have a better life here.” Her voice trailed off, and I knew what she was thinking, that the life he was living at the moment—one of sitting in a jail, accused of having murdered someone the night before—was not the life his mother in the Dominican Republic had envisioned for him.
I felt terrible for Meg. She’d done the best she could do for Ty. She and Jack had given him the love and direction he’d needed. Despite their admirable efforts, it appeared something out of their control had gone terribly wrong. I ached for them.
“What happened next?” Pierce said.
Meg gave Ty’s shoulders a squeeze and returned to her chair. Ty pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes to wipe away the tears. He shuddered, pinched the end of his nose, and sniffed sharply. “Okay. What was next? I swear I wasn’t dead-drunk or anything, but I remember feeling woozy and I was having a little trouble standing. The guys were egging me on, telling me to shut Junior up, to give him a lesson he wouldn’t forget. Even Junior’s guys, the ones on the team who always side with him, were telling me to take him out. They were so disgusted with him. I went outside and Junior was already there. He started in on me again, talking in a fake Spanish accent.”
Ty’s anger was palpable as he recounted the insults he’d suffered from Junior Bennett. Meg mouthed “Calm down” to him from across the table.
“He said I should go back where I came from. I told him to shove it, that the whole American and National Leagues were full of Dominicans and Mexicans and Venezuelans, and if we all went home, there wouldn’t be anyone left in baseball for him to play with. That’s not exactly so, but I wanted to make my point. Then he started in on my mother again. He called her a
puta
, a whore, and that’s when I punched him in the nose.” His voice dropped. “I might have broken it. He started to bleed, I know that.” Ty shook his head, as if to rid his brain of the image. He looked down at the knuckles of his right hand. They were swollen and cut. He sighed and blew out a long puff of air. “That’s all I can remember.”
puta
, a whore, and that’s when I punched him in the nose.” His voice dropped. “I might have broken it. He started to bleed, I know that.” Ty shook his head, as if to rid his brain of the image. He looked down at the knuckles of his right hand. They were swollen and cut. He sighed and blew out a long puff of air. “That’s all I can remember.”
“The police told me they discovered Ty asleep in Carter’s car,” Pierce said. “They gave Ty a Breathalyzer test and, according to the police, he failed. Junior’s body was found in the parking lot, a couple of hundred feet from Carter’s car. Carter was nowhere to be found.”
“What happened to
my
car?” Ty asked.
my
car?” Ty asked.
“All three cars were impounded,” Piece replied. “Yours, Carter’s, and Junior’s.”
“When will I get it back?”
“There’s no telling.”
“You’ll get it back when the police release it,” Jack said. “It’s not important right now.” Despite his tanned complexion, all the color had faded from Jack’s face, his pallor a sign of his drained emotions. He looked over to Pierce. “Maybe this whole thing was an accident. Can we plead down to involuntary manslaughter?”
“It’s a little early to talk about pleas, Jack. Let’s start by trying to get him out on bail. That’s a problem with homicide cases.”
“Jack, you have to make them let him out,” Meg said. “I want to take him home. He needs to be home.”
Ty was mumbling to himself, “I don’t remember seeing Carter outside. I don’t know how I got into his car.”
“You were drunk,” Jack said, his disgust clear. “The drinking age in this state is twenty-one. There’s a reason for that. How did Carter get the beer?”
“Everybody goes to the Coyote because they know they don’t card kids. Carter wasn’t the only one. I got some of the beer myself. I ordered it from the bartender and paid her.”
“So now it comes out.”
“But I got it for the guys. I swear I didn’t have that much to drink.”
Jack uncrossed his arms and approached his foster son, then squatted by his side. He put his arm around Ty’s shoulder. “You may think so, but how do you explain not remembering what happened after you punched Junior? How do you explain being found in Carter’s car, asleep, with blood on your clothing, and a Breathalyzer test that indicates you were legally intoxicated? If you can’t remember, how do you know you didn’t kill Junior? How do you know you didn’t pick up something in anger and hit him?”
“Jack!” Meg was begging him to stop.
Ty looked up at Jack and didn’t answer, his large, dark eyes seeking understanding. Finally, he dropped his head, slowly shaking it, and said in a barely audible voice, “I was really pissed, but even so I would never do that. I would never kill anyone, no matter how much they made me mad, no matter how drunk I was. I wouldn’t. I swear to you.” He lifted his head. “But it’s true I don’t remember what happened, sir. I only wish I did.”
Jack stood and turned to Pierce. “Was anyone else around when they discovered Junior and Ty?” he asked the attorney.
Pierce answered, “There were a lot of people in the bar, but no one admits to being out in the parking lot. The sheriff said they got a call from that reporter, Karen Locke from WXYK.”
“Why was Karen Locke hanging out at the Crazy Coyote?” Jack asked.
“Maybe there was a television camera crew with her outside the bar,” Meg said, hope in her voice. “Maybe they have on tape what really happened to Junior.” She looked around the room at each of us, and the hope faded. “I know, that’s not very likely,” she said.
“It’s unlikely the press would have filmed the murder,” I said, “but the bar might have had surveillance cameras in the parking lot. That’s not out of the realm of possibility.” I turned to the lawyer. “Do you know if they did?”
Pierce shook his head. “They have cameras, inside and out. Unfortunately, they don’t bother to keep them maintained. Neither one was working last night.”
“What about the pizza place next door?” said Ty. “Maybe they had one.”
“There’s a pizza place next door?” asked Jack.
“Yes, sir,” Ty replied. “I had a slice before we went to the Coyote.”
“But you had just come from a big dinner,” Meg said.
“I didn’t eat that much at the hotel dinner. I was too nervous. I felt like everybody was watching me. Especially Mr. Bennett.” He paused and hung his head. “Maybe Junior was right. I should have stayed in the Dominican Republic. Or even Jersey City. This never would have happened.”
Meg began crying again, and Ty immediately grabbed her arm across the table. “No, please—I didn’t mean that I don’t want to live with you. But here—here there’s so much hate and jealousy. They want me to fail. And now they got their wish.” He released his grip on her and sat back. Shoulders hunched, elbows on his thighs, he stared down at the floor. “But I swear to you that I didn’t do what they say I did. I could never do that. I just couldn’t.”
An officer opened the door, and Pierce tapped Ty on the shoulder. The lawyer signaled to Jack. “Why don’t you go home, rest, get something to eat. I’ll meet you at the arraignment this afternoon.”
As Ty shuffled out the door, he glanced back at Meg. She started to reach for him, then withdrew her hand. “It’s okay, Ty,” she said. “It will work out. The truth always prevails. Have faith. We’re here for you and always will be. We love you and believe in you. Remember that. We believe you.”
And so did I.
Chapter Six
The moment Jack’s BMW turned the corner onto Hedgehog Court, where they lived, the media circus began. Television satellite trucks choked the street, making it impossible for Jack to navigate his way to the house. He threw the car in reverse, made a U-TURN, and we sped off—to where, I wasn’t sure. I don’t think he knew either.
“My God, Jack,” Meg said, “what are we going to do? They’re all hungry for a piece of Ty. Where can we hide? They’re not going to leave us alone.”
“I’d like to drive all the way back to Jersey, but we can’t leave Ty here to face it alone. We have to stay until this nightmare is over.” He peered into his rearview mirror. “Bloodsuckers,” he said.
“Will they allow Ty to be released on bail?” I asked, afraid I already knew the answer. It was a rare judge who would grant bail to an accused murderer, although it wasn’t out of the question, particularly considering Ty’s age and the fact that he lived with a respected member of the bar, who also happened to be a judge.
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