Mark Gimenez - Accused

"I could subpoena your bosses."

"You could get yourself killed. Scott, defend your wife and get her off, I don't care. But don't go chasing after the boys in Vegas. Nothing good will come of that."

"What do you know about the Muertos? "

"Animals. See, the mob never kills for the sake of killing. It's always a business decision. And we never kill women or children or innocent bystanders. We're civilized. They're not. They give crime a bad name." Gabe nodded thoughtfully. "So gambling wasn't Trey's only vice?"

"No."

"You looking at Benito for his murder?"

Scott nodded. "And you."

Gabe smiled.

"You know Benito?"

"It's a small island. We keep tabs on our competitors for your discretionary entertainment dollars. Benito likes the horses."

"He bets with you?"

"He utilizes my services. But I don't utilize his."

"Smart."

"Benito's not a killer."

"The Muertos are."

Gabe nodded, and Scott stood to leave. "You said a lot of pro athletes gamble?"

"Yeah. From every sport. So?"

"So does the mob have other pros on the payroll, throwing football and baseball and basketball games?"

Gabe smiled. "Trade secrets, Scott."

Scott walked away. He was to the bar when Gabe called to him.

"Scott!"

Scott turned back. Gabe was pointing at the TV above the bar. Scott looked up and saw Renee Ramirez's face on the screen.

"Watch out for her, Scott. She's like a rattlesnake-pretty but deadly."

"Who killed Trey Rawlins?" Bobby said. "Pete Puckett, the Muertos, or the mob? Three prime suspects for one murder, each with a good motive."

"You're forgetting Rebecca," Scott said.

"No, I'm not."

"She's the only one without a motive."

"Why would Trey call Pete Puckett thirteen times the last week and three times on the day he died?" Karen said.

They were at the table on the back deck. Karen was reading down Trey's cell phone bills. The D.A.'s office had run the calls and identified each caller.

"He didn't call Pete," Scott said. "He called Billie Jean."

"The list says Pete Puckett."

"Phone's registered in his name, but it's Billie Jean's phone. Family plan, like the girls want."

"First call to her was on May fourteenth."

"Three weeks before his death. That's when their affair started."

"Last call was at twelve-ten P.M. that Thursday, same day he was killed." Karen tapped on her laptop keyboard. "My notes say Billie Jean was in Austin that day, and Pete was in Florida playing at the Atlantic Open tournament."

"They both lied. They were here. Billie Jean drove down from Austin in her black Mustang. She was calling Trey to tell him she was here because he left the club just after noon. Trey lied to Rebecca about practicing at the country club all day while she was shopping in Houston. He was here with Billie Jean. Pete flew in from Florida, confronted them at the house."

"If Pete was in Florida," Bobby said, "how'd he know Billie Jean was here?"

"I don't know. Karen, find out what flight Pete took that day."

She nodded then said, "Is Rebecca still willing to take a polygraph?"

"Yeah. I've asked everyone else involved to take one-Pete, Benito, Gabe-no one else wants to."

"No one else is charged with murder," Bobby said.

"I'll set it up," Karen said.

"Anything else?"

"The endorsement contracts. I reviewed the big one with Golf-a-zon. com… golf company. He endorsed their products, they paid him millions. Ten million guaranteed over two years, another ten million in performance incentives. He stood to make twenty million under that contract."

"But once they found out about his drugs and gambling, they would've terminated the contract."

Karen shook her head. "They couldn't. The contract is iron-clad."

"There's always a way out of a contract."

"Only one way out: 'Article Twelve: Termination upon death of Athlete.' "

"Trey's sponsor wanted out of his contract," Nick said.

Scott had called him from the back deck. "Why?"

"Trey showed up at their big ad party flying higher than a kite. Stumbling, couldn't speak a complete sentence, mauling their wives. Fucking fiasco. I had to drag him out of the place. They were pissed."

"But they couldn't fire him?"

"Nope. They were stuck with him."

"Unless he died."

"And he did."

"Did they terminate the contract?"

"I got an email five minutes after his death hit the news. They saved about ten million, twice that if he met his performance incentives."

"That's a pretty good motive."

"To kill Trey? Shit, Scott, take a number. The motive line is long with Trey Rawlins."

"Why didn't you tell me this?"

"You didn't ask."

"Damnit, Nick, this is a murder investigation. And we've got three weeks till Rebecca goes on trial. You need to tell me everything you know."

"I have… now."

"Where's the tour this week?"

"Austin. We're doing the Texas Waltz: Houston, San Antonio, Austin, and Dallas. I'll be there tomorrow."

"I'll find you. I want to talk to his sponsor."

The next morning, Scott flew to Austin and took a cab to the tournament site at the Barton Creek Resort. He found Nick Madden by the first tee on his cell phone.

"Two hundred thousand? I'll take it. Monday, nine A.M., at the Highland Park Country Club. Pete'll be there."

Nick disconnected.

"Another deal for Pete?" Scott said.

Nick nodded. "Corporate outing. Tour goes from city to city, so local corporations set up outings for their special clients then get a tour player to join in-for a fee. Hundred, two hundred, three hundred grand for the big boys. Guy spends four hours playing golf and acting like he gives a shit, walks away with a nice paycheck."

"That's a lot of money for a round of golf."

Nick shrugged. "Tax-deductible."

"And you get twenty percent?"

"Before taxes."

They went over to the merchandise tent and found Golf-a-zon's booth stocked with golf clubs, balls, gloves, shoes, apparel, and two sexy young women. A man who looked young enough to be pledging a fraternity stood and greeted Nick.

"Nick, you find me a replacement player yet?"

"How about Brett?"

The man rolled his eyes. "Please. He looks like the guy in Sling Blade. "

"Vic?"

"He's an accountant with a five-iron."

"Donnie Parker? He just won the Houston Classic."

"Yeah, and he's married to a porn star. After Trey, I want a goddamn altar boy."

Nick laughed. "On the pro golf tour? Got a better chance of finding a virgin."

"Not in this booth," one of the girls said then she and the other girl giggled.

Nick turned to Scott. "Scott, meet Brad Dickey, VP-Player Development, Golf-a-zon-dot-com."

Scott shook hands with Brad. "Scott Fenney."

Brad pulled his hand back as if Scott had poison ivy. "Rebecca's husband?"

"Lawyer. I need to ask you some questions, Brad."

"You'd better talk to the company lawyer."

"Brad, you can talk to me now or you can talk to me on the witness stand at trial."

Brad turned to Nick with pleading eyes. Nick shrugged.

"Better talk now, Brad, so he can cross you off the list."

"What list?"

"The suspect list."

Brad considered his options then said, "Come on back."

They sat in the booth and listened to Brad's story. He traveled with the tour, keeping his players happy-"Like the two-pieces"-and recruiting players to endorse his company's products. They weren't Nike, but they had taken the same marketing approach: they bet everything on one up-and-coming player.

"You can have the greatest golf product ever invented, but if the country club guys don't see a star player hitting it, swinging it, or wearing it, they won't buy it. We thought Trey could be our Tiger. Didn't work out."