Daniel Palmer - Helpless

Jill was at practice, but not dressed to play. She wasn’t feeling ready yet. Tom understood completely, but he needed to get back to coaching the team and couldn’t let Jill out of his sight. Not with Kip Lange still on the loose.

The first game of the season was just a week away.

Tom noticed something in the distance. A police car was again coming down the road abutting the practice field. The cruiser parked where it had before, and Brendan Murphy climbed out with his signature lack of grace.

“Vern, keep the girls working hard,” Tom said to his assistant coach as he crossed the field. Tom didn’t notice the metal storage clipboard tucked under Murphy’s arm until the two met up on the other sideline.

“Good afternoon, Tom,” Murphy said, without extending his hand.

“Long time, Brendan,” Tom said, making no attempt to hide the sarcasm in his voice. “How’ve you been?”

Murphy removed his mirrored shades. Tom found the gleam in the cop’s eyes most unsettling.

“Well, okay, Tom. I’ve been okay.”

“What brings you to practice today?”

“We’ve got ourselves a situation, I guess that’s what.”

“Is this about Kelly’s homicide investigation?”

“No,” Murphy said. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a new situation.”

Murphy peered over Tom’s shoulder and waved to somebody approaching from behind. Tom turned and spotted the school’s athletic director, Craig Powers, waving and walking toward the pair. Tom and Craig Powers had worked together for years and were fond of each other. Powers approached from the direction of Shilo High School, a redbrick building that, according to the school committee, had too many students and too few cafeterias.

Tom turned back and looked at Murphy. “Is somebody hurt, Brendan? One of the kids’ parents, I mean.”

Murphy responded with a grunt but stayed quiet. He apparently wanted Powers to hear whatever had to be said. Powers, thin, balding, looked unsteady on his spindly, long legs. He moved in an unathletic way for an athletic director, Tom thought. But something about this impromptu gathering seemed wrong. Tom had a dreadful feeling that made him forget all about Kip Lange.

Tom noticed how Murphy extended a hand toward Powers. The men shook the way poker buddies might.

“Thanks for making the time, Craig.”

“Does Tom know yet?” Powers asked.

“Not yet. I was waiting for you,” Murphy answered.

“Know what?” Tom asked.

“Heck on a high stick,” Powers said. “I’ll tell him, then.”

Powers loved inventing phrases—without the expletives, of course. Tom often found those folksy colloquialisms not only novel, but situation appropriate as well. Heck on a high stick, indeed! Again Tom called up his kinesics training from his Navy SEAL days and could see Powers’s concern as clearly as he could read an opponent’s defensive scheme.

“Tell me what, Craig?” Tom asked.

“We got an anonymous tip about a Web blog that somebody started,” Powers said. “And it involved you.” He said this in a tone that was more annoyed than alarmed.

“Me?”

“Yeah, that’s right. I got an email from somebody—I don’t know who,” Powers continued. “The message said simply that I should check out this link and that it pertained to you. So I clicked on it and opened this Web site called Tumblr.com. Ever hear of it?”

“No,” Tom said.

“It’s for blogging,” Murphy said. “You can post text, photos, quotes, links, that sort of thing.”

“Well, this wasn’t protected at all,” Powers said. “Anybody who had the link could have read it. Whoever created the page was looking for attention and wanted people to see it, if you ask me. That’s my guess.”

“Yeah? An attention-seeking mystery blog,” Tom said. “Well, what was on this blog that’s got the attention of the police?”

Powers cleared his throat as if he were about make an important announcement. He didn’t get the chance. Murphy answered for him.

“It said that you’ve been having sex with one of the girls on your team.” Murphy looked smug, as if to say, “I may not get you for Kelly’s murder, but I’ll nail you for something else.”

“You don’t really think I’m sleeping with a player?” Tom said. “Come on. Are you joking?”

Powers and Murphy each held a blank stare.

Tom frowned. “By the looks on your faces, I’m guessing no. You’re not joking.”

Murphy opened his storage clipboard and took out five sheets of paper, which he handed to Tom.

Tom leafed through the pages. As he did, his skin began to crawl. Murphy put his sunglasses back on. Perhaps, Tom thought, to hide the glee in his eyes.

“I think the first post called you a better sex teacher than a coach,” Murphy said. “By the fifth one, well, let’s just say that stuff would make a stripper blush.”

Tom’s first thought was that some twisted kid was preying on Jill’s tragedy. Teens engaged in cyber bullying all the time. One of them must be out to humiliate Jill by attacking her father. Tom crumpled the pages Murphy had given him into a tight ball.

“Ah, shucks, Tom. That’s evidence,” Murphy said, but with a mock dismay. “No worries, though. I brought more copies. To show the girls.”

“To what!” Tom exclaimed, loudly enough for some of the girls to stop running, and for Vern to whistle to get them moving again. “What did you just say?” Tom asked.

“Tom, Sergeant Murphy and I believe this might be some sort of prank,” Powers said. “Sergeant Murphy suggested the best way to ferret out a prankster is to confront him or her head-on.”

“Well, that’s just insane,” Tom said in a disgusted tone. “Craig, please tell me that you don’t really think this is a good idea! Just the rumor of my being involved with a player will have devastating consequences for the team. You know that’s true—”

“Nonsense,” Murphy broke in. The sergeant patted Tom on the shoulder. The taps felt like blows from a sledgehammer, each one driving Tom deeper into the ground. “Best way to get the prankster to come forward is to get these girls talking as a group,” he continued. “In my experience with this sort of thing, once the group gets talking, they end up pressuring whoever pulled the stunt to delete the account. Or at least get one of them to come forward with some useful information.”

“And how much experience have you had with this sort of thing, Murph?”

“Are you questioning my judgment here, Coach?”

“Damn straight I am! We both know what this is really about. Don’t we?”

Powers looked first at Murphy, then at Tom with a degree of confusion. “What’s going on?”

“Murphy thinks I had something to do with what happened to Kelly,” Tom said. “Craig, he’s making a spectacle out of this anonymous blog because he knows what it’ll do to me in the aftermath. He’s only doing this to put the screws to me.”

Powers looked over to Murphy. “Brendan, is this true?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Murphy said. “One thing doesn’t have anything to do with the other. We agree Tom’s reputation is under attack and we think it’s a prank. Now we’ll find out who did this. I’ve already issued a preservation request with Tumblr. That way the data is safe and I can try to remedy the situation by interviews without having to go through the mountain of paperwork to obtain a search warrant.”

“My concern isn’t that you keep the data safe,” Tom said. “My concern is that you want to bring it to my team’s attention.”

“You worried about something else coming to light, Coach Hawkins?” Murphy asked. His tone was knowing, like a hunter setting his trap. Allow the interview because you’re innocent, and you end up screwed. Refuse to cooperate because you’re innocent, then you look guilty and you’re screwed.