Stephen White - Cold Case

"I feel like that some days, too. Might as well play in flip-flops, you know?

Pretty sure that Joey's meeting with Tony and Gary and… Larson.

His sponsors. You know them?"

She shook her head and widened her eyes.

"Haven't had the pleasure. But I'm certainly looking forward to it." We headed up the stairs toward the deck. I said, "You're quite the flirt."

She replied, "Whatever." After a few more steps, she asked, "What did he mean by 'sponsors'? Like golf club companies? Nike and Reebok? Endorsements? That sort of thing?"

"I'm sure that Joey has plenty of endorsement contracts, but no. I think he meant the kind of sponsor who provides seed money for young golfers. When he was first starting out as a pro, Joey probably accepted financial backing for tour and living expenses from individuals or groups of individuals in exchange for a percentage of his future earnings on the tour. The people who bought in to provide that support are his sponsors."

She looked at me with raised eyebrows.

"So these guys he's having breakfast with own a piece of him? Is it a big piece?"

"I don't know how the deals are structured. But when he makes money, they make money."

"And he's doing well, right?"

"Very well. I think he's in the top ten in earnings on this year's tour. His earnings could be in the millions."

"So these sponsors wouldn't be too happy to see their cash cow accused of an old rape?"

"Or a new one, for that matter. No, I'd imagine not."

Joey Franklin was indeed on the deck of the clubhouse having breakfast with three men his father's age. Joey drank cola with his breakfast. From my vantage he appeared bored with the company.

Lauren said, "We shouldn't walk over there together. I think that he'll view me as less threatening than he views you. Let me see if I can get him to talk with us."

I demurred happily. I wasn't looking forward to the confrontation anyway. From the doorway I watched Lauren approach the table and introduce herself to the four men. Two of them stood. Not Joey. She said something that made them all laugh and then leaned over and whispered something in Joey Franklins ear. He whipped his head around so fast his face almost collided with hers. I couldn't hear what he said to her. But she corrected her posture, smiled, and nodded to him once before rejoining me near the entrance to the pro shop.

"He'll be over in a minute or two."

"What did you say to him?" "Not much. I said I thought he was in a position to help us find his sister's murderer."

"That's it? You didn't mention Satoshi?"

She shook her head. Joey was coming our way.

He was my height, around six two, and lanky. I thought he walked as though he had too many joints, almost like a rodeo cowboy who's been thrown from two or three too many bulls. His eyes were the lightest amber imaginable, almost golden, and he had his sister Tami's brilliant blond hair. He appeared younger than the images I'd seen of him on the news and in the sports pages. As he crossed the room towards us, his left hand flexed and un flexed repeatedly. I wondered if he was even aware that he was doing it.

I could understand women finding him attractive. My wife, I knew, was one of the ones who did.

Lauren said, "Joey Franklin, Dr. Alan Gregory."

We shook hands. His shake was unenthusiastic. He scratched behind his ear and said, "I tee off soon."

I replied, "This shouldn't take long. Where would you like to talk? Is there someplace we can go?"

He looked around as though it was the first time he'd ever been in the room.

"Yeah. Follow me."

We did, and he led us up some stairs to a room with a gorgeous down-valley view.

The Yampa was still swollen with snowmelt and it flowed laconically, like an overstuffed hog, toward its distant marriage with the Green River. We took chairs in front of big windows that left me facing Rabbit Ears Pass. On this gorgeous summer morning all the other golfers were enjoying the practice greens or the deck. We were alone inside. Which was good.

"You guys are what? Are you from that group that my dad hired to find who killed Tami?"

Lauren answered, "Not exactly hired. How about enlisted? Does that work? But yes, we're from Locard. We've been looking into your sister's murder and that of Mariko Hamamoto."

"I already talked to somebody. Some detective from the East Coast. He caught up with me in Florida."

"This is a different part of the investigation."

He rolled his eyes.

"So you know who did it yet?" Joey was restless, and his posture on the chair left him in a position that was more horizontal than vertical. I estimated that he was around twenty-seven years old, but he seemed to have an inordinate amount of adolescent still wrestling around inside of him.

Lauren said, "Sadly, no," and gestured at me.

"Tell him your role in the investigation. Doctor."

I used my best doctor-voice and gave my we-needtoknowtamitoknowher-killer speech.

Joey was unmoved.

"Yeah. What do you want from me?"

"What was your sister like?"

His left fist stayed clenched.

"She was my sister. She was okay. I don't remember her that well. It was a long time ago."

Don't remember her that well? He was fourteen when she died. I'd bet good money he remembered every scratch on his first snowboard.

"Was she someone who would be likely to be particularly friendly to strangers, someone who-"

"Tami? She'd talk to anybody. Sometimes she wouldn't shut up."

From his lips it wasn't a compliment.

"How'd she get along with your parents?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm just trying to understand her frame of mind at the time she died. See if she might have been upset. Whatever."

"She and Dad argued sometimes. But she gave as good as she got with him. Mom was more annoying to her, though. Always wanted to be part of her life, you know?"

He shivered. I wondered if it was an act.

I said, "No. I don't know." Joey shrugged. His face said "tough shit." I hoped for more. I didn't get it.

Lauren asked, "Did you ever… I don't know… develop any theories about what happened?"

He made a noise with his lips.

"Sure. Tami and Miko somehow managed to run into the wrong dude. What else could it have been?" He was remarkably lacking in curiosity about his sister's death.

The three of us went on in this unproductive vein for almost five minutes before I ran out of questions and Lauren took over. She asked about Tami's friends.

Joey told us nothing new. He tapped his watch.

Lauren said, "Tell us about Satoshi. Miko's sister." He said, "Who?" His expression didn't change at all. I couldn't tell if he was lying. If he was lying, he was good. I set my antennae for sociopathy.

"Satoshi Hamamoto."

He frowned.

"Doesn't ring a bell. Sorry. You say she was Miko's sister? I didn't even know Miko had a sister."

"You didn't know a girl named Satoshi? A Japanese girl?"

"Should I?"

"You never went out with her?"

"I went out with lots of girls."

He smiled. I wanted to slap him.

Joey made his tee time.

"Wasted trip," was Lauren's conclusion about the visit. We were back in Boulder in time for dinner.

I volunteered to cook, so I was standing right next to the phone in the kitchen when Satoshi called.

Although I would have been reluctant to admit it, the truth was that from the moment I'd first stepped into Joey Franklin's time-share jet for the trip to Washington to be introduced to Locard, I'd been enjoying myself playing forensic sleuth. I'd already begun to anticipate the sense of loss I would experience when Locard put this investigation to rest and my role with the organization ended.

The daily life of most workers is routine. That is as true for a psychotherapist as it is for a bus driver. For me, the opportunity to delve into the lives of Tami and Miko had provided a drastic alteration to my routine. Although I was using the same skills I typically employed every day in my office-clinical skills, interviewing skills, interpretive skills- I was using them in ways that enriched and intrigued me in an unanticipated manner.