Харлан Кобен - Found

I tried to think about what I might have done.

When I got out to the gym, I spotted Troy shooting under his familiar center basket. A bunch of guys surrounded him and threw him passes. Troy was a point guard, the shortest starter on the team, but he had deadly aim from three-point land. He knocked down four shots in a row. The guys all clapped and cheered.

When I started toward him, Troy broke into a smile. “Mickey!”

Troy and I fist-bumped. He passed me the ball. I took a quick shot and said, “You’re back?”

I guess that I could have said something more obvious, but that was what came out of my mouth first.

“You know it.”

He slapped me five again.

“What happened?” I asked. “I mean, how—?”

Coach Grady blew the whistle. “Three-man weave,” he shouted. “Come on. We have our first scrimmage next Tuesday. Let’s get moving.”

Troy gave me the full-wattage smile again and said, “Let’s talk later. You want a ride home?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, man, I’ll fill you in then. Let’s get to work.”

It was a great practice. We had a lot of skilled players, but Troy was the floor leader. He had the experience and the know-how. He was a natural-born leader on the court. No question about it: We were a better team with him back. Practice was more fun. Everything fell into place.

Except for one small thing.

Brandon Foley seemed unusually quiet.

“All okay?” I asked Brandon during a water break.

“Sure.”

“Great about Troy.”

“Yeah,” he said as though spitting out glass. “Great.”

I didn’t know what to make of him, so I let it go. Troy was back — and even though I didn’t seem to have anything to do with it, my teammates appreciated what I had done. Some even noted that I had been “wronged” in the past and they admired how I “stepped up” in spite of all that.

“Team first,” Danny Brown said to me.

“Team first,” I agreed.

As practice ended, Coach Grady shouted, “Okay, boys, gather around.”

We all took spots on the bleachers. We sucked down water and toweled ourselves off. Troy sat next to me.

“Tomorrow’s practice will be at four thirty,” Coach Grady said. “We’ll be in the other gym for the first half hour, then we move into this one.” Coach Grady continued his little spiel, hitting on a few more logistical points. We would be getting our uniforms on Monday, he said. We had the scrimmage in West Orange on Tuesday.

Then he paused and got to the heart of the matter.

“Drug tests for all Kasselton High School winter sports have been declared null and void. It doesn’t matter why. All you guys need to know is that we will be running new tests starting in two weeks. Okay, that’s it. Young guys, let’s get this place straightened up. The rest of you, do your homework and get some sleep.”

By “young guys,” Coach Grady meant the three juniors and me, the solo sophomore. We were supposed to do the team chores. Some might call it mild hazing, but it wasn’t really that. We pulled out the bleachers for the team meetings. We swept the floor at the end of practice. We put the balls back on the rack and locked them up.

Today Brandon helped out. He didn’t have to, but as captain, he was that kind of guy. He and I picked up the balls and put them on the rack. Again I couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t himself.

“I figured you’d be happy,” I said.

“Why’s that?”

“You were the one who thought Troy got a raw deal.”

He nodded slowly. “I guess I did.” Then he looked at me. “Where were you last night?”

“What do you mean?”

“Before you came to my house. Where were you?”

There had been no reason last night to tell him about breaking into the shed. There was even less reason now. “Why?”

“Do you know why they’re making us retest?”

I started spinning a ball on my finger. “No.”

“Because the old specimens got contaminated.”

The ball dropped off my finger. It landed on the floor. The sound echoed in the now-still gym. “How?” I asked.

“Someone broke into the storage center last night.”

“What storage center?”

“The town has a storage center where they keep all the drug samples. Last night someone broke into it.”

I swallowed. “Where’s this storage center?”

“It’s in a shed off the circle. Behind town hall.”

It was like someone had suddenly encased my arms and legs in cement. “I thought that shed was owned by Buck’s father.”

“Huh? That’s public land. Buck’s father has nothing to do with it. It’s owned by the town. That’s where they keep all the urine specimens — the ones already tested and the backups. But because someone broke in, no one can say if something’s been switched or tainted or whatever. That’s why they’ve all been voided.”

I staggered back, suddenly dizzy. I could feel the blood rushing to my face. “Do they know who broke in?”

“No,” Brandon said. “But the police said it was someone tall.”

Troy was waiting for me in the car. He had the same big smile on his face, but now I saw it for what it was. Not friendship. Not sportsmanship or teamwork.

It was the smile of someone mocking me.

I went around to his side of the car. The window was open. I reached in with both hands, grabbed him by the lapels, and pulled him straight out the window.

“What the...?”

“You set me up!” I shouted.

Troy didn’t fight back. He just kept smiling at me. “You don’t want to make a scene, Mickey.”

“You never saw Randy and Buck go into that shed.”

“Where’s your phone?”

“What?”

“I want to make sure you’re not recording this. Get in the car and take your phone out where I can see it.”

I wanted to punch him.

Troy pushed me off him, opened his door, and slid back into the car. I was at a loss about what to do.

“You deaf?” Troy asked. “Get in.”

I walked back around and got into the front passenger seat of his red sports car.

“Now show me your phone.”

I took it out and put it on the console. He checked it to make sure that I wasn’t taping the conversation. I wasn’t. I should have been, but I wasn’t thinking straight. I had let my anger take over. I needed to calm down.

“Is Randy even a drug dealer?” I asked.

“Oh, that part was true,” Troy said. “Where do you think I got the steroids?”

So there it was. He’d done them. And I had helped him get away with it — me, the dope who claimed that people could change. Ema had said that they couldn’t. Normally I enjoyed irony. Not today.

“I’m going to tell the coaches,” I said.

“And what exactly are you going to tell them, Mickey?”

“That we broke into that shed. That I thought...”

Troy just kept smiling at me. “Think it through a minute.”

I said nothing.

“First off,” Troy continued, “you know that the circle has several new security cameras, right?”

“So?”

“So the break-in occurred, according to the police report, at nine fifteen P.M. When they look through the security footage, are they going to see me leaving the circle heading toward the lab?” He flashed the grin. “Or you — by yourself?”

I remembered now that he had been waiting across the street — on the side of the Y. I had wondered why he had done that, but I never...

“Second, if they were to check on my alibi, they’d see that I checked into the YMCA for weightlifting at nine o’clock and checked out again a little after ten. You swipe your card to go in and out. It’s all computerized. Oh, they won’t know that I turned off the emergency exit alarm, snuck out a side exit, and met you. They’ll only be able to confirm that I was at the Y the whole time.”