Keep Them Close(52)

The dad, standing at what would be the shortstop position, tosses the ball to the boy’s right. The boy adjusts, then stretches out to catch the ball.

“Perfect!” says Luke. “That’s how you do it!”

The lesson ends. Luke bumps fists with the father and son.

I walk over to him. It’s time for a different kind of lesson.

“I made it clear that we were done,” he says, grabbing a bottle of water from his bag. “We can stop pretending we’re one big happy family.”

“Don’t talk like that, Luke.”

“Don’t tell me how to talk.”

“Y’know, it took me a while to figure out why you did what you did. Allow yourself to be arrested? Risk your career? And more importantly, lose the chance to win the College World Series this year?”

He doesn’t answer. He’s not interested in a conversation.

“You wanted to leave Mortimer and do your whole save-another-struggling-team thing, but you couldn’t figure out how,” I say. “At least, you couldn’t figure out how to do it and hand the reins to Alan. My planting that bag in Trinity’s trunk was a gift to you. All you had to do was time it so that, when the cops pulled you over, it was too late for anyone but Alan to coach Mortimer this season.”

“That’s a fascinating theory,” he says.

“And those cute little ploys of yours. Claiming you wanted to ‘plead guilty.’ Saying you were sure that Finley was behind all this.” I wink. “What, you were testing me?”

“That’s exactly what I was doing,” he says, his face blooming red. “I was giving you the chance to do the right thing and admit what you did. And you failed miserably.”

“Luke, I was never going to let you be convicted. No matter what it took. And I’ll remind you, the target was Trinity, not you. And need I remind you why I targeted her—”

“She isn’t sleeping with Fin. They’re working on the documentary together. That’s it.” He rolls his eyes, releases a loud sigh. “Anything else? It’s been great catching up.”

“One more thing,” I say. “Some advice.”

He turns and stands face-to-face with me. “Oh, yeah? And what might that be?”

“I’m concerned about your defense, Luke. Your story? It’s…not going to work.”

“No?” His face has colored again, though I suspect it’s anger, not concern.

“It will hurt me, which is important to you, I know. But it’s going to hurt you, too.”

“How’s that?”

“Think about what happened,” I say. “You found out I had planted those pills in the car using Trinity’s bag. So you switched out her bag for mine, put the pills in my bag, and stuffed it back in the trunk, just like I did.”

“And? So?”

“So? Luke, that story makes you guilty of the very crime you’re charged with. You knowingly possessed those prescription pills. You knew they were in there when you were driving. You put them in there yourself.”

He stares at me for a long time before a smile appears. “Wow, you are a piece of work.” He laughs. “I know I’m not the big fancy lawyer you are,” he says with a wave of jazz hands, “but I’m not an idiot, either. I show the jury that video of you planting the drugs. I show the jury the DNA and fingerprint results. And we’re done. That’s it. No jury convicts me.”

“But what about your version of the events?” I ask.

“My version?” He cups a hand over his mouth, like he’s about to whisper a secret. “I’m not going to tell my story,” he says. “I’ll let that video and the test results do the talking. It’s called exercising the right to remain silent. Ever heard of that?”

“Yup.” I smile. “Too bad you didn’t exercise it the other day when we talked.”

From my purse I remove a small, clear plastic case holding a disc. “I had it burned onto a CD,” I say. “I know you still have one of those disc drives on your home computer.”

His eyes go cold, his body still as a statue. “What…the fuck…is that?”

“It’s your copy,” I say. “I made several. Wanna listen?” I pull out the digital recorder I had in my pocket when Luke and I had our fight. I hit play:


“This was Trinity’s idea, wasn’t it? Yeah. It was her idea to steal one of my shopping bags and toss the Oxy pills inside it. Her idea to steal a tube of my lipstick. This was all Trinity. You don’t have it in you—”

“I don’t owe you an explanation. I don’t owe you shit!”

“Well, that answers my question right—”

“No, it doesn’t—”

“Yes, it does. Once again, she talks you into—”

“What’s with this Trinity-manipulating-me bullshit, like I can’t think for myself? It was my idea! I did it. I took your shopping bag and lipstick. I put the pills inside. I drove the car. Trinity didn’t even want me to do it.”



I shut off the recorder. “That’s gonna be tough to explain,” I say. “You’re admitting you put the drugs in the car yourself. The good news for you is, nobody ever has to hear that recording of you. As long as nobody sees that video of me.”