“He sure did,” Jason said.
“He’s a good judge. We had Barber on our case, a space cadet. Conrad may be a former prosecutor, but he’s fair and smart as hell.”
“That’s good to hear.” Jason took a step backward. “Mr. Rogers . . .”
“Call me Knox.”
“Knox, I can’t thank you enough.”
The other attorney took a sip of beer and stood. He extended his hand and Jason shook it. “You thank me by finding out what really happened to Dr. Waters. Win, lose, or draw, you hear?”
Jason nodded. “Yes, sir.”
42
Trey Cowan sat on his customary stool at the Brick and stared at the television screen. The Braves were playing, and Trey typically got into the cat and mouse of a baseball game, but tonight he wasn’t interested. The Dodgers had scored eight runs in the second inning, and since then, the contest had been a rout. Trey finished off his mug of Miller Lite and set the glass down on the counter.
“Another?” the bartender asked.
Trey shook his head. “No thanks. Maybe some water for the road.”
“Sure thing.” The woman behind the bar, Teresa, was good natured but left Trey alone. No questions about his sporting past, which was always a relief.
“Here you go,” she said.
“Thanks.” Trey took the Styrofoam cup of water and pushed himself off the stool. He trudged up the steps, making sure to have a firm grasp on the railing. As he did, he felt their eyes on him. The Brick had a bar area in the back of the sunken room, and then tables and booths for people and families to eat, each with its own television. At 8:00 p.m., the place was still pretty full, and he knew that there were folks talking about him as he left.
“He was such a good quarterback.”
“Scholarship offers to Bama and Auburn.”
“Remember when Coach Saban came and watched him play?”
“So sad.”
“Sad.”
“Sad.”
“Sad.”
Trey stepped out onto the sidewalk and gazed up Gunter Avenue. He’d been in the bar since 4:30, and he felt the buzz of at least five beers. Still, he’d paced himself, so he wasn’t drunk. He hardly ever talked to anyone at the Brick, especially since Waylon Pike’s arrest, but he enjoyed the background noise. It was better than the utter quiet of his apartment and more relaxing, at least to him, than being out on the lake.
Oh, he loved the water. But sometimes, when he was feeling the voices in his head telling him how sad his life had become, he wanted to jump out of whatever craft he was in and sink to the dirty bottom. Wouldn’t that be an honorable way to go? A boating accident claims the life of former five-star quarterback and major league prospect Trey Cowan.
He didn’t have those types of thoughts in the Brick. At least, not many of them. He could go in there and pretty much be left alone. He felt the stares leaving, but that was it. But he had to admit, he missed Waylon. He hadn’t pestered Trey with questions about the past. Only the future.
And the future is now, he thought, remembering his last conversation with Waylon Pike the evening of July 3.
Trey limped his way down to Scott Street and crossed over. Once he was away from the downtown traffic, he picked up his pace, the limp gone. Trey walked much better than he let on, but he didn’t want to make that public knowledge. Especially now . . . , he thought.
Trey was quiet and had never been much of a student, but he wasn’t stupid. Revenge was a powerful motive for murder. He’d also been seen with Waylon at the Brick. He’d mostly told the police the truth about their interactions.
But he had omitted one rather large detail.
Trey trotted up the stairs to his apartment. His leg felt pretty good, and there were times when he thought he might give it a go next spring. Folks in town mainly remembered him as a football star, but he’d been an All-State centerfielder on the high school baseball team his last two years. He figured he could probably get a tryout with several minor league teams. He couldn’t run well, but he could still hit. There might be a spot for a designated hitter or maybe a first baseman.
When he reached the door to his place, he put the key in but saw that it was already unlocked. He felt his heart flicker and stepped inside. A trail of clothes led to the bedroom.
When he saw her, his smile widened into a grin.
Colleen Maples had brown hair that she normally kept up in a ponytail when she was working. She was ten years older than Trey, which made their relationship all the hotter. She had tan skin that she kept golden brown by lying out on her boathouse dock. He hadn’t been out to her place, though. When they got together, it was always here.