Page 8 of 40-Yard Line

“There’s no doubt that he suffered from this?” asked Miller.

“None. We’re still doing some studies, tissue samples, all of that, but that man should not have been playing football.”

“If he were diagnosed, or at least spoken to about the possibility, what was the treatment for this?” asked Miller.

“There is none. His career would have been over, and his life would have been very different. Some therapies and medications can lessen the effects of the symptoms, but there is no cure. If he was diagnosed, or there was a suspected diagnosis, and the team covered up for financial reasons, well, that’s your wheelhouse.”

“Shit,” muttered Wilson. “It looks like they covered up a lot with this guy, but was it so much that they would try to make it look like he committed suicide?”

“We’re talking millions of dollars owed to him. Millions,” said Felix. “His life expectancy would change, not to mention all the injuries that were covered up by the team.”

“Damn, I really hate this,” said Wilson. “It’s not like this guy was seventy. He was still young.”

“I understand he has a daughter in Arizona,” said Felix. “My suggestion would be to get someone to speak with her. Ask if his moods had been different, anything strange in his behavior.”

“Thanks, Felix. You’re always the best,” said Miller.

“Tell your Mama I want a coconut cake for this one,” he grinned.

“Done,” laughed Miller. He and Wilson walked away from their friend, weaving through the holiday crowds on the street. Wilson gripped Miller’s arm and pointed up to a billboard.

Memorial Service for our beloved longtime QB – Butch Cavet – Saturday 1:00 p.m. at Fire Stadium.

“Somebody’s trying to send a message to the public,” frowned Wilson.

“We’ll get to them. First, I want to know about the daughter.”

CHAPTER SIX

Scottsdale, Arizona is a beautiful desert town filled with young professionals and retirees alike. Littered with high-end shops, golf courses, swimming pools, hiking trails, and mountains, the beauty of the Southwest shines through in her gorgeous desert terrain.

Having called Lara O’Connell, Carigan’s mother, Mac and Gabe headed toward the address. They knew it was a gated community, but seeing the massive homes really hit them on how well Butch had taken care of them both.

“Damn. This is really something,” said Mac.

“Yeah, but why a mansion for just a woman and her daughter? Did he hope to come back here one day and live with them?” asked Gabe.

“I don’t know,” he said, stopping at the gate.

“Help you, gentlemen?” asked the guard.

“We’re here to see Lara O’Connell. We’re with Gray Wolf Security,” said Mac.

“Yes, sir. Ms. O’Connell told me you were coming. Follow this road around the bend, then take the first left. Her house will be third on the right up against the mountain.”

They thanked the guard and followed the directions, easily finding the house. The reddish-pink stucco seemed to blend in seamlessly with the earth around the house. There was a massive double front door of custom ironwork.

Ringing the doorbell, the two men stared at one another and waited.

“Hello. You must be the two men from Gray Wolf. The guard called to tell me you were here,” said the pretty woman. “I’m Lara O’Connell.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Mac, and this is Gabe.”

“Please come in,” she said with a wave. She pointed to the massive great room and the steaming pot of coffee waiting for them. “I figured you guys might need some coffee.”

“Always,” smiled Gabe. “We’re terribly sorry for your loss.”

She nodded, swallowing as tears filled her eyes.

---