Page 21 of No Surrender
A middle-aged woman opened the door. “I’m Kathleen, the housekeeper. Mr. Andrews is in the living room.” She gave them a disapproving once-over. “He’s still recovering. I trust you’ll keep that in mind.”
Kathleen led them to the sitting room, where Hamilton Andrews sat in a recliner, resting his cast on the arm. He didn’t look at all like his court persona. His perfect hair—something the media frequently mentioned—looked like a bird’s nest. He had dark circles under his eyes and bruises on his face from the airbag.
“Vic and Ross. To what do I owe the honor—since as I recall, you work the homicide beat, and as you can see, I’m very much alive.” He gestured toward the couch across from him, managing to wiggle his fingers in the cast that encased his right arm from elbow to mid-palm.
“We’re glad to see that, Hamilton. We have a few questions, and we appreciate you taking time to see us,” Ross replied, taking the lead.
“What do you want to know that I haven’t already told the police?”
Vic smiled. “Someone knew that baseball card would be catnip for you. We think one of the Slitter’s fanboys is stalking people important to the case. You’ve heard about Judge Byrnam?”
Andrews nodded. “Yes. But surely you don’t think a heart attack is related?”
“Did they tell you she received a poker chip from a tournament where the lead player had to forfeit because he had a heart attack?” Vic asked. “And right before your accident, I got a vintage Springsteen ticket in the mail from the concert they canceled because of food poisoning—and got violently ill.”
A look of alarm crossed Andrews’s face before his court-honed acting skills kicked in. “How could the card or ticket or a poker chip have anything to do with what happened?”
Ross cleared his throat. “We don’t quite have the ‘how’ figured out. So we’re working on the ‘who.’ Are you active in any online or in-person groups for baseball fans?”
“Surely you don’t think—”
“We don’t know what to think, Hamilton. So we have to eliminate the possibilities until we find the right one,” Vic replied. “I’m betting you’re part of some online groups where you can be a ‘regular Joe’ behind a screen name. That same anonymity hides someone whodoesknow who you are and figured out how to bait the hook.”
“I’m not superstitious, but I do see the parallel with Narvaez and my car accident. Although I have no idea how someone would pull that off. Your boys arrested the driver who hit me. You think he sent me the card and then made the crash happen? Why would he do that? He’s in jail now—not exactly a winning strategy.”
Vic shook his head. “I don’t think the driver sent the card—or the ominous note from before. I’m not sure how he became involved. We have a theory that one of the Slitter’s fans is somehow behind both the card you received and Judge Byrnam’s poker chip. If we can find out who he is, we can figure out the ‘how’ later.”
The look on Andrews’s face made it clear he hated giving up details on his off-hours diversion. “I guess this means you’re going to get a subpoena for the group administrators to get the membership information. You’ll have to explain your reason. I won’t be able to go back.”
“You could change your screen name,” Ross offered.
Andrews shook his head. “I’ve been a member for years. They’d recognize how I sound in my posts, even under a different name. I know it’s not important in the grand scheme of things, but it pisses me off to lose that. Having fun and just enjoying a hobby gets tricky when people see your face on TV.”
“Price of fame?” Vic replied, only partially in jest.
Andrews snorted. “Yeah, I guess so. My group name is DiMaggioFan. My grandfather worshipped that guy.”
“Were there any interactions you had in the group that made you uncomfortable or that seemed odd?” Ross asked. “Maybe someone who seemed a little too eager to be your friend?”
Andrews thought for a moment. “I don’t know if you participate in any groups, but it’s pretty common for there to be a small core of very active members, no matter how many people are technically in the club. Not to say the sender couldn’t have been lurking, but ego is often a big thing with stalkers. They’re playing a mental game and want to see how close they can come without getting caught. In their mind, they’re all Moriarty.”
“Interesting,” Ross mused. He looked at Vic. “That means we start with the fifty most active members and go from there.”
“We want to cross-reference the IP addresses between your groups and Judge Byrnam’s,” Vic said. “I’ve got a suspicion that the overlap between the groups will be our guy.”
Andrews nodded. “I think you’re on to something, detective. Nice work.”
“Captain Hargrove put out a warning to anyone involved in the trial to be wary of unexpected letters or packages from unknown senders. It was heavy on caution and light on details, but we’re hoping people will think twice before opening mail from people they don’t know,” Ross put in.
Andrews gave them an appraising look. “You think there’s something supernatural going on.”
“Maybe,” Vic allowed. “We’re leaving all possibilities open.”
“Did you have your psychic friend take a look at the card and your ticket?” Andrews’s tone was less mocking than Vic might have expected.
Vic hesitated before nodding. “He picked up malicious energy on it and the ticket—and we’re expecting the same with the poker chip. That’s not a surprise. The question is—was someone able to harness that power to cause real harm?”
“In other words, magic.”
