Page 74 of Dirty Filthy Boy
Chapter 22
MacKenna
SATURDAY NIGHT, I drive Rosco to the day care that also functions as a doggy spa. During our discussion before I moved in, Lenora mentioned I could drop him there if ever I needed to travel out of town. The doggy spa is nothing like I've seen before. Each dog gets his or her own suite with a huge doggy bed and plenty of toys as well as blankets to keep him warm. During his stay, he'll enjoy play time, a swimming session, and a massage. I should be so lucky to stay in that spa.
Thankfully, my trip to Lincoln, Nebraska on Sunday goes smoothly. No snow, only bitter cold temperatures. After my check in into a budget hotel, I text Stephanie Colton to let her know I've arrived, and we make plans to meet at the newspaper office bright and early the next day. Mondays students tend to straggle in having spent the weekend either doing too much celebrating or cramming for exams.
Per her instructions, I dress as a college student with a backpack. In case anybody asks, I'm supposedly volunteering to help with the files, a dreaded job in any office. Since I got out of college only a few months ago, I blend right in. Our trip to the catacombs, as she calls it, takes us through a dingy, dark corridor and down a set of stairs to a room that smells of must and dust. I don't have allergies, but anybody who does wouldn't be able to work down there for long.
"The door closed behind us so we won't be overheard. And there are no cameras down here."
"Are there some upstairs?"
"Oh, yes. And as you saw for yourself, the front door is not only locked but you need a code to enter. The code changes every semester."
"Why the security?"
"We get threats at times. The door's is pure steel, so unless you know the code, you can't get in. If anybody gets too belligerent and demands entrance, we have time to call security."
It's not wonder they take so much precaution. In this day and age, you can't be too careful.
We've been wondering through a corridor lined with filing cabinets on the right. She stops in front of one labeled 2009, and slides out the file drawer. From its depths, she retrieves a closed box. "This is what I wanted you to see. Actually, what I wanted you to hear."
It's a box of tapes and cassette ones at that. I thought those things had gone the way of the dinosaurs. "Okay."
"Yes. Our student editor at the time was a female student. She didn't trust men as far as she could throw them. So when this story hit, she started taping the conversations of everybody she talked to about the sexual assault case. Of course, she didn't share she was doing, so the whole thing's illegal."
"Who did she tape?"
"Everyone, from Emily Suarez herself, to the frat boys who attended that party and swore up and down they hadn't seen or heard a thing. Yeah, fat chance of that. There's one in particular I want you to hear."
Please don't let it be Ty. Anyone but him. I don't think I could face him if he'd witness the events leading to Emily Suarez's assault. I gulp back the bile that's suddenly risen in my throat. "Whose interview was it?"
"Coach Gronowski."
What? "The Outlaws' head coach?"
"That's the one. He coached the Nebraska State football team for a number of years. The last team? He led all the way to a national championship. As far as the students were concerned, he could do no wrong. I think that's why our college advisor, Professor Leonard, gave in to his demands. He was afraid of the repercussions if he turned him down."
"So what did Coach Gronowski ask the newspaper to do?"
"You'll see." All this time, she's been going through the box of tapes, each one labeled with a name and a date. "Ah, here it is."
The tape she holds out to me is labeled Gronowski discussion, "March 7, 2009." She injects the tape into a cassette player she brought down with her. "It's my own. Don't want anyone to know I retrieved the newspaper's unit from storage. I'd need to sign it out if I did."
At first Coach Gronowski lays it on thick with praise about the great job the newspaper's doing. But then it turns nasty.
"I understand you have a list of everyone who was questioned by the police."
"Yes, we do. But we have no intention of publishing those names," Professor Leonard insists.
"You expect me to believe that? If you reveal a couple of my players were interrogated, you'd cause quite a stir on campus. A football player involved in this type of scandal might seriously injure any chances he'd have at the NFL. And I have several who fit that bill."
"You'll have to take my word for it, Coach."
"I don't believe you. This is just too juicy a story to let go." Something that sounds like the scraping of a chair comes through. "But if my players' names are mentioned in your piddly paper in connection with happened at that fraternity, I'll make sure that your rag gets shut down. Permanently."
"You can't do that." Professor Leonard's voice wavers.
