“I see,” said Ewing. “Was there anyone at the inn when you got there at. . uh. . six-thirty?”
“My assistant got there just a few minutes after I did.”
“How about when you left here last night at about eight or eight-thirty?”
“Again, my assistant.”
“How about that period in midmorning?” Harris asked. “What was it-you said you left the inn to come here about ten and the players didn’t get here till about noon. Anybody with you then?”
“No, I came alone.”
“Nobody here when you got here? Anybody here at all between ten and noon?”
“No.”
“Anybody see you come in?”
“Maybe. But I don’t remember seeing anybody.”
“So you were alone here for a couple of hours, but there isn’t anybody can attest to that?”
“I guess so. I had to get things ready here for the game. . like I told you. Is there anything wrong with that?”
“Not yet. Did you notice any of the players show up late at the inn yesterday morning?”
“Sure. There’s almost always a few.”
“Hoffer and Cobb among the late arrivals?” Ewing resumed his questioning.
Brown nodded. “Near as I can remember, Hoffer said something about going to church, and Bobby had a flat. Didn’t matter. Coach chewed ’em out.”
“How did Cobb and Hunsinger get on?”
“Okay, I guess. There’s always a kind of special relationship builds up between a quarterback and his receivers. The longer they stay on the same team, a kind of-whatchamacallit-ESP builds up.
“See, like during a play, a pass play, let’s say the blocking breaks down and the receiver has already run his pattern. They could be separated twenty-thirty yards, but about then a good quarterback may want the receiver to come back for the ball. The receiver, if he’s on the same wavelength, sort of senses this and comes back for the ball. It’s amazing. I’ve seen it work quite a few times. It worked between Bobby and the Hun. But Bobby is a good quarterback and the Hun is-was-a good receiver.
“’Course, there wasn’t a helluva lot of love lost between them. That happens. But they were able to communicate on the field.”
“So,” Ewing tried to sum up, “you’d say they were able to anticipate each other.”
“Kinda.”
“How about Hunsinger and Hoffer?”
“Well, Hoff played behind the Hun, so that didn’t make for all that friendly a relationship. In the beginning of this season, seemed like the Hun tried to take Hoff under his wing, but it seemed Hoff wasn’t havin’ any of it. ’Course, Hoff played behind guys in the past-high school, college. Even tried out with a couple of pro teams before this year. So he knows what it is to have to wait your turn.”
“How about the owner, Jay Galloway. . and the general manager. How’d they get along with Hunsinger?”
Brown shrugged. “They don’t get taped.”
In spite of himself, Ewing smiled. “I know you’re not as close to them as you are to the players, but it’s a team; you must have some opinion on their relationship with Hunsinger.”
“Depends on what time of the season you’re talkin’ about. Around contract time, Mr. Whitman didn’t think too kindly of the Hun. He drove a hard bargain, a real hard bargain.”
“And Galloway?”
Brown put the adhesive tape he’d been toying with on the shelf. “Pretty well known Mr. Galloway wanted the Hun on the field at all possible times. Thought a goodly percentage of the fans came out to see the Hun. Mr. Galloway’s probably takin’ this pretty hard.”
“You agree with him? About all those people coming out to see the Hun?”
Brown shook his head. “Guess I’ve seen too many come and go. Franchises somehow survive the players.”
“And how did you and Hunsinger get on?”
Brown paused, then shook his head. “The Hun was no malingerer. He took his licks-gave some too-and came back for more. He knew there were lots of strong, fast kids out there achin’ for his job. He was a good player, far as that went.
“But the thing you gotta remember about the Hun is that he was the only person he cared about. If you were in his way, he’d try his damndest to run you over. ’Bout the only guys who got on with him were the ones he impressed. Some were impressed with his money. Some were impressed with his reputation. He was almost a legend. He holds-or held-nearly all the league records for a tight end. And he played the position longer’n anyone else ever. He was an established hero to some of these kids when they were growin’ up.
“But you were either impressed with him or you didn’t care much for him. He wasn’t easy to like. . too much for himself and almost nothin’ for the team. That’s the way the Hun was.”
“And you?”
“I taped him, patched up his bruises. Outside of that, as far as he was concerned, kept pretty much to myself. Only way to get through life.”
“Okay,” said Harris, rising from the chair, “I think that’ll be all for now. We’ll probably have more questions. So stay available.”
Brown nodded.
The three men left the locker room and began the steep incline toward the parking lot outside the stadium. The vast lot, nearly empty, was dotted by only a few cars. One could see the significant potholes, cracks in the asphalt, and areas of just bare ground. Koesler mused that it must be some sort of moral crime to charge-and extravagantly-to park there.
They entered the city-owned car. “Do you mind, Father,” Ewing asked, “going with us on one more call?”
“No, of course not.” Koesler was surprised. He had been asked to participate in this interrogation segment of the investigation only because of his particular association with the God Squad discussion group. And the questioning of those members was now completed.
“Actually, we’ve got two more calls-Mrs. Galloway and Hunsinger’s mother-to make before we go back to headquarters and get together with the others investigating this case. Delivering you to your parish is right on the way to Mrs. Hunsinger’s.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, why Mrs. Galloway and Mrs. Hunsinger?”
“They had keys-and thus access-to Hunsinger’s apartment. We have to check them out.”
Koesler could understand why Hunsinger’s mother might have a key to his apartment, but did Mrs. Galloway still have a key?
“All we know is what we hear on the gossip circuit. She and Hunsinger had an affair awhile back. He gave her a key. We have no idea whether she returned it or might have had a copy made. We’ve got to check it out. . touch all bases, you know.”
Interesting, thought Koesler.
Sergeant Ewing would have no way of knowing how far from actuality he was when referring to Koesler and a gossip circuit in the same sentence. The priest neither collected nor spread rumor. And thought himself the better for it.
She could remember drowning. Even though she was only six at the time, the memory had never left her. Not that she constantly thought about the event. But it certainly had changed and formed her life.
It had happened when she, an only child, accompanied her father aboard his sailboat on Lake Calhoun in Minneapolis. The wind was up and the lake’s surface disturbed. Marjorie Palmer and her father were alone on board. He had strapped her in a lifejacket. . too tightly, she decided. She loosened it.
Her father had just begun a tack when an unexpected wave slapped the boat. Marjorie lost her balance. As she tumbled out, her head struck the side of the boat. She struggled only momentarily before going limp. Her body slipped out of the loosened lifejacket. And down she went.
It took her father several minutes to locate her in the roiled water. When he did, he grabbed her and shot to the surface. Afterward, he was unable to recall how he had managed to get her and himself back aboard. He hadn’t thought to lower the rope ladder before diving off the boat. He had thought only of rescuing his daughter or dying in the attempt. Without the ladder, it was pretty improbable that he would be able to get back in the boat, much less get his daughter’s limp body back in. Everyone attributed his feat simply to the phenomenon that in extreme emergencies, people are capable of almost superhuman strength.