False accusations

CHAPTER 61

Chandler sat reclining on the playroom lounger, Coke in hand, watching the New York Mets lose to the Florida Marlins in the ninth inning. “Unbelievable,” he said as he took his last swig from the can. He slammed his fist down as the replay showed the thundering four-hundred-fifty-foot home run land on the Shea Bridge well beyond the outfield wall. He squeezed his fist hard, crushing the aluminum can. At one of the folds, there was a sharp point that dug into his pinky. He pulled the crumpled container off his hand, examining the punctured flesh where the metal had stuck him.

As Gary Cohen, the Mets’ sportscaster, announced that the Marlins had pulled out a miraculous come-from-behind victory, Chandler noticed something where the aluminum had creased. He stared at the can for a long moment, then turned it over and around, several times.

Denise walked into the room with Noah. “They lost?” she asked, staring at the score. “They were ahead ten minutes ago.”

Chandler was not listening; he was on the phone.

Denise popped a DVD into the player for Noah, then looked at the notes Chandler was scribbling on his pad as he spoke.

He thanked the person on the other end of the phone, and hung up.

“What are you doing?”

Chandler underlined something on the page. “Following up on something.”

Denise looked at him. “Work? It’s Sunday night. Can’t it wait until morning?”

“This isn’t work. Something on Phil’s case.”

“What is it?”

Chandler hesitated. “I’m not sure.”