Palindrome

CHAPTER 18

Detective Sergeant Lee Williams knew were Baker Ramsey lived, someone had pointed out the house to him once. He was nearly to the house when he heard a report on a radio sports show. "Bake Ramsey, the Bobcats' star running back, came through his knee surgery in fine form and will be watching team practice from the stands at Bobcat Farm this afternoon." Williams swung the car around and headed north. Bobcat Farm was the team's headquarters, a large spread near the little town of Roswell, north of the city. Williams was a Bobcats fan, and he was excited about a visit to a place that rigorously excluded the public.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled up to the gate of Bobcat Farm and showed his badge to the guard. "Atlanta PD. I want to see Bake Ramsey." The guard asked him to wait while he made a telephone call, then came back to the car. "Drive straight up the road to the main building. Mr. Smith, the public relations director, will meet you there."

Williams drove slowly up the drive, taking in the grounds. In the distance, he could see a scrimmage taking place on the practice field. The main building was a faux southern mansion, and a middle-aged man wearing a Bobcats polo shirt was waiting for him on the front steps. "Hi, I'm Bob Smith," the man said as Williams got out of his car.

"Detective Sergeant Lee Williams, Atlanta PD," he replied, careful to avoid mention of the Homicide Bureau.

"I understand you want to see Bake Ramsey. Can you tell me what it's about?"

"Just some routine questions," Williams replied. "I hope he may be able to help me with some information."

"Is this to do with an active investigation?" Smith asked, standing his ground. "Bake can't be disturbed right now. He's learning some new plays."

"It's official police business," Williams said, "and I can wait until he's finished. I've got all day." Smith still did not move.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," he said.

"Mr. Smith," Williams said in a flat voice. "I'm going to talk with Mr. Ramsey today. Now, I can do it here and now, or I can radio for a warrant, arrest Ramsey, and talk to him downtown. What's it going to be?"

"It's as serious as that?" Smith asked, looking worried.

"It may not be serious at all, I don't know, and I won't know until I've talked to Ramsey himself. Now, I know it's your job to protect the players, but the best thing you can do to protect Ramsey is to get me to him right now." Smith hesitated only a moment.

"Come with me, please." He led the way through the front doors of the mansion, past a reception desk, into a room that might have been the library of an antebellum house. "Please wait here, and I'll ask Bake to join us. Can I get you a drink?"

"No, thanks." Smith left the room, and Williams had a look around. All the books on the shelves were about football, and one wall was filled with leather-bound Bobcats playbooks.

Williams was a little nervous about speaking to the Bobcats' star. Ten minutes passed, then Smith returned. Bake Ramsey was right behind him, on crutches. He was wearing shorts and his player's jersey, and his left knee was wrapped in a huge bandage. Smith made the introductions and sat down. "I'd like to see Mr. Ramsey alone," Williams said to him.

"Against team policy, I'm afraid," Smith replied firmly. "No interviews of players at Bobcat Farm without a PR man on hand."

"I'm happy to have Bob hear what we say to each other," Ramsey said, speaking for the first time. He seemed cool, relaxed, unworried.

"As you wish," Williams said, sitting down. "Mr. Ramsey-"

"Call me Bake; everybody does."

Ramsey smiled at him. "Thanks, I'm Lee," Williams replied, smiling himself. He was happy to keep it informal; he didn't take out his notebook. "Bake, you were in Los Angeles for the opener with the Rams, weren't you?"

"Right. That's where I hurt my knee."

"The game was on Sunday?"

"Right again."

"When did you arrive in Los Angeles?"

"On Friday afternoon."

"Do you remember what you did on Saturday night?"

"Sure, I had dinner in my room and went to bed early."

"Were you alone?"

Ramsey grinned. "No, there was a young lady with me. She stayed the night."

"May I ask her name?"

"Brenda. I never got her last name. We met in a bar on Friday evening and, well, we got along."

"You have her number?"

"Afraid not. She was a throwaway, you know what I mean?"

"Where were you staying?"

"At Le Parc"-he spelled it-"it's a suite hotel in West Hollywood. The team always stays there."

"Can anyone else confirm you were there that evening?"

"The room-service waiter, I guess." Ramsey seemed to be trying hard to help. "He's the only other person I saw that night."

"Okay. Now, where were you on Tuesday, in the evening?"

"That's easy; Piedmont Hospital. I checked in around five that afternoon and had my surgery at seven the next morning."

"Did you leave the hospital any time that evening or night?"

"Nope. They put you right to bed when you go into the hospital."

"Did you have any visitors that evening?"

"Just the doctor, right after I arrived, and the nurse on duty. A new nurse came on at eight; she checked on me from time to time."

"Remember her name?"

"Yeah, it was Mary Alice Taylor. She was very nice."

"Bake, did you know a lawyer named Al Schaefer?"

"I only met him once. He represented my wife when we got divorced."

"Did you ever see him again?"

"Never, just that once."

"Did you know Raymond and Eleanor Ferguson?"

"Sure. Ray was my ex-wife's publisher."

"Did you know him well?"

"Not real well.

Liz-that's my ex-wife-and I had dinner with them a couple of times. She knew him a lot better than I. He was a nice guy, though; I liked him. I was sorry when I read about his death." He grinned slightly. "I wasn't quite so sorry about Schaefer. He cost me a lot of money."

Williams smiled. "Lawyers are like that. So you disliked Schaefer, then?"

"Not really, he was just doing his job. I only met him the once, for ten or fifteen minutes, maybe. The team lawyer and I went to his office to work out the settlement."

"And was the settlement easily reached?"

"Like I said, it only took ten or fifteen minutes. I didn't want to be rough on Liz. I gave her what she asked for."

"Where is the ex-Mrs. Ramsey now?"

"I don't have a clue. I heard she left town after the divorce. She told a mutual friend of ours that she was going around the world. That's okay with me."

Williams stood up. "Well, that's all I need, I think. Thanks for your time. Thank you, Mr. Smith."

He turned and walked toward the door. "I'll walk you out,"

Ramsey said. "I know old Bob wants to get back to work." Smith's eyebrows went up, and Ramsey shook his head.

Williams walked slowly, so that Ramsey could keep up. "Is that knee going to put you on the reserve list?" Williams asked. "Just between you and me?"

"Sure."

"I'll be back by midseason. The team wants it thought that I'm out until next year."

"Don't worry, I never meet any sports writers."

"You got any kids?" Ramsey asked.

"A boy, thirteen. He's playing junior-high ball; he might make a running back one of these days."

"Hang on a minute." They were in the entrance hall, and Ramsey turned to the receptionist. "Let me have one, Sheila." The woman went to a closet behind her desk and tossed Ramsey a football. "And a couple of my house seats for Sunday." He turned back to Williams. "What's your boy's name?"

"Martin." Ramsey took a pen from the reception desk and signed the ball, "To Martin, from another running back, Bake Ramsey." He handed the ball to Williams.

Williams looked at the ball and hesitated. "Come on, it's for the kid, it's not a bribe." Williams took the ball.

"Thanks, it'll make his whole year."

Ramsey smiled and handed him two tickets. "This is a bribe. It's two for the home game on Sunday."

Williams smiled back. He couldn't pass this up, the boy would never forgive him. "Consider me bribed." He laughed. Outside on the steps they shook hands.

"You've talked to Liz, haven't you?"

Ramsey said. "Liz?"

"My ex-wife. There can't be any other reason you'd come to see me. Liz is a sick girl, real paranoid. She's told people I beat her up; that's not true, I never laid a hand on her. Now she's got it in her head that I killed Schaefer and the Fergusons, I guess." He looked sad. "Well, I'm happy to help you in any way I can. I've certainly got nothing to hide."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it," Williams told him. "This is just all routine."

"Well, if you talk to Liz, tell her I'd like to see her again; talk over old times."

"Take care," Williams said, and walked down the steps to his car. Outside the front gate, he stopped and checked his address book for the telephone number of a detective he knew on the Los Angeles force. The man owed him a favor. When he was on the line, Williams asked him to pay a visit to Le Parc in West Hollywood, then he turned his car toward Piedmont Hospital. Williams showed his badge to the nurse at the hall station. She was young and pretty, and she had a mischievous air about her. "Could I speak to Mary Alice Taylor?"

"She's the night nurse; doesn't come on until eight. What's this about?"

"Just some routine questions." The nurse grinned. "Sure, that's what the cops always say when they're hunting down somebody for a foul deed."

Williams grinned back. "I don't suspect her of some foul deed, I promise." He didn't want to come back at eight and miss his dinner at home, and he didn't want to go looking for this girl right now; he had other work to do. "Maybe you can help me at that. Can you tell me what procedure is for the night nurse, regarding checking on patients?"

"Same as during the day, except during the day I have doctors to fool with. She's got the better deal, believe me."

"How often would she check on her patients at night?"

"She'd make rounds every hour, more often if a patient has to have periodic medication." She indicated the bank of monitors behind her. "It used to be constant, but these keep an eye on the patients in serious condition, and half the patients on this ward are just waiting for elective surgery the next morning. They get a sedative at bedtime, and, after that, they're just lumps."

"Do you know Mary Alice Taylor?"

"Sure, we were in nursing school together."

"Is she a conscientious sort of person? I mean, would she make her rounds as prescribed, or would she more likely take a nap?"

"Oh, Mary Alice would definitely make her rounds." She grinned again. "With some patients, the cute ones, she might even make them more often than necessary."

"Do you think she might find a pro football player cute?"

"You bet she would; Mary Alice has a thing for jocks. We had Bake Ramsey on the ward for knee surgery the other day, and she was still turned on when I relieved her the next morning."

"So she would have paid special attention to somebody like Ramsey?"

"Listen, if I know Mary Alice, she probably gave him a sleeping pill, then came back during the night and checked under the sheet, just to have a look."

Williams laughed. "I get the picture, and that's all I need to know." He thanked her and left. Late that afternoon, his Los Angeles contact reported back. "Ramsey's story checks," the man said.

"He and a girl had dinner in his room. He wasn't seen again until the next morning."

"Tell me something," Williams said. "How far is Le Parc from the Beverly Hills Hotel?"