Cold Hit

Chapter 7

Pete Carroll was in his early fifties; youthful, with sandy blond-gray hair and a friendly, engaging smile. His nose had been broken and not set properly, which I thought added character to an already handsome face. The coach had been in our house for forty minutes and hadn't once talked about football or the two national championships he'd already won. Mostly, he was stressing teamwork and the academic and cultural advantages of the university.

Chooch was beginning to work his way up to a question, and finally asked, "Would there be any chance for me to play as a freshman, Coach?"

"I wouldn't be here if you weren't an outstanding quarterback, Chooch. Lane Killen went to several of your games and says you have what it takes. I've seen your tapes and talked to your coach at Harvard Westlake. He tells me you're a team leader and an honors student. I like everything I'm hearing. But my job is about more than who gets on the field or just winning football games. What we're really about is building our young men.

"I play freshmen when they're the best at their position, both physically and emotionally. You won't have to stand in line to get playing time at USC, but I also don't make promises I can't keep." Then he leaned back and smiled at Chooch. "Strange as it seems, your character is more important to me than your time in the forty, because I know a man with good work ethics, a sense of team, and a big heart is going to go out and take care of business not only on the field, but in life. The most gifted athlete isn't always the best man for the job. Heart, teamwork, and integrity count. A lot of what we do at USC is work on building what's inside."

This was my kind of coach. One of the other things I liked about Coach Carroll: he was talking to Chooch, not to Alexa or me. On visits from other coaches, Chooch was just furniture in the room, while the coach was selling the two of us on what their program would do.

"It's important to me that you get what you want if you become a Trojan, Chooch. But the way to get the things you want in life is to grow as an individual. Inner strength always creates opportunity."

Just then, my cell phone rang. It was the third call I'd gotten since Coach Carroll arrived and I could see the frustration in Chooch's eyes as I fished the phone out of my pocket. He wanted my complete attention on this visit and unfortunately, he wasn't quite getting it. But a fresh homicide had hit our table at two-thirty this morning and I couldn't let the first twenty-four hours of Forrest's investigation go stagnant.

The other calls had been from the coroner's office and forensics. No additional material was found at the crime scene. The blood work showed nothing special. . a low alcohol count and no drugs. They were still trying to trace the contact lens.

I opened my cell phone as I left the living room, and went into the den. "Scully," I said.

It was a cryptologist who identified herself as Cindy Clark from Symbols and Hieroglyphics. We'd met once previously and I recognized her heavy Southern accent.

"I've translated the tattoo on the vic's eyelids," she said.

"Great! Let's hear."

"The figures are Cyrillic symbols from the old Russian alphabet. They date all the way back to Peter the Great."

"Russian?"

"Yes, sir. It's a warning."

"Go on."

"Roughly translated, it means, 'Don't wake up.

I started writing that on a slip of paper. "A warning or a statement of fact?"

"In the book where I found it, it just says that life is bad and it's better to sleep. But since this John Doe had it on his eyelids, maybe it just refers to him being asleep when his eyes are closed. I don't know."

"Listen Cindy, I really appreciate this, but what I need most right now is to decode that figure eight inside the oval. The case is starting to fall in on me. Can you keep working on that? If you're at a dead end, maybe you could send it out to experts in other departments?"

"We already did that. Everything we got back so far doesn't help much. I have a few possibilities, but we've eliminated most of them because they aren't exact matches and they don't seem relevant. I think you know Mike Menninger, our head cryptologist. He's gone over everything. He thinks what we have so far is pretty low-yield stuff and might just produce confusion for y'all."

"Let's hear, anyway."

I heard paper rustling, then: "One is a sailing club in Vancouver, Washington, called Pieces of Eight. Their flag is kind of like your symbol, but it's more just an eight in a circle with no crosshatching. So we don't think it's anything."

I agreed, but wrote it down anyway. "Go on."

"There's a symbol from the ancient Greek that looks a little like it, only the eight is sideways, not perpendicular, and it's closed, not open at the top."

"What's it mean?"

"It was an academic symbol for a college of philosophers in Athens."

"Not very damn likely," I agreed, but wrote that down, too.

"Then, just some logos of businesses. A bike shop in the Valley, Eight Mile Bikes, a chicken franchise called Eight Pieces, stuff like that. None of it is close enough to take seriously. Since the peril carved the exact same symbol each time, we think it's probably a close representation of what he wants. It may be lacking detail, but none of this stuff seems right to us."

"Okay, Cindy, I agree. But turn up the heat, will you? I need a break."

"Yes, sir."

She hung up and I opened the murder book so I could stick the slip of paper inside to enter later. When I looked at the index page for John Doe Number Two, who I'd named "Van" because we found him in the L. A. River at Van Alden Avenue, I saw at a glance that some pictures were missing and the material was not organized correctly. I felt a flash of anger at Zack. What had he been doing instead of taking care of this? I closed the binder and walked back into the living room.

"A good pre-law major is political science," Pete Carroll was saying. "We have academic advisors who help our players with their majors. They also help our athletes register for the right courses. We have mandatory study halls, and tutors on standby if you need help on a subject."

Chooch was leaning forward. "Coach, can we talk just a little more about the program, because I have some questions."

"Sure," the coach said. "Fire away."

"Is Coach Sarkisian gonna stay at USC?" Chooch was asking about SC's brilliant quarterback coach who had recently been promoted to assistant head coach.

"So far that's the plan, but one of my jobs, Chooch, is to support my players and my coaches. If people in our system know that there's opportunity, they flourish. If that means one day Steve Sarkisian takes off to be a head coach somewhere, I'm never gonna stand in his way. In fact, I'll make some calls and try to help."

It went on for another thirty minutes, until Coach Carroll said it was time for him to leave. Franco was still sitting at his feet and before he could stand, our marmalade cat jumped up and landed in the coach's lap. Obviously, Franco's mind was made up. He wanted Chooch to wear cardinal and gold.

We still hadn't had our visit from Joe Paterno at Penn State, or Karl Dowell from UCLA. Both visits were scheduled for the following week. But I liked Coach Carroll. After he left, we sat in the living room and talked it through.

"What a cool guy," Chooch said.

"He's good-looking, too," Delfina teased, her long black hair and dark eyes shining. She had brought more than I could have imagined into our family since she came to live with us.

"He sounds like a player's coach," Alexa added.

I nodded, but didn't want to put in too strong an opinion or use my influence to help Chooch decide. "What do you think, Dad?"

"He's obviously a quality person. But in the long run, it's got to be your decision."

"I wish he'd talked more about football."

"I liked that he didn't," Alexa said. "Anybody can come in here and make promises. What he was saying is he wants to build in you a sense of teamwork and inner strength. Let's face it, if you want success in life, it's inner strength that counts."