Ahead, Randy walked alongside the road in his red hard hat, khaki shirt and pants. A gas powered weed eater was balanced in his right hand.
Lane coasted up beside, “Got a minute?”
Randy’s smile faded as he turned. His lips formed a straight line and his eyes adopted a blank expression. Lane wondered if he’d see the person behind the mask. Randy stopped to face the policeman. Lane took extra care as he stopped and shut off the engine. He heard bird song.
Randy held the weed trimmer balanced like a spear, “You hear it too.”
Lane stood straight, closed his eyes and leaned till his back formed a gentle curve. “Yes.”
“People make too much noise to listen to the music birds make.”
“I’ve got a couple of questions.” Lane felt caught off guard by the apparent sensitivity of a man who seemed so guarded.
“Yep.” Randy shifted the weed trimmer around to the front of his body.
“A witness says Ernesto drove a Lincoln here the morning Swatsky disappeared.”
Randy shrugged.
“Can you confirm that Ernesto drove a Lincoln to this cemetery the morning Robert Swatsky disappeared?”
Randy’s eyes studied Lane.
Lane said, “Can you… ” Then he remembered their last meeting when Randy had answered a similar question with, ‘He owns a red van.’ Randy is not a liar, Lane thought. His silence is as good as an admission. “You don’t lie, do you?”
Randy continued to watch the detective. At first he gave no indication of having heard a word, then he said, “Look, this thing is heavy.” Randy hefted the trimmer to accentuate his point. “Let’s go sit in the shade.”
They walked to the north side of the mausoleum. Randy set the trimmer down in the shade, next to the wall. He removed his hard hat. Randy sat down, crossed his legs and leaned against the cool of the concrete.
Lane sat against the wall, about a meter from Randy.
“When you’ve been put on the stand, told to tell the truth and been accused over and over again of lying, lies don’t come easily. Hanging onto the truth was all that I had left at one time. Then I came to realize it’s all we ever have.” Randy stared north to the trees and the clear sky above. A passenger jet climbed to gain altitude before crossing the Rocky Mountains.
“Amazing,” Lane said.
“What?”
“That’s the longest answer you’ve given me so far.”
“Maybe that’s because I figure you recognize the significance of truth,” Randy said.
“How come you never played hockey again?”
“That’s a long story.”
Lane decided to let the conversation take them where it would. Randy wasn’t about to be forced or intimidated and this way they might end up where they needed to go. “I’ve got time.”
Randy nodded and smiled. “When I first went to the police about the assaults, I was 19 and drunk. That was the end of my hockey career.”
“But you were a top draft pick.”
“Number one when I was 18. Drank the signing bonus and rolled a brand new Corvette into a ditch. Walked away
with a few bruises.”
“I’m not sure I get what you mean about it being the end of your career,” Lane said.
“By the time I went to the police, the coach had won two Stanley Cups with a Canadian team. People were talking about Canadians taking back their game. You remember?”
Lane nodded.
“Lots of people think I put an end to that because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.”
Lane waited.
“Pro sports doesn’t like rookies who open up a closet full of dirty laundry. Ex-teammates, roommates and coaches lined up to try and convince me to keep quiet for the good of the game. The owner and a couple of broadcasters backed the coach. Lots was written and said about me and how I was a drunk looking to make a name for myself because I didn’t have the heart to play with the pros. There were also some vague references about me trying to hide my sexual preferences.” Randy looked at Lane to see if he had any questions. “Then the video turned up. The tape caught him threatening to end my career if I didn’t do what he wanted and he made it very clear what he wanted. I won in court but it made a lot of people look bad.”
“So you ended up here?”
“Bounced around a bit first. Drank for another year. Came here about five years ago,” Randy said.
“Where does Ernesto fit in?” Lane said.
“He used to bring little Ernie to my hockey games. He was my number one fan. Even went to some of the trial. Ernesto got me the job here.” Randy shifted his body to look directly at Lane, “My face was in every newspaper, on every television. I became totally isolated. I couldn’t even go to the grocery store because people would look at the cover of some newspaper or magazine, see my face and turn their backs. You wouldn’t believe some of the reactions.”
Oh, yes I would, thought Lane. He tried not to feel compassion for Randy but it was impossible.
“Anyway, I ended up here. Ernesto put me back together. He used to say, ‘That is the life.’ And he’d tell me how he’d watched his wife die of cancer. How he could do nothing to save her. How he felt so helpless. How he felt he’d let her down in some way. He learned that life just does that sometimes and there’s really no reason for it. Ernesto used to remind me, ‘You told the truth. Sometimes the truth gets you in the most trouble but you have to hang onto it or it slips away and you’ve got nothing.’ I don’t know what I would have done without him. Some of the guys around here would have nothing to do with me at first, but Ernesto had a way of bringing everyone around. Except of course for Tony. There is some old country feud between them. I assume that’s why you’re here.”
Lane was caught off guard again. He’d made it a rule never to underestimate the people he interviewed and he’d underestimated this one.
“You don’t like to lie either. I’ll take your silence as a yes. Don’t feel bad. Most people believe in the dumb jock stereotype whether they realize it or not.”
Lane shook his head, realizing Randy had outfoxed him.
“I was 15 when it all started. At 20 I was still 15 up here.” Randy tapped the side of his head with a finger. “When the abuse started to happen, I turned inward. Blamed myself.
Thought there was something wrong with me. Got really self-destructive. Having that happen and then being in the spotlight for over a year, man that does some weird things to
the psyche. Emotional and psychological pain is the worst.
Take my word for it, I know.”
Lane nodded unconsciously and caught himself too late. Randy had taken complete charge of the conversation. It’s as if he sees right through me and I’m supposed to see through him, Lane thought.
“Swatsky’s story has all the ingredients the public seems to love. There’s corruption in politics with violence and attempted rape thrown in. This story will be everywhere if Swatsky ever turns up. Right now, the attack on Ernie isn’t a big story. But if Swatsky turns up, all sorts of conflicting news angles will be out there. And who’ll be right in the middle of it?”
“Ernie.” Lane felt the weight of choice on his shoulders.
The choice, he’d been told was up to the courts and not up to him.
“You’re a smart man. And Ernesto says you’re a good man.
So, that’s why I’ve explained all of this to you. For a long time I didn’t trust anyone. Somehow, I think I can trust you.”
“It’s up to me to find out what happened,” Lane said.
“This time it’s a little more complicated than that. By the time the media is through with a story like this, almost no one will know the truth and the victim will be a basket case. One newspaper reporter explained it all to me. He said, ‘Look, your story has a life of its own. You’re a number one draft pick. Your coach won the Stanley Cup twice and what he did or didn’t do to you is unimportant. It’s the way people can’t get enough of the story that’s important.’ And then he said, ‘Don’t take all the attention personally, kid.’ How could any thinking human being say something that god damned stupid?” Randy stood and put on his hard hat.