Page 30 of Final Inning

“Gross incompetence, possibly? It wouldn’t surprise me at all.”

“Or they just didn’t know how to solve a murder investigation so…they didn’t.”

“I’d believe that. If Lindhour hadn’t caused such a stink, I suspect Harper’s family would be waiting for answers decades from now, too. And Johnson wouldn’t give a shit at all.”

Well, Miranda agreed with him there.

“The odds that these two cases really are related, besides just by gross incompetence? Honest opinion?” There was probably no one else in the FBI she respected more on an intellectual level than the gorgeous man-creature in front of her. Him, and Jac and Max. That was it. This man…was damned good at what he did. “Knight?”

“I just don’t know. But…I am not ruling it out. Things just aren’t this coincidental, Sunny. We both know that.”

“So…we split focus. We profile as if they are connected. Then we profile as if they are separate.” They’d done that many times before. Profiling was more statistics and probabilities, after all.

“I’m bringing in Ian. We’re running two investigations here—we’ll need the hands.”

“And that brain of his. That man sees connections so very well.”

“That he does.”

“In the meantime, we keep Dani looking.”

It really was all they could do.

Chapter 21

They were still waiting on what Dani could find them. But now, they were focused on Kevin. By interviewing the woman who had been the last adult other than his now deceased ex-wife to see him alive before he was killed.

Knight was hoping she’d give them something more definitive, to tie Kevin’s case to Harper’s completely. Everything they were finding was still inconclusive.

They’d gotten the autopsy report for Harper, from Hagan’s records. But still no idea where Kevin’s was. Today, focus on Kevin, and see if it led to Harper.

It was a long shot, but they were moving forward.

But first, Amanda Riccards. Kevin Adams’ closest friend back then. They’d coached together, apparently. Rumor had it there might have been more, too.

“I have never seen such backstabbing, hateful, gossipy, flat-out lying nasty behavior in my life until that first year my oldest played travel softball. No matter what Kevin did—the drama and trauma with that team was ridiculous.”

The woman they’d found liked to talk.

Knight and Miranda were just letting her.

Amanda Riccards was very neat. Knight could appreciate that. The woman was probably a handful of years past forty, but she didn’t look it. She was very physically fit, around five-nine or so, and alert. Not jittery, as if she was on something, but a healthy watchfulness. This woman was very athletic, as well. The private gym they were in was ruthlessly neat—the turf looked in good repair, and the equipment was sorted by size and type in designated bins. There were nets strategically placed to form three sections. There were two other sections running perpendicular to where they stood now, with pitching machines. “I was never really into softball when I was young. I was more into basketball, honestly. But my oldest, she’s twenty-four now, I was young when I had her, she was obsessed with softball.”

“Softball is big in Oklahoma.” Miranda said at his side. “I played until I was fifteen, up in Wyoming. Softball is not that big in Wyoming. Not like…Oklahoma.”

“No. I don’t suppose it is. It wasn’t that big around Helery County, either, honestly. We worked hard to build the program we have now, and we still pull players from over the border in Texas.” She reached out and fixed one net that was twisted slightly. “I ended up with some money from a lawsuit about six years ago. One of the things I did was build this place. Make it easier for the local teams to have an indoor facility. I rent it out—three hundred for two hours. I have six teams on Saturday alone, and another five on Sunday. Not bad for a county this small. Of course, we pull from surrounding counties for that, too. It’s all about the marketing.”

“Can you tell me what kind of drama surrounded Kevin Adams and his team? We understand your daughter played for him—and you were the assistant coach,” Knight said as Miranda reached out and straightened a rainbow color of bats in a bin. There was a hint of wistfulness in Miranda’s movement that told him she was caught up in her head, remembering something. That woman—guided by her emotions far too often. It was going to get her hurt again someday. Like it had already.

Knight just didn’t want to see her hurt worse.

“Better question would be what drama didn’t surround that team? Let’s see, there were theft accusations against the team’s previous coach. Kevin was roped into taking the team after the previous coach took off with about six thousand dollars of team money, took his girlfriend—the mother of our catcher, by the way—on an all-expenses-paid trip to Las Vegas, with her husband just an hour behind them. That did not end well.” She snickered as she said it. “Two of the mothers got drunk in a hotel lobby in OKC at the first tournament—then ripped each other’s hair out over another player’s playing time. Kevin kicked their girls off the team right then and there. We finished that tournament with eight players—had to take an out every time we were short a batter, but he was determined the girls who had worked hard deserved to finish what they started. That should have been a hint to run, but well…we stayed. Until…Kevin was gone.”

There was real pain in the woman’s eyes now. She had cared about the other man. She would have been a very attractive woman eleven years ago—she still was—and Kevin had been a physically well-presented man in her age bracket. With things in common—and newly divorced.

Physical attraction between people in those circumstances wouldn’t be surprising.

“What kind of a coach was Kevin?” Miranda asked, softly. “I had a coach who did nothing but yell at us, no matter how hard we tried. I lasted two months on that team before my father watched a practice when he was in town. Fireworks happened. He pulled me off, right in the middle of practice. After lighting into the so-called coach. I’m pretty certain that coach is probably still hiding in a supply shed somewhere in rural Wyoming. My father is a wee bit formidable at times.”