Voice Mail Murder

Chapter Twenty





They decided to try the same routine at the Coach’s office. It was past five o’clock and they weren’t sure that anyone would even be there, but when they arrived at the azalea-drenched front edifice of the Athletic Department Building, Pamela could see a light on in the office where Rosemary Ellis’s face had appeared the other day when she had stopped to investigate—or rather snoop—around the Coach’s home turf.

Shoop led the way and Pamela followed him into the drafty old building. As he turned right, he was immediately confronted with the Athletic Department’s Main Office, or so the large sign above the door declared. The open door and inside lights belied anyone’s presence in the main office. Shoop walked into the outer lobby where a small foyer was surrounded with polished wooden benches. Above each bench, was a photograph of a group of men in various sporting regalia. The photographs went back years. On the left side, Pamela could see teams from the ‘30’s and ‘40’s and as she turned to the walls on the right, she noticed that the pictures continued around the entire waiting room in chronological order, ending on the near right wall with the present team. This photograph showed a group of young men dressed in red and white football jerseys. The front row of players knelt and the back row stood. In the center of the front row stood Coach Wade Croft, staring proudly at the cameraman. At the rear of the waiting room was a waist-high counter and some sort of registration book with an attached pen to sign in. There was no one behind the counter and no one in the lobby.

Shoop continued towards the back of the room and moved behind the counter where a door led to a back room. A light shone through the upper glass portion of this door and voices could be heard. Shoop moved over to the door and gave it a sharp tap. Almost immediately, the door opened and Jeff Dooley, the Coach’s assistant, appeared at the opening.

“Yes?” he said.

“Mr. Dooley,” said Shoop. Obviously, thought Pamela, he remembered the young coach from an earlier cross-examination session. “Glad we caught you still here.”

“Detective,” said Dooley, “hello. Miss Ellis and I were going over some roster changes for this week. What can I do for you?”

“If Miss Ellis is here too, we’d like to speak to both of you . . . .”

“We?” He looked around and spied Pamela lagging behind. She gave Dooley a jaunty wave and a smile.

“Dr. Barnes is assisting me with a project related to the investigation of Coach Croft’s murder.”

“Oh,” said Dooley. He popped his head back inside, shutting the door, then immediately opened it up and waved for the two to come through the entrance to the secretary’s office.

Pamela followed Shoop. She smiled sheepishly. It seemed only yesterday that Rosemary Ellis and Jeff Dooley had found her on her hands and knees outside of the window immediately below the secretary’s desk. She looked around the office. It was small, but still larger than Jane Marie’s, she noted. Jane Marie always complained about how tiny her office was. Apparently, the Athletic Department rated a larger space for their executive assistant, but not by much. She’d have to report that fact to Jane Marie—if she didn’t know already.

The three of them—Dooley, Shoop, and Pamela, gathered around Rosemary’s desk which fronted immediately below a large window. On the sill, a veritable jungle of plants sprung. Around the room, several large pots and canisters housed other unusual and beautiful plants—many of them flowering. Behind her desk, Pamela noticed Rosemary’s gardening basket with all of her supplies. It was obviously well used as all of the plants in the room looked well cared for and neatly pruned.

“Detective,” said Rosemary from behind her desk. “You’re working very late, I see.”

“No later than you, Miss Ellis,” responded Shoop. “We’re glad we caught you still here. Dr. Barnes and I have been working on a little project that we’re hoping you might assist us with.”

“Is this research?” asked Dooley. “Or something to do with the Coach?” He leaned back against a table near the door.

“Jeff,” reprimanded Rosemary, “whatever it is, I’m sure we can assist the detective.” She motioned for them to be seated. “Dr. Barnes, we met the other day, didn’t we?”

“Yes,” replied Pamela, almost tripping as she grabbed a chair from the desk near the wall. “I was admiring your plants. You have quite a display in here too.”

“Yup,” agreed Dooley, “Rosemary keeps us officially green!”

“Actually,” continued Shoop, bringing out his CD player, “we have a recording of some voices we’d like you both to hear.”

“What type of voices?” asked Dooley.

“These are actually messages left on the cell phone that we found in the motel room where Coach Croft was murdered. We’ve—Dr. Barnes and I—tried to identify the speakers but so far we haven’t been able to. Now, we’re asking the Coach’s family and friends to see if they recognize any of these women . . .”

“You mean you believe Coach Croft was having affairs with . . . .” Dooley interjected.

“Three women,” answered Shoop. “Three women—at least we have three different women’s voices on the cell phone. There could be more.”

“That idiot!” scowled Dooley. “He just threw it all away.”

“No, Mr. Dooley,” said Shoop. “Somebody took it from him. Somebody killed him.”

“Yeah,” agreed Dooley, “but to screw around on your wife—your invalid wife—with not one—but three women!”

“Jeff,” said Rosemary to the young coach, through clenched teeth.

“Anyway,” continued Shoop, “Let me play the recording. It’s short. If either of you recognize any of the voices, just let me know.”

“Sure,” said Dooley. He sat back on the table top and crossed his legs. Pamela could see the intricate weaving on the bottom of his tennis shoes. Rosemary Ellis folded her hands neatly on the top of her desk.

Shoop started the CD. As before, the sounds belted throughout the room. The three voices that Pamela now knew so well left their unchanging messages. When the recording ended, Shoop looked from the secretary to the coach and back again.

“Do you recognize any of them?” he asked, looking pointedly at the man and the woman.

“I don’t know,” said Dooley. “Nobody that comes to mind. I mean, Detective, I talk to lots of people every day. I hear lots of people talk every day. These three could be any of them and I wouldn’t know it. They’re surely not people I know really well, I guess.”

“And you, Miss Ellis?” Shoop focused his gaze on the prim secretary clutching her hands together. Her face, however, was a sea of calm.

“I don’t either, Detective—recognize them, that is,” replied the woman, with just a slight tilt upward of her chin. “Would you like me to call in any of the other staff members so they could hear the recording?”

“Not right now,” said Shoop.

“Detective,” said Rosemary, “you believe that these women were all engaged in relationships with Coach Croft?”

“We do,” he replied. “There may be more, but these three are the only ones whose voices we have now.”

“Detective,” continued the secretary, “I knew Coach Croft—and his schedule—better than anyone. I simply don’t see how he could have—had time—to become involved with all these women.”

“He was obviously very discreet,” replied Shoop. “His wife didn’t know. It also looks as if none of the various women knew about the others—so we’re considering the fact that possibly one of them found out about the Coach’s, shall we say, multiple escapades, and became furious.”

“I can imagine they would,” snapped Dooley from the table. “Hey, look, I liked the guy. He was my boss, and a really great man! We never talked about our personal lives—so, believe me, all this comes as quite a shock. But, I know the guy well enough to know he loved his wife. I can’t figure it.”

“I certainly don’t want to make excuses for him,” said Shoop, “but since he’s not here to defend himself . . .”

“Detective,” said Pamela, bursting in, “you’re surely not going to give us that bull about his wife being too incapacitated to satisfy him . . . are you?”

“I’m guessing what the detective was going to say,” said Rosemary, smiling at the policeman and the young professor, “is that if the police don’t stand up for the victim, who will?”

“Exactly,” replied Shoop. He gave Rosemary Ellis a thoughtful nod and she smiled and looked down at her hands, still folded neatly on her desk. “Dr. Barnes, I guess we’re done here.” He nodded towards Pamela and started towards the door.

“Wait, Detective,” said a smiling Rosemary to Shoop. “I believe it’s difficult for anyone to identify anyone’s voice from just one listening, wouldn’t you say, Dr. Barnes?”

Pamela stopped and turned as the secretary continued to speak.

“Those voices went by so fast and I really didn’t have time to think about each one before the next one popped up and was gone. What might be more helpful, Detective, would be if you could play the recording for us a few more times—? Maybe stop it between speakers? Could you?”

“I guess I could if you really think that might jog your memory?” He turned to Pamela and gave her a quizzical look.

“I see no problem with repeating the recording for them,” she told him.

Shoop played the recording several more times for Rosemary Ellis and Jeff Dooley. He even did as the secretary requested, stopping the recording at several points between speakers.

Pamela leaned back in her chair. She had heard the recording more times than she could count and nothing new was showing itself to her. Shoop was starting again, at Rosemary’s request, for the fifth—or was it sixth—time. She wasn’t sure. The same youngish, energetic female voice leaped out of the player with the same exuberance:

“I’m really excited to see you. I’m here, just like you said. Can you come over?”

As the recording was playing, Pamela could hear footsteps walking into the main office. She remembered the main door was open when she and Shoop had entered and anyone could still come in. The footsteps were coming toward the secretary’s office. Just as the speaker said, “Can you come over?” the door to the secretary’s office opened and the head of a young male student popped in.

“Hey, Miss Ellis,” said the student.

“Hello, Ricky,” replied Rosemary, “Can I help you? We’re rather busy here.”

“No, Miss Ellis,” replied the boy. “I just thought I heard my mom in here and I wondered what she was doing in your office. I was afraid I might be in trouble or something.”

Shoop stood up immediately and Pamela jumped to attention.

“Excuse me, son,” Shoop said to the boy, “Was this what sounded like your mother?” He played the recording of the first speaker again. The voice of the bubbly woman spoke, “I’m really excited to see you. I’m here, just like you said. Can you come over?” Shoop clicked off the CD player and looked at the young man.

“That’s her all right,” said Ricky. “Why do you have a recording of my mom?”

“Ricky,” said Dooley, rising to the occasion, and with a glance at Rosemary and the detective, “let’s you and me go have a chat down in my office.” He draped his arm around the young man’s shoulders and escorted him out of the office.

“Ricky Terlinger,” said Rosemary to the detective. “He’s a member of the team. His mother is . . . just a minute.” She opened a drawer on the left side of her desk and removed a folder from a file. Running her finger down a list of names, she read, “Charlene Terlinger. She lives here in Reardon. I have her address and phone number.”

“Of course,” said Shoop to Pamela, “Coach Croft would get to know all the parents of his players.”

“You think all three of them are parents—mothers—of team members?” asked Pamela.

“I don’t know,” said Shoop, “but, Miss Ellis, can you make me a copy of that roster of team parents? I’ll need to check it out. Oh, and also, Miss Ellis, can we get a copy of a team photo? Like the one in your lobby?”