“Lives in the same house he bought when he moved here.”
“I read in the paper they’re naming a stadium after him.”
“That’s the son’s doing. His company’s providing the material and labor. The town isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
Tracy wasn’t much of a football fan. She’d grown up listening to Mariners baseball games with her father, but sensing Goldman’s excitement for the topic and hoping to establish a rapport, she asked, “You covered the championship?”
“They would have lynched me and burned the Sentinel building if I hadn’t. The town was all caught up that year in the Four Ironmen.”
“The Four Ironmen?”
“Eric Reynolds, Hastey Devoe, Archie Coe, and Darren Gallentine.”
Tracy recognized the names Devoe and Reynolds from the recent articles in the newspaper. “Why were they called ‘the Four Ironmen’?”
“Never missed a down in three years of varsity football, and they played both ways.”
“Played both ways?” Tracy asked.
“Offense and defense,” Adele said. She’d entered the room carrying a tray with a teapot and ceramic mugs. She made a face that conveyed, You’d be surprised what you learn after fifty years.
“Reynolds was the all-American,” Goldman said as Adele handed Tracy a cup of tea. “He was the straw that stirred the drink. Without him, they don’t win. Devoe opened the holes on the offensive line, and Coe and Gallentine ran through them. Coe was fast and shifty. Gallentine was the hammer. On defense Devoe played nose tackle, Gallentine played linebacker, Coe was the cornerback, and Reynolds was the free safety. He had five interceptions his senior year.”
Tracy took a sip of her tea, which had a mint flavor. She set the cup on a coaster and retrieved the file from her briefcase. “I saw a photograph in the paper.” She showed Goldman the picture of the four young men hoisting the trophy into the stadium lights, and this time noted the names in the caption.
Red Raiders senior cocaptains and Ironmen Hastey Devoe (far L), Eric Reynolds (L), Darren Gallentine (R), and Archibald Coe (far R) hold aloft the Washington State 2A Championship trophy.
“I took that,” Goldman said. “I got the four of them together right after the game; didn’t see the steam rising off their heads until it was developed in the darkroom.”
“It’s a great shot,” Tracy said. “Sounds like the whole town was wrapped up in the winning.”
“They filled the stadium every home and away game. It didn’t matter if you had a kid playing or not. That trophy belonged to every man, woman, and child in Stoneridge.”
“I know how that is,” she said.
“Where’re you from?”
“Cedar Grove. It’s in the North Cascades—a thousand people on a good day.”
“So you do know what it’s like.”
Feeling as though she’d made a connection, Tracy turned to the reason for her visit. “So I’m wondering—what impact, if any, did Kimi Kanasket’s death have on the celebrations?”
Goldman smiled, and the glint returned to his eyes. Tracy could almost see the wheels spinning inside his head. He pointed a finger at her. “I figured you’d get around to her eventually.”
“How come?”
“I figured a cop who didn’t know what ‘both ways’ meant wasn’t here to relive the glory days of the local football team.”
Tracy smiled. “Do you remember the story?”
“Kimi? It was my story.”
“What do you remember?”
“A tragedy of Shakespearean proportions.”
“How well did you know her?”
“Everyone knew Kimi. She was a track star. In the fall she ran cross-country, and in the spring she ran the high hurdles and the one hundred—back then it was still called the hundred-yard dash. She finished second in the state her junior year and was the odds-on favorite to win both races senior year.”
“What kind of kid was she off the track?”
This time Goldman didn’t hesitate. “Great kid. ‘A’ student. Polite. She worked at a diner just outside of town to earn money for college.”
“The Columbia Diner.”
“That’s the one. The family didn’t have much. Kimi was going to be the first to graduate high school and go to college. I intended to do a feature on her.” Goldman sighed. “Like I said, a real tragedy.”
“I noticed the diner is closed—”
“It went the way of the dinosaur long before I closed the Sentinel.”
“What about the people who owned the diner—are they still around?”
“Lorraine and Charlie Topeka, spelled like the city in Kansas. Charlie was the cook. Lorraine was the boss. They made a go of it for many years.”
“You know where I might find them?”
“Charlie’s playing pinochle with the worms. Lorraine, I’m not sure. Heard she moved south somewhere with a daughter. She’d be pushing eighty.”
“Mr. Goldman, you strike me as a pretty intuitive guy.”
“I’ve fooled a few people in my day. And call me Sam. I’m old enough. I don’t need to be reminded.”
Tracy smiled. “Fair enough, Sam. Let me ask you straight up. When you heard the news that Kimi Kanasket killed herself, what was your first thought?”
“First thought?” He paused, eyes closed.
“We couldn’t get anyone to talk to us,” Adele said.
“She’s right,” Goldman said, opening his eyes. “Facts were tucked away as tight as a pound in Churchill’s knickers.”
“Why do you think that was?”
“People didn’t talk about those types of things back then.”
“They didn’t want to spoil the mood,” Adele said before catching herself. “But I’ll let you two talk.” She went back to sipping her tea.
“So what did you think, Sam? What was your first thought?”
“I guess my first thought was the same as everyone else’s,” Goldman said. “I was shocked. Kimi didn’t strike any of us as a kid who would do that. The brother maybe, but not Kimi.”
“Her brother had some issues?”
“élan was his name. He clashed with the white kids at school and got himself expelled.”
“What was he fighting about?” she asked, though she suspected she knew the answer.
“The local tribes were protesting the school’s use of the name ‘Red Raiders’ and the Indian mascot—a white kid wearing war paint would ride onto the field and bury a spear in the grass. The tribes said it was historically inaccurate and degrading. Looking back, they were ahead of their time.”
“How big a deal was it?”
“At first, not very. The tribal elders brought their concerns to the school administrators and to the city council. It was all very respectful until they got no response and felt they were being ignored. They changed tactics and started to protest outside the football games. That’s what got feathers ruffled.”
“I understand Earl Kanasket was a tribal elder and one of the leaders of the protest. Any of that fallout ever hit Kimi?”