it cuts through the heart of plate. And the next. Out of the next ten pitches he throws, eight are strikes and the two that are balls are close enough to induce a batter to swing.
Having felt he mastered the lesson, Chico now wants Cogan to show him how to pitch a curve.
“Another day,” he says. “I’ve got to talk to your father alone for a minute. But I’ll write down those pointers so you remember them.”
He takes out a plain white envelope and begins to write on the back of it. Madden approaches the mound. He feels like a manager about to make a pitching change. But instead of taking the ball from his son, he gives him his catcher’s mitt.
“Go see how your sister’s team is doing,” he says. “I’ve got to speak with Dr. Cogan.”
“But the game hasn’t even started yet.”
It’s true. Off in the distance, well behind the right field fence, he can see the girls standing in a line, waiting to take their warm-up shots at the goalie. Kick-off is still a few minutes away.
“Please, Chico. It’s the last time I say it. Thank Dr. Cogan and go.”
“Thank you, Dr. Cogan.”
“No problem.”
His son trundles off in the direction of the nearby soccer field. When he’s a safe distance away, he says to Cogan, “How did you know I was here?”
He holds up his hand. “Just a sec.” He’s still writing. “There you go,” he says, handing him the envelope. On the back of it he’d written “4 Steps to Proper Pitching” and listed the four steps.
“Thanks,” he grumbles.
“How old is he?”
“Eleven.”
“He’s got a good arm.”
“Yeah, his coach thinks so, too.”
“Did his coach teach him how to pitch?”
“Not really. Not like you just did. I take it you played.”
“Long time ago. In college.”
“Well, thank you. He’s been having a lot of trouble with his control.”
“My pleasure.”
An awkward silence.
“So you didn’t answer me. What are you doing here?”
Cogan smiles. “I followed you over from your church. I came to tell you it’s over, detective.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your case is shot. I don’t know who’s got you in his pocket. I don’t know whether it’s the DA or the girl’s father, but you missed some crucial details.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Thanks to the number you pulled over at the Free Clinic, we know that Kristen went there the day after you allegedly had sex with her.”
Cogan is perplexed. Madden can see he really thinks the fix is in. “So you know she was treated for an STD?”
“No, we didn’t. We hadn’t tried to obtain a release of her medical records yet. Frankly, we were waiting to see what you’d do with the information before we proceeded along that route.”
Cogan laughs. “You were going to wait. How long were you going to wait?”
“Not long.”
“But long enough to see what trouble I could get myself into.”
“We didn’t know what you were up to. We didn’t know if you were trying to cover something up. Tell me, how did you become aware she was treated for an STD?”
“Carrie told me.”
This time, the ball went right through his mitt and hit him square in the chest. Or at least it felt that way.
“Carrie told you?”
“Well, in a manner of speaking. And how ’bout this? How ’bout I have proof Jim Pinklow, one of your star witnesses, was treated for the same STD. He’s your rapist, not me.”
“What’s your proof?”
“You’re holding it,” he says nodding at the envelope he’d given him with the pitching tips written on the back of it. “The examination reports are in that envelope. Kristen used a fake name, but I’m sure if you do a little investigating—I know that must be hard for your crack staff at the Robbery/Homicide Unit, being so busy following me around—I’m sure you’ll be able to put two and two together.”
Madden opens the envelope and unfolds the papers. There are three sheets. The first is a short record of Jim’s student clinic history, with references to a treatment for Chlamydia, while the last two are copies of Clinic Visit forms, both with the name Chris Ray at the top. Chris Ray’s date of birth, he notices, is similar to Kristen’s but a few months off—it made her seventeen not sixteen at the time of the examination. Her visits were spaced exactly fourteen days apart, two Sundays from each other, and indeed, the first one fell on the day after the alleged incident. The two pages are filled with medical jargon.
Page one:
PMH: 17 y.o. white female here for