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Authors: Dave Zeltserman
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the ramp for I-25 and flashed Shannon a wicked grin. “Only five minutes from the park, then that’s it for your grilling. Your interrogation will have to wait until the ride back.”
“I only have a few more questions. Did they have problems with anyone that you knew of?”
“I don’t think so, but you got to remember these were college kids, and like a lot of college kids, they weren’t the most considerate neighbors in the world. Kind of loud at times. But no, I can’t think of anything specific.”
“But you had a problem with them.”
Maguire made a face. “Because they woke me up a few times? As I said, they were kids, you’d have to expect that. You think because of that I’d break down their door and beat them to death? Jesus!”
“Lesson one in being a detective, consider every possibility.”
“Christ, I’ll remember that. But to answer your question—they could be annoying at times, but no, I had no real problems with them.”
“How about your wife?”
Maguire shook his head. “Not that I know of. Most nights she was doped up with sleeping pills, so when they made noise she slept through it.”
“From the pictures I saw, Linda Gibson was quite a looker.”
“Leave no stone unturned, huh?” Maguire said.
“Lesson two.”
“Alright, I asked for it, I’ll play. I didn’t see her much, maybe a dozen times while they lived there, but she was a good-looking kid. Operative word being ‘kid’. I don’t cheat on my wife, and if I were going to, it wouldn’t be with a kid half my age. Satisfied?”
“Lesson three, you’re never satisfied until the case is closed.”
“Committed to memory,” Maguire said, a grim smile tightening his lips. As he pulled into the Coors Field parking lot, his smile turned more upbeat. “And we’re at the ballpark,” he announced. “PI school is closed until further notice. Only thing I’m talking about from this point on is baseball, beer, and hotdogs.”
As Maguire got out of the car he spotted a couple of guys wearing Red Sox jerseys hanging out by a van as they drank beer. He yelled to them with his fist raised in the air that the Sox would kick the Colorado Rockies into rubble. They yelled back that the Sox rule and the Yankees suck. A couple of Colorado Rockies fans walking by suggested to Maguire that he move back to Boston and quit adding to Denver’s pollution problem.
Maguire gave Shannon a poke with his elbow. “This is going to be fucking great,” he said. “I’ve been looking forward to this since February when the schedule came out. I bet you we get more Sox fans here than Rockies fans.”
As they entered the stadium, Shannon had to admit there was a good chance of that. There seemed to be a sea of Red Sox jerseys and pennants, and only a scattering of fans wearing the Yankee pinstripe rip-off Colorado Jerseys. The Red Sox fans were loud and raucous and belligerent. The seemingly outnumbered Rockies fans acted subdued, only making occasional smartass comments about what the Sox fans could do to themselves. Sox fans countered by asking when the Rockies were going to field a major league team.
Maguire poked Shannon again. “Section one forty, third row. Right by third base. You couldn’t get tickets like this in Boston if you donated a kidney for them.”
As they made their way to their seats, Maguire wanted to stop off at the concession stands for some beer and hotdogs. Shannon told him he’d take care of it as payback for the tickets. He started off with two beers and three hotdogs for Maguire and a bottle of water for himself.
“You don’t drink beer or eat hotdogs?” Maguire asked, eyeing Shannon suspiciously.
“I’m not big on alcohol these days. And I’m a vegetarian.”
“Sounds kind of un-American. Oh well, I guess that just means more beer for me,” Maguire said.
They got to their seats about the time batting practice started, and Maguire had been right, there were moon shots being launched—balls
“I only have a few more questions. Did they have problems with anyone that you knew of?”
“I don’t think so, but you got to remember these were college kids, and like a lot of college kids, they weren’t the most considerate neighbors in the world. Kind of loud at times. But no, I can’t think of anything specific.”
“But you had a problem with them.”
Maguire made a face. “Because they woke me up a few times? As I said, they were kids, you’d have to expect that. You think because of that I’d break down their door and beat them to death? Jesus!”
“Lesson one in being a detective, consider every possibility.”
“Christ, I’ll remember that. But to answer your question—they could be annoying at times, but no, I had no real problems with them.”
“How about your wife?”
Maguire shook his head. “Not that I know of. Most nights she was doped up with sleeping pills, so when they made noise she slept through it.”
“From the pictures I saw, Linda Gibson was quite a looker.”
“Leave no stone unturned, huh?” Maguire said.
“Lesson two.”
“Alright, I asked for it, I’ll play. I didn’t see her much, maybe a dozen times while they lived there, but she was a good-looking kid. Operative word being ‘kid’. I don’t cheat on my wife, and if I were going to, it wouldn’t be with a kid half my age. Satisfied?”
“Lesson three, you’re never satisfied until the case is closed.”
“Committed to memory,” Maguire said, a grim smile tightening his lips. As he pulled into the Coors Field parking lot, his smile turned more upbeat. “And we’re at the ballpark,” he announced. “PI school is closed until further notice. Only thing I’m talking about from this point on is baseball, beer, and hotdogs.”
As Maguire got out of the car he spotted a couple of guys wearing Red Sox jerseys hanging out by a van as they drank beer. He yelled to them with his fist raised in the air that the Sox would kick the Colorado Rockies into rubble. They yelled back that the Sox rule and the Yankees suck. A couple of Colorado Rockies fans walking by suggested to Maguire that he move back to Boston and quit adding to Denver’s pollution problem.
Maguire gave Shannon a poke with his elbow. “This is going to be fucking great,” he said. “I’ve been looking forward to this since February when the schedule came out. I bet you we get more Sox fans here than Rockies fans.”
As they entered the stadium, Shannon had to admit there was a good chance of that. There seemed to be a sea of Red Sox jerseys and pennants, and only a scattering of fans wearing the Yankee pinstripe rip-off Colorado Jerseys. The Red Sox fans were loud and raucous and belligerent. The seemingly outnumbered Rockies fans acted subdued, only making occasional smartass comments about what the Sox fans could do to themselves. Sox fans countered by asking when the Rockies were going to field a major league team.
Maguire poked Shannon again. “Section one forty, third row. Right by third base. You couldn’t get tickets like this in Boston if you donated a kidney for them.”
As they made their way to their seats, Maguire wanted to stop off at the concession stands for some beer and hotdogs. Shannon told him he’d take care of it as payback for the tickets. He started off with two beers and three hotdogs for Maguire and a bottle of water for himself.
“You don’t drink beer or eat hotdogs?” Maguire asked, eyeing Shannon suspiciously.
“I’m not big on alcohol these days. And I’m a vegetarian.”
“Sounds kind of un-American. Oh well, I guess that just means more beer for me,” Maguire said.
They got to their seats about the time batting practice started, and Maguire had been right, there were moon shots being launched—balls
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