“Think about whoever your closest teammate was,” I said. “The one single guy you would’ve picked every week to go to battle with because you trusted him so completely.”
Something shifted through his eyes, then he nodded.
“Chuck’s like that times ten in my life,” I said. “I know what he’s capable of and this isn’t it.”
Stricker let that settle in his thoughts for a moment. Then he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk. “I can appreciate that. But as a school administrator, I’m going to come down on the side of the student. Every time, until I hear otherwise.”
“Then why are you even talking to me?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re the A.D. Why not pawn me off on the principal or some other administrator?” I asked. “If you aren’t going to talk to me and you aren’t interested in what I have to say about Chuck, why see me? What do you care?”
He grunted, the corners of his mouth twitching like small electrical currents. Finally he said, “Because I’m the one who okay’d hiring Winslow.”
TEN
“Hired him?” I asked.
Stricker leaned back in his chair, like he was trying to create more distance between us. “Technically, we didn’t hire him. But I signed off on his involvement with the girls basketball program. He was a volunteer coach for the last month.”
The whole concept of Chuck as coach just didn’t sit right in my head. He’d never showed any inclination to coach and seemed to have had as much use for high school kids as he did used cigarette butts. Maybe it was a secret ambition he’d kept hidden from me. Or maybe things had changed more than I knew since I’d last seen him.
“He was straight with me from the day I met him,” Stricker said. “He told me he didn’t have a degree, that he hadn’t worked in a school before, that he hadn’t coached before. He'd played basketball in high school here and that was about the only qualification he had.”
That sounded right to me. We’d played together at Coronado, in the older version of the gym directly behind me. Chuck was a brute, using his size to make himself into a player. He was athletic enough to use finesse to score, but he preferred banging into people. And he was talented enough to attract some college interest but he blew it off, despising the thought of spending any more time in school, even if it meant a free ride and playing ball.
“So he was here for a month?” I asked.
“About a month, month-and-a-half,” he said. “I watched him in the gym with the team. He was pretty good. He knew how to explain things. Footwork, body position, nuances that can be tough to teach kids. He could do it. During games, he stayed in his seat and kept his mouth shut, working with the girls. He was a model assistant coach.”
“Who’s the head coach?” I asked.
“Kelly Rundles,” he said. “She’s been here three years. She was my first hire. She’s very good.”
“She and Chuck got along alright?”
“Yes. Kelly’s not the type to let anyone step in front of her. She runs the ship. But her ego is manageable enough that if she finds someone who can help, she lets them do their thing. That’s what she did with Winslow.”
“And Meredith Jordan was on the varsity team?” I asked.
“Said we weren’t going to talk about Ms. Jordan,” he said.
“Pretty sure I can look it up online when we’re done,” I said.
He smiled. “Look up whatever you like. I’m not talking about Ms. Jordan.”
The whole scenario was like science fiction. Chuck, in a school, working with teenagers, acting as a role model. Doing something worthwhile. Stricker hadn’t touched on one thing I wanted to know, though.
“Did Chuck just show up here at the school?” I asked. “Looking to volunteer?”
He shifted in his seat, his movements stiffer, more uncomfortable. “No. He was recommended.”
“By who?”
Stricker leveled his gaze at me. “Ms. Jordan’s father.”
ELEVEN
“Jon Jordan recommended Chuck?” I asked, making sure I understood correctly.
Stricker nodded. “Yep. Called me up, said he was sending over a guy who was interested in coaching.”
“You know Jordan well enough to take his word on something like that?”
He shifted again and folded his hands together. “I barely know the man. But he does a lot of things for the school.”
“Things?”
“He financed most of what we did in there,” he said, pointing over my shoulder at the gym. “Other stuff around campus, too.
“And you can’t say no to a guy with pockets like that?”
Stricker shrugged. “I would have if Winslow didn’t feel right to me. But like I said, I watched the guy interact with the kids and the team. I was comfortable having him here.”
“So you saw him interact with Meredith Jordan?”
“I saw him interact with all of the girls.”
I stayed quiet.
“But, yes, I saw him with Meredith,” he said, his words careful now, cautious. “They spent some time together. Just the two of them.”
That was not what I was hoping to hear.
“After practice, sometimes before school,” Stricker said. “Two of them in there, working on things. They seemed…close.”
“Close,” I repeated.
Stricker stared past me at the gym before refocusing on me. “We were getting to the point where I was going to sit him down and have a conversation with him. It was getting pretty frequent and it’s my job to be aware of things like that.”
“But you didn’t ask him about it?”
“Didn’t get the chance,” Stricker said. “Day I was gonna catch him before practice was the day he was arrested.” He paused. “And that is all I am going to say about Ms. Jordan.”
Without saying as much, Stricker was telling me that he suspected something was going on. That bothered me a great deal because in the short time I’d been speaking to him, Robert Stricker didn’t strike me as a guy who had any sort of agenda other than watching over his athletic program. Even if nothing inappropriate was going on between Meredith and Chuck, the fact that someone else noticed that they were spending time together was not a good thing.
“Did Jordan say how he knew Chuck?” I asked.
Stricker started to say something, then stopped and let his eyes wander over my shoulder again. I turned around to see what he was looking at.
Two men, dressed casually in button-down shirts and khaki pants, were heading toward the office.
“Your ride’s here,” Stricker said.
I turned back to him. “My ride?”
“You better hope it’s just a ride,” Stricker said, standing up. “Just be straight with him, tell him what you’re doing. He’s an intimidating guy, but honesty goes a long way with him.”
