Rough Trade

manager of a National Football League team, and I’m still running errands for my dad.”
    “So is that what the key is for?”
    Jeff nodded.
    “But why give it to me? Why not hold on to it yourself?” I took the key out of my pocket and went to hand it back to him.
    “I think it’s better if you keep it, if that’s okay.”
    “Why’s that?” I asked.
    “I don’t want anybody else to get their hands on it.”
    “Who’d want to?”
    “The police.The newspapers.”
    “Why? What’s in it? I thought you said it was just contracts.”
    “There’s some other stuff,” he replied, licking his lips nervously.
    “Team documents?”
    “Personal documents.”
    “You mean financial stuff?”
    “For god’s sake, Kate. It’s personal. Private. What-ever’s in there has nothing to do with anything. It’s just that there are things in there that would be really embarrassing if anybody got hold of them.”
    “Embarrassing to whom?”
    “To Chrissy,” he whispered miserably. “It’s something she doesn’t even know about.”
    “And you’re sure it has absolutely no bearing on your father’s death?” I asked, wondering what secret Jeff had that he was so desperate to keep from his wife. Off the top of my head I could think of quite a few possibilities— an unrevealed previous marriage, a child he’d agreed to support...
    “No,” he replied emphatically. “I swear to you, it has absolutely no bearing on anything that’s going on with my father or the team.”
    I hesitated for a moment, turning the key over and over in my hand, tom between the desire to protect Chrissy and fear of taking part in deceiving her.
    “In that case I’ll hang on to it for you,” I said, finally. “But you have to understand that if the police ask me directly if I have it, I won’t lie.”
    “I wouldn’t want you to.”
    “Good. So tell me, how did you leave things with your father?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You said that you had an argument and that you told him you were quitting the team. Then what?”
    “Then I stormed out, went into my office, and started throwing stuff into boxes.”
    “And how did your father seem when you left him?”
    “He seemed fine.”
    “He didn’t seem ill or anything?”
    “I really didn’t notice,” answered Jeff unhappily. “I was so upset, I didn’t pay much attention. I just wanted to get the hell out of there. I was so angry.”
    “As angry as you were when they told you that he was dead?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Coach Bennato said that you kind of freaked out when you saw your father’s body.”
    “What do you mean?” he inquired, sounding genuinely bewildered.
    “He said you pushed the paramedics out of the way so that you could get to your father....”
    “What paramedics?” he echoed.
    “You don’t remember pushing the paramedics out of the way and kneeling over your father’s body?” I demanded.
    “No,” replied Jeff blankly.
    He really didn’t remember—either that or he was a terrific actor. I knew that trauma often caused memory loss. Accident victims often have no recollection of the events that caused their injuries. Even though I understood that it was a natural mechanism of self-protection, it was still creepy to see. It also wasn’t going to do Jeff very much good. By tomorrow there were going to be people falling all over themselves to tell him exactly what he’d done. “So what happens now?” he continued.
    “Well, for one thing we have to decide what, if anything, to tell the police about the team’s financial situation.”
    “Why do we have to tell them anything? What business is any of this to the police?”
    “The police investigate every unattended death. As far as they’re concerned, your father wasn’t just well known, he was also very wealthy. They’re going to want to make sure that they do a thorough investigation.”
    “Of course, but I don’t see what the team’s finances have to do with how my Dad died.”
    “You have to realize that there were lots of people at the stadium this morning who must have heard you fighting with your father. The cops are going to want to know what it was all about.” .
    “How much do I have to tell them?” he asked, miserably. “The last thing I want anyone to find out is that we argued about moving the team. Do you have any idea what would happen if word got out that we were discussing an offer from L.A.? It would be all over the papers in a minute.”
    “I