Chapter 27

Thirty minutes later, Zack, Al and Josh sat, still in uniforms dotted by Brock's blood, as they gave what little information they could to a police detective. None of the men could remember ever seeing the woman before. Her name, Evilyn Maynard, meant nothing to them, or to anyone else on the team.

It took all of Esmi Perez's not-insubstantial bluster to get the group of women into the locker room to see her husband.

"Where did they take him?" Meredith demanded. "What in the hell happened over there?"

"I don't know," Al said. His voice was subdued, shocked at what he had witnessed, not only in the attack but in the aftermath.

"Al," Randi said, stepping in front of him and kneeling down so they were eye to eye. "Al, listen to me. Look at me. Where did they take him? We saw an ambulance come on the field, Al. You need to tell us what is going on."

Josh put his hand on Randi's shoulder. The group had been across the field and there was no way they could have seen what had transpired.

"A woman stabbed him," he said.

"Stabbed him?" Esmi said loudly, her hand going to cover her mouth.

"In the hand," Josh continued. "She snuck in some sort of blade. It was thin, probably four or five inches long. When he came past, she grabbed his arm and stabbed him in the hand."

A sense of relief swept over the room. He had been stabbed in the hand. It couldn't possibly be that serious. The trip to the hospital was probably just a precaution. Then why did Al and Josh both look so pale and scared.

"What aren't you telling us?" Melanie said. "Don't you think we deserve to know what's going on?"

"She's right, honey," Mandy Hart said to her husband. "I can see you're hiding something. I know the look."

Josh shook his head slightly and gave a glance toward the other women surrounding the lockers. Mandy understood immediately that he meant he didn't want to discuss it in front of anyone else. Esmi didn't get the hint.

"Al Perez, now you listen to me," she screamed. "You better God damned well spill everything you know, Mister. I will make your life hell if I have to drag it out of you."

A police detective stepped forward.

"If you'll calm down, I can tell you what we know," he said. He was in his early 30s, a horseshoe of brown hair fringing his bald pate. "I'm Detective Gosmar from the Violent Crime Division. May I assume that you are friends of Mr. Miller?"

"We are more like his family," Susan said.

"I am actually his family," Zoe put in. "I'm his sister, Deputy Zoe Brewer of the Sheriff's Department. I work out of Rolling Hills if you need to verify anything."

"I hold his medical power-of-attorney, if it becomes necessary," Melanie put in. "I'm Melanie Miles. I start to work next month as an assistant district attorney for Los Angeles County."

Detective Gosmar nodded and reassessed the situation.

"OK, here is what we know," he began. "The woman in custody is Evilyn Maynard. The address on her driver's license is from about 50 miles from here."

"Wilkins?" Susan asked. She wished Tara was in the room because the name sounded familiar to her. But Tara was still live on the air, reporting on the events as they unfolded.

"Yes," the detective said suspiciously. "Do you know this woman?"

"Maybe," Susan said. "I grew up there. So did Jordan. I mean, Brock. I think I've heard the name before but I can't place it. Tara might but I can't think straight."

"We'll come back to her," Melanie said firmly. "She isn't going anywhere. Now what else is happening?"

The detective sighed.

"Mr. Miller had an adverse reaction," he began.

"He was fucking stabbed!" Esmi said angrily. "He was supposed to have some other reaction?"

"Esmi!" Al snapped. "Shut up! We're all worried and you aren't helping. So shut up!"

Esmi Perez closed her eyes tightly for a moment. Her husband spoke to her sharply on rare occasions and only when she deserved it.

"I'm sorry," she said. "You're right. I'm upset. I think Brock is a wonderful young man. And my husband was right there next to him. Please forgive me."

"I understand," Detective Gosmar said. "We don't know if the blade might have been coated with something or if perhaps Mr. Miller was allergic to whatever alloy it was made from. Perhaps he just has an aversion to blood. However, he lost consciousness and his blood pressure dropped sharply. That's why the decision was made to transport him to the hospital. He's been taken to St. Vincent Medical Center."

"How is he?" Emmy asked from beside Zoe.

"I don't know," the detective replied. "I'm going over there to talk to him in a few minutes."

"But you think he might have been poisoned," Melanie pointed out. "He has no aversion to blood. I'm not sure if you know Brock's history but he is not squeamish. I also doubt sincerely that he would be traumatized to the point of catatonia by this."

"No," Meredith said firmly. "He would not."

"No," Susan agreed. "He wouldn't. He would be pissed off but he wouldn't pass out from it."

Mandy still noticed her husband was looking anywhere but at the people nearest him. She pulled him aside, out of earshot to ask him what was bothering him so much.

"As they put in him the ambulance," he said with tears in his eyes, "I heard the EMT say they were losing him. He might have died on the way to the hospital."

Not far from where Al and Josh were talking to Brock's friends, the president of the Los Angeles Dodgers National League Baseball Club was screaming at his director of security, Ms. Cynthia Lu.

"'I don't know' is not a good enough answer!" Victor Turturro yelled.

"It is, however, the only answer I have," Cynthia said calmly. Almost the entire Dodgers management team was in the stadium when the attack took place. They couldn't see the particulars from the luxury boxes but they had been witnesses to the spectacle afterward.

"We have metal detectors and X-ray machines at every entrance to the stadium," Cynthia continued in her calming tones. "I can give you conjecture about how this happened. But until I can get some answers from the LAPD, I can't tell you conclusively."

"Tell me what you think," Victor said bitterly.

"I would suppose the blade wasn't made from metal," Cynthia said. "I would guess some alloy or possibly graphite. Such things are not unheard of. Many people carry such things onto airplanes and through borders. I have even seen a gun made from such materials. The metal detectors do not sound because it is not made from metal."

"Which is why we spent $14 million on X-ray machines and scanners," Victor pointed out.

"Which also have their limitations," Cynthia replied. "This wasn't a random attack. Almost half of the team passed in front of this woman before she struck. She also made a personal comment to Mr. Miller afterward, although the witnesses are unclear about what it was she said."

"Fine," Victor said angrily. "Let me ask you this: how would you have carried a knife past security?"

"I can think of numerous ways," Cynthia replied with a shrug. "Given the stated dimensions, I could have carried it in a body cavity. It could have come in a liner that was impervious to our scanners, something such as a lead-lined case. I could have arranged for someone already inside the stadium to provide it for me – a vendor, an usher, a vice president of player personnel, who knows. For all I know, she made arrangements with one of the contractors who did renovations last year to leave it somewhere.

"Mr. Turturro, you're asking questions that I cannot answer. I have not seen the weapon she used and I doubt I will be able to inspect it. I have not been permitted to question the attacker and I never will be given that chance. I have not even had the chance to speak to my personnel to ascertain if they saw something at the time or on the video I have them reviewing. I am here assuaging your fears so I am not there doing my job. If you permit me to do my job, I can, perhaps, give you the answers you wish. However, it is just as likely that the only person who can answer your questions is the woman who carried out the attack. You need to direct your queries to the police who are investigating."

"And what am I supposed to tell the media?" Victor wondered. "They are going to want a statement and you can damn well bet the Commissioner's Office is not going to take 'I don't know' as the appropriate response."

"I would point the media toward the Los Angeles Police Department," Cynthia replied. "I would point the Commissioner's Office toward the same place. I will never be able to tell you much without inspecting the blade she used. If we can determine its composition, when she bought it and who made it, it will go a long way toward pointing us to how she might have got it in here. That's all I can tell you now. May I go so my people can try to pinpoint where she entered the stadium and then track her movements?"

"Go," Turturro muttered, looking at the ceiling. "Just fucking go."

The media, of course, ran images of the attack almost nonstop. This wasn't a female tennis player at some nameless event in Germany in the pre-Internet days. This was a rising star for one of the seminal franchises in American sports in the era where everyone was part of the media if they had a camera on their cell phones.

It was also a guy with a great back story, a host of photogenic friends and one or more famous girlfriends or ex-girlfriends. This was important – at least to their ratings or circulation numbers.

Tara faced a quandary. Her employers expected her to use her special access to the story to give them the scoop. After all, that's why a journalist cultivated sources. Tara wasn't interested in the story. She didn't care how it happened or why it happened. She cared about who it happened to.

She was standing near home plate, setting up for a few player interviews when the attack happened. In only a few seconds she was racing across the diamond with a cameraman in tow. They didn't consider that a player might have been attacked. They thought one might have been doused in beer or nachos by a low-grade Giants fan and gone into the stands after the guy. Tara stopped in her tracks when she saw the number 23 on the player's back and the blood on ground around him.

Before she could get restarted a phalanx of stadium security and LAPD officers had blocked her access. She was politely but firmly led from the field – after all, she was there with the Dodgers permission – to where the rest of the media was stationed for postgame interviews.

Then three burly security guards had ensured that if any of the reporters left the room it was to head to the exit. Tara tried the cell phone of every friend she knew before finally getting Melanie to answer her phone. Each expected answers from the other and neither had any news to share. After an exchanged made terse by worry, they closed their phones disappointed. Melanie was disappointed because she figured Tara was trying to get the information so she could broadcast it live on the air.

Tara was disappointed that her friend would think that about her – and because of it had remained completely closed lipped. The worry in Mel's voice only exacerbated the feeling of dread Tara already felt.

Tara was still staring at the phone in her hand when it rang again. She answered and found Susan on the line. Susan was just as abrupt as Mel had been.

"I'm going to trust you," Susan said. "I have a couple of questions I need to ask you that no one else can know about right now. If this gets on the air, we're over. I want you to understand that and tell me right now if that's going to be a problem."

"Susan," Tara began.

"Just tell me if you understand," Susan said angrily.

"I understand and it's not a problem," Tara said. "How can I help?"

Susan still paused for a moment.

"Does the name Evilyn Maynard mean anything to you?" Susan asked.

"No," Tara answered immediately. "Why should it? Is that who did this?"

"No comment," Susan said. "But the woman I asked about is from Wilkins. Her name sounds familiar to me for some reason. Can you call your mom – or better yet, have your mom call me?"

"How is he?" Tara interjected.

"Can you have your mom call me?" Susan asked again.

"God damn it!" Tara yelled. "I will have my fucking mom call you. OK? I will not breathe a word of this to anyone. Now how is he?"

"I don't know," Susan said. "I'm sorry, Tara. But, well, we sort of expected you to be here with us. I know you have a job to do but I thought Brock would be more important to you than your career."

"Don't you dare lecture me, Susan," Tara seethed. "For your information, I have been sequestered in the media room since it happened. If I leave this room, it is to be escorted to the fucking exit. I have the choice of staying here or going the fuck home. What do you mean you don't know how he is? I saw him on the ground. He was talking to Al. It, well, it looked like it was his hand or his arm or something."

Susan paused again, this time to compose herself.

"Josh said his heart might have stopped," she said through her tears. "The cops said he might have been poisoned or something. I don't know if it's true or not but I know that Mel and Zoe where whisked to the hospital in a sheriff's car."

"Why?" Tara asked in a whisper.

"Mel has his medical power of attorney," Susan replied softly. "Zoe is his next of kin."

The Dodgers kept the media waiting for almost 45 minutes before an assistant public relations director appeared and read a statement.

"Just after the today's game, as members of the Los Angeles Dodgers circled the field to express their admiration for our fans, a player was assaulted in what appears to have been an unprovoked, premeditated attack," the woman read from her notes. "The alleged assailant was apprehended but, at this time, the Los Angeles Police Department, the investigating agency, has not released an identity. Please wait until I have concluded the statement before asking questions."

The woman paused as the group of people who had started to scream questions subsided.

"Although initial assessments of the wound indicated it was not life-threatening, the type of weapon used and the nature of the injury produced complications. Because of this, the player was transported to St. Vincent Medical Center for further treatment. I have no further information but I'll try to answer your questions."

"We all know it's Brock Miller," a man said. "Can you at least confirm that?"

"At this time, until I get approval from the player or his representative, I cannot answer that question," the woman said.

The group shook its head almost collectively.

Tara waited until a couple of more insipid questions sprang forth – with no answer – before standing and speaking.

"When you say complication, do you mean medical complications?" Tara asked. "Can you give us the specific nature of these complications?"

The woman knew Tara Wyatt and Brock Miller. She knew they were close and she also knew that Tara probably knew more about the situation then the official did. She had overheard portions of Tara's phone conversation.

"Yes, Tara," the woman said with sadness. "The complications were medical in nature. At this time, I do not have the specific answer to your question. I wish I did. I wish I could stand up here and tell you folks exactly what happened and why it happened. I wish I could tell you that the player was just fine and would be back on the field when the Phillies come to town. The truth is, what I've told you is all I know. It's all anyone knows at this point."

The media liaison turned and left the room without taking another question, which led the media members to try to get an explanation from Tara Wyatt. But Tara Wyatt had broken protocol and followed the team official through the door.

A security guard stepped forth to block her way but the Dodgers employee told him it was OK.

"Tara, I really don't know anything else," she said.

"I know," Tara replied. "But I was hoping you could get me to where the rest of my friends are."

"What about SportsNet?" the woman asked. "I'm sure they will expect a report."

"Tough shit," Tara spat. "This is bigger than a job."

Despite her best efforts, Tara could not be led to the locker room. That portion of the stadium was being used for witness interviews and, despite Tara's relationship with Brock, no member of the media was being admitted. She was told that a group of her friends would exit the building in a few minutes anyway.

So she found her cameraman and waited outside the player's door with the rest of the television and newspaper reporters.

"Alex has called a hundred times," her cameraman said, holding a phone across. "The guys in the truck are getting antsy. They want you to find out what's going on."

Tara shrugged.

"They can kiss my ass," she said. "In fact, I'm going to call Alex right now and let him know just that. This is one of my best friends – a guy I've known since middle school. The guy I first fell in love with. I'm too close to be objective."

"They don't want objectivity," the man holding the camera said with a frown. "They want access."

As if to confirm his statement, the phone in Tara's hand rang. It was her producer, Alex, and he started to shout instructions before Tara could even speak. He told her a sheriff's car had raced from the stadium to the hospital with two people and he wanted her to find out who they were and why. He also wanted her to give her opinion, likely more informed that most, about the cause of the complications already reported.

"Shut the fuck up, Alex," Tara finally yelled into the phone. "I know who they are and why they're going there. If you were supposed to know, someone would have told you. I am not a doctor. Anything I speculate would be a wild-assed guess. I do not do that. Not with this story and not with any story in the future. If it is not confirmed, I will not report it. Understand?"

Alex began to insist she get back on the air with the story.

"Fuck you," Tara said. "If you want to do stories like this, try to hire on at 'Access Hollywood.' This is their fucking speed. I'm a sports journalist, not the paparazzi. Yes, I've spoken to someone about what has happened. I have been told these things because I am close to him. I will not repeat what I've been told in confidence. I will not reveal things his family or the police want kept secret. If you don't like it, fire me now. I'm going to the hospital in a few minutes with the rest of my friends. I will not have a camera or a microphone with me. If they release any more information, I'll call you with it immediately. But that is as far as I'm willing to go. I made my career off Brock Miller. I will not exploit his heartbreak for my own gain ever again. If you ask me to, I'll quit on the spot."

She hung up the phone and handed it to her cameraman, a veteran of the news business who disliked the way it had turned in the last few years. He smiled at her.

"I'm done with this," she said. "But I want you to hang loose here. In a few minutes, several women are going to come through that door. When these vultures descend on them, you are going to see the biggest ass-whipping in the history of 'ambush' journalism."

The man nodded and trained his camera on the host of media types who had congregated around the exit. A moment later, two SUVs pulled up nearby. The doors opened and two hulking men walked out. Tara didn't know if they were with the Dodgers or with Randi but neither man looked happy at the scene in front of them.

They took up positions a few feet from the door. Susan led the rest of the group out. Meredith, Randi and Emmy weren't far behind. Esmi and Al Perez were with them, as were Josh and Mandy Hart and Zack Duffy. The women had done their best to appear that they hadn't been crying but Tara knew them so well that it was obvious.

She tried to slip through the cordon but was blocked by the security guards.

"It's OK, she's with us," Meredith said. She wrapped Tara in a hug as soon as the protective detail opened to let her through.

Al stepped forward.

"We have no comment on what happened today other than to say it was a travesty," he said. "We have nothing to say that you haven't already heard. I hope that you will accept that and let us leave without causing a disruption. If you choose to attempt to block our exit, please know that the disruption will not be one way."

The seven men who were leading the group ranged from huge (Al and Josh) to gigantic (the four security guards and Zack). They kept the young women in the middle and began moving toward the vehicles.

The newsies tried to shout questions but they were ignored. Eventually they understood that they needed to move out of the way or be trampled. Discretion proved to be the better part of valor and the people made it to the vehicles without much trouble.

Tara found herself in a vehicle with Susan, Zack, Mandy and Josh. Her phone beeped almost as soon as the car started to move.

"It's mom," she said, looking at the screen. "She sent me a text. I called her and left her a message about that woman you wanted to know about."

Susan simply nodded as Tara called Erin Wyatt on the phone. The first thing Erin wanted to know about was Brock's condition. Tara told her that they were on the way to the hospital but had no real information.

"It looked pretty bad," Erin related. "I was at school. There is a TV in the teacher's lounge. One minute we're watching a talk show and the next we're seeing a helicopter shot of an ambulance racing through Los Angeles. Then they cut to some footage of what happened. I had them turn the TV up. Everyone here knows about you and Brock. I mean, not you and Brock together but I've mentioned you both."

"I get it, Mom," Tara interrupted. "What about the Maynard woman? Do you know anything about her?"

"It took me a minute but I remembered her," Erin said. "Why are you asking about her? I mean, she left Wilkins almost 20 years ago."

"Mom!" Tara said harshly. "Focus here, please. I promise I'll call you back later. Now what do you remember about Evilyn Maynard."

"She was from there," Erin said, somewhat taken aback by her daughter's tone. "She used to work out at the exotic snake place. I think her family owned part of it."

"A snake place?" Tara asked.

"The state closed it down when you were just little," Erin said. "You know, there was some sort of scandal. Evilyn used to be babysitter for a lot of folks. I never needed her for you because your dad and I were still together. She was accused of touching one of the kids, I think. I don't think she was ever charged. This was before Nanny Cams and everything. Then she was gone."

"Would she have babysat Brock?" Tara asked.

"I have no idea," Erin said. "But if his mom needed a sitter, Evilyn was someone that she probably would have called. They probably knew each other from school. I would guess they're close to the same age – or they would have been, I suppose. I think Evilyn babysat from the time she was 12 until she left town."

"And she worked with exotic snakes?" Tara pressed. "This is important mom. It might be very, very important."

"Oh, yes," Erin replied. "She worked out there at; I can't remember the name of the place. But they had all sorts of snakes and other exotic pets. It used to be a big business. People came from all over – weird people, bikers and the like but also movie stars and rock stars. Like I said, the state came and closed it down. Evilyn was already gone by then, I'm pretty sure. Honey, what does this have to do with Brock?"

"I'll tell you later," Tara said, before disconnecting the call. Her next call was to Melanie, who she figured correctly was already at the hospital.

Melanie and Zoe were waiting with Detective Gosmar for an initial report from the doctor when her phone vibrated. She saw Tara's name and almost let it go to voicemail. At the last second, she decided that she needed someone to rage at and Tara Wyatt might prove to be just the person if she tried to get any information for the television station.

"Have them check for snake venom," Tara said before Mel had even managed a curt hello. "I talked to mom and that Maynard woman worked at a snake farm or something. She might have been Brock's babysitter at one time. Mom doesn't know but she is sure the woman worked with exotic reptiles."

Melanie covered the phone and alerted Detective Gosmar. He was out of his seat in a flash and moving down the hallway to the emergency room.

"I have to go," Melanie said.

"Wait!" Tara shouted. "How is he?"

"Not good," Melanie related and put the phone back in her pocket.

Indeed, the initial word was not good. Brock had not regained consciousness on the way to the hospital and his blood pressure had dropped to the point where the EMTs were worried that his heart would stop at any moment.

His hand had swollen to almost twice its normal size and the swelling had moved up his arm to almost his elbow. The worst part was, until the lab came back with the results from the stiletto that had been extracted from his hand, there was little for the doctors to do.

They administered a general antibiotic in case of an allergic reaction but hadn't wanted to overload Brock's already taxed autoimmune system until they could ascertain exactly what was causing the reaction.

Tara's revelation about the possibility of snake venom was hard to believe but it was one they couldn't discount. Detective Gosmar confirmed it when he appeared a quarter of an hour later.

"The lab ran a tox screen on the blade for a specific substance," he said, shaking his head sadly. "It had been coated with a neurotoxin consistent with venom. They are analyzing the results to get the specific type. The venom had degraded, thank God. If it had been any more potent, we'd probably be looking at a homicide."

Zoe put her head in her hands and wept silently.

"Zoe, I'll need you to answer some questions," Detective Gosmar said gently. "Can you do that for me?"

"I'll try," she sniffled. Mel put a supportive hand on Zoe's shoulder. "Miss Miles said that Evilyn Maynard might have babysat for your mom," he said. "Do you remember that name?"

"I'm his half-sister," Zoe clarified. "I was raised here in Los Angeles. I only met Brock a few months ago. I can't lose him now that I've found him."

Detective Gosmar looked at his notes and back at Zoe.

"I hadn't realized that," he admitted. "I was told you were his sister."

"And that's what Brock considers her," Melanie interrupted. "Just like he considers the rest of us his sisters. Detective, when Brock was unjustly convicted, his whole world crumbled. He got out of the system with literally no one. My family, well, my mom would say we adopted him. The truth is, he adopted us. When Susan's family was sent to prison for what they helped to do, she came to live with us. We have another friend you haven't met yet – the one who called with the information a few minutes ago – who also lived in Wilkins with him. She called her mother to see if she remembered Evilyn Maynard.

"I called her back while you were gone. Evilyn was accused of having inappropriate contact with some of the children she babysat. We don't think she was charged but I have my future office running a check on that. The sheriff down there will probably be really helpful since this concerns Brock. If he balks or is a problem, mention that Jordan DeVoe just got screwed over by someone else from that shithole town. I'm sure he'll recall what happened the last time that occurred."

Gosmar disappeared again and reappeared a few minutes later. His face was set in a frown.

"That name you gave me got him jumping pretty quickly," he said. "I've heard about the case. I was in college when it happened and already on the force when he was released. I probably should have put two and two together but, well, I'm not much of a baseball fan. He did some digging, talking to some of the older guys on the force. Evilyn Maynard wasn't accused of molesting a child. She was accused of drugging one of them. There was no evidence besides the parents' assertions so no charges were filed. But she was also a suspect in the theft of a few snakes from where she worked. Again, she was never charged because the records were so spotty that the owner couldn't prove the snakes ever existed let alone that someone had stolen them. He reported a black mamba missing. Those are among the most poisonous snakes on the planet.

"He said the woman probably sold them to make enough money to leave town. I guess when they finally got around to investigating things, she was gone. I'm going to suggest having my people canvas pet shops to see if we can find out where in the hell this woman lives. If she has a snake, she has to feed it something. She's apparently been gone from Wilkins for almost 20 years, yet her license says she still lives there."