Post Pattern (Burnside Mystery 1) (14 page)

"Come on," I said. "Give. Curt isn't
around any more. He can't hurt you."

"Maybe not," she sighed, "but someone
else can. It's like I told you the other night. Curt didn't do it. He was in
the room with us. And I saw the body go over the railing. Somebody committed a
murder and if they do one, it stands to reason they'll do some more."

"Is that what happened to Danielle?"

Tiffany winced. "That was Curt."

"How do you know?"

"Because he told me the same thing would happen to
me if I opened my trap to anyone. Danielle was young. She didn't understand the
rules of the game."

I concurred. Danielle wanted out of the game, but the
tentacles were already wrapped around her. Either you change who you are, like
Tiffany and Judy had done, or the system eats you alive. Get entangled and the
only way out is feet first. Curt may have killed her but I played a role and
her blood was on my hands as well.

"Who hired Curt to do the job?"

Tiffany shook her head definitively. "I don't
know."

"Okay," I said. "Who hired you guys for
the bachelor party?"

"That was Robbie. He's hired us before."

"How did he meet you?"

"It was a while back. Somebody at LAU hired a few
girls to show some kids a good time. They musta liked what they got because
it's been pretty regular this year. Curt would come around and ask if any of us
wanted to make some quick bucks going out on a date or to a party. The kids
were real young, seventeen, eighteen, I guess. They were all athletes."

"Who at LAU was involved?"

"We never knew. We just did the guys and got
paid."

"Curt ever mention any names?"

Tiffany shrugged. "I heard a few. One in particular
I knew of. Used to work here."

I nodded for her to continue. When she told me who it
was, things began to fall into place.

The sky was a deep azure blue, and there were even a few
stars twinkling as I drove back home. The searing heat was breaking and a
pleasant coolness draped the early evening sky. The Santa Ana winds had died
down, replaced by an eerie stillness that was as mysterious as it was
gratifying.

I had meant to call Gail but by the time I arrived home
the only thing I wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep. I had put in a full
day, starting early and finishing late. For a change, my confrontations were
verbal and not physical. Hell, I didn't even have to draw my weapon.

The next morning was as pretty and temperate and as
serene as one could hope for. I stretched luxuriously in bed as streaks of soft
sunlight trickled in through the curtains. The clock read seven-fifteen and I
wondered if Ms. Linzmeier's pipes had been taken care of. Maybe I was just
getting used to them.

After breakfast, I cleaned up the apartment a little and
came across the DVD Johnny Cleary gave me. It was the USC-LAU game from the
year before last. Deciding it would be infinitely more entertaining than
housework, I inserted it into the tray and pushed the Play button.

It had been a while since I had reviewed any game film
and I needed to adjust to the omission of play-by-play announcers and their
coarse ex-jock commentators. Not even the sound of the crowd hummed in the
background, nor did the smashing of pads, helmets and bodies. Only the visuals,
silent and sure, unfolded on the screen.

I had missed this particular game, as I had most over
the past few years. Commitments to career, clients and lovers took precedence,
and I grew farther and farther away from my childhood pastime. As I watched the
players romp and tumble across the gridiron, a maudlin feeling came over me. I
had played in three games against LAU when I was in school, each one a classic
thriller whose ending invariably went down to the wire. It didn't matter that
we had a better team than they did, the emotions of the cross-town rivalry were
enough to cancel out any disparity in talent. The rivalry was unique in college
football because Los Angeles was the only city in the nation to boast two major
college football powers. The students in many cases had played with or against
each other as far back as Pop Warner, and it was often a reunion of old friends
and rivals.

Norman Freeman stood tall and sure of himself as he
lined up over center to take the snaps. He dropped back into the pocket with
grace and strength, whipping pass after pass into his receivers' hands. Robbie
had a clump of red hair hanging through the back of his helmet and was easy to
spot. He caught a pass in their first drive and three passes in the second. He
moved effortlessly and appeared to be open on a frequent basis. LAU scored two
touchdowns in the first quarter, but after that the Trojans began to take
control of the game.

USC had always been known for having a slow, deliberate
offense that relied on a power running game. Time after time, they wore the
other team's defense down near the end of the game by pounding continuously
with its tailbacks. For many years their favorite play was student body right,
where the quarterback would pitch to a tailback lined up directly behind him.
The entire front line would pull out to the right and lead the tailback
downfield. It sometimes took a while to get into gear, but once it was in
motion it became a thing of beauty and a difficult play to stop. They had
modified it over time, but USC still relied on the running game to win. I
remembered going up against it in practice and eventually crawling to the
showers by the end of the workout. My body shuddered at the thought of it.

By halftime, USC had taken a 16-14 lead. Norman hadn't
been shut down by USC's defense so much as he was kept off the field by the USC
offense. In the second quarter, LAU only had the opportunity for one series of
plays. The third quarter was pretty even, with the Trojans scoring on the last
play to take a 22-14 lead. The extra point was blocked and the fourth quarter
began with USC kicking off. McCallum inserted Robbie in the game to return the
kick and he took off on an electrifying run for about sixty yards, before he
was finally dragged to the ground by the kicker himself.

The LAU offense got a quick first down on a slant-in
pass from Norman to Lenny Caputo, who juggled the ball momentarily before
tucking it away. The Trojan defense stiffened at that point and LAU settled for
a field goal to make it a five point USC lead. The Trojans took possession and
for the next ten minutes maintained control of the ball with a grinding running
attack that LAU seemed to be able to contain but not stop. USC consistently got
three to four yards per run, wearing the exhausted LAU defense down. The
Trojans had driven all the way to the LAU six yard line when on a third down
and goal to go, the quarterback fumbled the snap from center and the exuberance
shown by the defense proclaimed LAU had recovered the ball. And when LAU's
offense stepped onto the field, Norman Freeman took over.

While the LAU offense had been all but non-existent
since the first quarter, a new confidence began to emerge. On the first play,
Norman dropped back into the end zone and flung a forty yard pass to Robbie,
who had to leap high to snare it away from a Trojan safety. Norman then
completed a number of short look-in passes and LAU had pushed their way into
Trojan territory.

Norman was on a roll. He completed a few more passes and
took off on a scramble that moved the ball inside the twenty yard line. But by that
point there were only thirty seconds left in the game. The next two passes fell
incomplete, and a surprise running play fooled nobody. It was fourth down and
there were only seven seconds left in the game.

There are moments in life where you can sense something
monumental is about to transpire. Be it the confident strut of a man who feels
destined for greatness or the look of apprehension on the face of the enemy,
certain moments radiate a dramatic feel. As Norman Freeman strode purposefully
towards the line of scrimmage, you could appreciate his keen sense of stage
presence and emotional poise. As he barked signals to his team, they dropped
into their three point stance in unison, all parts working in synchronized
harmony. He back-pedaled into the pocket, set himself, and without hesitation
flung a perfect spiral deep into the end zone.

Robbie Freeman had lined up flanked wide to the left,
with three other receivers lined up wide right. As Norman faked a hand-off to
the tailback, the safeties froze momentarily and Robbie took off downfield, his
body churning with purposeful strides. The cornerback that lined up with him
kept pace initially, but at the ten yard line Robbie cut inside at a forty-five
degree angle and gained two steps on the defender. The free safety tried to
react and move over, but Robbie was too quick. He was running a post pattern
and executing it flawlessly.

A post pattern derives its name because the receiver's
pass route has him cut towards the goal post, set a few yards behind the end
zone. The quarterback fakes a hand-off to lure the safety in, thus giving the
receiver an opening over the middle, towards the goal post. Many years ago, the
goal posts were shaped in an 'H' design with two posts stuck in the ground.
More recently, the switch was made to a squared-off 'Y' shape which allowed for
only one post, to reduce potential injuries when an unfortunate player collided
with the immovable object. While it was layered with padding, the single post
was still as unyielding and unforgiving as ever.

Robbie raced into the end zone unimpeded. There were two
defenders desperately attempting to catch up, but he had three steps on both.
The ball however was overthrown slightly, and Robbie extended his arms and
grabbed it literally with his fingertips. He drew the ball into his body and
still managed to plant one foot inside the back line of the end zone. It was an
amazing reception, the catch of a lifetime. But as he tucked the ball away, he
lowered his head and stumbled. His momentum carried him forward and, like a car
without use of its brakes, he crashed head-on into the goal post. Stopping in
his tracks, Robbie fell straight to the ground in a heap, but at no time did
the football ever slip from his hands.

His teammates mobbed him, and the trainers had to
practically fight their way through the pack to reach Robbie. They worked on
him for a few minutes until he was finally able to get up under his own power.
The team lifted him up on a few shoulders and carried him to the locker room.

The recording ended at that point and I found myself
staring at the blank screen in deep thought. Robbie Freeman died as he had
lived, dramatically and flamboyantly. Many people claim to live on the edge but
he was one who did. He thrived on it, and somehow it was his undoing. I felt
myself becoming closer to him and as such, closer to his demise.

I pulled the disc from the DVD player and decided to
have another look at the party. I fast forwarded through most of the footage
and stopped when I saw the black arm open the door. I viewed it over and over
again hoping it would somehow jog my memory. No features were evident, no body
shape, no hair, no flesh. I turned the machine off and unloaded the disc,
letting it sit in my lap protectively.

The phone rang and it was Gail on the other end. She
scolded me mildly for not calling her last night and I apologized as best I
could. She then told me she had some information for me about the Freeman case.
When I asked what it was she said she'd prefer to drop it off after work. That
is if I still had any interest in her. I convinced her my desire was as torrid
as the temperature had been and she playfully relented. I told her to stop by
my office after work.

She hung up and I sat there, feeling the warmth and
excitement of her voice, and thought of the way she looked the other night. And
then something else came over me, an idea so rich with possibility I kicked
myself for not thinking of it sooner. I leaped out of my chair and headed for
my Ford Focus.

*

The drive to Brentwood took ten minutes perhaps, but in
my mind it was an eternity. When I finally arrived at the Freeman estate, I
zoomed up the glazed brick driveway and onto a grassy area. A black Mercedes
and a silver Acura were parked out front and though there was room enough to
park on the bricks, I felt the lawn left more of an iconoclast impression. I
only wished I had my truck. Knocking on the door, I was surprised to see
Harrison Freeman answer it himself.

"Burnside." he said.

"Freeman." I countered.

"I didn't expect to see you back so soon."

"I didn't expect to see you open your own door.
Maid's day off?"

He gave me a disapproving look that said I had crossed a
line. It wasn't the first time. Swinging the door fully open, he invited me in
without a word. He wore a golf shirt and slacks and it looked as if he was
ready to play eighteen holes at Riviera.

"Do you have anything for me?" he asked.

"I'm getting close. The reason I came over was to
get the keys to Robbie's apartment."

"What on earth for? You don't really need to go
snooping around there, do you?"

"I'm the snoop. Why don't you let me decide?"

"I don't know if I like the idea of your going in
there."

"Why?"

"Well, I feel... it's as if... oh, I know you have
a job to do but in my mind I somehow feel Robbie is still, well, living there.
I don't... I don't really like to admit he's gone forever. If someone starts
poking around in his things... well it just drives home a fact I'm having
trouble accepting."

I felt myself soften a bit. "I understand. And I do
feel for your loss. Robbie was your son. But practicing denial isn't going to
bring him back. And it won't allow me to fully do the job you hired me
for."

Harrison Freeman looked at me through sad eyes and told
me to wait in the foyer. He returned a few minutes later with a set of keys
hooked together on a gold ring. He looked at me for a moment as if to ask me to
reconsider, but finally handed them over. I put them in my pocket and went to
leave. As I opened the door, I thought of something and turned around.

"How many cars do you drive, Mr. Freeman?"

He looked puzzled. "I generally drive a Mercedes
but I take the Hummer out once in a while. Why?"

I ignored the question. "And which cars does Norman
have?"

"Norman has an Acura. A silver one, I
believe," he said. "What's this about?"

"I'm not sure just yet. There are a lot of pieces
to this puzzle. I think I may have something for you soon."

"Why is it," he asked, "that I have this fear
I really won't want to hear what you've come up with?"

I shrugged. "The truth is sometimes ugly. But it's
a far sight better than what you have now."