Post Pattern (Burnside Mystery 1) (18 page)

No longer seeming as feeble as she had a moment ago,
Mrs. Wachs had the spry movements of a vigorous young woman. She tugged and
pulled at the lock as if she had the strength to open it with her bare hands.
She pushed the key over and over again into the lock but to no avail. Finally
she slammed the keys to the ground, reared back and kicked the garage door with
all her might. She slammed her fist on the hood of her car and stared at the
garage in anger. After a full minute of glaring at the lock she stooped down
and picked up her keys with no problem and stormed up the stairs to her front
door. Cindy Wachs was as agile as a college student.

I had to make a concerted effort not to laugh. The
camcorder was stable as long as my breathing was regular and I didn't make any
sudden movements. The whole episode took no more than a couple of minutes but
in that time I had unraveled what Mrs. Wachs’ lawyers had probably spent months
putting together. I had the feeling the Differential Insurance Company would be
very pleased. After all, the camcorder never lies.

The End

Thank
you for investing the most valuable commodity you have -- your time -- to reading
my novel. I appreciate it very much and really hope you enjoyed it!

Word
of mouth is the most powerful promotion any book can receive. If you enjoyed
this book, please consider writing a customer review on Amazon.com and
recommending it to your friends.

For
more news, please visit my website:
http://postpatternblog.wordpress.com/

If
you wish to contact me directly, please do so at:
[email protected]

The
second Burnside novel, Fade Route, is now available on Amazon.com. I think it's
an even more compelling mystery than Post Pattern! If you'd like to read an
excerpt, I've attached Chapter One here. Read on!

Thanks
again,

David

Chapter One

The last time I saw Wayne Fairborn alive he was with a
sultry blonde in a tight orange miniskirt. Her name was Nina Lovejoy, and she
was vivacious, young, and the last person with whom Wayne should have
accompanied. She slipped an arm playfully inside the crook of his and they
strolled upstairs towards his office. Even if Wayne had been a freewheeling
bachelor, the spectacle would have raised eyebrows. In fact, he was both a
married man and an aspiring political candidate and he should have had the good
sense to be discreet.

Wayne and I had been sitting together in the workshop
room of Second Chance. The room was sparsely decorated, appropriate for a
setting designed to assist those down on their luck. I glanced out the window
and saw the last golden traces of the sunset. It was disappearing into the
Pacific, about to be replaced by the gloom of a moonless black night. It was
almost seven o'clock and the only thing in Southern California that let you
know summer was ending were the shorter days. The temperature was an awful
seasonal gauge. The autumn winds which blew sporadically through the region
were generally hot and dry.

Wayne took a sip from a bottle of soda and leaned
towards me. "I may need to use your services, Burnside," he said.

I nodded. "Someone trying to assassinate you
already?"

He pondered that question a bit too long for my taste.
"Not exactly."

I turned and looked closely at his face. The handsome
features revealed no turbulence within. If he were not a politician, he'd
probably excel as a professional poker player. He was tall and fit and his
square jaw exuded confidence. His blue eyes were as light and clear as an
August sky.

"Can you expand on that?" I asked.

Wayne looked off in the distance. "Burnside,"
he began, "sometimes I wish I had a job like yours."

I looked at him incredulously and sighed. Everyone had
such a colored view of the vaunted life of the private eye. A life of action,
danger, and excitement, punctuated by hot blondes and dead bodies. Immortalized
by Humphrey Bogart and Jack Nicholson. I tried to tell people if real life were
like the movies, I'd have been killed a dozen times over by now.

"Here's an idea," I suggested. "I'll swap
lives with you. I could handle falling asleep to the sound of the waves crashing
on the sand. And hobnobbing with people who want to donate money to me in
exchange for a favor to be named later. If you want to throw Crystal into the
package as well, I wouldn't turn my nose up."

"I might easily make the same offer for Gail,"
he said, referring to my girlfriend of the past year. I winced as I thought of
her.

"You'll have a long commute," I said.
"She's up in Berkeley. Getting an advanced degree on how to become a
professional thug."

"I thought she was in law school."

"She is."

Wayne laughed a little wistfully and peeled some of the
label from his bottle. "I imagine the grass is always greener."

"It shouldn't be for you," I countered.

Indeed not. Wayne Fairborn was a man who was
independently wealthy. He was the grandson of a real estate investor who
developed a large parcel of land in the suburbs of Los Angeles. A century
ago this was considered to be rural countryside; today the area is known as the
San Fernando Valley. After his father died a few years ago, Wayne closed down the
development office, sold off most of the remaining properties and opened Second
Chance in Bay City. He was the embodiment of the good Samaritan who wanted to
help people to help themselves.

"To put things in proper perspective," I said,
"let me tell you what I did today. My client is a fifty-five year old
dermatologist who's convinced that Violet, his twenty-five year old wife, is
playing around."

"Is she?"

"Not that I've learned. My morning was spent
following this young thing around Malibu, watching her shop for linen and get
her nails done. In the afternoon she worked out with a private trainer and then
went off to the beach."

He looked at me sadly. "You're ruining my image of
you."

I leaned back in my chair. I had met Wayne when I
volunteered at Second Chance last year. He impressed me with his dedication and
commitment, and with the fact that he had jettisoned a cushy lifestyle to try
and make a difference in the world. I had felt a little uneasy with him at
first, until it dawned on me that his generosity was sincere. He didn't seem
like the type of guy I would pal around with, but then again I don't pal around
with many people. Wayne, like me, was something of an enigma. Neither of us fit
a mold.

As it turned out though, Wayne had also graduated from
USC and remembered me from my days on the gridiron as a safety for the Trojans.
Even though it's been almost twenty years, I still get recognized now and then.
When Wayne and I first met, we talked about our favorite games, and the ice
began to melt away. His brother-in-law, Rusty Haas, who was giving the final
speech tonight at the Second Chance orientation, had played for Notre Dame, a
team which my crew had beaten in a down-to-the-wire nail biter. The USC-Notre
Dame series was considered the greatest cross-sectional rivalry in college
football. As such, Rusty's school was hardly one of my favorites, nor was it
Wayne's. The two of us began discovering some common ground.

Rusty finished his presentation and everyone was invited
to stay for sandwiches and coffee. Metal chairs scraped the cement floor and
people began shuffling around. I looked at Wayne and suggested that we adjourn
to the hallway to discuss his situation further. He nodded and followed me. I
asked him what was really bothering him.

"It's rather difficult to put into words," he
said.

"Getting pushed around by the local bully, are
you?"

He smiled weakly, and ran his fingers through his sandy
blond hair. "In a way, perhaps. You probably haven't had to deal with
bullies in your life, Burnside. A tough guy like you."

"I wasn't always this tough," I said, thinking
back to the time when an older kid, Otis Miller, did indeed push me around the
junior high playground. By the time I was in high school, I was lifting weights
and had made the football team. I decided it was time to make up for past
slights. I knocked on Otis' door but all I found was his kid brother who told
me Otis had been shipped off to military school. I briefly considered thrashing
the younger Miller just for the record, but quickly decided the act wouldn't be
very gallant.

"Is it related to the campaign?" I asked.

Wayne shrugged. "Maybe."

"You know, people typically hire me because of
problems with their marriage, their business or their vices."

"Maybe in this case it's all three," he said,
his eyes looking down at the floor.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. A few volunteers
walked by and said good night. There were about five of us old-timers at the
orientation and we were there to prep the twenty or so newcomers on how to
assist the homeless in the Second Chance way. They were all dressed
professionally and in good spirits, their eagerness brimming. In addition, Eddy
and Raff were there as well. The two of them were Second Chance clients
who had attended a resume workshop a few weeks earlier and had secured
temporary janitorial jobs at the Center. I made a mental note to ask how their
job search was going.

"If you want my help," I said, turning back to
Wayne, "you've got to talk to me. And trust me."

Wayne took a deep breath like a man who was about to
dive underwater for a prolonged period. "The campaign is fine. We fielded
a survey the other day and the race is still a dead heat. We think Mayor
Callison's running scared."

"He's been in office a long time. That's quite a
testimony to your efforts."

"Callison has a lot of negatives he's working
against. Plus, I'm a new face. Outsider and all that."

"That's L.A. for you, and especially Bay City. We
love things that are new. We also get bored easily, so don't plan on being
loved forever. It's fleeting as hell."

Wayne smiled. "You know, Burnside, you don't
bullshit around. Most of the people I know couldn't be candid if their lives
depended upon it. You speak your mind. I liked that about you from the
start."

"You're in the minority. Most people think my
comments grate on them too much."

"For me, it's refreshing. That's why I appreciate
your company. See what I mean? Your job is to be envied. I'd love to be able to
just say whatever I feel without any compunction."

"Point made," I said and shifted my back
against a wall. The silence was making Wayne squirm. He took another deep
breath and let it out in a loud whoosh.

"I guess I'll have to trust you," he finally
managed. "But this can't go anywhere else."

"Trustworthiness. It's one of my nobler
qualities."

He nodded. "The problem," he said with a sigh,
"is related to Crystal."

I frowned. "Go on."

"Somebody tried to run her off the road the other
night."

The frown turned into a gape. Crystal was a sweet person
and not the type who was likely to incur anyone's wrath.

"She was on her way home from a fundraiser,"
Wayne said, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "and somebody must have
followed her down through Coldwater Canyon. It happened when she was driving
along a narrow stretch of Sunset. It was late, and some SUV pulled alongside
and tried to run her off the road. Scared the hell out of her."

It was now my turn to take a deep breath. Someone had
tried to do the same thing to me last year and it was attempted murder. I was
lucky to get out of it alive. But I had been investigating a serious case and
was being targeted. Crystal's situation might have been very different, so I
tried to ease Wayne's mind.

"Maybe it was just road rage."

Wayne shook his head. "I don't know. The guy was
tailgating her for miles and he could have passed her any number of times. I'll
tell you, she was pretty hysterical. I almost called the doctor to get
something to calm her down."

"Any thoughts as to who might have been
involved?"

Wayne shook his head again. "I don't know. It might
have been Callison's people but there's really no hard evidence. And with the
election a month away, I don't want this to get out."

"You're afraid the press might question why someone
was after the candidate's wife?"

"That. Or did the wife simply have a few drinks,
crash her car and make up the whole story to cover herself? True or not, the
incident could be a huge problem if it became public."

Wayne paused as a few people walked past us towards the
exit. The crowd was beginning to thin and somebody called out Wayne's name. It
was in a voice as sugary and tantalizing as the package it came in. We turned
as a vision of loveliness approached wearing an orange dress with a white linen
blazer. The bottom of her jacket was about two inches above the hemline of her
dress.

"You're looking well today, Nina," Wayne
remarked slowly, scanning her body like it was a vintage Corvette.

Nina offered up a pixie smile. "I always try to
look my best," she said in a delightful voice.

"You know, we're only supposed to motivate these
people to get off the streets."

"Let me tell you what I think," she giggled.

"This I have to hear."

Nina tossed her long blonde hair back, the golden
strands shimmering in the bright hall lighting. "If I look really
hot," she said, "the men and women who come through here will try
that much more to help themselves. I mean, I won't go out with any of these
guys but at least it'll get them thinking. If they get a job and make some
money, then they can get a girl of their very own. And the women can be
inspired by me as well. Good plan?"

"Intriguing psychological premise," he mused.

"Wayne, there's something else I wanted to speak
with you about," she said, and then looked at me. "Burnside, do you
mind?"

I showed her a pair of open palms. "Be my
guest."

"Why don't we go up to my office," he
suggested and turned to me. "Say pal, would you mind waiting a few
minutes? You and I should finish our conversation."

"No problem," I said. Time was a commodity I
had a lot of these days. As they walked up the stairs, I noticed a bulge around
Wayne's ankle and what looked like a holster. Having spent thirteen years with
the LAPD, the sight wasn't startling. On Wayne Fairborn however, a gun was
definitely out of place.

I went over and helped myself to a sandwich and a cup of
coffee. This was my first solid food since breakfast, my case having kept me busy
for most of the day. The dermatologist's wife didn't bother to stop for lunch
today so neither did I. The sandwich was wolfed down in about three bites and I
decided to take another.

"Now there's a man with an appetite," boomed a
voice from behind. I turned and saw Eddy Steele strolling towards me. Eddy was
an imposing two hundred plus pounds with a dark complexion and mischievous
brown eyes.