Post Pattern (Burnside Mystery 1) (8 page)

"Call me," she said. "I may not be able
to throw passes like Peyton Manning, but I’ve been on the receiving end of a
few."

"I'll bet."

"Oh," she said with a mischievous grin.
"By the way, you can go right into Mr. Bridges’ office."

I returned the smile and walked off. Women. Just when
you're ready to swear off of them, one comes along and puts a bounce in your
step.

Dick Bridges was typing something into a keyboard and
motioned me inside. I sat down gingerly and that was only partially due to my
bruises. Gail certainly had her effect.

"Burnside, how ya doing?"

"Oh, running in circles, hootin’ and
hollerin’."

"And you do it with so much style," he said.
"I take it this call has to do with the Freeman case."

"You’d make a good detective."

"Oh yeah. As well as anyone, which is probably to
say not really. What do you make of things?"

"I don't know whom yet, but I have reason to
believe Robbie Freeman was murdered. The accident scenario is unlikely."

"Tsch, tsch. So you disagree with the police
findings. Gee, I find that hard to fathom. Do you have a witness?"

"Uh-huh. Probably won't testify, but she's managed
to convince me, anyway. It also fits better than the accident scenario. What
I'm trying to dig up is first why and then who. Any ideas would be more than
welcomed at this point."

"Robbie, Robbie," he mused. "I've been
poking around with that myself actually. What I've picked up is that he was in
a bit of trouble. Seems he had been on the outs with his old man. Dad knew
about Robbie's coke habit and kept threatening to shut off the flow of funds.
He didn't shut it off entirely but let's just say it slowed to a trickle. The
boy ingeniously figured out that if you want some money to buy drugs, the best
course of action is to start selling them. Apparently he had a fairly lucrative
business going on. This was after the season ended, mind you. I couldn't see
McCallum sitting still for a dealer on his squad."

"If he was aware," I pointed out.

"True."

"Any idea who his supplier was?"

"He has a buddy named Evan Wurman. Best I can tell,
it’s Evan who was bringing it in."

"I've heard the name," I said. "Tell me
about him."

"Grew up with the Freeman kids, played wide
receiver for McCallum his freshman year, but he wasn't very good. Got kicked
off the team and he dropped out of school a year later. Parents were killed in
a car crash and he got the whole inheritance. I'm not sure how much, but I do
know the family had a ritzy estate in Brentwood. I figure he landed on a few
mill. Apparently he decided to put it to work on the street."

"How about some of the other players. Like maybe
Lenny Caputo, Max Brewer, or Terry Kuhl?"

Dick shook his head. "Don't know. Terry Kuhl always
struck me as just a wise guy. Caputo was a hanger on. And Brewer? Seemed okay
to me. I dunno, Burnsy. You're gonna have to keep digging. There's more to this
mess. We’re not seeing it all yet"

I nodded grimly. "Everyone's a suspect."

Bridges sucked in his cheeks and squinted at the
ceiling. "Just about. You can probably remove the Freeman family from the list.
If they wanted to kill him, they'd have just kept feeding him drugs."

"Probably. But I've learned not to whittle the list
down too quickly. You never can tell."

"You mean Norman?"

I shrugged. "Who knows?"

"Brother against brother? Sounds too biblical for
my heathen mind to comprehend." Dick paused for a moment. "Of course
a week ago our biggest problem was how to stay cool in this heat."

"Quite true, my friend. You know what?"

"What?"

I ran a hand across my brow. "We haven't figured
out how to take care of that either."

*

I drove off of the LAU campus and the farther east I
went, the higher the temperature climbed. The downtown high today was a
blistering 105 and the forecast was for continued heat and more hot winds. The
Santa Anas were still whipping the trees mercilessly, and from the inside of my
air conditioned Pathfinder the winds resembled an arctic storm in the dead of
winter. Shangri-la had its moments.

I reached my office, climbed upstairs and halted
immediately when I approached the entrance. A crack of light shined in the slit
near the floor. The door’s lock had been jimmied which probably didn't take
much effort. I had a deadbolt but hardly used it, simply because I rarely had
anything valuable enough to protect. Someone had been there however, and it was
possible they were still lurking. I drew my gun out and slowly pushed open the
door. It creaked eerily.

Someone was there all right, sprawled out in my chair,
her face a bloody mess. It took a moment before I could determine who it was and
it turned my stomach when her identity became apparent. It took a moment
because there wasn't much left of her face, but I recognized the undershirt and
I recognized the cleavage. Danielle would be going back to Montana after all.

In a box.

The police detained me for the rest of the day, firing
questions, taking fingerprints, and examining Danielle. I shamed them into at
least throwing a sheet over her. They seemed to be unmoved by the gory
spectacle, as I would have been had I not known her. Every glance at her
lifeless body sickened me and was a painful reminder I was partially
responsible. If I had ceased my poking around, Danielle might still be alive.
She could have found a way out of Neary's, and a way out of that life. Instead,
her ravaged body was left waiting for me, a barbaric gift with a clear message.
Back off.

The motivation to stop investigating was certainly far
from quashed. Rather, a seething rage burned within me as I surveyed the scene.
Danielle had reminded me of someone else, a girl I tried to help and could not.
Judy Atkin had betrayed me and I couldn't change that. I had tried to make
peace with myself by helping a girl in a comparable predicament. I had stumbled
again, only this time it was not me who had taken the fall. I couldn't wait to
get my hands on whoever did this. Someone was going to pay.

After checking with Dick Bridges and Coach McCallum, the
police finally accepted my alibi. Detective Batson was nowhere to be seen but
Captain Lafferty arrived near the end. He looked around my office like a
suburbanite on his first trip to the ghetto.

"I heard you guys keep barren quarters but this is
a bit much," he remarked, wiping some sweat from his face. "Nice air
conditioner."

"It's temperamental. Works only when it wants
to," I said, thinking it was like certain cops I knew.

"You ever think of hanging a picture or
something?"

"It would ruin my image. Besides, if I'm ever
evicted I wouldn't want the landlord to get my team photo of the '88
Dodgers."

"Cute, Burnside," he said, running a comb
through his slick hair. "I understand you've been cleared. Wanna tell me
how she ties in with the Freeman case?"

"Robbie Freeman's death was an accident," I
said waiting to see the reaction. "It had to be. I read all about it in
the L.A. Times. Policemen don't make mistakes, do they?"

"Knock it off. C'mon, you were on the job long
enough to know the routine. There's only so many hours in the day. If you don't
have anything, you move on. There's always something else waiting for you to
do."

"I know. But it would be nice for one of you guys
to acknowledge that P.I.'s do help you out upon occasion."

Lafferty pointed at me. "You haven't helped yet.
All I'm seeing are a couple of dead bodies that may or may not be related. You suspect
anyone yet?"

"Does the better part of the LAU football team
count?"

"You want to whittle that down for me? Like I said,
I only got so many hours in the day."

"I can give you a few names, but your best bet is
to start at Neary's bar in Venice."

"Gee, you're a regular Dick Tracy. The girl works
in a titty bar and you think one of the guys there might have it in for her.
Can't figure you out, Burnside. You've just got more pearls of wisdom than I
can count."

"Okay, Captain," I said, wearily. "Take
your shots while you can. The guy you want to speak with is named Curt. He runs
the place. But I'll bet you he's got an alibi that's iron clad. I'll bet you
the guy's worked this side of the street before."

"Who else?"

I shrugged. "That's where the trail begins."

"Hookers? Football players? I want names."

I gave him everyone I had talked to except Tiffany. The
last people she would ever confide in would be a bunch of guys in blue
uniforms. Besides, that was a source I might need to go back to, and giving her
name to the cops would be the ultimate betrayal. As she told me, you have to
take care of yourself.

Lafferty flipped his notepad shut. "I'll send
Batson and a couple of boys over to Neary's tonight so keep your nose out of
this until we're done. But if you do learn anything, I want to know about
it."

"You'll be the first," I said, wondering how
many times I had heard that one myself.

*

It was dark by the time the last investigator left. I
called Evan Wurman's number and learned he'd be back in town tomorrow. I
debated calling Tiffany, but I knew she'd clam up when she learned about
Danielle. There might be a way to get her to talk to me, but until I deciphered
that puzzle I thought it was best to keep my distance. Neary's would be
crawling with cops tonight and yours truly would be a most unwelcome visitor
under any circumstances. Still, I didn't feel like curling up with the
television and lonely taverns were never my style. Cappuccino bars perhaps, but
I needed company. I picked up the phone, dialed a number and made plans to meet
in an hour at a coffee house on the Third Street Promenade.

An hour was just barely sufficient time to go home,
shower, and change but there's no end to man's potential when he's got a
compelling motivation. I pulled on a pair of tan slacks and a black t-shirt
that fit snug and looked good. At times, the male of the species is vain in his
own right.

The burgeoning Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica
was located just a short walk from the bluffs overlooking the ocean. Years ago
the Promenade was filled with oddball shops like fabric stores and army surplus
outlets, and the only regulars had been winos and panhandlers. A city-planned
renovation brought with it trendy eateries, movie theaters, art galleries, and
the ultimate goal, patrons with money to spend. The mix of upscale customers
and those down on their luck was briefly
avant garde
, but the
undesirable element was eventually pushed a few blocks away.

She was already there, sitting at an outdoor patio table
that had a tiny red rose peeking out of a slender porcelain vase. The warm
night had brought the crowds out and most tables were filled. I ambled up and
apologized to her for being late. Gail Pepper smiled and forgave me. Thankfully
she didn’t refer to me as Peyton Manning again.

Out of uniform, she was as cute as ever. She wore a pair
of tight white shorts and an aqua top that was cut low enough to intrigue, but
remained at a level one could still call tasteful. Her brown hair was no longer
restrained and fell down past her shoulders. She had clear grey eyes that were
as soft as spring raindrops, and a smile that had surely broken a few hearts.

"This was a nice idea," she said. "I like
these types of places."

I could feel my heart fluttering already. "What are
you having?" I asked.

"An iced latte would be wonderful."

"Hungry?"

She looked at her watch. "I had dinner a few hours
ago. But thanks."

I went to the counter and came back with two iced lattes
and a sandwich. We clinked glasses adorably and sipped our drinks. I wolfed
down my food ravenously, the sight of which caused her to grin.

"You act like a man who hasn't eaten in a
week," she laughed.

"You should see me when I'm really hungry. I hold
the Yoko Sushi record for eating thirty-six plates of sushi in an hour. And I ate
all the rice, too."

"That's thirty-five more than I could ever hold
down. Now if you're talking hot wings that's another story."

"Everyone's got their poison," I said, and she
smiled in concurrence. "So how long have you been with Dick Bridges and
campus security?"

She tasted some more latte, daintily, and oh so
feminine. "Five years," she said.

That sounded odd. "You start right out of high
school?"

"College, amigo. But I'll take that as a
compliment."

I did a double take. At first glance, she looked as if
she'd never be able to buy a bottle of liquor without showing a driver's
license. Her face was smooth and had a tawny glow to it, the lips full and
pouty. She had the same deceivingly innocent face that Danielle had, the eyes
having seen far more than the face revealed. But Danielle's eyes seemed to
reveal fear and a desire to escape, whereas Gail's exuded warmth and a bemused
enjoyment of what was before her.

"How old are you?" I managed to ask.

"Twenty-eight."

"Never would have guessed. I had you pegged as
still in your teens."

"I know. It's a problem sometimes when I have to
get the guys at LAU to show a little respect. How about you?"

"Forty."

She let her eyes wander across my body. "Wouldn't
have guessed that either. What do you do to stay in shape?"

"Chase women."

She laughed and I relaxed. "As long as it's not a
profession for you," she said.

I shook my head. "It's too dangerous and the pay is
lousy."

We sipped some more latte and I debated ordering a
second sandwich. "Dick tells me you're a private investigator. And that
you used to be on the police force."

"True on both counts," I said. "You've
done some homework."

"Girl scouts are always prepared," she teased.

"Just what did Dick tell you?"

"Oh, a few things," she laughed. "I understand
you're working on an interesting case."

"You know about it?" I asked warily.

"Robbie Freeman, right?"

I nodded. Dick could be a little too chatty at times.
"Just what do you know about the Freemans?"

"More than you might think. I went out on a date
with Norman a few years ago."

I smiled at the thought of it. "Norman certainly
has an eye for good looking women. How long did you see him?"

"One date. It took me about fifteen minutes to
realize it was a mistake."

"I'll bet Norman never caught on."

She smiled slightly and leaned forward towards me.
"He called me a few more times before the message sunk in that I wasn't
interested. Nice enough guy, but no spark there. He’s also too young."

"He's gonna come into a lot of money one day,"
I teased. "You missed your golden opportunity."

"Not all women have dollar signs in their eyes. I'm
more impressed with how a man carries himself, how he treats me, what his
outlook on life is. I try not to look too closely at things like that. Or even
a guy’s age. Maybe I'm different."

"Different, perhaps. But it sounds like a far more
healthy way to think. As opposed to the girl who seems to have roped the
lad."

Gail frowned. "You mean that Ashley?"

"You know her."

"I know a lot about what happens on campus. I see
Ashley working out at the gym a lot. She and Norman are well known. They
actually make a good pair."

"How so?" I asked.

Gail shrugged. "Norman needs someone to tell him
what to do. She seems to fill the role well. Not my idea of a healthy
relationship, though."

"Indeed. What's your impression of Robbie?"

"I think men like you would refer to him as a
regular guy. One of the boys. I didn't know him well but I hear he had a thing
for women. Certain types of women I mean."

"Such as?"

"Not the type you'd bring home to meet the family.
Tough girls. The kind you might run into on Hollywood Boulevard. Been around
the block and then some."

"Professionals?"

"Maybe. Like I say, this is only scuttlebutt."

"Every little bit helps," I said, finishing
the last of my drink. It was so good I almost chewed on a few ice cubes before
proper decorum invoked itself.

"I hope you didn't ask me out to just talk
shop," she said, those pouty lips sending spears into my chest.

I shook my head as vehemently as I could. Any harder and
something might have started to rattle. "No," I said. "My
intentions are social. But for me, business always gets thrown in. It's my
life. I can't deny it."

She nodded pleasantly. "I admire that. But maybe I
could at least get another iced coffee?"

I was on my way to the counter. Another pout just then
and my heart might not have withstood the tremor.