Better Off Dead (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 3)

by Jack Patterson

  He called Kelly as he waited for the computer to boot up.

  “I found it!” Cal said as soon as Kelly answered.

  “Found what?”

  “I found the thumb drive that Ted was trying to hide.”

  “What’s on it?”

  “Give me a second. I’m trying to wake my computer up and see.”

  Cal killed the idle time by sharing with her his sleuthing methods before she made a crack about him being more lucky than good.

  Finally, the computer whirred to full power and Cal jammed the thumb drive into the USB slot. He clicked on a folder. The he gaped in disbelief.

  “Oh my—”

  “What is it?” Kelly asked.

  “You’re not going to believe this. This story just got even better.”

  CHAPTER 31

  LATE WEDNESDAY EVENING, Robinson’s Dassault Falcon 900LX touched down at Half Moon Bay Airport, some 30 miles south of downtown San Francisco. It was a tight runway for takeoff, but he preferred pushing the limits there as opposed to being spotted at a commercial airport. He enjoyed his privacy and wanted the utmost anonymity for this special trip.

  He walked out of the plane into a cool ocean breeze blowing across the airfield. Still dressed in his navy power suit, Robinson saw no need to wear anything else. He was still a powerful man and he wasn’t about to show any sign of weakness—even if his empire was teetering on the brink of collapse.

  Robinson dialed a number on his cell phone and waited for an answer.

  “Yeah,” said the man when he picked up.

  “How are things coming along?”

  “Fine. Everything should be completed by tomorrow.”

  “If I don’t hear from you, I’m going to finish the job myself. And I promise you won’t like the consequences.”

  Robinson didn’t wait for a response. He hung up and climbed into the black Lincoln Town Car waiting for him.

  * * *

  Cal and Kelly pored over the files on Ted’s thumb drive. Page after page of failed drug tests by some of the league’s biggest stars served as titillating information. The real truth was less obvious to anyone who hadn’t been digging like Cal had. What was more interesting were the legal papers of incorporation, images of stocks purchased by some of Hightower’s shell companies, and Ted’s financial documents to his offshore account.

  The startup Ted founded with his friends was purchased by PacLabs for a healthy sum, so it was no shock to Cal that Ted even had a large offshore bank account. However, what was shocking were four random large sums deposited into it—all from the same account, presumably Robinson’s.

  Cal tried to make sense of the dates over the last three years. Random days. Nothing he could make any sense of.

  He looked up the first date nearly four years ago to the day—June 25, 2009. Almost immediately, his search engine results were flooded by stories of Michael Jackson’s death. Cal decided to search the L.A. Times for news on that date and found the murder of a prominent police captain who was shot in an apparent car jacking.

  As Cal began searching, he found two more suspicious murders tied to the dates on Ted’s ledger. One was of a well-known Los Angeles city councilman, who Cal learned through further research stood in the way of a proposed development by one of the shell companies Hightower managed. To find the other, Ted searched in the Bay area to learn of a former PacLabs employee who was murdered during a home invasion.

  “So, what do you make of all this?” Kelly asked.

  “I’m beginning to get suspicious of my meeting tomorrow with Ted,” Cal answered.

  “In what way?”

  “I think he’s a killer—and I might be his next target.”

  “That’s quite a leap.”

  “Why? All this evidence points to him being linked to all these suspicious deaths, deaths that were all related to people opposing Robinson.”

  “You don’t know that about the police officer,” Kelly protested.

  Cal shook his head and thought for a moment.

  “Look, that’s the only one that might be tough to prove, but if what Detective Brock told me is true then Robinson’s tentacles reach deep inside the LAPD. Maybe this officer didn’t play nice with Robinson.”

  “So, maybe that’s true, but why would Ted want to kill you? It seemed like he reached out to you to get someone to blow the whistle on Robinson. You weren’t even investigating Robinson or anything related to him at the time.”

  “True. But I’ve just got this suspicion about our meeting tomorrow.”

  “Well, we better come up with a backup plan.”

  Cal and Kelly spent the rest of the evening making phone calls and setting every precaution in place. Walking into the trap of a killer wasn’t in Cal’s plans for this investigation.

  CHAPTER 32

  THE NEXT MORNING, Kelly got up early and ventured out for some investigating of her own. She left Cal examining his notes and making a few phone calls to set his contingency plan in place. After a restless night of sleep, Cal announced that he didn’t have any more peace about his impending meeting with Ted Simpson. But Kelly knew Cal—and his courage in the face of danger was admirable yet often borderline insane. She knew Cal wouldn’t wait for the storm to come to him. He did what he always did, arming himself the best way a reporter could and running toward the maelstrom, prepared for all its fury. Kelly thought such an approach could get even the best journalist killed, but resigned that so far it hadn’t for Cal. All it got him were a truck load of writing awards and national respect and recognition. It wasn’t the life Kelly preferred. However, she still liked to dig into stories, especially with Cal. Research specialist was a title better suited for her tastes.

  Her assignment was a simple one: track down a man named Brian Bearden and ask him a few questions. Bearden’s name surfaced in a list of contacts found on Ted Simpson’s thumb drive. Cal easily connected most of the names on the contact list as some type of business associated with Robinson. Contractors, police department employees, media members, PacLabs employees. They all made sense. All of them except Brian Bearden. His name was next to an odd non-profit that neither of them had heard of or could find much information on.

  Through some preliminary research, Kelly discovered what seemed like a normal American man. At 37 years old, Bearden lived in a quiet suburban neighborhood with his wife and two children. He worked as a driver for a package delivery service and had no criminal record to speak of. However, Kelly uncovered Bearden’s true passion by scouring through his social media pages—coaching youth football. This odd link prompted Cal to ask her to interview him and find out if there was anything there. Besides, she needed something to do while Cal went to meet Ted.

  Kelly arrived at the transit station early enough to catch Bearden before he left for the day to begin his late morning route. He was jamming packages into the shelving unit in his van when Kelly approached him.

  “Are you Brian Bearden?” Kelly asked.

  “Who wants to know?” he asked.

  Bearden finished stuffing a package into the van before stopping to look Kelly up and down. Dressed in a khaki uniform with short sleeves and slacks, Bearden’s biceps bulged beneath the tight-fitting shirt. His jaw squared and his face covered in stubble, Bearden appeared ready to give out an order at a moment’s notice. After being in his presence for ten seconds, Kelly wondered if she might be able to find another way to pass the time.

  “I’m, Kelly Mendoza with the Associated Press, and I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

  “About what?” he said, tensing up for a fight.

  “Youth football.”

  Bearden relaxed. “Oh, well why didn’t you say so? That’s my favorite thing to talk about. Our team has won the league title two years in a row now.”

  “You must be proud.”

  “Oh, I am. But I didn’t have anything to do with it. It’s those kids who do the hard work and go out and win the championships.”

  Kelly smile
d at his humble-brag before continuing.

  “So, Mr. Bearden, I wanted to ask you about your team’s affiliation with Equipment for Everyone.”

  All Kelly could dig up on Equipment for Everyone were a few non-profit document filings and an informational website. Equipment for Everyone served youth sports leagues by helping provide helmets and other equipment for families in need of financial assistance. Based off the information provided on the site, leagues all over the country were signing up to join their program in an effort to enroll more kids in their leagues. Kelly had called the office but received no response. Oddly enough, there wasn’t even an answering machine to leave a message. She needed more than that—and a link to Robinson.

  “What’s this about?” Bearden said, retaking his defensive posture.

  “I’m just interested in coaches who participated in the program and what your response was.”

  “Oh. Well, it was OK, I guess.”

  “Did you have some kids on your team who used the equipment?”

  “Yeah,” he said. He paused and then continued. “Look, I know where you’re going with this, OK? I invited a few of the dock workers’ kids to play. And maybe it was recruiting in a way, but I really wanted to help the kids play football. Their parents couldn’t afford to outfit them to play football without some help, so I contacted Equipment for Everyone to see if they could provide a few sets of helmets and pads.”

  Bearden had no idea where Kelly was going with her line of questioning other than to glean more information about Equipment for Everyone. But she sensed where Bearden was headed and played along.

  “So, were these dock workers’ kids the best on the team?”

  “Well,” Bearden began before pausing. “I don’t know if I’d say they were the best, but they were really good.”

  As Bearden was speaking, a large man covered in tattoos walked up behind Bearden. The man, presumably a dock worker, sported a crew cut and a reddish tinge on his neck.

  “Are you saying Bronco wasn’t the best kid out there?” the man interrupted.

  Bearden spun around.

  “No, no, no. Tank, I wasn’t saying that. We all know Bronco was the best linebacker in the league.”

  The man gave Bearden a firm pat on the arm. “That’s more like it,” he said before walking off.

  Momentarily rattled, Bearden gathered his composure and continued.

  “Look, it wasn’t recruiting. It was merely providing an opportunity for these kids to play.”

  “An opportunity made possible by Equipment for Everyone?”

  “Yes, they made it happen.”

  “And what was your experience with them? Was it a good one?”

  “Are you here asking about the lawsuit because I thought that was all settled and everything?”

  “Maybe,” Kelly said, allowing Bearden to believe whatever he wanted for the time being. “Did you hear what happened?”

  “Yeah, everything was settled out of court and it was all supposed to just go away.”

  “It’s not always that easy,” Kelly said, hoping to coax some more information from Bearden’s loose lips.

  “That’s what they told me,” Bearden said, looking at the ground and kicking at rocks that weren’t there. “I don’t think their helmet had anything to do with the Matthews kid getting a concussion. It’s football. Things like that happen. But whenever a big company like Head Gear is involved, they get all nervous and want to make sure there’s no bad publicity.”

  “I’m sorry, did you mean Equipment for Everyone?” Kelly asked.

  “No, Head Gear. The company that actually provided the helmets to Equipment for Everyone.”

  “Did you provide them with some testimonial?”

  “Yeah, I did. I mean, I didn’t feel the need to mention that one of our kids got hurt wearing their helmet. It’s football. It happens. I doubt it had anything to do with their helmet. They had some doctor examine him before he started wearing it and again afterward. He said the injury had nothing to do with the helmet.”

  Kelly’s journalist senses grew keener with each of Bearden’s responses.

  “Was that before or after they paid you to keep your mouth shut about it?” she asked, trolling a line and hoping for a bite.

  “What do you mean? Nobody was supposed to know about that!”

  Kelly fished out a picture of Ted Simpson from her pocket and shoved it toward Bearden.

  “Was this the guy who paid you?” Kelly asked.

  Bearden’s beady eyes darted back and forth across the picture, reticent to answer her question.

  “I think I know the answer to that question. Thank you for your time, Mr. Bearden,” Kelly said as she spun around to leave.

  “What did you say your name was again, m’am?” Bearden shouted.

  Kelly didn’t turn around. She needed to call Cal. The full picture started to come into focus.

  CHAPTER 33

  TED SIMPSON SCRIBBLED DOWN a letter and sealed it in an envelope. He hated himself for what he had to do. But he’d hate himself even more if he had the power to keep his brother alive and didn’t. No matter what Ted did, he felt damned. His impending appointment with Cal Murphy was no different.

  Initially contacting Cal may have been one of the stupidest things he ever did. Ted never intended to drag anyone else into his twisted web of a so-called life, but he had. At first, it was under noble pretenses: Ted wanted out. He wanted out of being Charles Robinson’s henchman. No longer did he want to live under Robinson’s foreboding shadow. No matter how many times he agreed to “just one more job” for Robinson, there were always more. And there was no way out. Not when you were under Robinson’s auspices. Not when your brother’s life depended on it. Not when a short email to a few media outlets or a police station could ruin you forever.

  But that’s what it was like when you worked for the most powerful man in California, maybe the entire west coast. Charles Robinson created his fantasy and everyone lived in it, playing their prescribed part. Ted wished he could yank the curtain back on this Oz and expose him. Even then, exposure meant a free press and a free-willed police department—luxuries that didn’t exist.

  Ted’s exit strategy consisted of his best efforts to unveil the truth and protect his brother, something he wasn’t sure he could pull off. But he would try. He reeked of desperation.

  Sitting in the dusty warehouse off Third Street, Ted listened to the whirring of the dock cranes and the slight lapping of Islais Creek against the few remaining banks a block away. The noise of the shipping industry cluttered the air, making it the perfect location to finish his assignment. The smell of saltwater drifted through the numerous cracks in the wall, also permitting beaming rays of sunshine to light up the floor.

  He forced a handful of bullets into his .22 revolver. Any henchman worth his weight in gun powder wouldn’t fool with a messy gun that left behind evidence. Who needs to leave empty shell casings lying around, even if you did have the police in your pocket?

  Ted jammed the chamber into place and waited for Cal to arrive.

  * * *

  The vacant warehouse on the corner of Third and Marin Street didn’t have a car in the parking lot. That observation caused Cal to grow more angst about his 11 a.m. meeting with Ted Simpson.

  Perhaps Ted was running late. That was the more plausible excuse, though city traffic had all but disappeared at this time of day. Or maybe he walked. Or rode his bike. No matter what the reason, it was enough to make Cal jumpy. You don’t write award-winning stories by being the most trusting person in the world. Something felt off to Cal, though he wasn’t sure what. He wanted to trust his instincts and run. But common sense made way for journalistic instinct—the key to Cal’s story rested with Ted.

  He texted a short message.

  SHOW TIME

  Cal slid his cell phone into his pocket and got out of his car.

  CHAPTER 34

  CAL TOOK A DEEP BREATH and turned the knob, hoping the door w
ould open. It did. This wasn’t the first time Cal opened a door with a vast unknown waiting for him behind it. His stomach knotted up as he stepped inside and called out.

  “Ted! Are you here? It’s Cal?”

  No response.

  The room appeared to serve as a receptionist area at one time. The only light in the room came from underneath the door and a pair of skylights some 20 feet above on the ceiling. An old aluminum desk with a faux wood top sat in the corner, cleared save an unplugged business phone. A few chairs strewn in front along with a glass coffee table covered in dust made the area look like it might have been a waiting area for clients. The cement floor covered in dirt, sand and grime scritched and scratched beneath Cal’s feet as he cautiously walked farther into the room.

  “Ted! I’m coming in!”

  Cal stopped and listened, hearing a slight scuffling noise along with the intermittent street traffic. Someone was approaching.

  “Ted? Is that you?” Cal called out once more.

  A shadowy figure appeared in the doorway to the left of the desk. It was Ted.

  “Nice of you to make it today,” Ted said.

  “Thanks for meeting with me,” Cal said, refusing to let his guard down.

  Cal stared at the revolver tucked into the side of Ted’s pants.

  “Is that necessary?” Cal asked, gesturing toward the gun.

  “Oh, this? Not most of the time, but it is today.”

  “How come?”

  “Now, Cal. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  “Well, if you’re not going to be forthright with me, I’m going to leave right now.”

  “That’s not a good idea,” Ted said, pulling out his revolver and pointing it at Cal. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

  Cal slunk into one of the chairs in the designated waiting area and watched Ted draw closer toward him, gun raised.

  “You can put that down now,” Cal said.

  “No, I can’t,” Ted said. “You see, I need to make sure you stay for the entire presentation and you hear me out. I have something that needs to be said before we get down to business. And you need to listen very intently. Understand?”