Post Pattern (Burnside Mystery 1)

by Chill, David

  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 a
lways 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.

  Chapter 10

  We talked for a while longer before Gail retired for the night. I gallantly offered to spare her the half mile walk home but she gave me a hug and said some other time. I drove to my apartment on a soft cloud, feeling lighthearted and carefree until I thought of Danielle once more and my emotions went on a roller coaster ride. Feeling enraptured and mournful at the same time was very perplexing. Once I climbed into bed it took forever to fall asleep, different emotions tugging at me.

  When I reached the office the next morning I called Juan Saavedra at the Purdue precinct and learned, as I suspected, that Curt and his two cronies had their alibis in line. The three goons had gone to lunch together and confirmed each other's whereabouts even though it was merely sandwiches at one of the guys' nearby apartments. Danielle had disappeared mysteriously after she had arrived at work, and was next found slumping lifelessly in my chair. No suspects, an investigation unlikely. Any tie-in with the Freeman death would be viewed as coincidental. No one had an explanation for why they dumped her body in my office, least of all me. Lafferty had said maybe I was getting a reputation for attracting wayward adolescents. He was lucky he didn’t say it to my face.

  "The Captain’s a real piece of work," Saavedra warned. "You may think Batson is difficult, but Lafferty's the one to worry about. With Batson, at least there's no doubt about where you stand."

  "I'll remember that," I said and changed the subject. "Any chance of picking up that DVD from the Freeman party?"

  "Hey Burnside, you wanta get your rocks off why don't you just download some porn."

  "No, someone like you might check my computer one day," I said. "How 'bout it, pal?"

  He sighed loudly. "I suppose I can sneak it out for a day or two. Who cares at this point. C'mon over this afternoon. It's in lock-up but I might be persuaded to bend some rules."

  It was my turn to sigh. "How much persuading?"

  "Dodgers-Giants next week. Box seats."

  "Done." Like I said, everyone had their price.

  *

  It was almost eleven by the time I parked across the street from Neary's, and while the winds were tapering off somewhat, it felt as hot as ever. Inclement weather was one of the problems with surveillance work. Since I might be here a while, running the air conditioner all day would drain either my battery or my gas tank. I resigned myself to sitting with the ignition off and the windows open. The thought of having a black vehicle was no longer as chic as I once hoped. I would have liked to have worn shorts but there remained the problem of hiding my weapon. So reluctantly I wore a pair of white pants that safely covered the .38 strapped to my ankle.

  Dehydration was also a real problem on a day like this so I stocked up on a large bag of pretzels, a smoked turkey sandwich on rye bread and a couple of bottles of water. This presented another tricky issue but fortunately there was a Shell station down the street. Hopefully the men's room was in good working order.

  I brought along two newspapers and a stack of Sports Illustrateds that I had been saving for a rainy day which never came. If I got bored I could always gaze at the nubile bodies walking hither and yon outside my truck. A day like today offered a lot to gaze at.

  The first hour was uneventful, save for me polishing off most of my picnic lunch and one-half of my water supply. At ten after twelve, Curt and one of his cronies emerged, walked down the street to a cheap diner and returned forty minutes later. The refrigerator at home was probably out of generic bologna and Wonder bread.

  At three-thirty things began to get interesting. Two familiar faces came strolling along, Max Brewer, and a fellow named Scotty who had worked the camcorder at the bachelor party. Funny meeting you guys here. Getting a little extra-curricular studying in, boys?

  The two re-surfaced an hour later. I put down an article about HGH use and hopped out of my truck to follow them. They rounded the corner and as they neared an alley I caught up to them.

  "A minute, fellas?"

  They looked at each other as if to find an answer in the other's face. No one home.

  "I just want to ask you a couple of questions."

  Max shook his head. "I answered all of your questions the other day," he said.

  "Something else has come up," I said.

  "We don't have to talk to you," Scotty said blankly.

  I stepped forward and gave him a hard shove. "I don't have to kick your ass either," I said. "But I'm hot and I'm tired and if you give me the slightest reason I'll mash your fingers and ruin your career as a cameraman." He looked askance and for a moment I wondered if he'd call my bluff. Decking someone without cause generally went beyond my code of values. He looked me over and finally caved in.

  "Okay," he said, his breathing coming in spurts. "What is it? What do you want?"

  "Who do you know in there?"

  "No one."

  I pushed Scotty again, this time a little harder.

  "Look," said Max. "We just went in there to see this girl. She's kind of a friend."

  "Who's that?"

  "One of the dancer
s. Her name's Tiffany."

  "And...?" I asked.

  They looked at each other again. I could tell this time something registered. Scotty spoke. "She's just a friend."

  I wondered if I even had the energy to push him again and finally decided against it. The day was too much of a scorcher.

  "Look guys, I know what Tiffany is. I'm not a vice cop, and I'm not looking to bust anyone for having some fun. But two people have been killed and there aren't any clues except both of them were at the bachelor party and both frequented that shit hole down the street. So if you're holding out on me, I'm gonna make both of you pay when I find out. And remember Max, I know where you live and who your father is."

  He gulped a little, just like in the movies. "She's a regular at some of our parties," Max said. "She's done some of the guys on the team. Robbie used to bring her around. He knew all the people over at Neary's." He said it with a measure of respect.

  "It was weird," he continued. "It was almost like Robbie's second home. Coming from a family like that, you'd of thought he'd be the last one to hang out there."

  "Give me a break. Was Robbie pimping?"

  "No. But he'd do some, uh, favors for Tiffany and some of the girls. They'd pay him back by taking it out in trade."

  "Was he dealing coke in there?"

  They shook their heads no, albeit rather adamantly. "Was Danielle into this scene too?"

  "Who?"

  "Danielle," I said, patiently. "The other stripper at the bachelor party."

  "I don't think so. She was pretty new. I think Tiffany just brought her along for the night."

  I don't entirely know why, but I sighed with relief. "You know anything about that bouncer, Curt?"

  "He kinda looks after them," Scotty said.

  It was the nicest definition of a slimeball I had ever heard. I told them to take off. We went off in opposite directions, me making a quick pit stop in the gas station for the third time this afternoon. I went back into the truck and waited a while. Finally Curt emerged an hour later and walked in the same direction as the other two. I followed close behind and as he neared the alley I reached down to my ankle for my .38 special. I grabbed him by the collar with my left hand and pointed the gun at his nose. Shoving him into the alley, I instructed him to place hands on top of his head. Real slow like, pardner.