by Chill, David
"You whaaaa....? Oh, this sounds complicated. I better get Harrison. Please come in."
I waited a few minutes in the foyer and amused myself by counting the pieces of Irish crystal in the majestic chandelier. I had reached seventy-six when the vast shadow of Harrison Freeman approached and directed me into his office.
"Burnside?”
“Indeed.”
“What the hell kind of crack was that about sending cars to Japan?"
"Sorry. I didn't know if your wife was aware of my investigation. I try to be discreet."
"I see," he said. "Well then, what do you have?"
"Nothing."
"What?! That's outrageous!" he said indignantly, the veins in his neck sticking out. "I demand an explanation. What in god's name have you been doing the last few days?"
"Oh, getting punched, kicked and shot at among other things. My ribs feel as if a stick is jabbing them every time I breathe. I've seen three more dead bodies pile up as a result of my investigation. And I've also been losing sleep but that's not really your problem."
"Dead bodies? Shot at? Burnside, what in blazes is going on here?"
"I'll explain later, but for now I need to know a few things. First, how bad was Robbie's coke habit?"
Freeman shuddered. "Coke? I don't know what you're talking about. I asked you to look into his death, not pry into trivial matters regarding lifestyle."
"Cut it out. Robbie's lifestyle had everything to do with his death. I haven't fit all of the pieces together but on that point I'm positive. Now let's talk about your son."
Freeman slumped a bit in his chair. He took a deep breath and blew it out, his cheeks pumped out in resignation. He finally spoke. "Have you found out if it was an accident or if Robbie was murdered?"
"It was murder."
"Oh God," he whispered. "By who?"
"I'm working on that. Now what did you know about his drug use?"
"Robbie had been doing drugs for a while," he said sadly. "I guess it's been a couple of years. At least that I know of. It wasn't until he came to me last month asking for money that I could confirm it."
"Did you give him the money?"
"No. It was thirty thousand dollars but that wasn't the point. I could afford it certainly but I feel a man has to take responsibility for his actions in this world. Get out of trouble on his own. Become a man. Oh, I know that sounds cruel and I wish to hell I could pay that debt now if..." he said, his voice starting to crack. "if it meant bringing Robbie back to life."
"We can't change the past," I said softly, wishing it were true and not just for Robbie's sake.
"No," he said, his face flushed and his eyes moistening. "We can't. Was... was that what happened? Was he killed over money he owed for drugs?"
"I'm not sure," I admitted. "I'm going down a couple of paths here trying to find the right one. Let me throw some names at you. Tell me if they mean anything."
"Okay," he agreed.
"Curt Salvo?"
"Never heard of him."
"Danielle Crowley?"
"Ditto."
"Tiffany Walters?"
Freeman frowned. "He spoke a few times about a girl named Tiffany. I never met her though."
"Terry Kuhl?"
"Quarterback that replaced Norman? If that bum could throw a pass straight, I'm certain Robbie would've been a first round draft pick."
"Was Robbie mad about that?"
"Robbie, no. Robbie didn't get mad about much. In fact I think he even liked that Kuhl kid."
"Evan Wurman?"
"Evan? Sure, the Wurmans used to live down the road. Until the car accident. He and Rob were good friends."
"Max Brewer?"
"Yeah, he and Robbie used to pal around together."
"Lenny Caputo?"
"Just another receiver on the team. Say, what's this all about? Do you think any of Robbie's friends did this to him? That's crazy! It's impossible!"
"Think about it," I said. "Robbie was at his brother's bachelor party. He was surrounded by his friends and Norman's. They were the only people who knew he'd be there. This is an inside job, Mr. Freeman."
He looked down intently at his thumb for a long minute. He bent it back and examined it as if he were viewing it for the first time. Finally he spoke. "You're saying the killer was invited to the party?"
"All I'm saying is the killer knew Robbie and knew he'd be there. Whether he was an invited guest or not is undetermined. The investigation is still going on."
I walked out of his office leaving the old man to ponder his thumb or his navel or how many cars he would sell this month. I didn't expect much help but he did trigger a thought in my mind and at this point I was grateful for anything. I moved down the long cherry wood floor towards the front door, glancing up before I left to make sure the chandelier was still there. As I walked outside I heard the sound of an ignition being turned over. Exhaust fumes were coming slowly out of a silver Acura ZDX. I sauntered over to it amiably.
"Hello, Norman."
Norman Freeman looked up, his face a myriad of confusion. "Mr. Burnside. What are you doing here? Have you found out what happened to Robbie?" he asked, the timbre of his voice indicating concern.
"Not yet, Norman. All things take time."
"Yeah. Listen, I really don't appreciate what you said to my fiancée the other day. I mean, we just don't see the point of it all. Robbie's dead. It's in the past. It's finished. It doesn't exist any more. Why dwell on it?"
"Doesn't exist? Norman, I didn't realize you were such a new age buff. Into metaphysics, too? Next thing you'll be telling me about the power of crystals and that all you want out of life is to be happy."
He looked like a puppy that just been kicked. "So? I do want to be happy. What's wrong with that?"
"What's wrong," I mused to no one in particular. "What's wrong. The possibility that somebody killed his brother is right in front of his nose and he wants everyone to stop searching for the truth. Well, I'm sorry to be such a harbinger of bad tidings but you better accept that Robbie was murdered by someone. That may not make you very happy and it shouldn't. A very horrible thing has happened kid, and sticking your head in the sand like an ostrich and saying let's not dwell on it smacks of someone who's closed himself off."
"If I have, that's my business. You don't have all the answers or you wouldn't be doing this for a living."
My nerves began to tense up and I felt an explosion coming. "No, Norman, I don't have all the answers. In fact, I probably have more questions about most things than I have answers. I don't pretend I've got everything in life wired, but how boring life would be if I did. I worked for everything I have. I wasn't born into the right family and I didn't have a cushy job waiting for me when my football career fell through. Nothing was ever handed to me and maybe if it were I'd be as casual about losing a brother as you seem to be. If I had a brother who might have been killed I'd be kicking ass from here to Mexico. A guy could easily wonder if you had anything to do with this murder."
"Me?! How can you think to even suggest that? That's crazy! I can't believe you said that!"
"Everyone's a suspect. But I think you're too stupid to do something this clever. You know, I was impressed with you at first, coming to me trying to find out what was happening to Robbie, but maybe you were more concerned about yourself. Maybe you were scared shitless when someone shot out your window and you were afraid it might happen again to you but with a different outcome. Maybe you were just afraid they might be more accurate the second time through."
"I was concerned about Robbie! But that was when I could do something about it! What can we do now?"
"We can bring a cold blooded killer to justice before he kills again. We can make him pay for his actions. We can see to it that justice is being served. And we can show the world that a person is responsible for what they do and they have to accept punishment. Pretending awful things don't exist is for candy asses. You're in for a rude awakening one day, kid. It might a
s well be now."
With that I turned and walked off, leaving him sitting in his nice new ZDX puffing out fresh white exhaust fumes onto a slick, polished Brentwood driveway. Judging from the open mouthed expression on his face, a few of my words had hit home. I began to wonder if Norman really was clever enough to kill his brother. It wouldn't have been the first time. A fellow named Cain spearheaded that one.
*
The freeway had bottled up before I was out of West L.A., so I exited at the first opportunity and took surface streets over to the Crenshaw district. Traffic was fairly light and I made it to the Kuhl residence in about twenty minutes.
In stark contrast to the pristine, countrified serenity of Brentwood, the Crenshaw district in South-Central was an unmistakable slum. Grassy lawns were replaced by filthy sidewalks, Tudor homes by stucco bungalows. Along the commercial streets, liquor stores, fast food outlets and storefront churches were the most common sights.
I pulled up to the address Terry Kuhl's girlfriend had provided for me. When I knocked on the screen door, a heavy set black woman with a kind face opened it a few inches. She wore a plain housecoat and when she said hello, a pair of gold caps glistened. I asked for Terry, and she quickly invited me inside and called his name out.
The interior was as depressing as the outside. Old carpeting with the texture of Brillo pads, musty chairs with stained doilies and the lingering smell of fried bacon hung in the air. White shades were pulled all the way to the window sill giving the already gloomy atmosphere an even darker quality.
"Man, what now?" came the voice of Terry Kuhl, as he walked into the living room.
"A kind greeting and a warm smile would be a start," I smiled. "But you can only squeeze so much water out of a stone."
"What are you are talking about? Why don't you just leave me alone? I ain't bothering nobody."
"Maybe, maybe not. I have a few questions for you."
"I answered your questions."
His mother interrupted. "Terry, this man came to talk to you. Now you show some manners, do you understand?"
Terry's eyes lowered. "Aw, momma."
"Don't you aw momma me. Just do it!"
I'd have loved to have given his mother a hug right then. Good parenting doesn't ever stop. "Terry," I said softly. "I asked you the other day about Robbie Freeman. You know he's dead."
Terry nodded. "Everybody knows that."
"You were friendly with him. You know anyone who might have had reason to take his life?"
His eyes widened and he shook his head.
"Did he have many black friends you know of? Maybe some that might live around here?" I asked, not entirely sure where I was going with this. Maybe I just didn't want to get back onto that crowded freeway just yet. Maybe I was also running out of ideas.
"A few I guess."
"Any close ones?"
Terry pursed his lips. "Tyus Smith maybe. He was a lineman on the second string."
I peered at him. "Robbie have any problems with black people?"
"Nah," he shrugged. "None I can think of. What's this about?"
"Terry, where were you on Friday night?"
He looked at his mother. "I was right here. With LeTanya. We came over for dinner."
I looked at his mother and she nodded solemnly. "We was right here the whole night."
I nodded. If it was just Terry's word I might have a few doubts but his mother's seemed as strong as the rock of Gibraltar. Another wrong turn. A person could get mighty frustrated driving into dead end streets.
"If you could make a wild guess," I said slowly, "as to the type of person who might have killed Robbie Freeman, what type might that be?"
Terry looked at me like I was crazy. Finally, his mother nudged him. "Answer the man," she said.
Terry licked his lips. "Can’t see it being a brother. He had no quarrel with us. Wouldn't be a teammate. Might be a lady. He didn’t treat them all that well."
I processed this for a moment. Maybe I wasn't heading towards a dead end after all.
Chapter 15
Tyus Smith lived in a small apartment not far from the Crenshaw district. It was a simple two story walk-up with about a dozen apartments in the salmon colored building. The neighborhood was quiet, save for an obnoxious gardener who was operating a whiny leaf blower. The sound mimicked a buzz saw and could be heard two blocks away. I thought dreamily of a time when the rake, like the VCR and good manners, wasn’t just in style but was a regular component of our American fabric.
I knocked on the door that had a big E over the peep hole and waited while the deadbolt was pushed back. The door opened and I looked up to see the enormous figure of Tyus Smith looming. He was six-six and about three hundred pounds, give or take a few pizzas. His head was big and round and was a perfect match for his protruding gut, which hung over a pair of gym shorts. His arms were massive and his legs resembled tree trunks.
"Tyus?"
"That's me."
"The name's Burnside. I'd like to ask you a few questions. May I come in?"
"Are you a reporter?"
"Private investigator." I said, holding up my license. "I'd like to ask you about Robbie Freeman."
He nodded and invited me inside. The apartment itself was nothing to speak of but it was clean, and there were some family photos on the wall. We sat down at the kitchen table and he introduced me to his wife, Cassandra. She poured three cups of coffee and set them all down on the table.
"Would you like anything to eat?" she asked. "I can cut you a piece of cake, maybe?"
"Thank you, but no," I said, impressed with her manners, at least compared to the kinds of people I’d been speaking with lately.
Tyus yawned. "I just got up," he said, blowing on his coffee before taking a sip. "The night shift doesn't end until three. What can I do for you?"
"I'm investigating the death of Robbie Freeman. I understand he was a teammate of yours last year."
"He was. I didn't associate with him all that much, but I was sorry to hear what happened. Not surprised mind you, but sorry anyways."
"Why's that?"
"Wild guy. Liked doing crazy stuff. People like that eventually have things catch up with them. I've seen the type."
"Were you friends?"
"No, not at all."
"Never had anything to do with him outside the team?"
"Well... not really. I helped him out on a project once, I guess. A while ago."
"A project?" I asked.
"Yes. It was more for the school. The recruiting program actually. I work as a security guard sometimes. It's easy work and I get paid okay. I'm at a factory now, but for a while there I was working at a bar. Bouncer work. Didn't like it much. Lousy atmosphere to work in. Most people don't mess with me cause of my size, but when you stick a few drinks in some people they think they're tough. Actually this place was more like a strip joint."
"Let me take a wild guess," I conjectured. "The bar was called Neary's."
"Yeah, man, how'd you know that?" he asked, eyes wide.
"Luck. Put two and two together. Sometimes it comes out four. So how did you help Robbie out?"
"Robbie helped organize these weekends for high school players we were recruiting at LAU. Bring the kids in for a few days, show 'em the campus, talk about the tradition, show 'em a good time. That was Robbie's department."
"I take it he enjoyed his work."
Tyus managed a smile. "I think you're right. Anyways, he asked me if I could arrange for a few girls from Neary's to provide some entertainment for the boys. Robbie'd take the high school kids down there and afterwards he'd get some of the girls and go off to someone's apartment. They called it having sessions."
"I take it this was without the approval of the coaching staff."
"Approval?" he repeated. "They paid for the damn women. Fact is, McCallum encouraged it. Whatever it took to get that next five star recruit to enroll at LAU."
"So it was a lucky thing for them you were working
there."
"Luck nothing. They set me up with the job."
"The coach did?" I asked incredulously.
"Nah, someone in the A.D.’s office. Look, I'll admit, if I was first string I'd be working for Warner Brothers right now. But I was a reserve and there's a certain pecking order. I needed the money and I took what I could get. They've had a bunch of guys work there."
"How did they hook up with Neary's then?"
"Someone on McCallum's staff knew the manager at Neary's. Set things up for us. It was tough work for me though. Because I'm big there's always a drunk that thinks he's gonna prove something by taking me on. After a while I got tired of tossing them on their heads. It wasn't for me."
"Anybody at Neary's that Robbie had a problem with?"
"Nope," he said as definitively as one could. "Like you said, Robbie was a man who enjoyed his work."
*
It was lunchtime and my early morning cinnamon roll was wearing off rapidly. I had a filling lunch of smothered meat loaf and sweet potato pie at a little soul food place nearby, and I pleased the waitress immensely by cleaning my plate.
"Now you must have been starving!" she exclaimed. The bill came to a whopping nine dollars and I threw a ten and a five on the counter. As long as I had a wealthy client who could afford to shellac his Brentwood driveway, I might as well help the local economy.
My next stop was the Purdue precinct. Activity seemed busier than usual, but my memory of such matters was often warped. I found Captain Lafferty's office and rapped softly on the door. His desk was covered with papers and he sported a pair of bifocals as he filled out some reports.
"Those are very becoming," I said, moving inside his office.
"Well if it isn't the man of the hour. Trouble always seems to beat a path to your door, eh Burnside."
"Better than having a desk job. Although that's fine for less adventurous folks."
"You should try a more sedate life. You'll live longer."
"I've done all right thus far."
"Sure," he said. "This is a banner day for you. What with taking out a guy who had committed two murders and was trying to go three for three."
I raised my eyes. "Two murders?"
He gave a V-sign which at one time meant victory. Or peace. "Read my fingers. Two. Forensics checked out that idea you had about the dried blood in Salvo's trunk. DNA matched the hooker's, Crowley, yeah, Danielle Crowley. We even found some strands of her hair on the carpet. Nice work."
