by David Chill
CORNER BLITZ
by David Chill
© 2015 by David Chill
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names characters, places and events are products of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations or persons living or deceased, is purely coincidental. The author assumes no responsibility for errors, inaccuracies, omissions, or any inconsistency herein.
Cover art photography provided by Jennifer Nicolaisen
For Dann Collins
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Post Pattern Preview
Chapter 1
The governor of California does not typically meet with people like me. But the governor of California does not typically have his teenage daughter go missing.
Governor Rex Palmer was a handsome man, tall and slim, with a square jaw and a distinguished face. He had a head full of black hair that was graying at the temples. His voice was a deep baritone, normally dynamic and upbeat, but now somber and subdued. The agonizing thought that he might not see his only child again was apparent. We were sitting around a conference room table; the governor, myself, and two members of his staff, one flanked on either side of him.
"She was supposed to appear at a campaign event with me on Saturday night," he said, gripping the armrests of his chair tightly. "But she was a no-show. And my wife told me she didn't come home that night. Or last night either."
"Has there been any communication from her at all?" I asked.
A few long seconds went by. "No," he finally managed. "I don't know who to turn to, Mr. Burnside."
"The police would normally be a good start," I suggested. "Or the FBI."
"Not with an election coming up," said the professional-looking woman to his right. "There's too much at stake here."
"And the last thing we need to do is involve the Federal Bureau of Incompetence," growled the tough looking man on his left.
The tough looking aide was Bill Thorn, the person in charge of the governor's security detail. The professional looking woman was Shelly Busch, who was managing the governor's campaign. The election was two weeks away and it had turned into a nasty race. Politics could be an ugly business, but never more so than at the end of a campaign. In this race, Governor Palmer, a moderate Republican, was running against State Assemblyman Justin Woo, a moderate Democrat. They were both centrists, which meant they agreed on more things than they disagreed. And when two candidates' political stances are similar, the campaign is bound to get personal. There's not much else to quibble about.
"Well, I'm impressed someone would rank my talents above an entire federal agency," I said to Thorn and then turned diplomatically back to Governor Palmer. "But I understand your concern."
In fact, I did not understand this at all. When children go missing, the natural reaction for most parents would be to hunt tirelessly for them. Most parents would look to any and every law enforcement arm at their disposal. But most parents did not have a high-profile career that now stood at a critical juncture.
"This is a sensitive issue, Burnside," said Thorn, eyeing me carefully.
"That's good," I answered. "I'm a sensitive guy."
He didn't reply and was now eyeing me even more carefully. I responded by pretending not to notice.
"You come highly recommended," the governor finally said. "Jeremy Hoffman was very lavish in his praise. He said you were the best."
I nodded appreciatively. My USC connections were coming into play once again. Jeremy Hoffman served on the Coliseum Commission, as well as on various committees at the university. He had been a fixture at USC long before I played football there. And that was a few decades ago.
"I'll thank him for the referral. His offices are just down the street."
"Yes," Palmer continued, "Jeremy is an old friend of the family. And as much as I respect Bill here, we need an outsider looking into this. I don't want this to be part of the campaign. It has to be a stealth investigation. This can't go public."
"Why not?" I asked.
An uneasy silence hung over the room like a cloud. The three of them looked down at the table. The governor finally spoke. "There are elements of my family life that just need to be kept private."
"All right," I said, not liking that a piece of information was being withheld. "Maybe you can provide some background on your daughter."
He sighed, stole a glance at his watch, and turned to his left. "Bill, could you share the particulars? The debate's tomorrow and I need to prepare and focus. This is the most important event of the campaign. The election may hang in the balance."
"Of course," he said.
Rex Palmer rose and turned to me before he left. "Mr. Burnside, my staff is at your complete disposal. Bill Thorn is a consummate law enforcement professional, please work with him. And keep us informed. But above all else, be discreet."
I stood up also and shook his hand. It was big and soft and warm. A politician's handshake. As he walked out, I looked over at his two associates and sat back down. Without the governor, it felt as if the molecules around us had changed. Another awkward moment of silence filled the room.
"So. How did you two come to know the governor?" I asked, more because I didn't know where else to begin.
Bill Thorn spoke first. "I was a captain in the Sacramento PD. Got to know the governor when he was the state treasurer. Sacramento's a small place. But Shelly's been with him a lot longer."
"Oh, yes," Shelly said in a knowing voice. "Rex and I go way back, college at Stanford. In fact, my husband, Land, ran against him for class president our senior year. Of course, Land wasn't my husband back then."
"Land?"
"Landon Busch. He's a state senator now."
"Ah."
Shelly continued. "I was actually a math major at Stanford and got interested in political polling when I graduated. That led me into managing campaigns. I directed Rex's campaign four years ago," she said, adding with a hint of pride, "I helped put Rex in the governor's mansion."
"Why aren't you managing your husband's campaign?"
"He was just elected two years ago, and his term in office is four years. So he's not up for re-election this year. If he was," she said with a sly smile, "I'd have a tough time choosing which campaign to work on."
"So who won class president?" I asked.
"Rex did," she laughed. "And Land resented him a little. Rex had advantages that Land didn't. When your father's a former governor, it paves the way. Politics was the family business for him, and Buster Palmer provided Rex with name recognition. My husband had to practically claw his way into elective office."
"That's not such a bad way to go," I commented. "You have to work harder, but you learn more. And you know you've made it because of your own efforts. Not someone else's."
Shelly considered this. "I suppose," she said.
"So tell me about the daughter," I said. "What's her name?"
Bill Thorn spoke, clearing his throat first. "Her name's Molly."
"All right. And when was she last seen?"
"Two days ago. At the Coliseum. The USC-Oregon State game. I suppose part of the reason the governor chose you was because of your USC background."
"Mmm. Who was Molly wi
th?" I asked.
"A few kids from her school. Stone Canyon. It's a private school over in Bel-Air."
"Got any names?"
"Riley Joyner, Molly's best friend, is one. Connor Pierce and Alex Gateley were with them. Molly and Riley play together on the school volleyball team. I think Molly used to go out with Connor. Maybe Alex as well. But there's another kid who's involved here. Name's Diego Garcia."
"Was he at the game?"
"Yes," Thorn said. "But not as a spectator."
I frowned. The name didn't ring a bell. "Is he a football player?"
"No, he's a vendor. You know. Walks around selling peanuts and ice cream, stuff like that."
"Yeah, I know what a vendor does," I said, starting to frown. In fact, I knew all about that type of job. For a couple of summers during high school, I had worked as a vendor at Dodger Stadium. It was physically demanding, but it paid a lot more money than working for minimum wage at a Burger King. Another big plus was I would sometimes stop in the 7th inning and watch the end of the ballgame. Usually in a box seat someone had vacated early to get a jump on post-game traffic.
"You look a little puzzled," Shelly said.
"What I don't get is how a stadium vendor would come to know the daughter of a sitting governor."
"They go to school together," she responded.
I frowned harder. "Private school tuition can be very high. Staggering even. If a kid needs to be working part-time as a vendor, how does he wind up at a school like Stone Canyon?"
"Diego's on scholarship. But the reason his name comes up is that Molly and Diego have been spending a lot of time together lately."
"Rich girl, poor boy," I mused. "Opposites attract."
"Yes," Shelly said. "Classic tale."
"So do you think foul play's involved?"
"I don't want to think that," she replied. "But I also know that neither Molly nor Diego showed up at school today. We can't ignore the possibility Molly may have been taken against her will. We just don't know."
Something didn't add up here. The USC-Oregon State game ended less than 48 hours ago. When a person goes missing, time is crucial. If they're not found within a day, the odds they could have met with tragic circumstances increase exponentially. That a parent would wait this long to start looking into a disappearance was unusual to say the least. Even if they had more important things on their plate. Like running for governor.
"Has anyone had any contact with Molly since the game?" I asked. "Have you checked the kids' Facebook and Instagram accounts?"
"Of course," Thorn said, "and there's been no activity. We've checked with airports, bus and train stations, hotels. We got nada. I've spoken to the kids who went with her to the game. They say Molly went to use the rest room in the 4th quarter and never came back."
"Okay."
"The only one we haven't talked with is Diego. We can't get a hold of him. Or his family. No one picks up the phone and no one answers the door."
"And that's where I come in."
"Uh-huh. At this point we need an outsider to step in."
I allowed for a pregnant pause. "You're aware of my fee."
"Yes, a thousand dollars a day."
"Plus expenses," I said. "And I'll need a week's retainer before I leave." No sense pussyfooting around this subject. I was keenly aware that it didn't matter how wealthy a candidate was. Political campaigns usually operated in the red, and it could take years before they retired their debt. And that's if the candidate won.
"I don't know if we can pay for a week up front," Shelly said.
"I don't work for free," I answered and started to get up.
"Wait," she said. "Look. Rex wants you. I'll make the arrangements."
"Okay," I said and sat back down. "Now I need to get a few things straight here. The daughter of a major public figure is missing. She's savvy enough to know if her disappearance was intentional it might adversely affect her father's career. If she was taken against her will, however, that's another issue entirely. But the idea a teenage girl could be abducted in a crowd of 90,000 people at a major sporting event is a little unlikely."
Bill and Shelly looked at each other, turned back to me, and shrugged in agreement.
"Okay," I said. "I'll need a way to get in touch with the kids she went with, and I'll need Diego's contact info, too. If you have photos of them, even better."
"We have a copy of the Stone Canyon School yearbook around here somewhere. it has pictures of every kid. You can have it."
"There's something else," I pointed out. "It's curious you haven't mentioned her mother. I'll need to speak with her, too."
Thorn nodded slowly. "We've spoken with Molly's mother. Her name's Nicole. She doesn't know any more than we do. You don't need to speak with her."
"Really?" I asked, my eyebrows shooting up. "A mother typically knows more about her kids than anyone else. Primary caregiver and all."
Shelly looked at me oddly. "This is not a typical case, I can assure you. And Molly's relationship with her mother is, oh, complicated."
"She's a teenager. It's supposed to be complicated. This is the time they separate and start forming their own selves."
"Are you a psychologist?" she said sarcastically.
"No. I'm just a student of human nature."
"Any children yourself, Mr. Burnside?" she asked.
"Not yet," I said, deciding not to push on speaking with the mother right now. "But my wife's expecting. She's due right around Christmas. Should be a great present."
"Congratulations. But you know, first babies are usually late. I have three sisters, same thing happened with all of them."
"Good to know. Do you have kids?"
"No children myself," she added hastily. "Haven't had the time."
I knew the feeling. Shelly appeared to be about my age, and I was over 40. I always assumed I would have children, but it took a long time to meet the right girl. And my demanding career never relented. Then Gail Pepper entered my life, and things changed quickly. We hadn't spoken about having kids until she informed me she was pregnant on the day of our wedding. But since then, we shared so much excitement about our impending addition that it seemed as if we didn't talk about much else.
"They say kids change your life," I remarked.
"They do for a fact," Thorn broke in. "I've got three grown ones. Trying to kick the last one out of the house now."
"Sounds like he's not going willingly."
"Oh, he'll go. I may have to invoke the sink-or-swim method. Worked for me when my old man tossed me into the street."
I looked hard at Thorn. He was in his mid-50s, solidly built, with graying hair, a graying mustache and a sour expression. He reminded me of some of the older cops I knew when I was on the police force. The ones who punched the clock, waiting for their 20 years to kick in so they could collect a pension and go find another job they didn't like. They took their ire out on suspects, and sometimes on their own families.
"My guess is your kid won't go to bed thinking kind thoughts about you."
"He'll understand one day," Thorn declared. "Life is tough and you have to deal with it. Just like in politics."
"Not something I recall my political science professors saying."
Shelly gave me a bored look. "You know something about politics, do you?"
"Just enough to be dangerous," I said.
"Well, politics is a full-contact sport these days."
I laughed out loud. "Try watching a football game from the sidelines. You might not use that metaphor again."
"Oh, that's right. You played football at SC. I'd invite you to the debate tomorrow but it's at Royce Hall. Your rival's campus."
"I don't mind going to UCLA," I said slowly. "It's a nice enough place to visit. In fact, a debate might be a good event for me to attend. You never know who you'll meet or what they'll say. Might learn something pertinent to this case."
"I doubt that," she said, and then hesitated. "You mean you'd really li
ke to go?"
"Sure. Would love to."
"Hmmm. All right. I'm sure I can wrangle you a seat."
"Can you make it two?" I asked. "My wife's a lawyer with the city attorney's office. She's interested in these things."
Shelly leaned back in her chair and sighed. There were dark circles under her eyes. She lit a cigarette and blew the smoke straight up toward the ceiling. "Fine. Why not."
"Thanks. I don't mean to make extra work for you. I'm sure you're swamped."
She reached over and absently tapped the cigarette near a round golden ash tray. She missed by two inches and didn't seem to notice. "This has been a tough campaign. Justin Woo has been hammering us continuously."
"Is it working?"
She waved her hand as if to feign ignorance, but unfortunately this time it pushed a plume of smoke with it. I tilted my head to avoid the trajectory. "We're still leading in the polls, but it's close. What we really want to do now is draw a clear distinction between the governor and his opponent. Rex spent his whole life in California. He has California's best interests at heart. Justin Woo is smart, but he came from somewhere else and can't even speak proper English."
"Let me ask you something. Would Rex Palmer have gotten elected if his name were John Smith?"
She glared at me and spoke in an annoyed voice. "His last name carries some weight around here. But it hasn't been as easy as people think. The reality of politics is Rex inherited half his father's friends and all of his enemies. Boy, you sure were right about one thing, though."
"What's that?" I asked.
"You do know enough to be dangerous. Or at least to be a royal pain in the ass."
I smiled my best smile. She had no idea.
Chapter 2
Rex Palmer's campaign headquarters were located along Wilshire Boulevard in downtown Los Angeles. Unlike the downtown LA of a few years ago, this was now an area replete with grandiose office towers, espresso bars, and sidewalks that were swept regularly. And the campaign was conveniently situated down the block from the law offices of Jeremy Hoffman, who had taken it upon himself to bring me into this case.
