Post Pattern (Burnside Mystery 1) (6 page)

"I'm Harrison Freeman," he declared, in a
manner no doubt designed to impress whomever he was addressing. Less than a
week ago that name meant nothing to me. Right now it didn't mean much more and
I put off genuflecting.

"Burnside's the name," I responded, and shook
a large, strong hand.

Freeman suggested I sit down in one of the chairs
opposite his desk. It was hard and uncomfortable, and I got the feeling this
tactic encouraged visitors to get straight to the point. I needed no further
inducement.

"Why do you want to see me?"

Freeman shifted his bulky frame nervously. Clearly, he
was more accustomed to being the one who asked the questions.

"I think you know why," he finally said.

"Mind reading isn't one of my specialties. You'll
have to do better than that."

Freeman sighed. Now we were getting somewhere. A little
humility never hurt anyone. "I understand my son Norman hired you to look
into why someone shot at his car last week. You're a private
investigator."

"That's correct," I nodded.

"And I also understand he terminated you after you
began to look into what happened to... to Robbie," he managed, his voice
lowering just a bit when he mentioned his younger son's name.

"Again, correct."

Freeman took a long breath. "Norman is good at
doing what he's told. He's been a very obedient son. I couldn't have asked for
a nicer kid. But sometimes... well, sometimes he just doesn't think
straight."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning he never should have discharged you. I
have some doubts about what my younger boy was up to. I knew he drank, didn't
take school very seriously. I hear things. But I simply can not believe he fell
off that balcony on his own. I want to know what happened."

"Have you put any pressure on the police to
continue their investigation?"

Freeman rolled his eyes. "The police," he said
with the same grimace one makes when tasting something unpleasant. "They
even had a DVD of the party and couldn't discover anything. If you ask me it
was that pimp, the one who brought those girls. But they said he was accounted
for. I don't know, something just isn't sitting proper with me."

I nodded. Time to play devil's advocate. "Norman
didn't think there was anything more to find out. And his girlfriend seemed to
think everyone should all get on with their lives."

Freeman snorted. "That figures. Do you have
children, Mr. Burnside?"

I told him I did not.

"When you have children, and you put your life into
raising them, and then something happens and they're gone... well, you want
more than just the standard, there's nothing more that can be done. Man, I want
something done!" he growled, his puffy face reddening. "Now! I want
to know everything that happened at that party. No stone unturned! I'll pay
whatever your fee is to find out for absolute certainty what happened that
night."

"I'm not sure I can determine anything with
absolute certainty," I said, "but I think I can give you more than
you have now."

"Fine. Tell me what you normally charge."

"Your son already paid me a three thousand dollar
retainer for one week. I barely put in two days. I still owe you folks
something."

Freeman drew out a checkbook and wrote a check for six
thousand dollars. "Here's payment for two more weeks. I want you to stay
on this case and find out everything you can."

Looking at the check, I reached up and felt the lump
that was forming on my temple. It stung when I applied the slightest pressure.

"It's no problem to stay on the case," I said.
"The fact is, I never left it."

As I drove off, my stomach reminded me I hadn't bothered
to eat anything since breakfast. I stopped off at the Apple Pan, a place that
had been around since the time motorized transportation was invented. The food
was wonderful though, pungent smells of hamburgers wafting from the grill and
apple pies from the steaming ovens. My stomach happily embraced the two hickory
burgers, washed down with a few cups of decaf. My days of drinking coffee late
in the day and sleeping soundly that night had long since ended. Sweet bird of
youth, wherever did you go.

Rent on both my apartment and my office were due next
week, so the windfall from Harrison Freeman came at a most propitious time. At
one point I had been four months behind in my office rent, and only through the
good fortune of solving an insurance case quickly did I escape the humbling
experience of being summarily evicted. A pair of roommates had claimed that a
burglary wiped out all of their possessions, including some highly
sophisticated stereo equipment. A quick probe of a few audio stores uncovered
the fact that one of their sisters was a store employee and had access to blank
invoices. This was one of a number of insurance companies they had swindled,
and the bonus I received was enough to pay off my debts and make me solvent for
a good long while. Some days are indeed better than others.

After cashing Freeman's check and delving into some
paperwork, I drove over to Danielle's apartment. Her building was on a quiet,
tree lined street containing both private and apartment houses, apparently
developed at a time when such zoning incongruence was not deemed important. It
was nearly six-thirty and people were arriving home from work, looking
exhausted from either the job or the heat. Maybe both.

Danielle buzzed me through the security door and I
climbed up two flights of a narrow white stairwell. Her apartment door had a yellow
smile sticker pasted underneath the peep hole. I rapped lightly and the door
opened quickly.

"Hi," she said, a tinge of nervousness in her
voice. "Come in."

She was dressed in a white undershirt that allowed a significant
amount of cleavage to be revealed, and a pair of cut-offs that didn't hide
much either. Her brown hair was wavy and loose and tumbled halfway down her
back. For the first time I noticed her eyes, light blue and clear. As we walked
in she picked up a blue denim shirt and put it on, a casual attempt at being
demure. It made no difference to me. I had seen everything last week at the
party.

"After what happened this afternoon I was wondering
if you'd even be here," I commented as I followed her into the apartment.

She shook her head. "There's a fight in there every
other day. It's really a scuzball place. This wasn't the first time I've seen a
gun pulled out. Do you want anything to drink?"

The sudden shift in topics surprised me, although
considering her age it really shouldn't have. I told her no, but was impressed
she'd at least had asked. There was something sincerely innocent about this
girl. She was young and involved in a rather unsavory profession, but still had
the presence of mind to show decent manners.

The apartment was sparsely decorated, but it was clean
and the walls had the appearance of a fresh coat of paint. No pictures were
hung, and the only furniture was a fairly new white couch and a laptop computer
sitting open on the kitchen table. She sat down on the couch, and invited me to
join her.

"So you're a detective."

"Private investigator. I've been hired by the
family to look into what happened at the bachelor party."

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath.
"Why did you want to speak to me?"

"I'm speaking with everyone who was at the party.
Danielle, if there was anything you saw or heard, it would really help me. And
as I said, I can probably help you."

"Can you help me get... a normal job, with, like,
normal people?" she asked.

"I'll do whatever I can," I said, sensing a
déjà vu. She even looked a little like Judy Atkin. And she had those glistening
blue eyes. "Did something happen that the police aren't aware of?"

"I think so," she said, looking up at the
ceiling. "I didn't see it, but I know something happened."

"How's that?"

"Tiffany saw it. We were playing this... this game
at the time. I was, like, on top of her, fiddling around with the thing.
Y'know?"

"The dildo?" I suggested.

"Yeah, that's it."

"I get the picture."

"Anyway, she's under me and all of a sudden she
gets real tense like. I asked her if she was okay and she whispers that
something just went off the balcony. I said maybe it was some garbage. They do
that at some parties. Throw stuff out the window. Some people get drunk and
can’t control themselves, I guess. And she says no, no, it's too big. She
thinks it's a body."

"And..."

"And then some guy tells us to knock off the
chatter and start screwing. So we did."

"Did you talk about it later?"

"I tried, but Tiffany just shut right up. Wouldn't
say word one. So I didn't bother asking any more. "

"Did you tell the police this?"

"Uh-uh. They just told me to describe what I saw
personally. And I personally didn't see anything. But I think that guy may have
been pushed. The whole thing's really weird."

I looked at Danielle and the strings around my heart
began to twist. She was so young and delicate, and had yet to acquire the
gritty toughness that an experienced pro gains after a short while. Clearly,
this was all new to her and perhaps there was hope. I wanted to reach out and
put my arm around her but my better judgment blocked my path, telling me to not
get so involved. Not like last time, although two years ago I certainly had
more to lose.

"Do you think Curt had anything to do with
this?" I asked.

She frowned and thought. "He seemed really nervous.
He told me and Tiffany to say nothing to the cops. From the way he was acting,
you'd have thought he had pushed that guy off. But I'm positive he
didn't."

"How do you know?"

"Well, I don't quite know for a fact, but right
before Tiffany's body tensed up, some guy reached over and grabbed my butt.
That goes on a lot at these kinds of parties. Curt came over and smacked his
hand away. Then it happened. Curt couldn't have done it."

She sniffled and a few tears began to fall. I reached
over and stroked her hair and she began to cry all the harder. After a few
minutes, I got up and fetched some tissues. She blew her nose a few times and
gained some semblance of composure. I asked her where Tiffany lived and she
wrote down an address for me.

"Can you help me?" she sobbed. "I really
hate this business but I don't know what else I can do to make money. I mean I
can't go home to Montana. I just can't. My stepfather's too weird. I came out
here to start a new life, start fresh. But I think this is worse than what I
left behind."

"I'll help," I said, wondering if I'd somehow
regret it again. "But you really have to want to make things better. You
can't just say you do and then go back to your old habits when you have a
couple of rough days and need some easy cash."

She nodded eagerly. "I really do."

I turned to leave but something made me stop. "How
old are you?" I asked.

"Nineteen," she sniffled. "Is that too
old to start over?"

The question was asked with a face that was somber and
pensive and reached out for an answer. Her cheeks shined through the streaks of
tears and her blue eyes had grown wide. I smiled at her and said no, it wasn't.

*

It was a thirty-five minute drive to Tiffany's place in
West Hollywood. Unlike Danielle's security building, this one was an open,
U-shaped building with a small patio in the middle. It almost looked like a
motel. I knocked on the door of apartment G, and a slim woman with short, wispy
brown hair opened it. She wore white pants and a black t-shirt that advertised
the most recent Green Day tour. Tiffany had yet to arrive and the woman rapidly
gave the impression that a pile of dog droppings would be a more welcome sight
at her door. I asked if I could wait and after suggesting I do so on the
sidewalk, she slammed the door in my face.

I vaguely thought of packing it in for the night but
decided to scan the news on my iPhone and give Tiffany an hour. After becoming
fully versed on a city councilman caught with his hand in the till, the
possibility of the Dodgers making the playoffs and the effects the broiling
heat would have on local energy supplies, I finally saw Tiffany arrive.

Like most everyone else tonight, she was dressed to beat
the heat. Unlike everyone else, her outfit reeked of sex appeal. Black halter
top, bare midriff and neon green short shorts accented her long, teased blonde
hair. Her face had no special allure, but that body was chiseled in Playboy
heaven. She skipped up the steps carrying a bag of groceries, wiped some sweat
from her brow, and walked inside her apartment.

I scooted out of my Pathfinder, strode quickly inside
the gate and rapped on her door. The roommate answered again. My lucky night.

"I thought I told you to get lost," she said
with the trace of a whine. "Creep!"

"I need to be told nicely. You hurt my
feelings."

"Look ya sonuvabitch, I ain't playin' with
you."

"Good," I said. "You're not who I want to
play with."

"Tiff don't want to have nothing to do with no rent-a-cop!"

"Let
her
tell me," I said and jammed my
foot inside just before she could close it. With a little push from my shoulder
I forced my way into their cramped, old apartment. Tiffany was unloading
groceries and gave a little yelp as I barreled my way past her sentry.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she
screamed.

"You and I have something to discuss," I said,
panting from both the heat and the sudden exercise.

"Oh, and what's that?" she demanded.

"Robbie Freeman," I said, and before I could
say anything more, I felt something slam into my back. I pitched forward and
grabbed Tiffany to steady myself. She quickly slid away. Turning, I saw her
roommate coming at me with a kitchen chair. She brought it over her head, but I
reached up and grabbed it at the apex before it could smash down on me with any
velocity. I wrenched it out of her hands and threw it across the room, hearing
it splinter against the far wall.

"You're gonna get hurt," she said, and before
I could laugh she leaped forward and kicked me square in the chest. I hit the
floor hard and was a little surprised as she quickly came at me again. Instead
of hitting me though, she grabbed my shirt and commanded me to leave. I
answered by swinging my leg around and knocking her feet out from under her.

I scrambled up and we squared off against each other,
her looking fiercely angry and me feeling mildly foolish. I was six-foot-even
and two hundred pounds, she was five-five and maybe one fifteen. I had never come
across a woman who had seriously wanted to fight me. For me it was a lose-lose
proposition. If I won, I lost, and if I lost, I lost big.

Her body was poised in a karate stance, crouched and
cagey. She had no qualms about taking the initiative, which took me aback at
first. I blocked a couple of kicks, and when she tried to punch me I grabbed
her arm and yanked it behind her back in a hammer lock. I put an arm around her
throat and told her to knock it off. She finally said okay but when I released
my grip she threw an elbow into my ribs and tried another punch. I ducked out
of the way and then backhanded her but good across the chops with my right
hand. I winced immediately, remembering my encounter at Neary's all too well.
She landed on her back, shook her head slightly and looked up at me, chest
heaving.

"Had enough?" I asked, panting a bit myself.
"Or is this going to be two out of three falls?"

She responded by taking a deep breath and kicking out at
my groin. Her aim was off by a few inches and I caught the brunt of her blow
with my inner thigh, which was not a delicious feeling either. I decided the
inequitable bout would have to end. Grabbing the back of her hair with one
hand, I reached down and took her by the seat of her pants with my other hand.
In one motion, I jerked her body forward, slamming her face first into the
refrigerator. She collapsed to the floor in a heap. I put my hands on my hips
and looked at her, my own chest heaving, wondering what the hell that was all
about.

In a corner stood Tiffany, her hands covering her mouth
in a frightened pose. I walked towards her slowly, not entirely sure of what to
expect. She didn't take her eyes off me.

"I've never seen anyone do that to her," she
finally whispered. "She's a black belt. She's beaten men in matches."

"She's good," I said. "But this wasn't a
match. No points are scored in real life. What's her problem?"

"She's not real crazy about men. Neither am I for
that matter." She looked down at her roommate and up at me. "What do
you want?"