Nickel Package

by David Chill

  "Probably not," I mused. "Unless he was with a pro."

  "Yeah," he said, and then one of the detectives approached us. He was a well-built man in his 30s, wearing a blue windbreaker with LAPD on the back. He had latex gloves on and was holding something in his hand.

  "Hey, Sarge," he called, holding up a watch. "Check this out. Might have been left behind by another guest, but I don't think so, maid would have found it. We discovered it under the bed, could have come off during a struggle. Guess someone here wasn't hurting for money."

  The watch was a Rolex, gold face with a silver-and-gold band. I took a closer look at it, keeping my face within a few inches of the watch for more than a few seconds, studying it carefully.

  "Nope," I said. "It's a knockoff."

  Roberto looked at me. "How can you tell?"

  "Check out the second hand. It moves every second and then stops. A real Rolex has a sweeping motion. There's no date magnifier, either. They're expensive, so knockoffs don't have them. And listen to it. This one makes a ticking sound. You don't get that with a Rolex."

  "Pretty impressive, Burnside," Roberto said, looking at me oddly. "You have a side business fencing stolen jewelry?"

  "I like trivia," I shrugged.

  "Interesting," he said. "But I'll bet there are a lot of fake Rolex watches around."

  "Maybe so. From what I've heard, everyone at BMB got one for Christmas last year."

  *

  The police would be speaking today with Kitty Strong, her boss Patty Muckenthaler, and maybe even her brother-in-law, Nick Roche. I would talk to them soon enough, but today wouldn't be that day. Running into detectives at the BMB headquarters would be awkward to say the least. But there was someone connected to BMB who could answer some questions for me. He just might need a little prodding.

  I found a spot along Figueroa Avenue, down the street from a cluster of fast food joints, and catty-cornered to the USC campus. I stopped and ordered a turkey sub for lunch, eating it while I absently scanned my phone for news. Nothing about Jay Strong. Not yet. Driving onto campus, I lucked out and grabbed an open parking space on the first level of the structure, closest to the Cinema school.

  Lucas Kanter's door was closed, but I heard voices inside, the kind of playful, laughing voices bespeaking a party to which only two people had been invited. I sat outside and listened to the overt flirting, realizing it could also have been the rehearsal of a scene from a play or movie. Finally the door opened, and an attractive coed with long, straight blonde hair and a giddy smile emerged. She turned back to thank the professor for his help, and he reminded her to file her internship application before the end of the month.

  "Hello, Doctor," I said, walking into the office. "Sorry I don't have an appointment."

  "Oh," Kanter said, a bit startled. "I didn't know you'd be here, Burnside."

  "It's a day of surprises. A week of them, in fact. Thank God it's Friday."

  "Uh, yes. You know, I do have a class to teach soon," he pointed out, which might explain why he didn't ask me to sit down. "What's up?"

  "You've heard someone tried to kill me in the Laputa parking lot the other day?"

  He stared at me. "I heard about an incident there ... I had no idea you were involved."

  "Yeah. Lucky for me I was a better shot."

  "My goodness," he said, blinking a few times. "That's terrible. Who was it?"

  "Apparently another Private Investigator. Someone with a connection to BMB. Name's Mike Black. There was an empty file in his office. Any ideas who at BMB might have hired him?"

  "Of course not," he said. "I know the company hires investigators upon occasion. We did hire you of course. But that usually falls under Hector's domain. Or did, I suppose."

  "Yes. But Hector wasn't the one who hired me. Nick Roche did. Might he have been the one to have hired this particular P.I.?"

  Kanter shook his head in disbelief. "You'd have to ask him. I have no idea. But I couldn't imagine why. This doesn't add up. We just hired you to look into Eric Starr. That was Nick's call. And Jay Strong was the one who recommended you to him."

  "What stake do you have in all this?" I asked, flinching at the sound of Jay's name.

  "What do you mean?"

  "First, tell me what you know about Jay."

  "Jay? Last year he found out I was on the board at BMB, and he was railing about the place. About how someone needs to look into what's really going on there. The place is a cesspool, yada, yada. I don't know what he thought was going on there. But I suppose he pushed Nick to bring you in."

  "How about you? I mean, would you have any reason to want to dig up dirt on Eric Starr?"

  "That's preposterous," he sniffed. "I can't imagine why you'd ask."

  "I'm asking everybody. At this point, no one is off limits."

  "Well, I have no reason to dig up dirt on anyone," he insisted.

  "And Patty? What's her role here?"

  "You're insane. You know, you're starting to get on my nerves. You can't just barge in ... "

  At this point, I grabbed Lucas Kanter by the front of his shirt. I was tired of getting the run-around, tired of doing an investigation where no one wanted to cooperate, and especially tired of dead bodies. I didn't like getting shot at, and I had an outsized concern that might happen once again. And after seeing the remains of Jay Strong in a Westwood hotel room, I was tired of playing nice. I didn't have much to lose at this point.

  I shoved Kanter up against a bookcase and put my face close to his. He tried to wiggle out of my grasp, but that made me just grab hold of him tighter. His breathing grew rapid and his mouth began to curl in fear.

  "I want some answers here," I growled. "I want to know why I was really brought in on this case and why someone wants me out of the way."

  "Good Lord," he whimpered. "Okay. It's not what you think."

  I relaxed my grip. Just a bit. "Go on."

  "There are some internal candidates for CEO. Patty's one of them. She's been threatening the board to go public with a multimillion-dollar lawsuit if she doesn't get the job. She won't get it, but she can cause a lot of headaches. There's been repeated harassment charges. But half the board was intent on hiring someone from the outside, and Eric was the someone they wanted. So we're just trying to confirm things before we finalize the deal."

  "Then why set me up?" I demanded. "Who was involved in getting me to go to Laputa the other day?"

  "That wasn't us. Honest. I don't know who was behind that. This corporate shit can get intense. There's a lot of money at stake here."

  I took my hands off of him and stepped back. This was only partially making sense. And it didn't explain why anyone needed to get run over, kidnapped or shot to death.

  "Is Patty crazy enough to murder anyone? Or pay to have them murdered?"

  Kanter straightened his clothes out and regained some composure. "My goodness, but you're an excitable guy. Before all this I would have said no. Now I'm not so sure. On the one hand, it's only just a job. On the other hand, the CEO position pays a ton of money and some people will do crazy things to get their hands on it."

  I had spent many years trying to understand criminal behavior, and had learned some lessons. I felt I understood why people stole: they were either desperate or they grew up in a subculture where this was considered acceptable. I knew why many people sold drugs: they sometimes saw this as their only way out of a life of poverty. I had an understanding of why people killed in the heat of the moment: their emotions reached a boiling point at which they could no longer control them. But the blind pursuit of money was not something I could ever fully grasp. Having a family now, I understood the importance of taking care of loved ones and making them comfortable. But in the end, you still have to be able to look at yourself in the mirror.

  I considered Kanter. I didn't think he was involved in anything underhanded here, and I began to feel a little badly about assaulting him. Only a little, mind you. Getting shot at was still toying with my nerves and
affecting my behavior in an adverse way. This wasn't how I normally operated and I didn't like thinking of myself as a roguish thug. I had had some prior experience with post-traumatic stress disorder and had a funny feeling I might be afflicted again.

  "Where can I find Patty?" I finally asked. "And I'd like you to get me in to see her. Without letting her know I'm coming."

  "If that'll get you out of here quicker, then let me make a call," he said and picked up the desk phone, his hands trembling slightly. He punched in a number, talked for a few minutes and wrote something down on a slip of paper. "Take this. I just spoke with someone in the IT department. I had them look at Patty's schedule in Outlook. She's on location tomorrow, but it's just next to Playa Vista. In the Ballona Wetlands. She's supposed to be at the shoot most of the day."

  "All right," I said and then pointed my index finger at him and gave him a warning. "Again, don't give Patty a head's up I'm coming."

  "Trust me, I'm not here to help Patty. Her act has gotten stale. This isn't the first time she's threatened BMB. In the past, we've capitulated. But even if something bad comes up on Eric Starr, I can't see her being the one to take the reins."

  "At this point, I could care less who takes over BMB. I've got bigger concerns. Like staying alive."

  "Wait a minute. I don't understand something," he said. "Isn't it the job of the police to look into capital crimes? Why are you looking into Hector's murder?"

  "How have the police been doing so far?" I snapped. "I was brought into this to do a background check and look what it's turned into. Hector got run down and someone almost killed me the other day. That changes my involvement. And there's something else I didn't tell you. There's been another murder. I just found out this morning. I'm surprised you haven't been notified."

  "My God. Who now?"

  "I'll let the police fill you in on that."

  Kanter checked his cell phone. "I have a number of messages," he said, and he began listening to them. I thought of leaving, but I wanted to see the look on his face when he heard about Jay. I saw his eyes widen as he listened to one of the messages and his mouth opened. He put down the phone and looked at me.

  "I had no idea there'd been more of this."

  "Now you know."

  "Why would she have done this?" he said, looking dazed.

  I peered at him. "Why would she have done what?"

  "Kitty Strong," he said, his voice choked with emotion. "They just ... they found her body. In her apartment. In Brentwood. They found her slumped in a chair ... with a gun in her hand."

  Chapter 13

  Roberto left a message for me about Kitty Strong as well, his voice sounding tense and a little dry, but he told me there was no need to come by again. That was fine by me. I had witnessed enough crime scenes for the day. And for the week. I was tired and weary and I had no desire to conduct any more business today. Four people were dead, all had ties to BMB, and yet the pieces to the puzzle remained scattered. Roberto told me that while the obvious scenario was Kitty Strong had committed suicide, there were also growing doubts.

  I relieved Carla at about 3:00 pm and spent the rest of the afternoon playing with Marcus in the backyard. I worked with him on how to catch a Nerf football, although I don't think he fully understood the concept of "looking" the ball into his hands. He dropped it more times than he caught it. But when he did make a catch, I gave him a hearty round of applause as a reward. And like a real receiver, he jumped up and down to celebrate every time he caught the ball.

  Next, we played balloon tap, which was a game of seeing how many times we could tap a two-day old red balloon back and forth without it ever touching the ground. After a few miscues, we got the hang of it, but then Marcus hit it a little too well, causing the balloon to rise and get caught in a tree limb. I finally dislodged it by tossing a stick up into the tree, but while the balloon floated down, the stick was now caught in the branch. Marcus insisted we "save" the stick, and after some futile attempts at knocking it down with a different stick, I finally pulled out a stepladder and retrieved it, coming dangerously close to tumbling off the ladder in the process. The irony of almost getting seriously injured retrieving an errant stick, two days after someone fired a gun in my direction was not lost on me.

  Gail came home, and since it had been a long week for both of us, we decided Friday night was a good night to order pizza. After dinner, Marcus settled in to watching cartoons and I lumbered off into the den to sink into an easy chair and let my mind wander aimlessly. Gail walked in a little while later and sat on the armrest next to me.

  "Penny for your thoughts?"

  "Make it a nickel," I said. "The price of everything is going up."

  "I hope you're not worrying about money. We're doing okay."

  "Not worrying. Just thinking about it."

  "Something to do with the case you're working on?" she asked.

  "Indeed. I got some more bad news today."

  "You mean Jay and Kitty Strong?"

  "You heard?"

  "It was all over the news. I'm sorry. I remember meeting them once. Some coaches dinner at Johnny's house in Palos Verdes."

  "Jay was the one responsible for getting me the gig with BMB," I told her. "We had lunch this week. I also dropped by his office the next day. He didn't sound happy at all. His marriage was falling apart and he was clearly in pain."

  "Do you think it was really a murder-suicide? That's what's being reported."

  "No. That just doesn't hold water. It sounds like Kitty rented the hotel room for a tryst. Jay might have tracked her to the room and confronted the pair. But that's where things don't line up. How would Kitty get a gun? Why would she shoot Jay? Would she really have been so remorseful that she'd go back and end it all?

  "And most importantly, who was she with?" Gail pondered, as she descended softly into my lap.

  "Yes," I said and put my arm around her and stroked her hair. "There's another party to this mess. Once they're found, then maybe, just maybe, all the other pieces will come together. Who killed Hector Ferris? Who was behind the plan to abduct me?"

  "Oh," she said. "I think you heard, but on that subject, the police officially absolved you. They've concluded your actions were taken in self-defense. No charges are going to be filed against you."

  "Thank you," I said, reaching over and kissing her cheek. "For everything."

  "You're welcome. By the way, how are things going with the background check on Eric Starr? The thing BMB actually hired you to do?"

  "I've found out a few things. He was briefly taken into custody for assaulting the wife of his former business partner, Jack Beale. Happened shortly after Beale was killed in the boating accident. Not sure who threw the first punch, but when there's a lot of money at stake, things can often get nasty."

  "You had mentioned Eric Starr earlier in the week. I actually found out some interesting scuttlebutt on Laputa."

  "My, but you're a veritable gold mine of information today. I should be paying you part of my fee from BMB. That is if they pay me. I haven't submitted my invoice to Nick Roche yet, but I'm going to bill him for more than we estimated."

  "Oh, I'm sure they'll pay you. In fact, tell them your wife is an Assistant City Attorney. I'll bet they expedite your check."

  "I may do that. But tell me more about Laputa."

  "Yes. But you need to be very careful with this. It can't be made public unless you've uncovered a felony. You have to give me your word. "

  "All right."

  "The boating accident. You know that Jack Beale's body was never found. But an employee who was on the boat had made a comment to one of the investigators. They saw someone swimming at one point. Out in the middle of the ocean. But they couldn't be sure. They said they were pretty tipsy."

  "Not a surprise. The whole company seems like it's one big party. But did this witness personally see Jack go overboard?"

  "No. But they swore they saw somebody swimming. The waves were choppy."

  "And
they didn't think to call out or get someone's attention."

  "No. And their story is iffy, because most of all, they were intoxicated. They thought the person was swimming with purpose. Swimming away, not in distress at all. And toward another boat nearby."

  "And that critical bit of information remained private."

  "It did," she said. "I'm not sure why, but it's sealed. And if I want to keep myself in the good graces of the City Attorney, it needs to remain that way. And I'm not sure any crime was actually committed. But like I said, if you uncover a felony, all bets are off. I'm not protecting a murderer just for the sake of office politics."

  "Did this employee have a name?"

  "Yes, indeed," Gail said, looking me straight in the eye. "And it explains how she came to know my boss, Steve Reinhart. The witness was Anna Faust."

  *

  The next day was Saturday, which meant most people wouldn't be working. Except for me. I woke up at my customary 5:00 a.m., the first Gulfstream jets shaking me awake as they departed from Santa Monica Airport. I rolled out of bed and took a short walk to my desk. After doing a brief scan of the news, I decided to see if I could track down Jack Beale's former girlfriend, Wanda, on the Internet. She was a small piece to this puzzle, but a piece nonetheless. Finding her wasn't as difficult as I thought it might be.

  Marcus had inherited my habit of being an early riser, and he climbed into my lap to watch what I was doing on the computer. After reminding me of my promise to take him out for a waffle dinner, I told him I would deliver soon. In the interim, I got up and made him scrambled eggs, and then we went into his room, where I showed him how to make a paper airplane. Chewy wandered in by this time and proceeded to jump up and grab every plane we launched out of the air with her teeth, and then darted into another room to deposit them one by one. By the time we were done, the living room was scattered with downed aircraft.

  After Gail woke up, I made a quick phone call to ensure my first appointment was still at home, and then hung up quickly when the person answered. I left the house around 10:00 am and drove up to the Valley. Chucky Flange lived in what was once a decent, middle-class apartment complex along Sherman Way in Van Nuys. That was many years ago. Now there was bright red graffiti scrawled along the side of the building, and a few windows were broken. Trash spilled out of a dumpster next to the parking garage. At one point there might have been a working security door, but that was probably quite some time ago. A couple of empty brown beer bottles were laying on the ground.