Burden of Truth

by Terri Nolan

  _____

  Birdie spied through the peephole and then opened the Judas hole just to be sure it was Pearl standing on her front porch holding a suitcase. She opened the door and he quickly entered.

  “Girl,” he whispered, “what mischief you into now? I can’t believe some whack job broke into a crib in this ’hood. You attract all the crazies. I’m sayin’ ya gotta fix that karma. Sober?”

  “Hello to you, too.”

  “Sorry. Gotta find a sweet spot. Where’s your bedroom?”

  “Third floor. First door on the right.”

  “Stay here. I’ll check that room first.”

  He loped up three stairs and disappeared up the turret. Birdie waited in the dark.

  When Pearl was twelve his mother shot her abusing husband. With a father in the grave and a mother in prison he became homeless. He lived on the streets in South Florida where tall black boys stood out against the Cuban immigrants. With the help of a Catholic charity, he got adopted by the Eubanks family. Like a rescue dog, Pearl knew a good situation. He had a safe, loving home and new brothers with the same skin color.

  A rare arthritis settled into his hips, crippling his high school basketball career and he became addicted to pain relievers. It took nine years, a few stayovers in county, and two titanium hips to get clean. And now he was a licensed investigator working for his brother.

  Pearl tapped Birdie on the shoulder and gestured at her to come up. They entered her bedroom and he shut the door. “This room is cool. Stay in here until I finish the rest of the house and then we’ll have a talk.”

  At 3 a.m. Pearl shook her awake. “We’re clear. Let’s go to your office and call Danny.”

  Birdie followed Pearl to her office. The always-open curtains across the French doors were closed. The suitcase was open and shoved against the wall. A red felt cloth was piled with plastic bits she wouldn’t even pretend to identify. Her right hand twitched. She reached for an open pack of gum while Pearl punched a number into a smart phone and set it on the edge of the desk. The ringing phone echoed once before Danny answered.

  “I’m here with Tweety,” said Pearl. “We’re clean.”

  “Elizabeth, let me be clear,” said Danny. The words were serious, but the voice was lazy from recent slumber. “Though you may be participating in this conversation, it is between me and my brother and is strictly confidential. This is important and I need you to understand. I’m your friend but that takes second position to my job as a prosecutor and as such I can’t put myself in a position as witness.”

  “Don’t try to freak me out,” said Birdie. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “Pearl?” said Danny.

  “The car had a tracker. Same as law enforcement uses. Home and office phone lines were hot at the box. Here’s where it gets crazy. The office had a pickup monitor. The kitchen and livin’ room had two monitors each, the library one. The rest of the house was clear. The setup was designed for short-range moni-torin’ and there was a booster on the back wall of the house and another at the property line. Illegal as hell and old school. Like from the ’60s or ’70s old. And way too obvious. A savvy seventh grader could do better. And her computer and cell were clean. Doesn’t make sense to me. It’s like someone put it here to say, hey, we can get in.”

  “There are other ways to do that,” said Danny.

  “Sure,” said Pearl. “Someone could open drawers, move stuff around. But Tweety is a techie girl and this would be guaranteed to get her attention. It’s a one-man operation. My guess is the receiver is close. Either at the end of 2nd Street or at the Wilshire Country Club. By now the monitor knows his operation is blown because of the massive equipment failure. He’s already packed up.”

  “Unless he’s dead,” said Birdie. “The guy who broke in, O’Brien, could he have done it?”

  “With the exception of a gun he had no possessions,” interjected Danny.

  “How do you know that?” said Birdie.

  “I have sources. If he’s the guy, you can bet he had help.”

  Birdie sat down on the couch in a daze. Now would be a good time for a drink. She looked up at the wall of numbers. She had made it through another day. She got back up and ripped off a page. 247. Today, Sunday, was the start of day 248. If she made it through she’d rip another page. The thought of starting over was dreadful so she quelled the I-wanna-drink sensation with a spit, a wrap, and a fresh piece.

  “What was that?” said Danny.

  “Tweety ripped a piece of paper off a big pad of numbers,” said Pearl. “She’s keeping track of sober days.”

  “Elizabeth? I didn’t know you needed to be sober,” said Danny.

  “No one did.”

  “Pearl, did you know?”

  “Afterward,” said Pearl. “Goin’ straight is a private journey for Tweety. She on the righteous path. Gotta say, though, the girl is skinny. She’s got a white-girl ass now.”

  “I appreciate the levity at my expense,” said Birdie. “But someone has to tell me what the hell is going on. Danny, you obviously knew something was amiss when I said my house was broken into. So give.”

  “I need more information. When did you last see Matt?”

  “Friday, the sixth.”

  “Tell me everything that’s happened since,” said Danny. “Even if you think it’s unrelated or minor. I need to know what you did and who you’ve seen and spoken with.”

  “Is this really necessary?”

  “In more ways than you know.”

  “Send him the workup, too,” said Pearl.

  Before Birdie could stop him Pearl rolled up the shade exposing Birdie’s contorted math formula and theories on the dry erase board.

  “Hey! That’s private.”

  “Girl, you gotta trust us. Danny might see somethin’ important. So, bro, I’m going to send you a photo of Tweety’s work board.” He picked up the phone and snapped several shots.

  Birdie felt a pulsing throb behind her left ear. No one gets to see her work. The madness behind the method. She plucked a bottle of Excedrin off the desk, shook one out, and swallowed it with day-old coffee.

  “Got the photo,” said Danny. There was a long pause. “What does the piece of paper say?”

  “It was wrapped around that key you see next to it,” said Birdie. “Matt snuck it into my pocket on the night of my bir—”

  “Not the paper by the key. The other one.”

  “Oh, that. It’s his last journal entry. Dated three weeks before he died. It reads: ‘It’s done. The project is complete and I am renewed. The agility and flexibility I once had is slowly returning. Labor at Bird’s house has helped my strength. Her gym is a work of art. The lumber for the gazebo is being delivered tomorrow and the blueprints are straightforward. I’ll keep trying to convince her to build a pool.’ You know what? The odd thing about this note is that he and I have never discussed building a pool.”

  “What does the rest mean?”

  “Just what it says. He was feeling better. You know, physically. He finished building my gym and it’s fantastic. The next project was a gazebo. The lumber was delivered. It’s here under a tarp in my backyard.”

  “Could there be anything hidden in the lumber pile?”

  “No. I supervised the delivery. I watched the workmen offload and stack the lumber. And because we—meaning Matt and I—didn’t know exactly when we’d start the project, we covered it with a tarp.”

  “Alright. Now tell me everything since the sixth.”

  “Danny, give me some reassurance. Extremely personal stuff has happened since then. I trust you and I trust Pearl. But really, my antennae are up and vibrating.”

  “Elizabeth, I get it. We’re two sets of fresh ears and eyes.”

  “If you screw me, I’ll make sure you don’t ever practice law again in the state of Califor
nia. I will strip you of your livelihood.”

  “We have your back. Or perhaps I should say your flat white ass.”

  Pearl guffawed.

  “Alright,” said Birdie. “It started Friday night before midnight when Matt finally arrived at my birthday party …”

  Birdie delivered a narrative version without personal commentary and she didn’t leave anything out. Other than a few hard swallows of air Danny was silent. Several times Birdie had to ask if he were still listening. When she’d finished Pearl shook his head in wonderment and she could’ve sworn she heard Danny hiss an expletive.

  “So?” said Birdie.

  Danny was silent a few more beats before asking, “Pearl, is Elizabeth’s home secure?”

  “Not really. She needs to upgrade the security system. Put in some lighting. Cut back a few hedges. Key logs and surveillance would be good. The girl has an arsenal in the garage that won’t do no good without easy access. At least the house ain’t hot.”

  “Danny?” said Birdie. “Talk to me. Why were you concerned when Emmett came to the house?”

  “Please understand the position I’m in. I’m standing on the line.” He sighed deeply. “It’s clear Emmett is being blackmailed about April. He came to my attention awhile back because he’s on the hunt for money and now I know the reason. This is a bad place for a cop to be. It can make one desperate. Unpredictable. Who knows how far he’ll go to keep that knowledge from his wife.”

  “What about the Blue Bandits? Do you think they’ve reorganized?”

  “I can’t speak to that. But I’ll give you this warning. Don’t let your guard down. If you pursue it, be prepared for any situation.”

  “Okay, I get it. It’ll be dangerous. What about that last box of evidence? Any clue to its location?”

  “You have everything you need.”

  “I don’t see it.”

  “Because you’re too close. Matt’s death makes it personal to you.”

  “Help me see it.”

  “Alright. Tell me again all the parts regarding the boxes.”

  “Reidy delivered six boxes to me on Monday the ninth. They contained Matt’s personal property. When I returned from the movies on Tuesday night I found O’Brien in my house. He had rummaged through them. I re-packed them on Wednesday the eleventh and hid them under the stairs. I lied to S&M when I said they were no longer in my possession. Then on Friday Soto surprised me at the storage unit where he and Matt had hid the evidence. He told me that he hoped I could lead him to the last box—”

  “Do you hear yourself?” said Danny. “You told me the boxes Reidy delivered contained personal matter. Where’s the rest?”

  “Soto has them. He’s looking for the last one.”

  “How many boxes does he have?”

  “He wasn’t specific.”

  Danny was silent once again. The silence was like a vacuum sucking the air out of the room. “Soto doesn’t have the boxes.”

  “Then where are they? Why would Soto tell me he had them?”

  “You know where they are.”

  “Danny! Quit messing with me. I don’t.”

  “How do you know that it’s the last box and not all of them?”

  Birdie felt like she’d just been scolded. “Because Soto told me.”

  “Exactly. All he wanted was information. Now he knows you don’t have the boxes. He also knows that you’ll find them.”

  “He told me he has them,” she repeated. “Soto’s a legendary cop, well respected in the law enforcement community.”

  “Who are you trying to convince?”

  Danny was leading Birdie to a conclusion. The rusty hinges were loosening.

  “Are you telling me that Soto is dirty?” she said. “That he had my house wired in the hope I’d lead him to them?”

  “Make your own conclusion. Tell me again. How many boxes did Reidy deliver?”

  “Six.”

  “How many?”

  “He delivered six.”

  “How many boxes?”

  “Damnit, Danny! He delivered six boxes!”

  “Don’t you see the problem? The personal issue clouding your mind?”

  “I didn’t make it personal. Matt did.”

  “And you’ve invested in the emotion of the situation. Take a deep breath. Why did Reidy come to your house on Monday?”

  “To go over Matt’s estate.” The door was finally opening.

  “How many boxes did he bring?”

  “Six … No. Seven! He brought six boxes of personal stuff. The last box had all the legal documents and such.”

  “I swear, Elizabeth. You are a hard-headed woman. That seventh box is where you’ll find your answer.”

  twenty-nine

  Birdie dumped the box of Matt’s legal documents onto the dining room table and made piles according to subject. Will and trust were pile one, financials two, deeds and ownership papers three. And so on. Considering the surreptitious nature of the evidence in Matt’s care, what she sought was likely a small mention buried deep in a document. There were keys, too. None of them had designators and even Reidy hadn’t been sure what they worked. She added the padlock key to the ring and placed them with her own to carry at all times.

  She re-read and scanned documents. There was no mention of evidence boxes. Or a hiding place. Or bad cop behavior. Or Paige Street information. Just legal babble. She continually licked her index finger and flipped page after page. A sharp edge of paper sliced her finger. She cursed first and sucked second. The abrupt stop made her think. Danny was right. She had become too invested in the emotion of Matt’s death. Dawn would break soon. She needed to decompress and reflect. A run would do the trick.

  _____

  Birdie pressed the up arrow, increasing the speed of the treadmill’s belt rotation. She closed her eyes and eased into a rhythm. Matt encouraged her in all physical pursuits since becoming dry. If she were healthy, he reasoned, she’d be more likely to stay dry. She preferred the forward movement of running outdoors, but Matt didn’t like her running on the streets. So he bought her a treadmill and set it up in the corner of the lanai facing the yard. Then one day, he said, hey, why not build a gym?

  Birdie opened her eyes and admired his handiwork. It started life as a brick-lined carriage house that had been converted into an oversized two-car garage. Matt tore down the drywall, took down the old garage door and put in sliding French doors, replaced broken bricks, restored deterioration caused by the passage of time, put hardwood down, installed industrial lights in floorless bird cages. Mirrors were in wide gilded frames and secured to the walls. It was a work of art: a combination of Old World and modern. He was justifiably proud of the work he had done practically single-handed. The coup de grâce was a Gray’s Anatomy poster of a skinless woman’s body. He’d made a big deal about hanging it; he called it art.

  Some art, she thought.

  Yes. Art. A work of art. She stopped the treadmill and jumped off before the belt had ceased to turn. She unhooked the poster. Skinny nails held a piece of foamcore backing onto the frame. She carried it to the garage and used a pair of needle-nose pliers to remove the nails. On the inside of the foamcore Matt had written: See Daniel Eubanks. No one else.

  Her heart leaped. Matt had been working in association with Danny. Of course, Danny couldn’t tell her that. Or that he was aware of evidence in Matt’s care. Birdie clasped her hands in thanks that she hadn’t mislaid her trust in seeking Danny’s input. Sure, he couldn’t help her beyond pointing her in the right direction. Like he said, he couldn’t be a witness. Birdie bit her lip in concentration; thought back to the conversation that took place a few hours ago and how Danny had glossed over the question regarding the Blue Bandits.

  She thought about the last note. When she first read it she noticed its difference as compared to the journal wri
tings. More like an instruction. Yet she didn’t react to its simplicity. What else did he write? The blueprints are straightforward enough. Her eyes shot to the plans on top of the Sears workbench. She unrolled them. Tucked inside was another set that appeared to be an expansion of a house that included a pool. A pool.

  The house didn’t look familiar. There were several outbuildings laid out in a rambling pattern that reminded her of an industrial complex. Or maybe a farm. The existing home was compact and the add-on was expansive and aggressive. The pool piqued her interest. It’d be in the middle of the finished property. Henshaw House had a well. Water to fill a pool would be a problem, and maintenance would be difficult considering its remoteness. The Koreatown house had a lot large enough for a pool but the original house on the blueprint didn’t match.

  Was there another option? Maybe. Matt had property in Indio, a city in Riverside County, east of Los Angeles. There was no deed in the papers. She only knew it existed because the property was listed with other holdings and Reidy had given her a set of random keys. Birdie wasn’t worried about missing paperwork. Matt would’ve paid taxes on the property. She’d find its location through the assessor’s office.

  Birdie paced in the garage. The quest gained momentum. She was keyed up in the same way when an investigation took a turn. Her brain fired on all cylinders. Yet she was very aware that the threat level had been increased. O’Brien’s handlers were unknown. Soto’s role and status unverified. She might have won this round with the destruction of the listening devices, but she felt confident that they would make a renewed effort to get at the hidden evidence.

  _____

  Sunday morning breakfast at the garden café was as popular as ever and impacted the limited parking in the area. With a suspended license Birdie had to be extremely careful about how she drove and where she parked. She made several slow trips around the block until she was blessed with the luck of the Irish. A Hummer pulled away from the curb and left her plenty of room in which to parallel park. There were three parking signs, stacked vertically, on a nearby pole and it took a few minutes longer to verify the rules and determine she could park here. She had two hours.