by David Chill
"You're welcome," I said. "Which brings me to one last matter."
Diamond looked at me. "What now?"
"I had asked you about some large checks St. Dismas was writing on an account from Crown Bank. Charity or something. Anything come of that?"
A small smile, or perhaps more of a smirk crossed Diamond's face. "If I recall," he said, "you were giving us tips that were going to pan out on the murder cases. Turns out those tips were wrong."
I rolled my eyes. "Sure they were. And I also delivered the accused to you. You got the collar and none of your uniforms were in the slightest danger. When you cracked the case, Wally was down on his knees holding his crotch. Thanks to me. But yes, those tips I gave you did not lead directly to the murderer. Sorry. My bad."
Diamond's expression did not change as he reached into a drawer and pulled out a large, yellowish envelope and handed it to me.
"Here you go. It's got what you want in there."
"Why thank you, Detective," I said. "That's most kind of you."
"You do good work, Burnside. You're a bit of a jerk at times, and you have a big mouth. But you do good work."
I smiled back at him and briefly reveled in the moment. "Aw, Detective," I said. "You're going to make me blush."
*
I called my soon-to-be erstwhile client and asked for an appointment on Monday, giving me a little time to pore over the bank statements. Earl Bainbridge responded by suggesting 5:00 p.m. A late-afternoon meeting meant entering and exiting Pasadena in rush hour, an idea I didn't relish. But I also recognized I wouldn't be coming up this way much anymore. And the 5:00 p.m. time meant something important to Earl, as he could not only get in 18 holes of golf, but he could also squeeze me in before the kickoff of Monday Night Football. Apparently, the Rams were playing.
It was pleasant and warm when I arrived at the Bainbridge Estate at two minutes before 5:00. I pulled onto the cobblestone driveway, climbed out of my Pathfinder and took a long, admiring look at the Tudor-style mansion. There were many beautiful homes in L.A., but this would always be one of my favorites. I only wished it belonged to someone else.
The maid led me into a parlor area with soft, pastel paintings on the wall and plush, maroon carpeting covering the floor. There were two red-striped sofas facing each other, with a glass coffee table in between, held up by four slabs of red oak. An empty stone fireplace was situated off in a corner. A white baby grand piano sat nearby, but it had the clean, polished look of a work of art, something to behold, rather than an instrument on which to play music.
"Burnside," came a voice from the doorway. "Right on time. Thanks for being prompt."
"Not a problem, Earl. I don't want to keep you from the Rams game. You're aware they've invented DVRs, aren't you?"
"Always with the wisecracks," he said and sat down on one of the red-striped sofas. He motioned for me to sit on the other. "What do you have for me?"
I sat down across from him. The couch certainly looked gorgeous, it was undoubtedly very expensive and the material felt silky smooth. But surprisingly, it was also not especially comfortable. I tossed the file on the coffee table. "There's your answer."
He looked at me and made no attempt at picking up the folder. "Give me the short version."
"All right," I said. I suppose when you have Earl's kind of money, you can pay others to do your reading for you. "It's the last two quarterly bank statements for the St. Dismas Charity Sports Foundation. There were two large checks written, one for thirty-five thousand, the other for forty thousand. They were both made out to Bob Greenland."
Earl slapped his knee and shook his head up and down vociferously. "I knew it. I knew it," he exclaimed. "Savich paid them to send Noah to the school. Was I right about that family?"
"Earl."
"Yeah?"
"Noah Greenland lost his father last week. Murdered. Are you going to crow about that, too?'
Earl sank back into the couch and stared off into space for a while. "I see your point," he finally said.
"Good."
"But it does paint a picture of corruption."
"I suppose it very well could. But what are you going to do about it? Again, Noah just lost his dad. The kid attempted suicide. His mother's practice isn't doing well. His football career is in limbo. Noah's a broken kid. Are you going to demand the family give you the money back? I spoke with Noah's mother a few weeks ago, I don't think Bob even told even her he was getting these checks."
Earl looked at me oddly, almost angrily, and I couldn't discern if he was considering my argument or getting ready to order me out of his house just prior to releasing the hounds.
"I don't like being deceived. And I don't like my money being redirected. Savich told me the money was going toward a new field, new uniforms, heck, even a Jumbotron was on the table. I don't like being lied to."
"You should have a word with Savich," I said, adding, "but don't tell him how you got hold of those documents. I had to pull some strings."
"Yes," he said. "I suppose you had to. And I have a few ideas about how to deal with Savich, don't you worry."
"Which are?" I asked. "You mentioned something about a board of directors."
"I did. But I also have some friends in the media. I'll handle this from here. Look, you did some good work for me, Burnside. You got me what I wanted."
"Thanks. But keep my name out of the press. I work for money now, not glory."
"Oh? Are you going to hit me up for more dough?"
"I did put in more than four days," I told him. "And I also needed to crack a couple of murder cases, in part, because my investigation got intertwined with the killings. The police had me in their sights as a person of interest."
"All right. Fine. Look. Send me a bill. You did what I asked you to do, even though you took your sweet time about it. I know you've been putting in the hours. I've heard you'd been poking around in lots of nooks and crannies around town. And I saw the article today in the Star-News. Wally Farsakian, I'll be darned. The Paper didn't list you by name, but the police did mention he was detained by a private investigator. I'm sure that was you."
"It was," I said. "The police like to take credit for these things. Builds public confidence. At this point in my career, I'll settle for some extra money. Yes, I'll send you a bill. I'd appreciate it if you paid this one. Last time took eight years. And I didn't even charge you interest."
Earl Bainbridge gave a snort, which might have been the closest thing I'd see to a laugh from him. In the background, I heard a door slam, and something heavy dropped on the floor.
"What's that?" I asked.
"Probably my kid," Earl said, "but he usually comes home later. Hey Austin! Come on in here!"
A few seconds later, Austin Bainbridge sauntered into the room. "Hey," he said.
"Coaches end practice early?" Earl asked.
"Nah. Had to cancel. The field was totally flooded."
"Ah, crap. The sprinklers again? How does this stuff keep happening?"
"The school finally figured it out," he said. "They brought out the DWP a bunch of times, had plumbers come in, they all said everything should be working fine. But it wasn't. So the school installed security cameras near the valves. Turns out someone was sneaking in and messing with the timer, setting the sprinklers off for hours on end."
"Who was it," Earl asked eagerly. "Someone from St. John Hershey? Never liked that school, they were always jealous of us. Plus, we have a game with them in a couple weeks."
"No, believe it or not, it was some teacher," Austin replied.
"Let me guess," I said. "Mary Swain."
"Yeah. How'd you know?" he asked, eyes wide.
"It's what I do," I smiled.
"Well, you're right," Austin said. "The school found out Ms. Swain had been the one doing this all along, and that's why she got fired. Guess she was really ticked off about it, and thought she could keep doing it. She wore a disguise, but her fingerprints were all over the valves. We h
eard she's been arrested. Funny thing."
"What's that?"
"The timing was pretty good, today. Nobody on the team wanted to practice after we got wrecked so bad on Friday night. Couldn't hurt to have a day off. Especially after we learned what happened to Dash's father."
"What do the guys on the team think about all that?" I asked.
"We feel bad for Dash, naturally," he said. "I've known him since forever. His dad, too. Wally's not a bad guy, just has a temper problem. Nobody thought it would ever come to this. But Dash's mom is in bad shape. Really busted up over this. Feels it's all her fault."
I nodded. Unintended as it might have been, had Skye not been sexually involved with multiple men, and doing it in such a precarious way, her husband wouldn't have committed these atrocious acts. Had Skye been more discreet, he might not have even known about her activities. But apparently it was all very intentional.
"I imagine she feels a ton of guilt," I said.
"Yeah. Dash was telling me that Wally didn't want a divorce anymore. I guess she didn't want to take him back, but he wouldn't listen. So she had to give him a reason. Show him their marriage was over. That's why she did it with Mr. Fowler on his desk. And with Noah's dad on the grass behind the bleachers. She knew he would learn about it. Skye was egging him on. Just wanted Wally out of her life. Didn't think it would lead to all this."
I raised my eyebrows. "Skye told this to Dash?"
"Yeah, like I said, she feels horrible. I guess the night before Mr. Fowler got killed, Skye was up in his office. That's when Wally found out. Funny thing that Mr. Fowler was still there that late. I guess Wally waited until the next morning to kill him. Wanted to be alone with him."
I sighed. "Sounds like you've heard quite a story."
"More than I wanted to know. At this point, I just want to finish and go off to college. Leave this mess behind me. I can't get out of that school fast enough."
I looked at Earl, who was staring at his son, mouth open but bereft of any words. I didn't know if he had put it all together yet, but maybe he had. Maybe if I hadn't gone looking for Mary Swain that first evening when I visited St. Dismas, Fowler would have left work before Skye went up to his office. Maybe Wally would have never learned about their carnal embrace. Maybe if Earl had decided not to pay me, I wouldn't have even been in Pasadena that night. Maybe if the Fishers had given us a better wedding present, I wouldn't have snapped the pieces together on Saturday night. And Wally Farsakian might never have been caught. I sighed and got up to leave. And made a mental note to go buy new steak knives this week. The serrated kind.
Chapter 15
I did make one final trek out to Pasadena, the purpose of which was not to collect more money from Earl Bainbridge. I had sent him an invoice and remarkably received payment a few days later, although it came without a thank you note. After allowing a few weeks to go by, and reading that St. Dismas had lost their fourth game in a row, I read a blurb on an internet recruiting site saying Noah Greenland would be returning to play quarterback for the Warriors. They were hosting St. John Hershey on Friday, and St. Dismas would also be playing in its first game under their new head coach.
There is something oddly connective about being a sports fan. You start watching a team a few times, even a team at the high school level, and a spark of interest emerges. It forms a bond. You're curious how certain players will perform and how the team will respond, particularly after they've been dealt adversity. Having watched a few of their games, and having both played and coached organized football, I was now very curious about this team. And harboring a strong interest in human nature, I was especially curious about Noah Greenland.
As was my recent custom, I got to the St. Dismas field early, sat high in the bleachers again, and watched the crowd filter in. The usual parents, friends, and college scouts. I gave a wave to the ones I knew, a few of them even waved back. But one person saw me and climbed up to the top row.
"Burnside," he said, shaking my hand.
"Chuck Mantle. Always a pleasure. Surprised to see you back here."
"We had a Thursday night game against Texas Tech. Home game. Freed me up to travel today. Figured I might take another crack at Noah. I spoke with him this week, and he sounded open to leaving California now."
I agreed. "A change of scenery might be a good idea for him. Just don't tell him there's a Pasadena in Texas, too."
"It's very different," he said.
"I would hope so."
"So. I've been hearing a lot about you, Burnside. That whole investigation thing. Sounds you played a big role."
"True."
"And you managed to take down a head coach. That's quite a scalp."
"I didn't take anyone down. Savich did it to himself. When you siphon money to a student's family, you're taking a risk. You better pray it doesn't become public," I said, recalling the Star-Ledger's exposé a few weeks ago. I guess one of Earl's cronies at the club had some juice in being able to catapult that into a front-page news story.
"I know. This sort of thing happens," Mantle said. "Much more in college than high school, but the world's changing. High school isn't the same as when we were there. And Savich broke the cardinal rule."
"What's that?"
"Don't get caught."
"I guess there are some things that never change," I said. "Tell me something. Are you looking at any other St. Dismas kids besides Noah?"
"We're still looking at that Farsakian kid. Bit of a stretch, but I think San Diego State's more interested in him. With all that's been happening with his family, I guess he wants to stay near his mom. Each kid's different. Some want to get as far away from this place as possible. Others not so much. We're interested in Will Kingston. And we're also looking at that Bainbridge kid."
"Austin? You told me you didn't think he had the athleticism."
"Still not sure. He's got better speed than we thought, maybe we can convince him to give up on playing quarterback. I heard he didn't perform so well there the last few weeks. A walk-on as a receiver isn't beyond the realm for him if he's flexible on positions. He might even develop into a decent special teams player."
"You know that his dad's loaded."
"Yeah," he said. "Would save us a scholarship. That's one benefit of having a rich dad."
This was true, and not entirely fair. A kid from a wealthy family simply has more options. Doesn't guarantee success or even happiness, it only offers more options. I started to ponder the idea of what was fair and what was not, and that anyone touched by the bloody spate of violence emanating from St. Dismas recently would have trouble believing that life was fair. I started to feel another headache coming on and tried to think of something else. Unfortunately, things started to get worse.
Chuck Mantle called out to a couple that was making its way up the bleachers toward us. They greeted Mantle in a warm way and pointedly ignored me. They asked about their son's chances of getting an offer from Mantle's school and complimented him on his team's win last night. I listened quietly for a few minutes, then interrupted them by saying hello. They gave me a cool look, and Chuck Mantle hastily said goodbye and climbed back down the bleachers.
"We certainly weren't expecting to see you here," Talley Kingston said, the icicles practically dripping on her every word.
"Couldn't stay away. I'm curious about Noah."
"Curious?" Buzz Kingston snapped. "Good for you. Frankly, we're pretty sick of this whole mess."
"I can imagine."
"Can you?" he demanded. "Can you imagine getting hauled in by the police and questioned about a murder? Those bastard detectives practically told me I'd be awaiting lethal injection if I didn't confess. Can you imagine being accused of a crime you had nothing to do with?"
"Yes."
"Oh, I'm so sure. And I can't imagine how they found out about Bob Greenland making a pass at Talley. Or me talking about messing him up if he made a second pass at her. Did you really need to bring our family into that traged
y?"
I shrugged. "Part of my job," I said, choosing not to say I was sorry. I watched his hands carefully to see whether he was going to act on his anger. "It's not always pretty."
"I'm just glad it's over," he said, looking around and seeming to calm down before adding, "and I'll be glad when we don't see you around these parts."
I knew I'd be equally glad to not be coming back here again as well. But I simply shrugged again and said nothing. There was no point in engaging him further and exacerbating things.
The stands were now starting to get crowded, so finding seats far away from me was not an option. The Kingstons looked around, but finally decided to stay where they were, a row in front of me. With Noah Greenland back in uniform, the stands were now packed. Noah appeared apprehensive during warm-ups, the confident swagger he normally showed on the field was not in evidence. He was tentative in his throws. The team itself looked a bit lethargic. And as St. John Hershey roared onto the field, yelling and bouncing up and down, the St. Dismas Warriors looked, in comparison, very timid.
But then, as they say, things change. St. Dismas had the ball first and Noah lined up in the shotgun formation. On the first snap, he took the ball, got good protection, waited a couple of beats, and then fired a laser strike that Austin Bainbridge grabbed without breaking stride. The defender finally caught up with Austin and dragged him down on the two yard line. On the next play, Noah took one step back when he got the ball from center and lofted a pass deep in the corner of the end zone. Austin cut to the corner and, with arms outstretched, gathered it in. The cornerback was right there with him, but it was a perfect pass, the ball placed in the exact spot where only Austin could catch it, where no one else would be within reach. And it reminded me of an observation that one of the greatest quarterbacks in the history of the game had once said.
Many years ago, Johnny Unitas was leading his Colts team downfield for the winning score in an overtime NFL championship with the New York Giants. It was a match that some would call the greatest game ever played. The score was tied and the Colts had the ball inside the 10 yard line. All they needed to do was run the ball a few times and kick a winning field goal. But instead, Unitas threw what might have been considered a very risky sideline pass. Except that it was perfectly thrown, put right into the receiver's hands. The Colts scored on the next play and Unitas was asked if he thought that sideline pass was dangerous, given that it might have been intercepted and could have changed the outcome of the game. He gave a response that was demonstrative of a supremely confident leader. Unitas said it was only dangerous if you didn't know what the hell you were doing. And as I watched Noah Greenland on this play, one thing was crystal clear. Noah knew exactly what he was doing. And it was equally clear that his confidence was beginning to return.