Better Off Dead (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 3)

by Jack Patterson

  “Yes, I am. I’m OK with anything that will clear my son’s good name and catch his killer.”

  Cal smiled and nodded before bidding her goodbye. He was going to make sure Mrs. Banks got her wish.

  He climbed into his car and turned the radio on. Tuned to 95.7 The Game, Cal listened to the talking heads breaking down the Monday Night Football game. The Dallas Cowboys’ star wide receiver had suffered a serious head injury and missed the remainder of the game due to a concussion. The radio personalities began talking again about concussions as if they were scientific experts, which annoyed Cal to no end. Yet he listened intently when the subject shifted slightly.

  That’s why companies like Head Gear are poised to help save football. Their proprietary helmets are engineered to reduce the risk of concussion by ninety-five percent. And I can tell you I’m super excited I about their initial public offering next Monday. I told you guys this is only the third stock I’ve done this with—and the other two were for Google and Apple.

  The other host began questioning why he was still working as a sports radio personality when he could either be a financial investor or have enough money to retire and be independently wealthy by now.

  Cal turned the radio off. The banter disgusted him. He didn’t believe profiting on other people’s fear and pain was a noble business model.

  CHAPTER 24

  TED SIMPSON HAD WAITED patiently for Cal to return to San Francisco. There was some unfinished business they needed to clean up. Though Ted was certain Cal dismissed him as a vindictive jerk, he figured Cal would still be eager to meet with him. The likelihood that anyone had put the pieces together about Robinson was low, especially in a media market that begged for L.A.-style scandals. It seemed Hollywood owned those scandals and refused to share. So far, only Cal had stuck his nose where it didn’t belong and he was about to lose his head, if not his mind.

  Ted dialed Cal’s number.

  “This is Cal.”

  “Hi, Cal. This is Ted.”

  Ted could feel Cal’s blood pressure rising over the phone.

  “What are you doing calling me? I thought I made it pretty clear that I didn’t want to speak to you again.”

  “Wait, wait, wait. You did, but I wanted to apologize. I can’t really get into all the reasons now why I told you those things, but we need to meet and talk in person.”

  “What things? The lies or that the lies were lies? I can’t keep your stories straight, Ted. And I doubt you can either.”

  Convincing Cal to meet wasn’t going to be easy.

  “Look, I understand where you’re coming from. Believe me, I really do. But some of these things I just can’t go into right now. How soon can you meet?”

  Cal reluctantly agreed to meet late Thursday morning with Ted. It wasn’t as soon as Ted hoped, but it would have to do.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon at the San Francisco airport, Cal watched Kevin Mendoza wrestle with his bag as he walked toward he and Kelly. He and Kevin were acquainted with one another on a previous story Cal worked on. On that case, Kevin needed some persuasion to tell the truth about why dead teenagers were popping up all over small town Idaho. Cal suspected that convincing Kevin to explain the truth of what happened wouldn’t be necessary this time.

  Kevin meandered methodically toward them. He was a bit on the portly side with thinning brown hair and a pair of thick glasses that required constant repositioning on his nose. But for what he lacked in first impressions when it came to his appearance, he made up for it with his meticulous reports. Cal would have never been able to solve the mystery in Statenville several years ago without Kevin’s help.

  Kelly gave Kevin a big hug. Since Kelly moved from Idaho, she rarely saw Kevin. Their relationship had been reduced to two visits per year—once at Christmas and once during the summer for the Mendoza family reunion. They weren’t close, but they were united by a trait that wasn’t very welcome in their family: they were the last two Mendoza cousins who were still single.

  Cal shook Kevin’s hand as the usual post-flight small talk commenced. It consumed the entire 10-minute walk to Cal’s car before the most pressing topic was broached—the reason Kevin was in San Francisco.

  “I’m still not sure why I’m here,” Kevin said as he climbed into the backseat of Cal’s car.

  “You’re here because I need an independent review of the coroner’s initial report,” Cal answered. “You are going to tell me whether this guy committed suicide or whether he was murdered.”

  Cal eyed Kevin in his rearview mirror. Kevin stared out the window, apparently lost in thought.

  “Why do you think he was murdered?” Kevin asked.

  “I have a million different reasons why, none of which I can confidently pursue without you telling me if I’m right or not.”

  “OK, fair enough. I still don’t understand why you couldn’t get a local doctor to do this.”

  “We didn’t want to raise suspicion about my investigation. Aaron Banks is a big star around here and if anyone got wind of what we were doing, it wouldn’t be good.”

  Kevin paused and then leaned forward, staring at Kelly.

  “What have you dragged me into?” he asked.

  “A little excitement, Kevin. Just relax. It will be fine. We’ll get you right back to looking at dead potato farmers once you take a look at him.”

  Kevin slumped back into his seat and folded his arms. Nothing excited him about this trip.

  “Just know, I’m only doing this for you, Kelly,” he said. Cal wondered if Kevin was still sore over his past coercion tactics. Since then, Cal had changed plenty, though he wasn’t sure what he would have done anything different to urge Kevin to comply with his demands.

  Cal concluded the conversation by going over his plans for the next day. There was still plenty of work to do in order to link Charles Robinson back to the death of Aaron Banks.

  * * *

  While Kevin and Kelly caught up in the living room, Cal retired to his room to pore over his notes. So many threads dangled in this case, none of which seemed to make a tight seam to pull it all together.

  He stared at the photo on his screen. This had to be the missing link—this had to be the way Robinson controlled so many different enterprises without getting his hands dirty.

  Cal pulled out his phone and called The Chronicle’s lead business reporter, Bud Pritchett.

  “Hey, Bud. I was wondering if you could help me out. What do you know about Charles Robinson’s son-in-law, Carlton Hightower?”

  “Oh, that’s a ball of yarn I’ve been wanting to pull the string on for years,” Bud said.

  CHAPTER 25

  CHARLES ROBINSON ALWAYS ARRIVED early to his office. Though mostly out of a strong desire to avoid L.A.’s morning traffic, he also did it out of habit. His father preached to him the value of a good work ethic and how you could achieve anything you wanted in life if you worked hard enough. Robinson clung to the part about a good work ethic, but he knew the rest of that tripe was a lie. People liked to say that America was the land of opportunity, but he knew firsthand that was far from true. America was the land of the lucky entrepreneurs and the conniving capitalists. Many successful businesses translated some luck into a thriving business model. But they would’ve never achieved what they did without luck. These business owners may not like to admit it, but it was true. Robinson hated luck. He even loathed seeing some low life blue-collar worker suddenly win the lottery and come into millions of dollars. But conniving capitalist? Robinson turned that into a science.

  And it also brought him in even earlier than usual. Cal Murphy had been a one-man wrecking crew to his plans with his nosy journalism. He was a problem that needed to be put down like a rabid dog.

  Robinson dialed the numbers into his burner phone and awaited the caller to pick up.

  “Hello?” came the voice on the other end.

  “What are you doing? I thought I told you to take care of our little problem.”r />
  “I’m going to take care of it tomorrow.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “If you don’t, I’m going to have someone else do the job with a little extra side job thrown in—and that side job is going to be done. Do you understand me?”

  “I do.”

  “Good. Now get it done. If I don’t hear back from you by tomorrow at eight o’clock, I’m getting someone else to clean up your mess.”

  He slammed the phone down and loosened his tie. It was far too early in the day to be uptight, but Robinson couldn’t help it. The walls of his empire could crumble if he wasn’t more diligent to eliminate problems. He had underestimated Cal Murphy’s skills—but Robinson still held all the power for now.

  * * *

  Cal got up early to review his notes from his discussion with Bud the night before regarding Carlton Hightower. Despite his in-depth investigation, Cal still lacked the evidence he needed to go to an editor with his findings. And even if he could find an editor to stick his neck out for him, Cal still lacked the definitive proof that Robinson was behind Aaron Banks’ death. Even if he could prove it wasn’t suicide, Cal couldn’t prove who did it. He needed a strong motive, one that superseded the possibility that Banks might turn the Stars into the NFL. For all Cal knew, the league could’ve known about the Stars’ performance enhancing drug program. And if fighting the well-connected, exceedingly-resourced and all-powerful Charles Robinson presented a daunting challenge, Cal didn’t want to think about the possibility that his fight might lead him to square off with the NFL. He could have a mountain of evidence, but he would get squashed if they were colluding with Robinson.

  Cal decided to put aside hypotheticals for the moment and review what he knew. And it’s what he learned about Hightower that had him up so early, sifting through his shorthand notations from the night before.

  Bud explained to Cal that Carlton Hightower was the ultimate yes man for Robinson. Who would ever say no to his multi-billionaire father-in-law who employed him? And when he let you handle some of his investments, you would do whatever he asked.

  Until Hightower married Robinson’s socialite daughter, Vienna, he was just a low-level hedge fund manager for a large investment firm. Robinson’s feud with Vienna over her choice of a husband was messy and public, but Robinson finally relented. Instead of being ashamed of his new son-in-law, Robinson offered Hightower a job. Star Bright Investments funded Robinson’s capitalist ventures and hit it big with three or four projects in the first year. Hightower became a superstar among investment circles as a bidding war ensued to retain his services. However, Robinson would have none of it and locked him into a contract with a billion-dollar buyout. It went beyond absurd, but it landed the pair on the front of Forbes magazine with the headline: “Billion-Dollar Son-in-Law?”

  Bud went on to say how he found out from a source that Hightower was creating offshore shell corporations to funnel money around, mostly to avoid paying taxes. He even gave Cal the name of four shell accounts he knew were created by Hightower.

  Cal looked at the names of the corporations: Vienna Connection, The Giant Daily, C.H. Enterprises and Forever Sustainable. Not much originality when it came to naming his shells, Cal thought.

  Bud insisted he regularly searched for those names and never found anything on them other than legal filings. But he said he hadn’t looked in over a month.

  Cal began typing in the names of the corporations, looking for something, anything, that would give him leverage on Robinson, even if it had nothing to do with his report. Everyone knew Robinson was dirty; he just needed to find the string that would unravel it all.

  VIENNA CONNECTION

  Nothing of consequence on the first page of hits. A low-budget community newspaper website. A few tourist sites. Cal clicked through eight pages worth of results but found nothing.

  THE GIANT DAILY

  Website listings for sports coverage of the New York Giants. More newspapers sites. Then on the seventh page, Cal found something that made him leap out of his seat and call for Kelly.

  “You’re not going to believe this! I found a motive for why Charles Robinson would want to kill Aaron Banks!”

  CHAPTER 26

  REPORTING HAD A WAY of forcing you into the community, whether you liked it or not. While some people may move to a new town for a job and remain virtually invisible unless they took initiative to meet others, reporting afforded no such lifestyle. You were in the public eye from the moment you received your first assignment. Privacy was non-existent, especially if people knew what you looked like. In a matter of months, a good reporter could be one of the most well-connected people in town. It was times like now that Cal appreciated his connectedness.

  Once Cal learned that Mrs. Banks was open to having an independent autopsy performed on Aaron Banks, he called Dr. Gerald Steinberg, a professor at UC San Francisco’s prestigious medical school. They met once while Cal was writing a piece on the alarming increase of concussions amoung football players and whether it was the result of larger athletes or more stringent detection technology. Dr. Steinberg helped Cal with the story, sharing his medical expertise.

  Cal explained to Dr. Steinberg the nature of his request for a place to perform an autopsy without drawing suspicion. Dr. Steinberg said he would be pleased to assist in the process by setting up a lab to process the body. He even said he would be present and serve as a cover should anyone inquire about what they were doing. With Dr. Steinberg around, suspicion would be kept to a minimum.

  Cal arrived at the Parnassus Heights campus with Kelly and Kevin in tow. They met Mrs. Banks in the lobby of one of the research buildings and proceeded to the designated lab to meet Dr. Steinberg.

  “You ready for this?” Cal asked Mrs. Banks. “There’s still time for you to change your mind if you want to.”

  “As horrifying as this might be as Aaron’s mother, I don’t know if I’d ever be able to live with myself if I didn’t do my part to help find whoever did this to Aaron,” she said.

  “I’m not sure this will help us find who, but it will certainly tell us if someone else was involved. And I think that’s what we’re hoping to find.”

  Dr. Steinberg met the foursome outside the lab door and welcomed them before ushering them inside. The funeral home had transported Aaron’s body the day before and it was safe and secured.

  Kevin scrubbed up while everyone else made small talk.

  “I’ll be back to check on you later,” Dr. Steinberg said. “Take your time and come find me if you have any questions.”

  Once Dr. Steinberg left the room, Kevin announced it was time to begin. When he pulled the sheet off the body, Mrs. Banks nearly fainted. She had been through so much already. It wasn’t fair that she had to endure watching her son’s dead body examined—something a more ethical medical examiner should have already done. Kelly led her to a chair against the wall and gave her a glass of water.

  Cal watched intently as Kevin worked his way up and down Aaron Banks’ muscular body. It jarred Cal to see such an incredible physical specimen lying dead, his life taken from him in his prime. After spending just 30 seconds admiring his physique in the bathroom mirror each morning, Cal could only imagine the kind of rigorous training necessary to get his body into world class physical shape. An hour every day in the gym—well, if he was honest with himself, a couple of days a week—only kept Cal from developing an enormous beer gut and wheezing when he walked up more than two flights of stairs. But Aaron Banks could have been a model for a Greek Olympic statue.

  Kevin took copious notes, mumbling his findings into a digital voice recorder. Kevin’s precise movements and incisions let Cal know that the autopsy was in good hands.

  He approached Mrs. Banks, who was still nursing the glass of water Kelly had given her.

  Cal asked Mrs. Banks if she wanted to take a walk. She nodded her head in affirmation.

  Kelly said she would stay with Kev
in and run any interference if necessary while the autopsy was in progress.

  “How are you holding up?” Cal asked Mrs. Banks as they stepped into the open air courtyard.

  “As best as could be expected under the circumstances,” Mrs. Banks said.

  She paused.

  “You know, the thing that gets me is the fact that Aaron really was using drugs. I can’t believe he would voluntarily do that.”

  “Well, from what I gather, it wasn’t so voluntary,” Cal answered.

  Mrs. Banks stopped. She grabbed Cal’s wrist and looked forlorn. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I mean, I don’t think he felt like he had a choice.”

  Cal started walking again, coaxing Mrs. Banks to join him.

  “Oh, come on. That’s ridiculous. Aaron had a choice. He didn’t have to take any of those drugs. He was a great football player for years without them.”

  “I know he was. But when I say he had no choice, I mean he was coerced into doing it.”

  Cal paused before continuing.

  “Look, I’m no pro athlete, but I couldn’t imagine playing at the highest level in front of thousands of adoring fans every week and suddenly realizing my dream was screeching to a halt. Not because I wasn’t any good any more, but because I wasn’t good enough.”

  Mrs. Banks stopped and stamped her foot.

  “I don’t buy that either. He was plenty good enough to keep playing. Even if he wasn’t in his prime, he was still good enough to start for some other teams. I bet the Bills or the Chiefs would have him any day.”

  Cal chuckled at Mrs. Banks’ dig. Her knowledge of the league also impressed him.

  “I’m not saying he wasn’t good enough to keep playing in the league. I’m saying he wasn’t good enough to keep playing for the Stars—not on his own, anyway. His stats indicated that he was leaving the prime of his career until this year. He wasn’t as good as he was several years ago, but he was much improved. And that’s unusual for a player his age.”