Post Pattern (Burnside Mystery 1)

by Chill, David

  "Ain't that a kick in the ass," he chuckled.

  While one could hope for greater eloquence in a crusty world, Batson's comment was nevertheless quite poignant.

  *

  We arrived back at the precinct at one-thirty and Batson went to swear out a warrant. He asked me to help him out and do a background check of the pawn ticket and I agreed. He had, after all, gone out of his way to visit Robbie's apartment with me. He wasn't a bad cop, just overly dour and skeptical. I was beginning to feel sorry I kicked him in the shin.

  While in the police station, I decided to track down Juan Saavedra and finally corralled him in front of the coffee machine. Like most institutional coffee makers, this one served up a sour black swill that was devoid of anything resembling taste. He stirred some non-dairy creamer into a large mug featuring a Superman insignia on the outside, and followed that up with a packet of artificial sweetener. Next to the mug was a pair of cupcakes, dipped in artificial chocolate, with a white squiggly line down the center.

  "Have you ever thought of trying food you can savor?"

  "Nah", he said. "It takes a real man to keep this down."

  "I get it. You'll turn your nose up at Quiche Lorraine but coffee a la mud gets a hearty endorsement."

  "You know Burnsy, I still find it amazing you were once on the job. You're not into disciplining yourself. How'd they ever let you in?"

  "The brass liked my tenacity. They just didn't expect me to turn it on them towards the end."

  Saavedra pondered that a moment and then motioned for me to follow him. We walked down the corridor and entered his office. A pile of paperwork laid spread out on his desk. He combed through a stack of folders and quickly pulled out a single sheet of paper.

  "Here," he said, handing me the page. "Eighteen citations written that night in front of the Freeman apartment. My kids are looking forward to the Mets. They want to see R.A. Dickey."

  "No one throws a better knuckleball."

  "Ain't that the truth."

  I glanced at the list. "I really appreciate this, Juan."

  "You getting any warmer towards cracking this case?" he asked.

  "Warmer?" I responded. "My fingers are burning, my friend."

  *

  The Beverly Hills pawn shop was located not in Beverly Hills but a few minutes east of that venerable city. It was actually closer to the Fairfax district, an older neighborhood whose shops ranged from discount appliance stores to kosher butchers. The streets were bustling, as elderly ladies walked in and out of the small markets, clutching brown paper sacks filled with the day's purchases.

  I parked in front of a fruit stand and stopped off for a healthy lunch. After watching Saavedra put away that chemical-laden snack, I almost swore off everything that wasn't organically grown. I grabbed a pair of green apples, a pear and a banana, handed the clerk four dollars, and happily strolled along the boulevard munching away. The weather was balmy, the temperature in the high seventies and the sky was as lascivious a blue as Los Angeles could offer. I stopped outside of the pawn shop to finish the last two bites of the banana and tossed the refuse in a nearby dumpster.

  The door to the pawn shop was locked, but a swarthy man in a blue nylon shirt with his undershirt visible signaled me to wait. He came around the counter and pushed a button which activated the buzzer and unlocked the door. As I walked in he said hello in an accent I couldn’t identify. He had black, thinning hair, a wide moustache, and was probably thirty pounds overweight. The inside of the shop smelled of what might have been curry and I discovered I wasn't the only one indulging in a late lunch. A paper plate with a pile of rice and indistinguishable mustard colored nuggets sat on the counter.

  "How may I hepp you?" he managed.

  I pulled out the pawn ticket and handed it to him. He perused it the way a liquor store clerk might examine a phony I.D. and went to his files to look up the number. He took his time scanning through his records before nodding his head.

  "Yes. Zat will be five thousand two hundred and seventy dollars."

  I reached into my wallet and pretended to count the contents carefully. My walking around money came to eighty-six bucks. I looked up at his placid face.

  "I thought it was four thousand. I'm a little short. Can I pay you the difference tomorrow?"

  The man shook his head. "Is not possible. Five thousand two hundred and seventy dollars," he repeated. "Cash."

  "Yes. Can I just look at it for a moment? There's something on it I'd like to see."

  He shook his head vigorously, which indicated negotiations were closed. "All jewelry in the safe. I can not open. Boss has combination."

  "Aha," I said, figuring he used that line about twice a day. I was hoping to find out what exactly had been pawned but at least I knew it was something of considerable value. If they pawned it at five thousand, it was surely worth at least two or three times that.

  I thanked the man for his time and told him someone would be back for this. He nodded as if he could care less, buzzed me out and went back to his meal of curried lumps. I drove back to the Purdue precinct to pick up Batson, and we headed over to the LAU campus, followed by a pair of uniformed officers in a police cruiser.

  "After we make the collar, we should probably go back and pick up that registry from Robbie's building," Batson said. "We scanned through it the night of the murder, but at least now we know what we're looking for."

  "Figured out there's no twenty-third floor?" I asked casually.

  "Aw hell, Burnside. With all the shit we have to do, there ain't enough time in the day to go over each detail. At least we can check out this Chris Wynne's handwriting against the suspect's. If we even need it. They may confess."

  "Sure," I laughed. "Right after it snows in downtown Burbank."

  It was about three-thirty when we arrived at Graddis Hall. As the four of us walked towards the entrance I noticed a few young women standing over on a grassy patch next to the building, sipping on cans of Diet Coke. One of the women immediately caught my glance and stepped away from the group. As it became clear we had arrived for her, the can of soda slipped from her fingers and toppled over on the lawn. She took a few steps backward and then broke into a dead sprint in the other direction. The four of us gave chase at once, but one thing proved clear. Ashley Stark was going to make us work.

  Chapter 19

  While the soft rolling hills of the LAU campus are normally rather tranquil on a warm June day, chasing after a murder suspect can certainly dim the experience. Ashley was in very good shape and her long legs glided across the grass effortlessly. The four of us followed about thirty yards behind her, with me leading the two uniforms and Mickey Batson bringing up the rear. A few students stopped to gawk at the sight: four large, middle aged men chasing a slender blonde co-ed through the heart of campus. For us, just another day at the office. Welcome to the workaday world, kids.

  We tore across the main lawn and passed a series of metal sculptures being exhibited by the Art department. Ashley turned sharply to her left and ran in front of a commissary where a few academic looking types glanced up from their afternoon break in complete awe of the spectacle. I vaguely hoped someone would stick a foot out and trip our suspect, but most were too surprised to do anything more than take in the whole episode. We had run what seemed like a mile, and at that point I started to feel sharp knifing pains form in my ribs once more, a not so subtle reminder of the punishment with which this case had dished out to me. And as the spurs in my ribs slowed my pace, Ashley Stark began to widen her lead.

  She turned down a narrow, brick-lined path between the commissary and a humanities building, and headed for the parking structure. If that meant she was going for her car, our luck would take a further nose dive. For if Ashley made it off the campus, her chances of disappearing into the shadows of society would skyrocket. I pushed my body forward but it would not respond. I felt myself slowing down and one of the bulky uniforms surged slightly ahead of me. Things were not looking up.


  The entrance to the parking structure was twenty feet wide and eight feet high, and looked curiously like the open mouth of a monster. Ashley darted through the opening and cut to her right, running up a ramp and onto a level that contained perhaps a dozen cars and a hundred empty spaces. The pounding of our soles on the concrete echoed throughout the darkened chamber. An Acura ZDX sat off by itself, and it appeared that was Ashley's destination. It also appeared she would have time enough to unlock it, climb in and drive away.

  I briefly considered drawing my pistol, but I heard the sound of tires squealing against the slick pavement around a corner, and quickly decided against it. There had been enough innocent victims in this case. As Ashley neared the Acura, a car came into view however, and pulled in front of her path. A lone figure climbed out and screamed at her to stop, but to no avail. Ashley danced to one side and tore around the vehicle. The figure, dressed in a khaki security guard uniform followed rapidly. Just before the slender blonde reached her car, the guard grabbed Ashley Stark in an arm tackle and pushed her against the vehicle. As I drew near the two, I became aware that this was no ordinary campus police officer. Gail Pepper was about to apprehend a suspect.

  Ashley struggled to squirm out of the grip, and when she couldn't, she twisted her body and wrapped one arm around Gail's neck. Gail was built a bit lower to the ground and appeared to have more physical strength as well. She used her leverage and reached around with her left foot to cut Ashley's ankles out from underneath. The two fell to the pavement and Gail landed atop the tall blonde with a loud thud.

  The two uniforms reached the tussle first and it was with utter horror that I watched one draw his service revolver out with his right hand. Using his left to steady his aim, the officer pointed at the two and ordered them to stop. A heavy lump rose in my throat and I ignored the stinging ache in my ribs and raced towards him.

  "Put that away, you idiot!" I screamed, nearing the scene.

  "I am ordering you to cease and desist!" he commanded them, seemingly unaware they were totally oblivious to his directive. "And I mean now!"

  My first impulse was to go for the officer's gun, but the thought of an accident causing his weapon to discharge into the fracas was enough to keep me at bay. Holding my hands out I rushed in front of him. Before I could do anything further though, the other uniform lowered his head and rammed into my chest, wrapping his arms around me, pushing me a few feet from the scene. The pain in my ribs reached new heights as I struggled against him, grabbing his arms and creating what amounted to a stalemate. The patrolman with the service revolver at the ready stood transfixed at what was before him, and when Mickey Batson arrived, the resulting scene looked more like a group watching a chicken fight rather than a professional attempt at law enforcement.

  "You guys mind doing something?!" I managed to shout.

  "Yeah," Batson panted, without shifting his eyes from the two women. "We're handling the situation."

  "Dammit, put the gun down!" I screamed.

  "Aw right, lower the weapon, officer. She ain't goin' nowhere."

  Unable to jerk free from the officer's grasp, my gaze turned towards the women as well. Gail was on top in the scuffle and wrestled with Ashley's wildly flailing arms. The taller girl slapped at her, and acted like a wild animal fighting for her life. The two bodies strained intensely against one another, their pelvises grinding unyieldingly and without constraint. Ashley's teeth were gnashed together and she was exerting every muscle of her lithe body, but Gail was persevering. She was fully astride the blonde now and slowly forced Ashley's arms to the ground, her own hands locked around the blonde's wrists. They stayed that way for about five seconds, muscles taut, breathing hard. I thought the tussle was over, but Ashley surged one more time.

  Wrapping her long legs around Gail's waist, she swiveled her body and flipped the smaller girl over onto her side. Grabbing a handful of thick brown hair, she tugged on it and forced Gail onto her side. Gail still maintained control of Ashley's left wrist and twisted it mercilessly. Ashley let out a low groan but finally yanked her hand free. She still had her legs wrapped around Gail and was beginning to apply pressure. By the expression on her face, I could tell Gail was starting to feel some pain in the abdomen. I swallowed hard and shifted my own legs around for leverage. I didn't think I could take much more of this scene myself, and I positioned myself for one last attempt to break free.

  Taking a step backwards with my right leg, I drew the officer towards me. With all my strength focused, I brought my knee up into his solar plexus with a thundering blow. He grunted loudly and I felt the air literally go out of him. His body slumped against mine and I threw him angrily to the ground. He lay motionless for a brief moment before starting to writhe in pain. As I was about to leap in to help Gail, she herself found her own path to freedom.

  Balling her right hand in to a fist, she reared back and dug her left hand sharply into the blonde's forearm. Her nails raked the arm hard and deep, and Ashley screamed in agony and let go of the brown hair. Gail pushed her body forward and slammed her fist solidly into the middle of Ashley's face. It landed with a loud whap and was followed by a scream of pain. The blonde slumped to one side and Gail rolled her over immediately. She pulled Ashley's left arm around her back in a hammer lock and shoved her face into the pavement. Applying pressure to the arm, Ashley moaned in agony and Gail showed no indication of letting up the pressure. I walked over to Batson and politely asked for his handcuffs. He shrugged and passed them to me.

  "Here," I said, handing them to Gail. "Use these. I think you're breaking her arm."

  Breathing deeply, Gail took the handcuffs and snapped them on the blonde.

  "You think I broke her arm?" she asked, breathing hard as she was getting up.

  "Maybe."

  Gail looked down at the whining killer. "No great loss," she said. "At least not in my opinion."

  I couldn’t have agreed more.

  Chapter 20

  By the time we wrapped things up, the parking structure held four police cars, an ambulance, and what might have been half the number of students enrolled in LAU's summer session. The officer I put out of commission kept moaning about what he was going to do to me when he got better, but fortunately Mickey Batson told him to take a number. The officer complained of sore ribs, but I doubted they hurt any more than my own did. And seeing a smiling Captain Lafferty pull up didn't exactly lessen my pain.

  "Bagged a nice doe, guys," he laughed. "You sure she's in season?"

  I looked at Gail who was leaning on the hood of her patrol unit. "I don't think the captain quite appreciates all that went into apprehending her," I said.

  "Why don't you tell me about it," Lafferty chuckled. "It would help if you have pictures."

  Gail, still leaning against her cruiser, held up a right hand that featured a row of swollen red knuckles, a trace of dried blood evident. "Best I can do."

  "Nice job, officer," Lafferty said. "You just happen to be in the neighborhood?"

  "I was on patrol," Gail said, "and received a radio call about some young girl being chased by a group of thugs."

  "Mostly thugs," I added.

  Lafferty shot me a glance. "And you responded by engaging the girl?"

  "When I arrived, I noticed the thugs were actually uniformed LAPD officers. When I saw who they were after, I joined in."

  Lafferty rolled Ashley over and looked at her agonized face which had some blood of her own around the nose. "Nice shot," he said and let the blonde fall back on her face. She let out a groan and whimpered something about the handcuffs being on too tight. Lafferty laughed.

  "Perhaps you'd like some tea and crumpets, sweetheart," he said sardonically to Ashley and then turned to me. "I guess we owe you an apology there, Burnside."

  "I'll say."

  "We make our decisions based on the information we have available."

  Batson gave him a look. "Whaddya mean we?"

  Lafferty ignored him. "There are over two
hundred unsolved homicides in the city every year. If I dedicated resources to each one we'd run out of staff."

  "And most of the time you decide to suspend an investigation you'd probably be right," I said. "But coming up with an easy solution like deciding Curt Salvo murdered Robbie Freeman was too pat. Curt's dead too, so it's not like you'll be able to bring him to trial."

  Lafferty gave an exasperated sigh. "And your suggestion?"

  "Just don't package the solution so quickly. Noodle it around a little. There are always angles that haven't been played out."

  "If it was that easy, why did it take you so long?"

  "I'm not saying it was easy. In fact, this one was a gnarly beast. But if you had examined the DVD a little more carefully, checked the closet more closely, looked at that registry they keep in the lobby, reviewed the parking citations that night, some peculiar things might have jumped out."

  "Gee you've got some great ideas there," Lafferty said. "Maybe I should take notes."

  I shrugged. There's only so much you can do. Lafferty motioned to the uniformed officers to ride along with Ashley in the ambulance before taking her in for booking.

  "Say Captain," I called.

  He turned and looked at me.

  "How'd my tip work out on that cocaine nest in Westwood?"

  He nodded slowly. "They were sitting on three keys of coke. We popped a couple of kids. As you probably know, one of 'em grew up with the Freemans. Couldn't find any link between them and what happened to Robbie though."

  "Me neither," I said. "But if things continued on the same trek, I'll bet Evan Wurman would have pushed the button on Robbie. It was just a question of time."

  He nodded again. "Looks like I owe you a couple of favors," he said. "You're a good man, Burnside. I just wish you weren't such a smart ass. The Philip Marlowe style doesn't play well on people's nerves these days."

  "You know what, Captain?"