Bubble Screen (Burnside Series Book 3)

by David Chill

  I rose and didn't bother to stick out my hand. "Appreciate your seeing my side of this."

  "Yeah. I can't tell you how happy I am you stopped by."

  Chapter 12

  I headed back to my office and thought about my speech to the football team. Johnny wanted me to address the squad and give them a pep talk. We had alums come in when I was a player. Some elderly guy would tell us about the good old days, which typically evoked widespread fidgeting and watch checking. But every once in a while, a former player would be remarkably captivating and would make us listen to them. What they said felt important at the time. I wanted to be one of those guys.

  My phone rang as I was parking my Pathfinder. As I glanced down, I saw the call was from a blocked number. I wavered briefly as to whether or not to answer it. I had come to hate telemarketers and even though it was illegal, they still would call my cell phone number. But I was feeling good this morning, things were on a roll. I decided to pick up. It turned out to be a good move.

  "Hey Burnside, it's Chase. Remember me?"

  "I remember. The installer extraordinaire."

  "Huh?" he asked.

  "Never mind. What's up?

  "I need to talk to you. I heard you're a detective, not a consultant."

  "Yeah. At the time I couldn't tell anyone outside the family what I was doing."

  "Uh-huh. Hey, I'm wondering if I could talk to you. In person, you know."

  "Sure. Want me to meet you at Malco?"

  "No. Anywhere but there. Hey, I'm on the Westside now. Where are you?"

  "Westside, also. Why don't you swing by my office."

  I gave him my address and walked upstairs. There was a pile of unsorted mail that needed tending to, and the property manager had slipped a note under the door asking when I'd be paying this month's rent. I plopped down into my chair and waited to see what Chase wanted. I was no closer to learning who was stealing from Malco, and no closer to learning who killed Miles. But at least I put some separation between Marcellus and his would-be agent, Roper. So the day was off to a good start.

  Chase walked into my office a little while later and looked around. "Hey there. You work out of this place, huh?"

  "Not exactly opulent is it? Anyway, I don't need a fancy office."

  "Sure. Hey listen, I'm wondering how things are coming along with finding the guy who did Miles."

  "I don't think the police have much. And don't be so positive it's a guy. You never know."

  Chase gave a dry laugh. "Yeah. You never know, huh."

  I looked at him. "Do you know anything about it?"

  Chase sat down and twisted the end of his thick moustache. He pondered the question for just a little too long.

  "Anything you can share would be helpful," I added.

  "I don't know who did it," he finally said. "But I think I might be able to help."

  It was my turn to ponder things for a moment. "Why aren't you taking this to the police?" I finally asked.

  "They've been pushing me lately for what I might know," he admitted. "And I may be in some trouble."

  My eyebrows shot up. "How's that?"

  Chase shook his head. Hard. "It's not what you think. Not exactly. I had nothing to do with Miles' murder. I can guarantee you that. But I don't want to go to the police because ... hey, it's complicated."

  "Maybe I can help simplify things."

  "I dunno. Look, a while ago I helped Miles out of a jam. He got into an argument one morning with one of the installers. Real weirdo. The guy accused Miles of cheating him out of his money. It was early in the morning and not a lot of people had shown up yet."

  "Where did this argument happen?"

  "Miles' office. The weirdo went in there and started threatening Miles. Said he was being dinged because of a bad score on one of those customer surveys. I was down the hall getting some coffee when I heard some loud voices. I walked over and saw the two of them fighting. I ran in and pulled the weirdo off of Miles. I had my arms wrapped around the guy."

  "Go on," I said.

  "That's when Miles started beating on him. Really laid into the guy. For an old dude, Miles could pack a punch."

  "So you held him and Miles kept hitting him."

  "Hey, it wasn't exactly like that. But yeah, close. I tried to jerk the guy around and put my body between him and Miles. But Miles, he wouldn't have any of that. I told him to go easy, but Miles pulled out a pipe and really started to go to town on the guy. I finally had to let the guy go and grab Miles. Else he would've killed him."

  I tried to take this all in. "So the fight ended. What happened to that installer?"

  "Spent a few weeks in the hospital. When he got out he filed assault charges against Miles. Also filed some kind of personal lawsuit for a million dollars or something."

  "Did it go to court? Something tells me Miles wasn't going to settle something like that."

  "Hell no he wasn't," Chase agreed. "In fact that's where it got tricky for me."

  "Why? You were just trying to be the peacemaker. A good Samaritan."

  "That's not how Miles was going to present it to the police. He told me if I didn't cooperate and take his side, he'd tell the police I was part of the assault."

  "His word against yours."

  "Not exactly," he said. "You see Miles had a video recording of the fight. And when he played it back to me, it looked like I was holding the guy while he belted him. He had the sound turned off, and just looking at the video image, a judge could easily think I was in on the assault."

  "Okay, but you weren't. Why wouldn't you just tell the truth?"

  Chase stared down at the ground. "Look, I'm not proud of stuff I've done. But I need this job. Bad. I'm in debt up to my eyeballs. I owe a lot of money and Miles said if I didn't play ball, I'd be fired. And he guaranteed that I'd never work anywhere in this business again."

  "I don't know that that's true. You're a good installer, you can get other gigs somewhere. It's not like Miles owns the world."

  "Hey, he figured out he could own me. I also have a criminal record. Got into some trouble a while back. I have two felonies on my record. A third one and I go away for a long time, that's what the judge warned me about. Didn't seem like he was messing around."

  "And Miles threatened to show the recording to the police if you didn't back him up."

  "That's right. I didn't like it, but Miles said not to feel bad, the guy got what was coming to him. And after that, Miles treated me pretty good. I had some trouble working with his kids, they wanted to fire me. On account I objected to some of their great ideas, like taking away our lunch breaks. I was pretty vocal about it. Miles obviously didn't agree with me, but he made them back off. It was like he appreciated my stepping up to help him."

  I sat back and took all of this in. Chase was telling me this story for a reason. He wasn't about to bare his soul to a relative stranger unless there was something more. I had a funny feeling what that was.

  "Tell me about the video recording. How'd he do it?"

  Chase looked me dead in the eye for a long second. "Yeah. So the thing is, Miles had a video camera set up in his office. It was hidden inside that USC helmet on the shelf. No one knew it was there. He showed me the setup later, it was in a small storage room next to Miles' office. You wouldn't even know it was there, it was so well disguised. He put it in himself. I guess when he first started the business, he used to do some installing too. Back in the day. Said he wanted to make sure he had some video proof in case one of the union guys decided to blackmail him. Man, was Miles paranoid about that union."

  "And did he record everything?"

  "I think he did. He told me he had set it up to be voice-activated."

  "But you said the sound was turned down on the recording of the fight, didn't you?"

  "Yeah, Miles said he removed the audio just so the police wouldn't hear that I was trying to break it up. I guess he was a pretty good technician himself."

  "Okay," I said slowly. "So
if Miles recorded everything ... "

  " ... Then he recorded what happened to him last Saturday morning." Chase said, finishing my thought.

  "And no one else knows this?"

  Chase shook his head no. "Miles was adamant about that. He said no one could know or I'd be fired and he'd hand me over to the police. He only told me about his video system because he had to. So if anyone did find out, he'd know it would've had to come from me."

  "I imagine you could show me how to access these videos," I said.

  "Yeah," he said. "But it's not gonna be easy. We can't just march in there without drawing suspicion. And I don't want the police to find everything, because I could be in some hot water."

  "I have an idea," I said. "What time does the office close at night?"

  "I dunno. Everyone's usually gone by about 8:00pm. But security's tight now. You know."

  "Leave that to me. I've got a plan. Can you meet me at Malco tonight at say, 8:30?"

  "I can do that," he agreed.

  "And you'd want something in return."

  "Yeah," he said. "You can guess what that is."

  "Because eventually someone is bound to discover the video equipment. And they might find that recording of the fight with you and Miles and that other installer."

  "Might be good if I was the only one who had a copy of that."

  Chase was shrewd. And smart. He had something to trade and there was something he wanted. At least I knew what I was dealing with. "Okay," I told him. "I can live with that. You're going out on a limb here. You won't have a problem."

  Chase stood up. "I still don't see how we're going to get into that room."

  "We private eyes have our ways," I said and smiled. "One thing you might want to do though."

  "What's that?"

  "Wear a baseball cap and pull it down low to cover your face. I'll be able to justify why I'm there, but I think we want to keep your identity shrouded, in case we don't find what we're looking for. And I'm not about to spray paint any cameras."

  *

  I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to think about tomorrow's speech to the team, but my thoughts kept drifting towards what might be on that video recording at Malco. I checked in with Gail, and she excitedly told me she was called for an interview with the L.A. City Attorney. It wasn't as prestigious as working for the U.S. Attorney's office, but it was here, it was home, and most importantly she said, it was near me. I smiled into the phone as I listened to her gush about the possibilities.

  This being November, it had grown dark before 6:00pm. The night was clear and cool, and the moon was nearly full as I headed down the Harbor Freeway and exited east onto Florence Avenue. The well traveled boulevard leading up to Malco was brightly lit, but once I turned down the side street where their office stood, the street lights grew dim. The silver glow of the moon guided my path, and I pulled into a space near the front of the building.

  There was one other car in the parking lot, a Toyota sedan with a red, temporary handicapped placard hanging from the rear view mirror. A car in the parking lot didn't always mean someone was inside. People sometimes left their cars at work overnight, especially if they were on a business trip. Or if they planned a romantic interlude with a colleague, and didn't care who knew. The possibilities were endless. A plain white Econoline van pulled up next to me a few minutes later, and the engine idled until I got out of my vehicle.

  "Hey," Chase said, in what was probably his standard greeting. He got out of his van and I noticed he was wearing a bright red Angels baseball cap. He had pulled the long visor down low. I always liked it when people followed my directions.

  "Hey yourself," I replied. "You ready?"

  "Oh yeah," he nodded. "I can't wait to see what we find. Or how you're going to get us in there."

  "I have a plan," I said. "My only concern is avoiding the security guard."

  Chase scoffed. "He goes to bed early. He's probably dozing in the warehouse."

  "Okay. Follow me," I said, and waved him forward. As we approached the front entrance of Malco, I reached into my pocket and pulled out two pairs of latex gloves, and handed one pair to Chase. Better safe than sorry. If we didn't find any evidence, it would be hard to explain why he were here. I removed the consultant's badge that Miles had arranged for me to have. Waving it in front of the security pad, I heard a series of clicks and grabbed the handle of the door. I pulled it open and we walked inside to the lobby. Another wave in front of a new pad allowed us access to the interior of the office.

  We walked down the quiet hallways, past the sea of empty cubicles. Some auxiliary lighting was turned on near the baseboards, providing plenty of light to see, but still maintaining an atmosphere that was dim to the point of being almost romantic. As we approached Miles' corner office, I turned to Chase.

  "Okay. Where is this secret room?"

  "We have to go through Miles' office first."

  I waved my badge in front of the pad, but this time there were no clicks. No sound at all was emitted. It was as if an expensive toy had just broken at the single worst time. I pressed it hard against the flat surface this time, but again, no response. And then all of a sudden, I heard a rustling sound nearby. I whirled around the corner and came face-to-face with a short, stocky woman pushing a trash bin. We stared at each other briefly.

  "Hola," I finally managed, in what had to have come off as a surprised voice.

  "It is okay," she said. "I speak English."

  I paused for a second. "That's good because Hola is about all the Spanish I know."

  She giggled. "You are working late."

  "Yes," I said and held out my badge. "I can't seem to access this office. Can you help?"

  "Oh," she hesitated. "I think the police wanted to keep this closed off."

  I pulled out my wallet containing my private investigator's license. I had enhanced it with a thick golden shield for moments like these.

  "I'm a detective," I said, placing the shield directly in front of her, and holding up my hands to display the latex gloves. "We're not looking to disturb the crime scene, we're here to gather some additional evidence. We didn't want to come in during the day when everyone was working. This is very sensitive."

  "Oh, you mean like in CSI?"

  I nodded solemnly. "Exactly."

  "Ah, I suppose. You will lock up when you leave?"

  "Sure," I said.

  "Tonight the night people are working late," she commented. "Usually only janitors here."

  I looked at Chase and then back at the woman. "Who else is working late?"

  The woman shrugged. We looked down the hall and all the office doors were closed. Whoever was here seemed to want as much privacy as we did.

  "What do you think?" asked Chase.

  "We're here," I said. "As long as we're quiet and keep the door closed, we should be fine. If not, we'll deal with it. I'm used to improvising."

  The woman reached into her apron, pulled out a badge and waved it in front of the pad. A second later there was a magical click and we entered Miles' office. I thanked the janitor and closed the door behind us. Once safely ensconced inside, I picked up a chair and leaned it against the door to prevent any other entrants.

  Chase led me to a door which opened into what looked like a walk-in closet. As we entered, he walked to the far side and jimmied a handle sticking out near the ceiling. All of a sudden the wall turned into a sliding door, which was fortunately bereft of a security pad. It opened into a small, wood-paneled room containing shelves of electronic equipment. Different colored LED lights were blinking furiously on one wall, a display that reminded me of a command station in an old James Bond film.

  "This is Miles' surveillance room," said Chase.

  I looked around. A different wall contained a series of small TV monitors mounted next to one another. The room contained exactly one chair. I looked at Chase. "He spies on his employees?"

  Chase shrugged. "It's a small business. I've heard he monitored peopl
e's phone calls, too."

  "Do you think Peter and Isabelle know about this?"

  "Doubt it. Like I told you, Miles said I was the only other person who knew. Me and Miles. Now you, of course."

  "This is amazing," I remarked, as I looked around the small room in awe. "And you think you can find the recording we need?"

  Chase gave a derisive laugh. "This isn't high school A/V. I'm a video technician. If it's here, I'll find it."

  We sat down and I spent the next two and a half hours watching Chase sift through an assortment of archived videos ranging from the monotonous to the mundane. Some were logged by date, others by title, and some had no label at all. There was no particular order for how the footage was stored.

  Chase finally discovered the video showing he and Miles roughing up the installer who challenged Miles. And about 10 minutes later, he came across the final video of Miles Larson's storied business career. We watched it in silent shock, listened to the conversation that played out in a bizarre manner, and then glanced at one another in disbelief.

  "Okay," I managed. "It's rough to see someone murdered in cold blood like that. But we have to show it to the police. Can you do a few downloads of that one onto some DVDs?"

  "Yeah," he said blankly, and began to play with the equipment. After a few minutes he handed me the disks I needed, and then pocketed the one with himself in it. Chase put everything back so it appeared to be the way we originally found it. We then got up to leave. Walking out of the ancillary room, we stopped and looked at Miles' office one last time.

  "Hell of a way to go, huh?" he said.

  "Just when you think you've seen it all."

  "Good thing the audio was working. Sometimes the images tell only part of the story."

  I glanced over at the cardinal USC helmet, still situated on a shelf, and most likely still working. "Funny how things play themselves out," I said. "Miles set this up with no idea he'd be recording his own murder."

  Chase looked over at it. "Suppose I should de-activate the camera?"

  "No need at this point," I said. "Once I hand the DVD over, the police will know we've been through here. Besides, we're not the ones with anything to hide."