Bubble Screen (Burnside Series Book 3)

by David Chill

  I shrugged. "Maybe he can. You'll have to make that decision. But you'll be in a better place to do so in a couple of years. You'll know more, about him, about yourself, about the world you're in. I'm glad he agreed to back off. No one should put an 18-year-old college freshman in that position."

  "Mmm-hmmm," he said. "So you made this go away. I don't know how you did it or what you did. But it changed everything. And I wanted to thank you, man. Thank you very much."

  We shook hands and I made sure to squeeze tightly, lest I get overcome by one of the strongest, most massive hands I had ever touched. I wished him good luck in the game on Saturday. He smiled and said hard work would get him farther than luck. I smiled back. Sometimes the message gets through.

  *

  The drive down to the Broadway Division would normally only take 10 minutes in clear traffic. But in rush hour, 10 minutes equates to 45 minutes. After slogging through the stop-and-go on the Harbor Freeway, I finally exited and found parking near the police station.

  Both Juan Saavedra and Roberto DeSanto were waiting for me and quickly ushered me into a 1980s style A/V room. I set the DVD into the tray and it took about 30 seconds to get going. The images finally flashed on the TV screen. The lighting wasn't ideal and the audio left something to be desired. But there was no doubt about who was who. We watched quietly and then Juan asked to see it again. And again for a third time. And then a fourth. I was tempted to ask if the additional viewings revealed anything new, but decided my acerbic wit would be out of place here.

  "I think we have enough to swear out a warrant," Roberto said.

  "Tough to argue with something that's in living color," Juan added. "So how did you get a hold of this?"

  "The security badge Miles arranged for me. It gave me access to the building. Apparently that did not include Miles' office. One of the janitors let me in."

  "And this DVD was just lying around?" Juan said, looking at me.

  "No. Miles had a special room set up for surveillance so he could watch people around the company. I guess he was pretty paranoid."

  "Sure sounds like."

  "Anyway, Miles had placed a hidden camera in his office. No one knew about it."

  "Except you. How'd that happen?"

  "One of the installers helped. Chase Walker, you guys talked to him, beefy little guy with the big moustache," I reminded them. "Look, I'd appreciate it if you could minimize his involvement here. He helped me but he wants to keep a low profile. He'll answer your questions but he's got a record and wants to go through this as anonymously as he can."

  "I'll see what I can do."

  "You won't have a problem getting a confession once you show this. Be better for them to cop a plea and get life. They're looking at lethal injection otherwise."

  Juan sat back and looked at me. "This is good work," he finally said. "Whatever way you got it. And yeah, we'll probably get them to plea. Biggest problem we have is how we find this person."

  "I have an idea."

  "Geez, why am I surprised at that."

  "Just a hunch. If I'm correct, I'll call you right away. Should be this evening. But this is a little outside the jurisdiction of the LAPD."

  "Oh, you're going to make the collar yourself, are you?"

  "Look, if this person smells police in the area, they are going to disappear. For good. I can get to them. They won't suspect me. I know what I'm doing."

  "Sometimes that's part of the problem," Juan said.

  "There won't be any problems," I said, and then remembered something. I reached into my back pocket. "Here's four tickets to Saturday's game. Just like you asked for."

  DeSanto frowned as Juan accepted the tickets. "Let me guess," he said, "that comes with a favor attached."

  "All part of doing business in this town, Roberto," Juan smiled at him. "Don't worry. Burnside's gonna take care of you one day."

  I rolled my eyes. "Thanks, Lieutenant."

  "Don't mention it."

  "Yeah," I said. "So, we're picking up Billy the Fixer tomorrow afternoon."

  "Where?"

  "Just off of Robertson. Near Beverly Hills." I wrote down the address and handed it to him.

  "Give me a call when you're there," Juan said. "I'll arrange for a couple of uniforms to pick him up. And hey Burnside. Thanks for the tickets."

  "Maybe I'll see you there."

  Juan looked down and carefully inspected them. "Nice. These look like 30-yard line. I can live with that. Where are your seats?"

  I smiled. "You'll see."

  *

  Leaving the Broadway Division, I drove a little ways down the crowded Harbor Freeway before heading west. It was a nice warm day that was becoming a nice, warm evening. It was the type of evening that was perfect for being in Manhattan Beach. But for one person in particular, that would not be the case.

  Manhattan Beach was a small city that managed to be both ritzy and laid back. Surfers and sophisticates. It was a community where brand new multimillion dollar architectural masterpieces dotted the strand overlooking the beach. And right behind them were often small, nondescript bungalows that were built 60 years earlier, and had not been updated since.

  I drove all the way down 16th Street until it ended, and pulled into a driveway a few yards from the Strand. There were a number of beautiful homes on the block, and this was one of them. I walked past a very small, grassy area and onto the beach facing property. I rang the bell and a minute later Clara Larson answered the door.

  "Burnside. This is a surprise."

  "Sorry I didn't call first."

  "No, no, it's all right," she said, opening the door and inviting me in.

  "Actually, I'm here to see Eddie. Is he around?"

  "Why yes. Wait one moment."

  I cooled my heels in the foyer as I waited for a few minutes. The floor was a polished gold tile, and a crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. The far wall facing the ocean had floor-to-ceiling windows that displayed a beautiful orange sunset, framed by the dark blue water and a light blue sky. Finally Eddie Larson appeared. He walked over to me, and a bit of a limp was evident.

  "Hi there," he said. "Surprised to see you here."

  "Hope it's not a bad time," I said and pointed to the ground."Is your foot okay?"

  Eddie shrugged. "Yeah, must have twisted it playing volleyball or something, it's a little swollen. No biggie. Want a beer?"

  I shook my head no. "Actually, I was hoping to have a word with you. Care to take a walk on the Strand?"

  "Okay," he said. "I'll be back in a little while, Mom."

  "Is everything all right, Burnside?" asked Clara.

  "Yes," I said. "I'll give you an update, maybe tomorrow. Will you be home?"

  "I'm sure I will. I have nowhere else to go these days."

  Eddie was wearing long, bronze colored shorts and a dark blue t-shirt with a zipped light jacket. He slipped on a pair of wraparound Maui Jim sunglasses. We walked a block or so and talked about nothing in particular. Just how beautiful the sunset was, and how much Manhattan Beach reminded him of Hawaii. I noticed a bulge above Eddie's left hip and knew he was ready for trouble. And trouble was what I was bringing.

  "It's over, Eddie." I said as we kept walking.

  "What's over?"

  "You know what I'm talking about. It took a while but we finally learned what happened. Why it happened is another story. But that isn't our concern now."

  Eddie drank all this in and kept walking. "You think so, huh?"

  I walked evenly with him, keeping the same pace. "Your Dad left us a trail of breadcrumbs. He had his office wired and the whole scene was videotaped. The camera got a clear shot of you. Not that that was imperative, your voice was enough. We know you shot your father to death. We have the proof. There's no doubt."

  Eddie stopped suddenly. "How much do you want?" he demanded.

  I shook my head. "I'm not for sale."

  "Everyone's for sale."

  "Not me."

  "Everyone
has their price."

  "I don't. At least not in money. It's over."

  Eddie stepped back away from me. He was a hardened criminal, a cold-blooded killer, but his actions were predictable. As predictable as a quarterback telegraphing a pass to the defense by eyeing only one receiver. He reached for the weapon, but I had my gun drawn by then. Holding it in my right hand, I grabbed Eddie's left arm and jerked it away from his body, twisting the arm hard behind his back in the process.

  "We can do this the easy way or the hard way," I hissed.

  Eddie didn't answer, but his rapid breathing told me not to mess around. I cut his left foot out from under him, tripping him and driving my left knee into his lower back. He landed face-first onto the pavement. Removing a pair of plastic flex cuffs, I wrapped his wrists tightly together. I yanked his pistol out of its holster and stuffed it into my belt. Lifting him to his feet, we walked over to the side of a nearby house. I led him into an alley and sat him down against a wall. Taking out my phone, I glanced up at the address on the house, and called Juan Saavedra. After telling him where we were, I noticed a couple of passersby staring at us. They looked to be in their early 20s, and were wearing black wet suits. Their light blond hair was long and wet and tangled from being in the ocean.

  "Hey, what's happening over here?" one of them asked, and they stepped towards us.

  I raised a hand and instructed them to stop. "Police business," I said in a loud voice. "Come any closer and you'll be arrested and booked."

  They looked at each other, shrugged, and kept walking. I sat down across from Eddie, close enough to talk, far away enough so that he wouldn't try kicking me to get one last chance for freedom. Something he might never taste again.

  "You know I've got the best lawyers," he said. "I don't care what's on the video. They'll get me off. There's always a technicality."

  I shook my head. "I've been in law enforcement for quite a while. It's over Eddie. And it's not just you that's involved here. Even if this case wasn't air-tight, your partner isn't as tough as you are. They'll crack."

  His breathing seemed to stop for a moment. It was as if the reality of the situation had just kicked in. He stared ahead blankly. He was looking at me, but it didn't seem as if he was really focused on anything. I knew I only had a few minutes.

  "So tell me something, Eddie. You know you did it and I know you did it. What I don't know is why."

  He shook his head. "It's all about money," he said. "That's why I do things. That's why everyone does things."

  "But your father, Eddie? You'd kill your own father?"

  Eddie looked off at the ocean. The surf was calm today, and the waves that were forming were mild. The water was as smooth as glass in the distance. A warm breeze had started to blow.

  "My Dad was a prick," he began. "A real son-of-a-bitch. He didn't give a rat's ass about his kids. He loved the business. And the university of course. That really gnawed at him, when I didn't go to SC. He felt like he had failed somehow. He just didn't understand I didn't give a damn about that stuff. I told him not everyone had to be like their old man."

  "You didn't want to go into the family business. That must have bugged him. What was this stuff about working on Wall Street?"

  "I needed to give him a story to tell people. It's not like he could up and tell his cronies what his son did for a living."

  "Not your typical career choice," I said.

  "No, but like I told you. It's all about money. Dad wouldn't pay for college unless it was SC. I told him I got a scholarship, but that was bogus. I fell in with some people who showed me I could make some big money taking people out. Some really big money."

  "Wouldn't your Dad bring you into his business at Malco?"

  Eddie shook his head no. "This was going to be Peter's company when Dad stepped down. But Dad wasn't stepping down. The business was his life."

  "And then the business started to tank."

  Eddie froze. "You know about that?"

  "I know Malco was in serious financial trouble. They're already in debt. From what I understand, the business probably wouldn't have lasted more than a couple more years. Then everything would be gone."

  He nodded slowly. "You really dug into this."

  "Someone was ripping the company off. That's why I was brought in."

  "Malco is done. It's just a matter of time. Dad built the company, but he was going to go down in flames. If Dad stayed in charge, I'd have wound up with nothing. The business would be gone."

  "And that bit up in Vegas with the security guard. That was your handiwork, also?"

  Eddie shook his head no. "Believe it or not, I had nothing to do with that guard. I was up in Vegas on another matter. You know. Trying to sign Megawatt. Somehow you got your nose into that situation, too."

  "Everything stemmed from what Miles was doing," I said. "And your Dad knew the state of the Company. He was introducing football players to agents. Partly because he knew he'd get a cut if they signed with them. He was looking out for himself."

  "Yeah. I'm the one who introduced Dad to Roper. I've worked with Roper for years. We go way back."

  "You have your fingers in a lot of pies," I said. "In this case, it started with Miles, but all roads led to Eddie Larson here."

  "I'm just looking to get by. To get what I could, while I could. To get what's mine. You know I stand to inherit one-third of Malco. But one-third of nothing is nothing."

  Some things were starting to fall into place. There seemed to be multiple conspiracies being played out here, and they all overlapped. "So once I started investigating, you got nervous."

  "We could handle the police. They're outsiders and they have lots of other things on their plates. The way I set things up, the only way someone could have unraveled this is from the inside. That's why you were such a concern. I needed to get you away from the investigation into what happened to Dad."

  "And your Mom? Were you going to knock her off, too?"

  Eddie gave me a weird look. "C'mon bro," he said incredulously. "She's my mother."

  Now it was my turn to look out at the waves. I had no idea what made this family tick, or why human life was considered expendable just so certain people could grab more money. Their whole story was sounding more and more like a Greek tragedy.

  In the distance I heard a siren, and it grew closer until it became a loud wail I could feel in my gut. I saw one of the surfers again, standing on the strand, this time pointing at us. A pair of brown uniformed officers hustled into the alley.

  "What's going on here?" one of the uniforms demanded.

  "Citizen's arrest," I said. "This man is wanted for murder."

  "In whose jurisdiction?"

  I blinked a couple of times. "LAPD. Chief of Detectives at the Broadway Division is Lt. Juan Saavedra. He'll be here soon."

  "Uh-huh. Why don't you two get up. Keep your hands where we can see them."

  A few minutes passed, but Juan finally arrived and began debriefing the uniforms. A pair of LAPD cruisers arrived shortly thereafter, and after a lengthy discussion, Eddie Larson was taken into custody. He didn't bother to say goodbye. And I never got my plastic flex cuffs back.

  Chapter 15

  The next morning brought a continuation of the warm weather, although the forecast predicted rain in a few days. A few clouds were forming in the distance. Fortunately it would likely come after the USC-UCLA game. The last thing I wanted to do was stand on the sidelines with Gail in a steady downpour.

  I received a call from Amanda Hertz, and we had clear access to the house later that afternoon. I confirmed the time and location with Billy and then talked to Juan. I also called Gail to let her know my plans for the day and to talk about dinner that night.

  "Amanda," Gail mused. "Have you figured out what else is going on with her?"

  "No, not yet. I guess I'll find out later. Are you still interested in meeting a true sociopath today?"

  "Billy the Fixer? Sure. I don't want to miss an opportunity like
that."

  "The whole process will probably take 15 minutes," I estimated. "We'll meet him and then the police will come by and take him away. Simple and routine."

  "I like seeing you work," she said. "And after meeting Amanda, I'm now curious just what else it was Billy stole from her."

  I was also wondering what else Billy had stolen. "Okay. I can't imagine there'll be anything that comes close to what happened up in Vegas."

  "What happened in Vegas, honey," she said, practically smiling into the phone, "stays in Vegas."

  Hanging up, I walked into the living room and saw that Sal had Isabelle's laptop open, and was combing through it further. I had made an appointment for Sal and I to meet with Mark Lutz in the Financial Crimes Unit. I knew that proving embezzlement was going to be a lot harder than wrapping up a murder case.

  "There's just so much here," he said, as we packed up and prepared to leave. We rode the elevator downstairs into my garage. Opening the Pathfinder, he placed the laptop and his Bad Ass cane carefully on the floor. I pointed to the cane. "Given that we're headed to the Parker Center, I doubt you'll need that for protection."

  Sal smiled. "I also use it for support. My hip may take a while to fully heal."

  "Have you spoken to anyone at Malco since the other night?"

  "Yes. I haven't said anything about what happened, but I guess one of the security guards told people about the police being there. They think there was a break-in or something at headquarters. The place is abuzz with rumors. I gather no one has heard from Butterworth. No surprise, he hasn't shown up at work. Neither has Isabelle."

  "No surprise at all," I agreed.

  "I'm so sorry the police let Butterworth get away."

  "True. But as the saying goes, he can run but he can't hide."

  We drove downtown, found a space on the street, and entered the Parker Center. Emptying our pockets at the entrance, we walked through the metal detectors and gathered up our things again. It took a few minutes to find the Financial Crimes Unit.

  Mark Lutz was in his late 40s, with black and gray hair and a black and gray moustache. We found him on the phone, but he motioned for us to sit in the chairs opposite his desk. He finished his conversation after a few minutes.