by David Chill
I talked some more about my mother, as Gail sat next to me and stroked my hand. "Was there any other family nearby?"
"No. My mother was an only child, just like me. My grandparents had passed away a few years earlier. My father had a couple of sisters, they lived back in Nebraska. They offered to let me come live with them. They were very kind. I actually went back to visit during Christmas that year, but I knew I didn't belong there. The people were nice. Salt of the earth. But the climate was very cold in the winter and it struck me as a bit desolate. And I didn't know anyone. I had a few friends whose families moved here from Nebraska. They told me the water flowed just one way; nobody moved back there once they lived in California. I figured there was a reason."
"So you started college right after your mother died."
"Yes. The timing was odd. My life was at a crossroads. One door closing and another opening. But once classes started and football practice began, I had a means to channel my thoughts away from my pain. I could focus on something else. And in a sense, USC became my surrogate family."
"That can make for a strong bond."
"It did. And I knew that as bad as it had been for me, I was being blessed with an opportunity. And I made sure I didn't mess it up. I had a full scholarship, which meant my tuition, room and board were covered. When I wasn't practicing, I was studying, working out, or sitting in the film room, trying to figure out how to be a better player. I avoided trouble like the plague. I don't think I went to a single party my freshman year. I chose my friends carefully. But it paid off. I was a four-year starter and earned my degree. And maybe just as importantly, I learned the value of hard work and stick-to-itiveness. I learned that through adversity can come strength. And hard work really can be its own reward."
"Wow," Gail said. "You never shared that story about your mom with me. I'm glad you finally did."
"This week taught me a few things. It's easy to become a parent. But it takes some doing to become a good one. There's a lot of things that can go wrong."
"It sounds like you did right by Molly Palmer. And it sounds like you got Desiree Brown pointed in the proper direction."
"Yeah. Molly will be okay in the long run. She's at least facing her pain. Maybe Desiree, too. I think I got through to her. But it's not like everything I've been working on is cleared up."
"How's that?"
"Diego Garcia. And his girlfriend Sofia. Two teenage kids are dead and the people who did it are nowhere to be found. The police have nothing to go on. No leads, no clues. If Molly hadn't had an involvement with Diego, their deaths wouldn't have even made the newspaper. It just feels wrong."
"Sometimes you can't solve every case," Gail said. "There's only so much you can do."
"I know. But I think about the parents. Their lives are shattered. I know what it's like to lose a parent, as a teenager. I can't imagine being a parent and losing your child. I don't know how a parent could possibly recover from that. It scares me."
"Because we'll be parents soon?"
"Yes. I worry about things. Being on the job, I saw the bad side of life. I know that's not the reality for everyone. Or even for most people. But it's hard to put aside those thoughts and fears. Juan Saavedra moved his family down to Orange County, hoping for a better life for his kids."
"That's always an option," Gail said. "But let's give Mar Vista a shot. It's nice there. Maybe one day we can afford to own in Santa Monica."
"Sure," I said. "And maybe one day you might become governor."
"Well," she answered, "It sounds like that job has some room for improvement."
*
I slept fitfully that night. Nothing seemed to relax me, and my abdomen still hurt from Bill Thorn's punch. At 5:00 am I gave up and got out of bed, went to my desk and combed through the news on the internet. No one had actually seen Molly Palmer, but reports from her grandfather said she was doing just fine. The latest polls were out and Justin Woo now had a six-point lead over Rex Palmer. USC's football team had arrived in Seattle to play the University of Washington later that evening. Nothing about Xavier Bishop or Desiree Brown was in the papers. I texted Virgil Hairston and told him I had a few things I wanted to discuss with him. And then at 5:30 am, I heard the voice of the preacher with the Southern twang. He talked about how if you were honorable, and took care of the ordinary things in life, God would take care of the extraordinary. I listened for a while, and wondered how people could maintain that type of faith. Having seen some of the truly ugly parts of our society, I had difficulty being a true believer.
I spent the weekend at home, cocooning with Gail and playing with Chewy. I had finally been able to teach our puppy how to fetch. When we first got her, I would throw a tennis ball across the living room and she would just turn and look at it. Then she would look quizzically back at me. Finally, after numerous demonstrations, the process began to sink in. I tossed the tennis ball to the other side of the room, she ran over and picked it up with her mouth and ran back to me. Except she stopped about three feet away. When I got up to take it from her, she began to trot over to the other side of the living room. She understood the game of fetch, but hadn't learned to give the ball back. Instead, we had a new game; she would hold the ball and I would get to chase her around the apartment. It was clear who was running the show here.
Gail went off to have tea with a friend, and Chewy and I spent Saturday afternoon watching the USC game. It was an offensive display, as both teams moved the ball effortlessly up and down the field. Washington uncorked pass after pass downfield, torching the depleted USC secondary and picking on Xavier Bishop's replacement mercilessly. Norris Colby was only a freshman and he'd hopefully get better. But today was a rough outing for him as the receiver he was covering caught three touchdown passes. In the end, USC couldn't hold on to a 38-34 lead late in the game. A Washington touchdown pass with 30 seconds left wound up sending the Trojans down to a 41-38 defeat.
The cameras panned Johnny Cleary throughout the game, and vividly captured the frustration on his face. As a former star cornerback, Johnny knew what his defense needed to do, but they just couldn't respond. He tried double coverage but the Washington quarterback simply found a receiver being covered one-on-one. Johnny tried to blitz the linebackers but the Washington offense was ready with a safety valve. He tried having his defensive ends run stunts where they moved laterally before rushing the quarterback through the A-Gap between the guard and the center. Nothing worked. Some days the deck seems stacked against you. A great team can overcome this, but numerous injuries, and Xavier's suspension had taken its toll on USC today. Stanford would be coming to the Coliseum next week, and the winner of that game would likely wind up playing in the Rose Bowl game on New Year's Day.
I flicked the remote and the TV went off. Chewy, who had dozed off at the start of the 4th quarter, jerked her head up, suddenly alert. I tossed a tennis ball across the living room, but she just watched it sail by and then looked back at me. Even my cocker spaniel wasn't up for playing today.
Gail offered to buy me a consolation dinner, but I wasn't really in the mood to go out and I knew a crowded restaurant would be difficult for her. We ordered a pizza, stayed home and talked about the logistics of moving once our escrow closed in the coming week. We planned out where we'd put the furniture, developed a checklist of all the things we'd need for the nursery, and I had my to-do list for the next day. Gail's colleagues had thrown her a shower but there was still a lot we needed. There was a local baby store in West LA, and I filled the Pathfinder to the limit with a bassinette, stroller, glider, car seats, diapers and things I had never heard of before. Fortunately, Gail seemed quite knowledgeable about this area. As I paid the enormous bill with a credit card, I thought of the $10,000 check from Buster Palmer sitting in my wallet. It didn't feel right to cash it, but I wasn't ready to give it back yet. Thankfully, the due date for the credit card bill would be a few weeks away.
I unloaded everything into what used to be my home office an
d was now a cluttered storage bin. There was still room for me to sit at my desk, but just barely. I called Crystal, and everything was fine on Adelaide Drive. There had been no further contact from the Palmer family or the Palmer campaign since our confrontation on Friday night. And Crystal and Molly were starting to connect. They spent the weekend binging on the first two seasons of "The Big Bang Theory," and taking a few walks in the neighborhood. Carefully dressed, Molly went unrecognized. Maybe by this point, people had the good sense not to care.
I wondered why I hadn't heard back from Virgil Hairston. I texted him again before dinner and then left a message on his voice mail a few hours later. But it wasn't until the next morning that he returned my call.
"Burnside. I'm sorry I haven't gotten back to you. I should have, but my cell phone battery ran out and I had no way to charge it."
"Are you away for the weekend?" I asked.
"No," he said, his voice the epitome of seriousness. "I've been in town, but I've spent most of my time in the hospital."
I frowned. "I'm sorry. Did you get sick?"
"No, no, it's not me. I guess I'm surprised no one from the police department called you about this."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"There was a hit-and-run yesterday. Broad daylight, too. It wasn't an accident."
"Wait a minute. Who was hit?"
"It was Adam Lazar. Someone ran him over with an SUV. Just plowed right into him and kept going. He's here at Saint John's. Arizona and 21st. He's stable now, but he was in critical condition for most of the weekend."
Chapter 14
There are few hospitals as beautiful as Saint John's Health Center in Santa Monica. The complex is an architectural masterpiece. The main building showcases a curvilinear shape from the outside and a spectacular atrium on the inside. During daytime hours it is flooded with light, and numerous pieces of art hang from the wood-paneled walls. As you walk through the patient section, the curved hallways only allow you to see a few rooms at a time. It is an interesting design and it must have cost a fortune to build.
Adam Lazar was sitting up in bed by the time I arrived. His right arm was in a sling, and his face had bruises. His right leg was bandaged and raised upward. The TV was on, tuned to the local news. He was awake and he was alert.
"Good morning," I said.
Lazar nodded in recognition. "Burnside. Nice of you to come."
"How are you feeling?"
"Oh, wonderful," he answered. "After breakfast, I'm going to run a marathon."
"Glad you haven't lost your caustic wit."
"It'll take more than this," he said. "I always knew I would tick a few people off with my work. Comes with the territory."
"I spoke to Virgil this morning."
"Yeah, he was a real trooper. Nurses said he spent the better part of the weekend with me. I was out of it until last night, though."
"Where did this happen?" I asked.
"Outside my house. I live near Echo Park, not too far from downtown."
"I know where it is," I said. Echo Park was an area I drove through regularly when I worked at Dodger Stadium. It was also close to the LAPD Academy. Echo Park was an eclectic neighborhood that included hiking trails and shooting ranges, upscale coffee houses and bars that served craft beers. There was a nice, man-made reservoir lined with palm trees, perfectly safe during the day, less so at night. It was a community where hipsters and artists coexisted with gang members and working class folk. Realtors had been calling this a transitional neighborhood for as long as I could remember, and they didn't know which direction it would ultimately pivot. Quite possibly, Echo Park would simply stay the way it was.
"Why'd they take you all the way over here?"
Lazar shrugged. "I don't know. Something to do with the insurance, I guess."
"Were you targeted?"
"Was I targeted?" he asked incredulously. "Of course I was targeted. Why else would anyone go out of their way to hit me at 8:00 am on a Saturday morning?"
"Okay, I'm sure you're right" I said, trying to be sympathetic while playing devil's advocate. "But how do you know it wasn't an accident?"
Lazar gave an exasperated sigh and hit the mute button on his remote. "Look," he said, turning to me. "I walked out of my apartment and crossed the street. Looked both ways, just like they teach you in 1st grade. Maybe I should have been holding an adult's hand."
I showed him two palms face up. "I didn't mean to upset you," I said.
"You can't upset me any more than I already am. When I was in the middle of the street, I heard someone gun their engine, and I heard tires squeal. I think I saw it out of the corner of my eye and then ka-boom. Witnesses said it was an SUV. The only person I know who owns one of those gas hogs is you. And I don't think you hate me that much to run me down."
"No, certainly not."
"I just had no time to react. Couldn't jump out of the way. The one saving grace was they didn't have much time to build steam, so they weren't going all that fast. They must have been parked there, waiting for me."
"Any thoughts on who did it? Anyone at all?"
"Lazar shrugged. "Like I say, I'm a journalist and I've ticked off a lot of people. Could have been anyone. I know the people who work for Governor Palmer weren't happy with me. Wouldn't be the first time a political leader tried to silence a critic."
"Probably not," I mused. "What were you wearing?"
"Gray hoodie and jeans. Why?'
"Might mean something. You mentioned there were witnesses."
"Just a couple of local cholos hanging out on the street corner. They corroborated my story."
"They said it was an SUV?"
"Yeah, that's what they said. An SUV. A black one. Didn't mean much. Gotta be thousands of black SUVs in L.A. I mean cripes, you've got one."
"Yeah," I said, thinking this through. "But I might have an idea who did this."
Lazar stared at me for a long moment. "Wow. Do black SUV owners have some sort of a freaking club you all belong to?"
*
I approached the entrance to the Stone Canyon School and came upon the same security guard who was at the post last week. But instead of smiling and graciously waving me in, he held up his hand and took off the wire-rimmed sunglasses. He was not smiling.
"Dropping something off for your daughter, are you?" he asked in a snotty manner that told me my cover had somehow been blown.
"Not exactly."
"State your business," he ordered.
"So you think I was lying to you last week?" I asked.
"What's your daughter's name?" he demanded.
I watched him and decided to see how far I could push the envelope. "Riley Joyner. If she's not in class, she's usually practicing volleyball."
"Riley Joyner" he parroted. "That's a good one. It worked for a while, huh?"
"All right. What gave me away?"
"Nothing really. Just that article in the Times the other day. Ms. Moss told us to be on high alert for outsiders. Everyone has to show ID."
"I left my driver's license at home."
"Sure. Only problem is Riley's dad just dropped her off a little while ago. Dr. Joyner didn't forget his driver's license. He also had Riley sitting next to him. Dead giveaway."
"I guess you're not going to let me in today."
"Scram," he sneered and jerked his thumb towards the road. "I don't know what crap you're trying to pull here, but I better not see you around this place again."
I gave him a small salute as I turned my vehicle around and headed back down the narrow canyon road. I pulled off at the first intersection and parked in front of a house, shrouded in the front by bright red bougainvillea.
I wasn't entirely certain which trail Adam Lazar had taken to enter the school grounds, but I sensed it couldn't be too far away. I walked up the street and saw a small dirt pathway that led into a wooded area. I was sure I was trespassing on someone's property, but that hadn't stopped Lazar. And like Lazar, I slipped on a wet
patch of grass and ensured my pants would be making an appearance at the dry cleaner's this week.
After a 10 minute hike, I reached the back end of the Stone Canyon campus. I moved purposefully across the grounds, acting like I was just another parent or teacher with a specific place to go. And I did have a destination, I just didn't know how to get there. I finally came across another middle-aged man and I stopped him with a wave and a smile.
"Hello," I beamed in my best rich dad voice. He gave me the once-over and offered a puzzled expression in return. "I'm looking for the parking lot," I said. "My daughter's new here and I'm a bit lost."
"Oh, certainly," he said and pointed across the soccer field. "Just past the west goal."
"Thanks."
"Say, you must have taken quite a wrong turn," he said, looking at my pants.
"Um, yes," I said, my mind racing. "Actually that happened earlier this morning. Helping the gardener plant some trees on my property. We hired a landscape architect, and well, he thought the bonsai trees would look good next to the deck."
"Oh," he laughed. "Of course."
We parted and I headed across the soccer field. I started feeling good. This rich dad thing wasn't too difficult if you knew the right line to deliver. I reached the parking lot and began walking up and down the rows, keeping one eye out for a black SUV and the other for any security personnel who might be surveying the premises. With video cameras omnipresent, I needed to work fast.
There were over a hundred vehicles in the parking lot, but it only took a couple of minutes before I found the one I was looking for. The black Escalade was parked near the back of the lot. I went to the front end of the vehicle and inspected the grill. Sure enough, the grill was badly scratched and there were small dents in both the front bumper and the hood. I looked underneath and saw a piece of blue denim attached to the underside of the vehicle. This all but confirmed it. Alex Gateley had been in Echo Park on Saturday morning.