Hard Count (Burnside Series Book 11)

  HARD COUNT

  Book # 11 in the Burnside Mystery Series

  By

  David Chill

  Copyright © 2020 by David Chill

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names characters, places and events are products of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations or persons living or deceased, is purely coincidental. The author assumes no responsibility for errors, inaccuracies, omissions, or any inconsistency herein.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Curse of the Afflicted

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 1

  The truth about people often surprises us. But when you work with some of life’s sketchier characters, as I often do, the truth normally does not come as a surprise at all.

  Harold Stevens was an insurance fraud investigator I had known for many years. He had helped me through some rough patches in my life, not necessarily in the way some people do, by graciously listening to my troubles. Rather, Harold’s input was mostly financial, steering business my way. And while money may be the root of certain types of evil, it can also be the tree that keeps you dry in an unyielding downpour. So, when Harold called and asked to get together, I happily agreed and suggested he pick the restaurant. I told him it would be my treat.

  We were eating breakfast downtown at the Pacific Dining Car, which is ordinarily not the type of place I’d suggest for breakfast. The food was good, the service impeccable, and the décor, reminiscent of a 19th century railroad car, came complete with white linen tablecloths, and striped curtains to shield the glare of mid-morning sunlight. The restaurant was far more luxurious than most, a throwback to posh times, with a menu that offered everything from buttermilk biscuits to crab Benedict. Oddly, it was one of those rare upscale restaurants that remained open for 24 hours each day. Most McDonald’s outlets didn’t even bother with doing that anymore. But the Pacific Dining Car had been around for over a century and it was still a gourmet’s delight, which naturally came part and parcel with gourmet-level prices. That it was still around, and still bustling was a little surprising. Restaurants in L.A. come and go, and even those longstanding, old-school places eventually had to shutter, often when their aging clientele began to both literally and figuratively die off.

  We sat at a booth, with stately, pillow-enhanced wooden dividers rising high to preserve a modicum of privacy. Harold took a short sip of cream-laden coffee and gave a satisfied nod. He was a portly man, a little older than me, meaning we were both middle-aged, but he was showing it more than I was. Harold was bald, save for that small ring of dyed-black hair along the sides. It didn’t look bad on him, but the male-pattern baldness did reflect his age, and in much of the world, that would not be unusual. In Los Angeles, however, anything that didn’t scream youth and vibrancy was looked upon with a measure of distrust.

  “So, thanks for calling me,” I said. “I always get a good feeling when I see the Differential Insurance Company pop up on my phone.”

  “And I’m glad you were available,” he answered. “I was wondering what your schedule was like. Gail’s campaign is going into the home stretch. Primary day is a couple weeks away. You must be busy.”

  I took a sip of my black coffee. It was good, smooth coffee, but it lacked the punch of my over-caffeinated Starbucks French roast.

  “I see you’re following the campaign. But yes, I’m spending more time with Marcus,” I said. My wife, Gail Pepper, was embarking on a political career, running for City Attorney of Los Angeles. Public life was new terrain for her, but not for me. She was entering politics for the first time, and I was re-entering life in the public eye once more. As a former college football coach, I was used to managing the spotlight, even if my unseemly past got dredged up once in a while. But as a newly minted political spouse, I had to take great pains to avoid saying the wrong thing to a reporter, and had to pull a few punches in more ways than one. In some instances, I failed miserably.

  “How’s the race looking?” he asked. “I hear Arthur Woo is a shoo-in for mayor. That should be good for Gail. He endorsed her.”

  “It helped. But the last poll I saw was a few weeks ago. She was ahead, but it was still a close race. We hadn’t anticipated Paul Bleeker would jump in at the last minute. I guess he saw an opportunity. Or maybe he’s using this to promote his law practice.”

  “Is Bleeker formidable?”

  “He’s rich,” I replied, thinking the erstwhile lawyer had the brainpower equivalent to that of a maple tree. “So, yes. That makes him formidable.”

  “Do you have a role in the campaign?”

  “Yeah. Staying out of the way.”

  Harold smiled. “Well, I have something that should keep you busy for a little bit.”

  “Love to hear it.”

  “You remember Curtis Starr? First-round draft pick, used to play middle linebacker for the Rams years ago. Among other teams.”

  I nodded. Nearly everyone knew about Curtis, but maybe not for football, or even for his short-lived film career. Hollywood thought he had leading-man looks, so they cast him in a few movies, only to discover he had limited talent as an actor. He found his calling in food, however, investing in a restaurant, that quickly evolved into a successful chain. It was likely people knew him more for his brisket and ribs than for anything else. And as the restaurants grew, so did his waistline, and his acting career became a thing of the past.

  “Sure,” I said. “Curtis was a few years before my time. Came out of a small school, if I remember.”

  “You recall right. Went to Middle Tennessee State of all places. Funny how many NFL players went to small colleges.”

  I sipped some more coffee. I knew from my coaching days at USC that there was some amazing high school football talent that went surprisingly unnoticed, and did not get recruited by the big-name colleges. Some of these kids had the misfortune of playing behind a star in high school. Others were late bloomers. A few of these kids got lucky the way Curtis Starr got lucky. He received a scholarship offer from a college scout who was at one of his games to recruit a player from an opposing team.

  “So, it’s been a few decades since he played pro football,” I said. “He was one of those players who could go from pushing around smaller guys at Western Kentucky to going up against the studs on the Cowboys and 49ers.”

  “Curtis did all right for himself. Financially, too. Signed a big rookie contract, got a lot of guaranteed money. Invested it well, he owns that Smoky Mountain Grill chain. Among other things.”

  “And,” I added, “I believe he has a son who’s a football player, too. Used to be quarterback at Roche High. Not too far from here, in fact. Right next to downtown.”

  Harold slapped the table. “I knew I had the right investigator for this job. You know Brady?”

  “Sure. We tried to recruit him when I coached at SC. Big arm, but he had a bit of an attitude problem. And a more important problem was his grades were atrocious. Seriously, I doubt he ever cracked a book in high school. We literally couldn’t get him admitted. Believe it or not, there are still a few academic standards for football players to get accepted into a good college. Wound up at San Diego State. Less prominent school, just like his dad. Maybe for different reasons, though. Is Brady in some kind of trouble?”

  “I
don’t think so. I’m more concerned about his father. I’ve known him for a long time. It seems the police have paid a few visits to his house. Domestic disputes, neighbors hearing arguments. Two nights ago there was some gunfire. The police investigated, but couldn’t find out anything.”

  “What happened?”

  “The neighbors heard a few gunshots. I suppose it could have been a car backfiring.”

  “Possible, but unlikely,” I said. Modern vehicles just don’t backfire much.

  “I know,” Harold agreed. “And they live up in Mandeville Canyon. I think you also know the chances of that happening around midnight. In that neck of the woods. Might have been fireworks.”

  “True,” I said. Mandeville Canyon was an exclusive neighborhood in the hills above Brentwood, and while a few tourists and work crews might drive around there during the day, it was mostly local residents at night. “And so you think something else happened.”

  “I’m a seasoned investigator,” Harold smiled. “But there’s only so much I can do from the insurance company’s standpoint. This is where you come in.”

  “Ah. I knew there was a reason for this breakfast,” I said, noticing a white-suited waiter approaching us with a tray held high over his head. He set it down on a rack and picked up one of the plates.

  “Now, who is the eggs Benedict?” he asked.

  “That would be me,” Harold said.

  “And you must be the roast beef hash,” the waiter declared, placing a white plate in front of me. It was piled with chopped prime rib and diced potatoes, and crowned with a poached egg. The waiter told us to enjoy, and quickly departed.

  I cut the egg and let some orange yolk ooze slowly over the hash. “It’s interesting this place stays open 24 hours,” I said. “Just like Denny’s. But the clientele is a wee bit different.”

  “Indeed,” he said as he took a bite. I did the same, and savored my dish. It was good roast beef hash, but it was still hash, and I doubted even having prime rib as an ingredient could justify the price. But, if you could afford to pay twenty-two dollars for an order of hash, this was the place to get it. We each savored a few bites in silence. Then Harold spoke.

  “So, let me tell you about this assignment,” Harold said.

  “Please.”

  “The back story is that Curtis took out a large life insurance policy a couple of years ago when he remarried. Ten million. Another one for his new wife, also ten million. We normally don’t insure for such a high amount, but, well, he’s a long-term client and he owns a very successful business. And he’s attached to the business. His name is on the sign, and when you walk into any of his restaurants the first thing you see are photos of him.”

  “And without Curtis, there’s maybe not much of a business.”

  “The business revolves around his image, he’s in every commercial. Take away Curtis, you’re selling the same chicken and ribs anyone else sells, only more expensive. Curtis decided he needed to take care of his family if anything happened to him. High premiums, but he could afford them.”

  “And just what is it you’d like from me?”

  Harold brushed his lips lightly with a white cloth napkin. “As I mentioned, the policies are for ten million.”

  “And the Differential Insurance Company would like to avoid paying out ten million.”

  “That would be nice.”

  “You want me to find out what happened the other night,” I mused.

  “It would be to our benefit to have things simmer down,” Harold said. “And to the benefit of everyone involved. I’d like you to look out for him.”

  “Sure. But tell me something. Unless he fails to pay the premium, you can’t up and cancel a life insurance policy, can you? Just because his life is suddenly in danger?”

  “Typically, no. But as I mentioned, this is not a standard policy. With a large payout comes a large level of added risk. There are special clauses included, one of which is the insured can’t engage in dangerous activities. Like, say, skydiving or driving a race car.”

  “Or engaging in gunplay?” I asked, taking a forkful of hash and making sure it was draped with a sufficient amount of egg yolk.

  “Perhaps. But we’re getting into a gray area here.”

  I thought about this. When I was with the LAPD, we were once called about a man who was walking his dog on his neighbor’s lawn. The dog got into a scuffle with the neighbor’s dog, and in trying to break up the fight, the man had a heart attack and died. I heard later that the man’s life insurance company refused to pay on the grounds the man was committing trespassing by walking on someone else’s property. The case was eventually settled, but it was a nasty episode, and it did the insurance company little good when the tiff went public.

  “Meaning that any illegal activity could be grounds to deny the claim,” I said.

  “It’s possible,” Harold shrugged. “Let’s just say we’d prefer everyone lead a long, safe life. Works out best for all of us.”

  “Okay. Tell me about Curtis’s wife. How long have they been married?”

  “Couple of years. Second marriage,” he said.

  “He trade up for a newer model?” I asked.

  Harold shook his head. “Not exactly. Sad story, actually. His first wife passed away. Heart issues. Doctors have made a lot of advances, but I guess they caught it too late. Curtis had been married for almost 25 years. Quite a shock. Maybe not so shocking was the fact that he got married a year after his first wife passed.”

  I nodded. Some men did not operate well as bachelors, and simply preferred to be married. “You knew Curtis well over the years?” I asked.

  “He’s been a client of Differential since he got married. So we became acquainted. We have a few friends in common. But when he asked for those ten million dollar policies, I did a thorough background check on both of them. Nothing registered as unusual. No red flags to speak of.”

  “That was then, this is now.”

  “Yup.”

  “And what changed was he now has a new wife,” I said, using my finely honed detective skills. “My guess is she’s a lot different from his first. Tell me about her.”

  Harold put his fork down and signaled to the waiter for more coffee, his cup being three-quarters empty. After it was refilled, he poured in a little cream, then a little more cream, then dug into the small sugar bowl and pulled out a carefully measured dose and stirred it in. Taking a sip, he looked down and frowned at it.

  “I can never get the mixture quite right after the first cup,” he sighed. “I swear it takes a chemist to know how to get the proper balance again.”

  “That’s why I learned to drink it black,” I shrugged, thinking back to my many diner breakfasts as a cop, when the overly helpful waitress would slosh more coffee into the cup whether I asked for it or not. Taking it black solved the problem of recreating the right blend of cream and sugar.

  “Lauren is from Wyoming. Lauren Crum, or I guess Lauren Starr now. Father’s a cowboy, mother’s a barmaid, you can probably figure out her upbringing. Beautiful girl, though, a former Miss Teen USA. That got her out of Wyoming. Otherwise, she’s just another blonde cowgirl, spending her time flirting with ranch hands until one gets her pregnant. But I guess she had some other talent, had a big voice. Couple that with winning a beauty pageant and that got some attention in Tinseltown. An agent found her a singing gig out here, told her she’d be able to make her own album. That was her big dream, so she up and moved to L.A. She’s doing okay. The album sold well, and she’s toured with some big names.”

  “Dreams sometimes come true,” I said, taking a final bite of hash. “At least for a little while. How old is she now?”

  “She is 25. Oh, and she’s also a twin. Identical sister named Jacquie.”

  “Lauren and Jacquie. I would assume Jacquie finished second in the contest?”

  “Er, not so much,” he said. “Car accident at fourteen.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. Made the mis
take of sitting in the front seat without a seat belt. My guess is they don’t have great plastic surgeons in Wyoming. But she helps Lauren out. Not exactly a personal assistant, not exactly a business manager.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said. “So, Lauren escapes the hardscrabble life in the prairie, which has to be quite different from Los Angeles. And I doubt there were a lot of rich men like Curtis Starr around. Small-town beauty meets millionaire former athlete. Sounds like a romance novel. Any trouble brewing between her and Brady? Or with her and Curtis?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe both. She thinks Curtis should be more supportive of her music career. He thinks Lauren needs to be around more for him. Brady’s actually talked to me about it. Not a problem when he’s down in San Diego for school, but when he’s home, there’s tension. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that Lauren is only three years older than her new stepson.”

  “Okay. And what is it you’d like from me. I mean, aside from saving the Differential from having to pay out ten or twenty million bucks if Curtis Starr or his wife somehow become the victims of an accident. Or something sinister.”

  Harold considered this as he scooped up another forkful of eggs Benedict. “That’s the big picture goal. Figuring out how to get there is what I’m hiring you to do. And paying your daily rate, which is not insignificant, if I recall.”

  “It is not,” I smiled. “And there may be some extra expenses involved.”

  “We have some discretionary funds set aside. And it’s still April, which means the bean counters in Finance haven’t cut my budget yet.”

  “Good to know. I’ll poke around. Would be nice if you could give Curtis a heads up I’m coming there. Although how you do that and not raise eyebrows will be tricky.”

  “I don’t know if I can do that,” Harold sighed. “Curtis has an independent streak. It might be best just to stay inconspicuous.”

  “Fine,” I said, finishing the rest of my hash and washing it down with a big gulp of coffee. I decided the food was good but I was mostly paying for atmosphere. “I’m curious about something. How did Curtis and Lauren meet?”