Better Off Dead (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 3) Page 11

  Mrs. Banks sighed and stared at the blue sky.

  “I just can’t believe I had to bury my baby,” she said, tearing up.

  Cal rocked back and forth on his feet, unsure of anything he had to say that would comfort the grieving mother before him.

  “Well, I think he did it for the kids,” Cal finally said. “I think he loved those kids at the cancer center and was willing to sabotage his career just to spend time with them. Maybe he thought he wouldn’t be able to once his career was over. But everyone I’ve spoken to about what kind of man Aaron was talked about his love for those kids.”

  Mrs. Banks tried to hold back her tears. She looked at Cal and forced a smile. Then she grabbed his left hand and enclosed it in both her hands.

  “Cal, you’re a good man. I hope you get to the bottom of this and find out who was behind it all. And whoever it is needs to pay for what they did to my son.”

  Mrs. Banks lingered for a few more moments, clutching Cal’s hands. She finally released it and they both returned to the lab.

  When they entered the lab, Cal noticed Kevin furiously scribbling down notes onto a clipboard.

  “So, what do you know?” Cal asked.

  Kevin stopped and looked up.

  “I still have some more work to do, but I can tell you one thing definitely: Aaron Banks was killed by a gun. But he didn’t pull the trigger himself – not when the bullet came from at least 75 yards away.”

  CHAPTER 27

  TED SIMPSON ENTERED the secret research facility and flashed his access badge. Located on the Farrallon Islands about 30 miles off the coast of San Francisco, the facility wasn’t easy to get to. Supposedly only wildlife researchers lived there—at least that’s what the public was told. But there was another research lab there as well. From what Ted observed, some of the research looked legit, while other research looked unethical at best. At least twice he had seen a patient go berzerk in the main lobby only to be restrained with a straight jacket. If he had his druthers, Ted would never set foot on the island again. But he had a reason, a big reason. He had to see his brother.

  Nearly every Wednesday morning, Ted took an hour-and-a-half ferry ride all to spend thirty minutes with his brother. He was instructed to tell his co-workers at PacLabs that he made a supply run on Wednesday mornings to avoid the appearance of favoritism. In actuality, it was the only benefit that kept Ted working there, if you could call it a benefit. It was more like blackmail. Stop working for PacLabs and they would stop paying for his brother’s special experimental treatment at the research facility. Ted knew without the treatment, his brother would be dead in a matter of days.

  Located on the western side of the island, the facility sat well below the surface. Only a small cylinder block building was visible, looking more like a research station of some sort. It led to an elevator that went down to the actual facility. Despite their best efforts to give the appearance of sunlight, the unnatural light glowing along the walls and faux windows couldn’t belie the truth. The sterile hospital aroma slammed Ted’s olfactory senses as he walked into the lobby, overriding the appetizing smell wafting from the paper bag in his hand.

  Ted smiled at a few familiar faces of staff members as he made his way to Tommy’s room. Once Ted darkened the doorway to his brother’s room, Tommy perked up, pushing himself up in the bed.

  “What did you bring me?” Tommy asked.

  “Your favorite, bro.”

  “A Phat Philly’s cheesesteak?”

  Ted handed his brother the bag and watched him rip it open and begin to devour the sandwich.

  “You’re the best.”

  Ted nodded and smiled.

  “So how are you this week?” Ted asked.

  “Better. I can tell the latest tweak to my meds has been working,” Tommy mumbled with his mouth full of a large bite from his sandwich.

  “Well, that’s encouraging.”

  “Yeah, my nurse said if I continue to respond this well, they might be able to release me soon.”

  “How soon?” Ted asked.

  “Another two or three months. I don’t know what I’d do with myself. It’s really hard to imagine re-entering the real world.”

  “It’s certainly better than this world.”

  “True. And I wouldn’t have to wait for you to bring me my favorite sandwich,” Tommy said, pointing to his sandwich with his free hand. “I could get it any time I wanted.”

  Ted smiled and finally sat down. They talked for a few minutes about the most recent Forty-Niners game and the Giants’ new free agent acquisitions. Nothing important.

  With only five minutes remaining during his visitation, Ted finally broached the subject he wanted to talk about all along.

  “Look, Tommy. I need to tell you something.”

  “Sure, bro. What is it?”

  “Do you know why you’re here, getting this special treatment?”

  “Yeah, because I have the most awesome brother in the world who is a genius and made a ton of money.”

  Ted smiled. “Well, only part of that is true.”

  “Which part?”

  “I haven’t really made a ton of money.”

  “What? So, how are you affording all this?”

  “I’m not. My employers are paying for it.”

  “But why?”

  “I can’t really get into all that, but just know that I’m going to take care of you no matter what.”

  “What are you trying to say, Ted?”

  “I’m trying to say that you’re probably going to hear some bad stuff about me in the news in the next couple of days. Just don’t believe it. I work for some powerful people and they don’t like what I’m doing—and they’re going to smear my name. Just think the best about me, OK?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I can’t really say right now, but you’ll know in due time.”

  Tommy furrowed his brother and stared at Ted.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t have to understand. But I need you to do something for me.”

  “Anything. You name it.”

  “Every Friday at 10 a.m., I want you to call this number. If the person there doesn’t hear from you, they have instructions to do something, something my employer won’t like.”

  “I’m not sure I like the sound of this.”

  “It’s insurance, Tommy. It’s how I’m going to keep you alive.”

  “Why do you need insurance to keep me alive. What’s going on?” Tommy said, growing more confused with each new piece of information out of Ted’s mouth.

  Ted exhaled a big breath and got up out of his chair. He rubbed Tommy’s head before bending over the bed and giving him a big hug.

  “I love you, bro.” After trading a few slaps on the back, Ted continued. “Just think the best about me. Promise me that. And know I love you, no matter what happens.”

  “OK,” Tommy said. “What’s going to happen?”

  “You’ll see.”

  With that Ted spun toward the doorway and left the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

  Ted hated lying to his brother. He especially hated the fact that a lie was likely the last thing he would ever say to him.

  CHAPTER 28

  FOLLOWING KEVIN’S PRELIMINARY AUTOPSY findings, Cal grew more determined to bring Charles Robinson to justice for the murder of Aaron Banks. Not that he knew definitively that the Stars’ owner was behind it all, but he started to connect the dots, dots that were only circumstantial at this point but impossible to ignore. If for no other reason, he needed to catch Banks’ killer for the peace of Mrs. Banks. He had dragged her into this messy investigation out of necessity. But her son was still dead and even more questions arose.

  Were he still working for The Chronicle—and Charles Robinson wasn’t the owner—Cal would be running daily stories on his findings. But those two wrenches necessitated more digging. Cal took solace in the fact that had this all occurred 20 years ago, Ro
binson would escape unscathed with the public never to hear about his underhanded and illegal dealings. But this was the 21st Century where the gatekeepers for information and news had all but vanished with the boom of the Internet. Robinson couldn’t hide forever behind his abusive power. The ship was springing leaks and Cal just needed to find a way to make them all gush forth with the truth. More than anything, he needed a break. He needed to get lucky.

  He wondered if maybe he missed something at the bowling alley. Maybe what Ted Simpson was trying to tell him was there all along. Cal told Kelly he wanted to follow up on a few more leads and that he would meet her back at his apartment. He climbed into his car and headed back toward the bowling alley.

  On his way to the bowling alley, Cal’s phone buzzed. It was Mike Gregory.

  “To what do I owe this honor?” Cal answered.

  Gregory chuckled. “I hate Hardman?”

  “Sounds good to me. What’s going on?”

  “Well, you know I’m tired of that bastard stealing all your tips and your stories, so I decided to start checking your phone messages one day after I caught him at your desk on your phone.”

  “How’d he even get my password?”

  “You know, Barb, in IT has always had a thing for Hardman. I’d bet she gave it to him.”

  Cal sighed. “I hate that jerk—so what’d ya find?”

  “Well, there was a message from a Detective Brock from the LAPD who said he has some things he wants to tell you. He said he didn’t want to leave it as a message in case someone else listened to it.”

  “Oh, the irony.”

  “Yeah, funny, huh? Anyway, he left his cell number and said to call him after three o’clock today when he gets off his shift.”

  “Perfect, Gregory. I owe you,” Cal said.

  Gregory relayed the numbers to Cal and hung up.

  It was 2:30 and Cal would have to be patient. But he needed to beat Hardman to the call.

  CHAPTER 29

  CHARLES ROBINSON BELIEVED IN two things in life: himself and contingency plans. He had been in business long enough to know that things never go like you want them to. Very early in his career, Robinson discovered this truth firsthand. No pain felt quite as sharp as a proverbial knife in the back.

  Before Robinson ever made his first million—or even hundred thousand—he worked with a group of venture capitalists. They hired him to work as their point person on a major business acquisition. The group already owned a company that dominated the market for X-Ray machines. In an effort to diversify their holdings, the group wanted to purchase a medical digital imaging company that was on the forefront of the changing market and needs within the medical community.

  Robinson contacted his mentor to get help on structuring a deal that would be palatable to all involved. Robinson followed his advice and appeared set to deliver a winning deal. But at the last minute, the digital imaging company pulled the deal off the table and was quickly sold to another company. Robinson’s mentor had engineered a last-hour coup and left Robinson with nothing but egg on his face.

  Such a feeling turned Robinson from a generous and idealistic entrepreneur into a ruthless businessman. If a knife was going to go into someone’s back, he was going to be the one jamming it into theirs, not pulling it out of his own. Though he never handled the dirty work, Robinson knew that his contingency plan this time demanded it. He had worked far too long and hard to reach this point in his career to have his beautifully executed plan fall apart on the eve of its launch. Once everything had been set in motion, not even Cal Murphy could stop him.

  But everything hadn’t been set into motion—not yet, anyway. Cal needed to be eliminated. And if Robinson’s man didn’t deliver, he would do it himself.

  Robinson called his assistant.

  “Call Captain Stanfield and tell him to get the plane ready. We’ve got some business to take care of.”

  CHAPTER 30

  CAL PULLED INTO THE Fun Time bowling alley and parked. He checked his watch. 3:15. He didn’t have to wait any longer. Detective Brock has something to say. No need in making him wait and giving him time to change his mind.

  Cal punched in the numbers on his cell phone and waited.

  After the third ring, someone answered.

  “Detective Brock?” Cal asked.

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “This is Cal Murphy from The Chronicle. You called and left me a message regarding the death of Aaron Banks.”

  Cal felt a twinge of guilt for lying. If Detective Brock called back to the paper and asked for him by name with a receptionist, he might learn Cal no longer worked there. For now his secret was guarded by a voice mail message that hadn't been changed by the IT department. However, Cal didn’t mind bending the truth if it meant catching a ruthless lawbreaker.

  “Oh, right. Thanks for giving me a call back.”

  Cal listened patiently as Brock described his involvement in the case. He was scheduled to be the lead detective in the next homicide but was asked to let another detective—a Detective Mathis—run point on the investigation. At first, Brock said he didn’t think much about the bump. Then he remembered seeing Charles Robinson meeting with the precinct captain and Mathis.

  Where it really got interesting was when Brock walked by Mathis’ desk and saw a folder containing the initial police report on Banks’ death. Being curious about the high profile death, Brock admitted to snooping around. What he found inside along with the initial report was another report half-filled out with some of the details changed. The first report suggested it was a homicide, while the new report claimed suicide.

  “Of course, we all know which report became the official one,” Brock concluded.

  There was only one thing that mattered to Cal.

  “Do you have proof?”

  “Yeah, I took a picture on my cell phone of the two reports side by side,” Brock said. “While I know most of these guys would jump in front of a bullet for each other, you can never be sure which one might turn around and shoot you themselves—figuratively speaking.”

  Cal asked Brock to text him the picture and thanked him for reaching out, all with the stipulation that Brock would be an anonymous source in the L.A. Police Department. Before saying goodbye, Cal warned him that another fired reporter named Hardman may give him a call. He said he was posing as a reporter for The Chronicle and would ask for this same sensitive information. Cal told Brock not to trust him and suggested he throw him off with another story. Brock agreed and hung up.

  A broader picture was beginning to take shape, one that painted Robinson as a grand puppeteer pulling the strings to cover up Aaron Banks’ death. He had motive and he had the means to do it. But Cal still needed another piece of evidence or two and had a few remaining questions before taking the plunge and calling the NFL owner and billion-dollar media mogul a murderer. He also wanted to know just how cold-hearted Robinson was, something he wasn’t quite sure how to measure.

  Cal called Kelly to give her an update on what he had learned. Her exuberance translated well over the phone. Cal pictured her squealing with delight. Both of them were excited about nailing Robinson.

  Cal looked at the clock on his dashboard. It was 3:45 p.m.

  Just then he noticed three men walking together into Fun Time. All of them wore dark-colored jackets with hoods as well as dark sunglasses.

  Maybe 345 isn’t a locker number but a time!

  Cal waited until the men disappeared inside before springing open his car door and discreetly following them inside. Cal watched as the men grabbed a table in the back corner of the restaurant area, uninterested in bowling. One of the men made eye contact with Cal and got up quickly from the table. He began walking straight toward Cal.

  Trying to remain calm, Cal turned toward the main counter and began to ask for a lane and a pair of shoes. Nervously fumbling for his wallet, Cal grabbed it and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. Cal cut his eyes toward the man again, who was no longer walking toward h
im but instead walking back to the table with a pitcher of beer. The other two men had already shuffled and dealt a full hand of cards. They didn’t look like the sinister group Cal first believed they were.

  Three forty-five! What could that mean?

  Cal continued his charade, selecting a size 16 bowling ball and typing some initials into the computer adjacent to his lane. Before he put his shoes on, Cal realized he needed to use the restroom.

  He pushed the door open with his shoulder to avoid touching it. In a place like this, Cal could only guess when the last time the bathroom was thoroughly cleaned. A few days ago at best. Once the door swung shut behind him, he looked on the chart in a plastic sheath attached to the back of the door. It was blank.

  Feeling the urge to go even more strongly, he walked directly to the nearest stall, all the while wracking his brain over what he might have missed. He certainly wasn’t interested in bowling by himself at the moment and would rather be uncovering a key piece of evidence.

  I’ve already gotten lucky once today with that phone call from L.A. There’s no way I’m getting lucky twice.

  Then he remembered what the land lady said to him before the key was stolen, “Don’t stall or you might miss it.” As Cal began pondering if this was some cryptic message, he saw the numbers “345” scrawled into the tile with an arrow pointing to the left toward the only stall.

  Maybe I will get lucky twice.

  Cal zipped up his pants and scurried to the stall. It was empty. He locked the door behind him and began looking for anything that might lead him to what Ted was trying to give him. That’s when he saw the numbers again, scratched just to the right of the toilet paper holder.

  Well, I never thought I’d get lucky in a bathroom stall.

  Cal reached underneath the holder and found a thumb drive taped to the bottom. If Ted went to such great lengths to disguise the whereabouts of this drive, Cal figured it must have something important on it. He shoved it into his pocket and raced out of the bathroom. He dropped his shoes off at the desk and continued straight to his car where he fired up his laptop.