Better Off Dead (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 3) Read online

  “Who is it, Cal?” Kelly called from the kitchen where she was getting a drink of water.

  Cal lied. “Nobody. I thought I heard a knock.”

  Just as Cal began to close the door, an explosion rocked the apartment and the nearby streets. For a moment, Cal thought it was an earthquake, but then he saw the fire and smoke plumes filling up the L.A. night sky.

  Kelly screamed as she ran to the door.

  She screamed louder when she recognized the target of the explosions. Flames engulfed her car. For the second straight night, someone targeted Kelly and Cal. The message had been received. Cal wondered what the next message might be.

  It was obvious that he was on the right trail, but he started to wonder if it was worth losing his life over. Or worse yet—losing Kelly.

  CHAPTER 16

  AFTER ANOTHER LONG NIGHT of dealing with LAPD over Kelly’s exploding car and her frazzled emotional state, Saturday morning brought more bad news. Cal was barely conscious when his phone buzzed. The caller ID was blocked.

  “Hello?” Cal grumbled.

  “Hey, Cal. We need to talk,” said the caller.

  “Who is this? Are you are aware that it’s seven o’clock on a Saturday morning?”

  “This is Ted Simpson, Cal. And, yes, I’m fully aware of what time it is.”

  Cal sat straight up in bed. He was wide awake now.

  “What do we need to talk about, Ted?” he asked.

  “It’s about those papers I gave you.”

  “What about them?”

  “They’re fakes. I was just trying to get back at PacLabs for some stuff recently and I went about it the wrong way.”

  “What?!” Cal asked. His rage was growing. “I have half a mind to find you and punch you in the face, you little weasel. Do you realize what following your little lead has cost me? I have no job now, Ted. I got fired, thanks to your little stunt.”

  “You got fired? I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah, I got fired, no thanks to you. The next time you’re ticked off at your employer file a complaint with the HR department. Don’t concoct some lie.”

  Cal continued with more questions.

  “What about your little bowling alley locker stunt? Was that fake, too?”

  “Yes, Cal. I was just trying to make it more believable for you.”

  “Did you shoot me and your landlady with a tranquilizer too?”

  “I’m really sorry about that.”

  Cal noted Ted’s answer was apologetic—and evasive. He hadn’t admitted to shooting them with a tranquilizer, but certainly something had gone awry for the whistleblower. Cal grew more miffed by the moment. He finally delivered clear instructions to Ted before ending the call.

  “I don’t know what sick little game you’ve been playing. I’m not even sure I’ll ever believe anything out of your mouth ever again. But just to be sure I don’t have to figure out if you’re telling the truth or not, don’t ever call me again. Do you understand?”

  Cal didn’t wait around for an answer as he hung up.

  Kelly, who was up brewing some coffee, heard Cal's side of the conversation and his raised voice. She burst into the room and wanted to know more details immediately.

  “He made it all up?” she asked.

  “That’s what he said. I can’t believe this!”

  Cal let out a scream in frustration. Hunches motivated by desperation were never good ones. They cost many a good journalists their jobs. “Actionable facts” is what his first editor Guy Thompson used to call them. “If you don’t have actionable facts, you don’t have a story,” he used to tell Cal.

  But no matter how frustrated Cal was with Ted, he did have actionable facts. Something was clearly fishy with the way the Stars handled the announcement of Aaron Banks’ death and the facts surrounding it. At least Ted put him on a path that might result in some type of cover-up story—and maybe even a murder investigation.

  Cal still wasn’t convinced Ted was telling the truth about the documents being fake.

  * * *

  The early morning phone call frazzled Cal, but it made him more determined than ever to dig up the truth around Aaron Banks’ death. If he ignored Ted’s fake drug tests, what did he have? A dead NFL player who was meticulous about what he put in his body. Forged medical documents by the team showing Banks had concussions when he didn’t. A quick autopsy. A shoddy police investigation, which seemed far too quick to rule Aaron’s death a suicide.

  Cal still needed to find the thread that tied it all together.

  After breakfast, Cal devised a research plan as Kelly secured a rental car. He would take Charles Robinson and Kelly would take a closer look at the medical records.

  Cal began scouring the Internet for more about the Stars’ owner, something that would give him motivation to do what he was doing. For more than two hours, he pored over articles and documents about Robinson. Nothing brought clarity.

  During his interview with Robinson, Cal learned that the Stars’ owner grew his wealth through a series of savvy investments and good fortune. For years he grew his wealth slowly through safe investments. Then in 1997, he invested in a tech startup that made him a multi-millionaire at the age of 48. From there his wealth soared. It seemed like Robinson could do no wrong.

  His string of good luck seemed uncanny. In some of the earlier stories on Robinson in business magazines, Cal read how if there were two companies with similar ideas, Robinson always managed to pick the successful one. Small companies, big companies. It didn’t matter. Robinson always guessed right.

  Many of the companies Robinson owned controlling interest in were listed on the C.R. Enterprises website. With The Chronicle among the media outlets listed, Cal didn’t have to guess how he lost his job. But Cal could find no direct link.

  Kelly wasn’t having much luck either. They decided to commiserate over lunch in the kitchen. Cal made a couple of club sandwiches and grilled them to golden brown perfection. He didn’t mind the break from the mind-numbing research. He didn’t mind the company either.

  After some small talk, Kelly asked the question burning in her mind.

  “What are you going to do, Cal?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean about your job.”

  Cal thought for a few moments. “Maybe I’ll move here.”

  “Really? L.A.?”

  “It’s not my first choice based on geography, but you’re here. I may not have a job as a reporter since Robinson owns practically every paper in this city, but at least we can be together.”

  Kelly smiled at Cal. He knew it was the one silver lining in the midst of his career crisis. They had always made a good journalism team. He thought they would make a good team period.

  He got up and walked around the table to give Kelly a kiss. He considered himself to be tough, someone who had mastered his emotions. But right now he wanted a hug. He needed a hug. Kelly was more than happy to give it to him.

  Cal’s phone buzzed. It was a text from one of The Chronicle’s photographers, Mike Gregory.

  Sorry, Cal. I caught Hardman snooping around my desk. I couldn’t stop him.

  Cal replied,

  What are you talking about?

  The response came back immediately.

  Turn on ESPN.

  Cal scrambled to the television remote and turned on the TV, flipping furiously to ESPN. Two talking heads were debating the Stars’ chances of winning the division. At the bottom of the screen, the reason for the debate scrolled:

  SF Chronicle report: L.A. Stars QB Isaiah Smith suspended for failed drug test, according to league sources

  Cal let out a string of expletives that sent Kelly scurrying to join him in the living room.

  “What is it?”

  “That jerk Hardman stole my story!”

  CHAPTER 17

  CAL DIALED GREGORY’S NUMBER. He needed to know exactly how this went down and why Kennedy chose to print the story.

  “Look, H
ardman came snooping around my desk and asked what hot tip you had,” Gregory explained. “I told him it wasn’t any of his business. Well, apparently one of the interns saw us talking and in an effort to get on the side of our big shot columnist, he grabbed the two files off my desktop during lunch yesterday and emailed them to Hardman.”

  “I’m gonna kill him!” Cal interjected.

  “Calm down and let me finish,” Gregory said. “So from what I gather, he faxed a copy of the failed drug test to the league office, they called the lab and confirmed it was authentic. They made up some story about how they didn’t release it because the Stars were dealing with so much after the loss of Aaron Banks.”

  Cal was hot. “The only reason they released it is because someone called them on it. PacLabs isn’t some beacon of empathy. Besides, they had no problem releasing Banks’ failed drug test.”

  “Apparently, Hardman had enough to run with the story and Kennedy had no choice.”

  “I can’t believe he poached my story. He’s a two-bit hack.”

  “Well, he’s a two-bit hack with a Pulitzer—and a job.”

  Cal was getting agitated. “That’s below the belt.”

  “I’m not trying to be mean, Cal. I’m just saying he’s ruthless. That’s how he got where he is. It certainly wasn’t with his winning personality.”

  “That’s for sure. Thanks for the heads up. Do you still have the thumb drive?”

  “Oh, yeah. And I’ve made a backup copy, too. They’re not going to take this from me.”

  “Would you mind working your magic on those files and sending them all over to my personal email account? I’m still working on the real story here.”

  “There’s more?”

  “There’s a mountain of more. I just need more sources to put it all together along with a few common threads.”

  “Cool. Not to sound like a jerk, but have you thought about where you’re going to get it published?”

  “I’m not sure yet. No paper in California will run it, but last I checked he doesn’t own The New York Times or ESPN. I’m sure one of them will be proud to run this story.”

  “Well, good luck, Cal. And I’m sorry again about everything.”

  “No worries. Just slug Hardman for me the next time you see him and tell him it’s from me. I know he only wrote that story because he’s a Raiders homer and they play the Stars tomorrow.”

  “I’d be honored to slug Hardman for you.”

  Cal said good-bye and hung up. He was more puzzled than ever. Ted’s call this morning was meant to throw him off track. If that was Ted at all? He’d only spoken with who he thought was Ted in a coffee shop several days ago. But the informant spoke with a husky whisper, disguising his true voice. Maybe Ted didn’t call him at all this morning. Maybe it was someone trying to throw him off the pace or make him distrust Ted.

  Cal tried to make sense of it all with Kelly as he relayed what had happened in the office. She seemed just as confused as Cal.

  “Are you still planning on going to the game tomorrow?” Kelly asked.

  “You bet. You think you can get a photo pass?”

  “Sure. What are you thinking?”

  “I’m not sure how welcome I’ll be there, but I’ve got another assignment for you. We’re going to find the crack in this case.”

  CHAPTER 18

  FOR THE REMAINDER OF SATURDAY, Cal and Kelly split up. The idea that Ted had actually told him the truth made him wonder about the tact of his investigation. Charles Robinson had likely given the order to fire him, making Cal wonder if perhaps the interview was less about Robinson and more about him. Such motives were vital in solving any mysteries, if there were any. He needed more background on Aaron Banks.

  Cal set up an early dinner meeting with Aaron Banks’ agent Bobby Franklin at Jackson’s BBQ and sent Kelly to visit St. Mark’s Hospital. Franklin was the person who knew Aaron best off the field, and St. Mark’s was the place where Aaron spent most of his free time away from football. They could also help reconstruct the last few hours of his life.

  Jackson’s BBQ was legendary in Los Angeles. Started by a two aspiring actors from South Carolina whose careers never panned out, Jackson’s quickly gained a reputation as one of the stars’ favorite haunts. What the warehouse-style building lacked in decadence, it apparently made up for with flavorful food. Riveted metal siding and dark-coated cement floors housed wooden benches and picnic tables. The walls were lined with stars from every Hollywood galaxy—movies, television, music. Jackson’s boasted more about its food than its clientele, but it was clear they were proud of both. According to Franklin, it was Aaron’s favorite restaurant.

  Franklin, dressed in a power suit with a red tie, was already sitting in a booth when Cal arrived. As a former NFL tight end for several years before retiring early due to an injury and becoming an agent, Franklin’s large frame was imposing. His hand swallowed Cal’s as they officially met. They exchanged pleasantries before Cal began probing.

  “So, what happened on the day Aaron died?” Cal asked. “I heard he had just finished volunteering at the hospital before he committed suicide.”

  “Yes, God rest his soul. Right before Aaron left the hospital that morning, he called me.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “His career. He had just found out the Stars were going to release him at the end of the season.”

  “So he was going to be a free agent. Wouldn’t he be able to get a bigger payday with a new contract?”

  “Sure. I would’ve had half a dozen teams beating down the door to sign a blue collar running back like Aaron Banks. He did all the little things coaches love without the ball and he knew how to find the end zone when he was with it. But he didn’t want to leave. I think he loved volunteering at the hospital more than he did playing football.”

  A waitress interrupted their conversation to take their orders. Cal chose the Elvis platter—Memphis-style pulled pork with baked beans and fries. Franklin ordered the Sweet Home Alabama plate, which consisted of nothing but ribs and a loaf of white bread.

  “So, how did your conversation go?” Cal continued.

  “I told him and he got pretty angry,” Franklin said. “Then another call came and he told me he would meet me here in a few minutes, but he never showed.”

  “Did you know he was using PEDs?”

  “Yes, he told me a few weeks before. I told him that wasn’t a good idea, but he said that it was foolproof and he wouldn’t get caught. I was shocked, to tell you the truth. Aaron was not the kind of guy who used PEDs. When I asked him why he was doing it, he said that someone affiliated with the organization told him if he didn’t they were going to release him. I think he only did it because he wanted to stay here in L.A. And I think that’s why he got so angry when I told him the Stars were releasing him. He had gone against his own principles just to stay here, doing whatever they asked and now he was getting tossed aside. He wasn’t quite the player he used to be, but it’s hard for guys not to take that stuff personally.”

  “So you don’t think that was enough to drive Aaron to kill himself?” Cal asked.

  “Maybe. He was a pretty happy guy, a guy who loved what playing football afforded him. He wanted to make a difference in people’s lives. But he was lonely and depressed at times. I knew he was capable of killing himself, but I never thought he would actually do it. It’s still shocking.”

  “I’m assuming the police interviewed you. Did you tell them this?”

  “Yeah, they interviewed me. They just wanted me to confirm what they said they already knew. They had the facts and they said that he killed himself. They simply wanted to know what we talked about before he allegedly shot himself.”

  “I did some digging too, and I found out that the last number that called him came from a burner phone that had called once a month for the past nine months. Any idea who it might have been?”

  “Maybe his supplier,” Franklin suggested. “That’s still rather odd
. Aaron didn’t run with any shady people.”

  The waitress brought them their food, topped off their drinks and winked at Franklin.

  “Do you think his supplier could have done this?” Cal asked between bites.

  “I don’t know,” Franklin said. “Most suppliers I know are sketchy, but they aren’t assassins. I would be shocked if they could pull this off.”

  “So, essentially, you’re saying someone affiliated with the Stars’ organization was supplying Aaron with illegal PEDs but you don’t think they could’ve actually killed him?”

  “Yes.Perhaps he killed himself over the news that the team wanted to trade him. It’s just so bizarre.”

  “Well, finding enough evidence to claim that someone else killed him has proven to be an enormous task.”

  “I still can’t believe he’s gone. He had such a bright future ahead of him after football.”

  “Well, the Stars seemed to make it believable that Aaron killed himself when they brought up his concussions.”

  “I guess you can’t rule that line of thinking out either. There were plenty of signs that pointed to suicide, which is why the police investigation went that way.”

  “I’m hoping to change that and bring the truth to light.”

  “Good luck with that. I think they have the truth, but you never know when Charles Robinson is involved.”

  “Believe me—I already know,” Cal said.

  They sat in silence as they devoured the rest of their food. Cal thought for a few moments before speaking again.

  “Earlier you mentioned that when Aaron was taking PEDs, he didn’t seem too concerned with getting caught. Did you find that strange?”

  “I’ve learned that the less I know in the business, the better I sleep at night. So, I didn’t exactly find it strange. But I did find the timing of his announcement strange.”

  “How come?”

  “Usually, if there’s any league discipline with one of my clients, I get a heads up call several days before it is announced. I have some friends at the league office and they give me a courtesy call. I didn’t get one with Aaron.”