Return from the Shadows-Ivan Dunn the Final Chapter

by Frank A. Perdue

  The boredom he had felt before the phone call, and the loneliness that had plagued him since his wife’s death was suddenly gone. He was alert as he again reached for the telephone to make an airplane reservation.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jeb was glad he’d changed uniforms with James Priestley. He’d quickly donned the khakis when he realized the ship that had come to his dubious rescue was indeed Japanese. Had he been wearing the garb of a regular swabbie, he might have been shot before he ever reached the deck of the destroyer. He reasoned the Japs hadn’t killed him because he might have strategic information they could use, and he wondered what their methods of extraction would be. He was sure it wouldn’t be pleasant.

  He was roughly placed in a compartment below decks and locked in.Surely they’ll feed me before they beat the hell out of me. It was possible his situation had not improved after all. He didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  He’d only been incarcerated for about twenty minutes when a sailor with a rifle entered the cubicle followed by a little man in an officer’s uniform. He was led out and into another compartment, this one larger. There were already two uniformed officers seated at a large metal desk. Jeb was placed across from the larger of the two men. He bulged against the buttons of his khaki uniform top, and scowled menacingly. The other man, also in khaki’s was a much smaller version. His expression was softer, and Jeb had the feeling he might even like this one, were they not in the business of killing each other. Will this be the Asian version of good cop-bad cop?

  The guard with the rifle moved to a position behind Jeb. He was sure he would be butted in the head with the rifle every time he gave a wrong or smart-ass answer. He was right.

  Serial number such and such, bang right above his right ear, and so on. Each time he fell to the deck the enlisted sailor dutifully lifted him back onto his stool.

  When it became apparent he would not cooperate he was led, actually dragged, back to his quarters of confinement where a small cot had been set up to accept his beaten body.

  He almost wished he’d known something. Were he really a lieutenant-commander in the United States Navy, especially the exec of one of its fighting ships, he would have been privy to the kind of information that would be valuable to the enemy. An ensign or a lieutenant wouldn’t be expected to be in the inner circle on board ship.

  He lay there, bruised and battered, with dried blood from his hairline to his chin, a testament that he deserved a purple heart, should he ever set foot in the States again to claim it. Maybe they’d take a picture and give it to him for evidence. Not.

  Before he dropped off into a restless sleep he wondered if that would be his last beating before the enemy destroyer returned to base, and he was transferred to a prison camp to sit out the war if he survived.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was amazing how little I knew about my neighbor. I was getting a crash course, however, listening to the detective who had been put in charge of the investigation of his death.

  “He lived alone,” the man, who had introduced himself as Ed Snodgrass was saying. “His wife died from a botched operation five years ago now.”

  “I didn’t even know his name,” I said.

  “Lane Summers.”

  “What?”

  “That was his name, Lane Summers.”

  “Oh.” I said. “It’s crazy. He rushed me to the hospital when I’d found out my wife had been hurt, and we just didn’t got around to names. That was four years ago, and we never introduced ourselves.”

  “You been married that long?”

  “No. Actually she was my fiancée then.” Not that it mattered. It was almost like this Snodgrass guy was interrogating me. I wondered if he thought I had killed him.

  “Anyway,” he was saying, “he wasn’t shot at your doorstep. He must have dragged himself there, to try to get help.”

  “How do you know?”

  “There was a trail of blood from around near the side of your place, about halfway between his house and yours.”

  “You say he was shot?”

  “Yeah,” the detective was fidgeting with a drawer in his desk, “I’ve got the preliminary report here somewhere, yeah here it is.” He produced a manila folder. “It looked like he was killed with a twenty-two or some other small caliber gun. We’ll know more when ballistics comes back. He was shot twice, once in the leg, and the one that killed him in his stomach. Both bullets exited the body, and the holes were small. That’s why we think it was a twenty-two. Do you own a gun?”

  Damn, I was a suspect. “Not anymore. I had a forty-four, but after I retired I got rid of it.”

  “Yeah.” It was one of his favorite words apparently. “It says here you were a private dick”

  “Investigator.” I corrected him. It didn’t sound quite so derogatory. I was sure the cop had intended it that way.

  “Whatever.” He said. “Did you hear any shots?”

  “No. Nothing.” I thought back to when Rachel and I were in the bedroom, before the ‘Bells of Saint Mary’s’ went off, and neither of us had heard anything outside that room. I remember thinking at first maybe he had been stabbed when I found him hanging on the doorknob. “You can ask my wife, but she told me she’d heard nothing”.

  “Oh, I will. You can bet on that.” Again the antagonistic attitude.

  “You can ask her now if you want. She’s right outside.”

  “In due time my man, in due time.”

  By this time I was thinking his name should have been Snotgrass, from his attitude. “You’re awfully young to be retired. What are you, forty?” He had neatly changed the subject.

  “I’m forty-six. I was born in 1910. But what’s that got to do with anything?” I could play the snotty game too.

  “I’m just wondering where you got all your money, that’s all.”

  “I inherited it. It’s a matter of public record, if you’re interested.”

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “My mother, Elizabeth Brecker, left it to me when she died in 1950.”

  The smug cop answered, “Yeah,”his favorite word again, “I will check on that. You can go for now. Just stay available. On your way out send your wife in.”

  Rachel was sitting on a wooden chair by the door from which I had exited. She looked up at me questioningly. “Did you find out what happened?”

  “Not really. The guy who was asking me a lot of personal questions acted like a Nazi, so neither one of us learned much. He wants to see you now. Watch out for him.”

  She stood and kissed me on the lips as the duty sergeant looked on. Then she opened the door and strode into the interrogation room. I sat down on the chair, which was still warm from her body, and I waited.

  It was nearly dark when the two of us arrived back home. I wanted to see the crime scene, but it could wait until the next day.

  Joe met us at the door, swinging it open for us while I was fumbling for my key. “You had a call.” He informed me.

  “Who was it?”

  “He said his name was Andrew Dark. He sounded urgent, as if it was something really important, but he wouldn’t leave a message. He wanted to talk to either you or Rachel, but he wasn’t interested in telling me his reason for the call.”

  “I think Rachel has his number, is that right honey?”

  “Yes. I’m sure I do. I’ll dig out my address book, after I feed you. I don’t know about you but I’m starved. A whole day of questioning does that to you.” She pronounced.

  “It won’t take as long as you think,” Joe chimed in, “Ariel fixed enchiladas and chile relleno. All we have to do is heat it up.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Rachel said. “Is she still in the kitchen? I want to thank her.”

  “Yes she is.”

  With that Rachel strode toward the kitchen.

  “What’s going on?” Joe questioned.

  It occurred to me, Joe hadn’t even heard about the murder, though he had to be curious, seeing
all the cops wandering about outside. He and Ariel had still been upstairs in bed when all this started. I hadn’t had time to fill him in before they hauled me off to the station house.

  “Sit down my man and I’ll tell you all about it.” But before I could start the girls called us to the dining table.

  After dinner, which was delectable, according to Rachel, we all retired to the front room. Ariel stayed too, after we talked her out of doing the dishes right away, and I told the story of our day. Rachel and I both forgot we were going to call Andrew Dark.

  Chapter Thirteen

  He had only two pieces of furniture in what was his jail cell aboard the Japanese destroyer bound for God knows where; the aforementioned cot, and a metal fold-up chair. He thought about throwing the chair against the bulkhead, Did the Japs call it a bulkhead?, but then they would probably get rid of the chair. When he tried to sit up on his cot his lower back would ache. So he’d better keep the chair.

  His only company was when an enlisted sailor delivered his chow, or when he was accompanied to the head. The menu consisted of rice, period, except once a week there was something on his platter that looked like fishheads.

  Luckily there were no encounters with the enemy, his friends, and in about two weeks Jeb could tell they were docking in port, wherever that was.

  He was placed in what passed for handcuffs in the Japanese Empire, and transported, roughly, in the back of a truck to a compound with a high fence topped with barbed wire. He assumed this would be his new home. That was correct.

  He was met by a smiling guard about the same size as him, around six feet. He was muttering some gibberish Jeb couldn’t understand, but luckily he was also pointing in the direction he wanted his prisoner to go.

  Jeb turned his head to say something smart, and he was met by the butt of said guard’s rifle to his head.

  When he awoke he realized they must have brought his favorite cot from the ship. It looked exactly the same. Only this time there was more than one bed, unless he was seeing things as a result of the tap on his cranium.

  About the same time he noticed that blood was running down the side of his head. For the second time he was taken to what passed for an infirmary. There was one woman on duty, and he was surprised to notice she was not bad looking for what he surmised was a nurse. She stood about five-four. She wore black shoes without heels. She had grey stockings going up to below her white dress somewhere. Her brown eyes were not as pinched as what he was used to from the movies of Asian women. She was slim, and could easily have been a model. Her black hair was secured in a bun behind a cap, but he could imagine when it flowed freely it would extend over her shoulders to her perfectly rounded breasts.

  He was shocked when she told him in perfect English, “Sit here please.” It wasn’t an order.

  She probed and prodded, but surprisingly it didn’t hurt. In fact Jeb was sorry when she stopped.

  The cut required three stitches to close, and when she was done she placed a sterile bandage over the wound secured by tape. She’d had to shave a small section around the wound, and she actually apologized for it.

  Back on his cot he couldn’t help but wonder how this perfect woman had ended up in the camp, wherever it was. He didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  Soon he was moved into a much larger space. When he looked around, he was in a large room with dingy white walls. The flooring was linoleum, probably bought from the United States. The other cots were spaced about equally apart from each other, and bodies occupied each one. It looked as if they were all sleeping. On one of the beds not far from his, a man raised up, looking at him.

  “Welcome to our world stranger,” was his greeting.

  Jeb didn’t know what to say, so he remained quiet.

  “Did you meet the Commandant yet?”

  “No,” and he asked his own question, “Where are we?”

  The other man answered, “Okinawa.”

  “What’s that, a city in Japan?”

  “No, it’s an island off the coast of Japan, but they own it.”

  “How did you get here?” he asked, for lack of anything else to say.

  “Have you heard of the Doolittle raid?”

  “No. What’s that?”

  His voice was hoarse, as if he had a cold, “Where have you been?”

  “I was on a destroyer that got blown up in the Coral Sea.”

  “Oh. Sorry. We flew a bunch of B25s off the deck of the carrier Hornet, and bombed Tokyo, and a few other Jap cities.

  “You’re kidding!” Jeb said, incredulously.

  “No. It’s for real. We didn’t have enough fuel to make it to safe bases in China, so we had to ditch in enemy territory. I heard Some of us didn’t make it. They were the lucky ones.” He emphasized his point by looking around.

  “When did that happen?”

  “I was captured two days ago. I got here yesterday. I was the new guy until you showed up.”

  “So what’s the story on the nurse? She could almost be one of us.” Jeb leaned forward on his bunk, anxious to hear the answer.

  “As I said, I just arrived yesterday. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting the nurse yet. I’m only here because I have a broken leg. It was set by a Chinese doctor before the Japs raided us. I guess I’m not a high priority for the infirmary, if that’s what they call it here. They haven’t taken me in there yet.”

  As if on cue, a guard with a rifle came and escorted Jeb’s new friend out. He hoped it was to the infirmary.

  Jeb settled back down to get a nap. What else was there to do?

  Chapter Fourteen

  I rose early the next morning. I hadn’t slept much, thinking about the murder. The victim had seemed like a nice old guy. Of course I hardly knew him, and I felt bad about that. I should have made more of an effort to be friendly. Too late now.

  I considered the possibility Rachel or I were being targeted, but I couldn’t see any tie-in to our neighbor, other than the close proximity of our houses.

  After dressing, in the adjoining bathroom so I wouldn’t disturb Rachel, I went outside. I couldn’t get close to what was perceived as the site of the killing, because the police had set up barriers. They didn’t want spectators trampling their crime scene until they’d had a chance to fully check it out.

  I tried to picture what could have happened. Maybe Summers had met the man or woman who had killed him in the yard between our two places. They might have known one another. My imagination was running wild. What if my neighbor was the one running illegals through his property, and one of them had killed him, maybe for his money. I wondered if anything was missing from his person or acreage.

  Maybe he had seen something he wasn’t supposed to, and he was rubbed out because of it.

  This was fun. I had absolutely nothing to go on, but I was going to solve this thing before breakfast. Right.

  Just then the front door to the mansion creaked open. I need to oil that, I thought. Joe came out on the porch fully dressed. “I heard you go down the stairs, so I thought maybe we’d have a chance to talk, without interruption,” he began. “What do you think of Ariel?”

  He had interrupted my thought process, but I forgave him, in my mind. “She’s cute.”

  “I know that,” he answered, irritably, “but do you think I made a mistake?”

  “What do you care what I think? The fat’s already in the fire. You’re married for better or worse.” And I added, “Rachel likes her.”

  “How about the kids? Do you think I can be a good dad to them?”

  “I’m sure of it. Maybe that wasn’t true a few years ago, but you’re not that guy any more.”

  “Yeah, I’ve grown up haven’t I?”

  “Don’t go patting yourself on the back just yet. All the votes aren’t in.” I teased.

  He laughed. “You’re right about that. There are people back in Chicago who would think I’m crazy, trying to be legitimate.”

  “Oh I don’t know. I thought they
were all dead.”

  This time he roared. “I guess that’s true.”

  Our intellectual conversation was stopped just then as a Yellow Cab pulled into the circular drive. Almost simultaneously another car pulled in right behind the cab. Were we being invaded?

  I recognized the passenger in the cab as he exited. It was Andrew Dark. I was really surprised to see him, and at the same time I couldn’t help wondering what brought him to the West Coast all the way from his home in Richmond, Virginia.

  Before I had a chance to verbalize my question three men piled out of the second vehicle. One was in the uniform of the San Diego County Sheriff’s Department. The other two wore dark suits, which seemed out of place on this sunny day. I didn’t recognize any of them.

  “Which one of you is Ivan Dunn?” the Sheriff’s deputy asked, in a pleasant voice.

  “That would be me,” I answered, flippantly.

  The tone of his voice changed. Now it was slightly menacing. “We need to look around. That’s okay with you, right?”

  I said, “Sure, can I make you coffee, or breakfast Sergeant?” I had noticed the chevrons on his sleeve.

  He realized I was putting him on, and said nothing. He just walked away toward where the other two who had been with him were intent on the ground across the barrier, toward my ex-neighbor’s house.

  I turned back to the man I assumed would be my new houseguest. “How are you doing Andrew, and what are you doing here?”

  The older man, who was completely gray on top, and stooped slightly, reached for his suitcase, saying, “can we talk inside, Ivan? I can’t stand for very long anymore.”

  “Sure we can,” I answered as I took his one piece of luggage away from him. “You and Joe haven’t met have you?”

  As we began walking toward my front door, he answered, “No, but I’ve heard about him.”