Chapter Twenty-Eight
There was considerable concern in the minds of Ivan and Rachel Dunn about the man they called Joe. In actuality his name was Chris Ellison. He’d been sent to prison for the crimes of Ellison, but his persona was now that of Joe, the name he’d been given by Ivan when he encountered him in a homeless state, unable to remember even his name. Were he to be granted parole, what character would he assume when back on the street?
Rachel felt, after visiting the man in Joliet prison, he would come out all right, and not revisit his criminal career. His old associates were dead, some by his hand. There was really nothing to draw him back into that kind of life, not that she could see anyway.
Another really good sign that Joe had turned over a new and permanent leaf was the fact that he had petitioned the court, through a jailhouse lawyer, to permanently change his first name to Joe-not Joseph, just Joe.
He now had something other than a life of crime to look forward to. Ariel Fernandez cared for him. The younger girl had confided such to Rachel. Joe would have a built-in family to look after if he in fact married Ariel. She had two pre-teen children who already adored him. That sprung from an encounter on a bus heading from the west coast to Chicago, when Joe had intervened on their behalf when two drunks were making the trip miserable for the young family.
He’d also shown his violent side to them. The kids actually took it in stride, thinking of it as an adventure. Their dashing calm and cool protector was the closest thing to one of the characters in Juan’s revered comic books. Ariel however was worried about Joe’s dangerous streak. Was it just a one-time occurrence, or would it return over and over. She was practical. She couldn’t allow that kind of environment around her children. Should she see him again, only time would tell what sort of man he really had become.
Ariel was lonely in Chicago. Her position as a school teacher was rewarding, and she had a sense of security, but something was missing. There had been some good times in her past marriage, before things went wrong. She longed for that closeness again, and the feeling that she wouldn’t have to conquer the world all alone. Then there were the nights. Her bed was much colder now. There were times in the dark she still reached across the white sheets for the comfort of another body.
Rachel thought she would never hear from Joe. It had been over two weeks since she’d returned from Illinois, and her visit with him in Joliet. He had promised to find out what happened to the policeman Rusty Ingalls. There was the slight chance Ingalls might be involved in the murder of Jack Carey and Evan Castiglione. That possibility would be removed in the minds of Rachel and her husband if in fact the man was in prison, or better yet, even dead. Rachel loathed the man for his part in almost getting them killed. It would have been a much better scenario if the bad cop had been killed in the shootout that took the life of his partner, also corrupt, and the man who had orchestrated the whole trap, Aaron Small. As it played out, the only body left standing, other than the good guys, was Ingalls.
They finally did hear from Joe, in the form of a certified letter delivered to their home in La Jolla. The timing was good, since Ivan had been released on bail the day before.
It was mid- morning. They were just lying in bed, holding each other, after a night of sometimes passionate, other times tender, lovemaking. Ivan had been in jail only three weeks, but to them it seemed much longer.
They were upstairs in the huge mansion and almost didn’t hear the bell. At least Ivan didn’t. He was thinking about another encore.
“Did you hear something my love?” Rachel had been told often she had the hearing of a cat.
“No. What did it sound like?”
“I think it was the doorbell.”
Ivan quickly retrieved his pants, which he had hung on the bedpost in haste the night before.
By the time he opened the large front door, the letter carrier had already retreated halfway down the decorative cobblestone walk to the circular driveway beyond. When he heard the door open behind him, he quickly turned and made his way back to the expansive building.
After signing for his mail, Ivan bounded back up the winding stairs, taking two steps at a time. He was in extremely good spirits, surprisingly, after what he’d been through. Now it seemed like it was over, though that was not at all the case. He was only out on bail. The murder rap was still hanging over him, and until he solved the case, he was looking at a very long prison term. But on the other hand, he had a beautiful wife waiting for him once he reached the top of the stairs, and maybe the letter from Joe was good news.
He and Rachel read the words together.
Hi Rachel and Ivan,it began, Sorry it took me so long to get back to you. I hope things are going better for the two of you. I finally tracked down the creep Rusty Ingalls. It was hard, because he wasn’t convicted and sent to prison like we thought. Turns out he even escaped much jail time, because no one could prove he was even involved in criminal activity. You and I both know that’s bull, but since he was a cop, they whitewashed the whole thing, and he was a free man in only a couple of days.
Scuttlebutt says he left Chicago right away, and nobody’s heard from him since. Could be he’s your guy. Now all you have to do is find him. Good luck with that.
You’ll be happy to know that my parole hearing is scheduled for next week. By the time you read this I could be a free man. If that happens, I’m going to find Ariel and her kids, and try to make a life with them.
Who knows though, if that doesn’t work out you may find me on your doorstep one of these days. At least I’ll know who I am this time. I’m Joe Ellison, good guy. Till then I miss you both. Love you. Take care of each other.
It was signed simply, Joe.
A lot had happened since Rachel had asked Joe to check on Rusty Ingalls. Because of Gladys Pisney’s statement that the intruder at Ivan’s was Asian, they discounted any evidence the killer was Caucasian.
Angelo Rodrigues hadn’t returned from Japan yet, so they weren’t aware that lead had also dried up. They would soon find they were no closer to solving the case than they had been the day Ivan’s car plunged into that ravine.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
As Angelo pulled up outside the huge mansion north of the city, he wondered what was going on. Did they have new evidence in the case? Was Ivan Dunn off the hook for the murder of Jack Carey? He was given little information when Harry Shields called giving him the address of what the elder FBI agent had said was a very important meeting. He noticed a few other vehicles right away, as soon as he turned into the circular drive. None of them were police or sheriff’s cars. That was a good sign.
When he reached for the door handle it pulled away from him, as Rachel Dunn stood there. “We’ve been waiting for you. Come into our humble abode.”
It would have been nice if there’d been a smile accompanying the words, but obviously this wasn’t a joyous occasion. He followed her past the vestibule into a huge room with a vaulted ceiling that made it appear even larger.
“Hi Angelo. Welcome back. I hope you had a pleasant trip, even though It wasn’t a vacation,” Ivan remarked as he descended a grandiose white marble-looking staircase, from what Angelo assumed was the bedrooms. “I really appreciate all you’ve done on my behalf.”
“I’ve already received your report from Harry Shields, but I wanted to thank you in person, and maybe tie up any loose ends that could have been left out.”
“I don’t know what else I can add sir. It appeared to be a dead-end to me,” Angelo answered, as they shook hands, and Ivan took a seat at his dining room table, just off the main living room.
Why don’t you all come join me, and we won’t have to yell to be heard.” This was in deference to the fact the front room was immense.
Angelo glanced around the large room. Thomas Embree was there, as was Rachel Dunn, his mother, and another tall man he didn’t recognize.
Once they were all seated around the huge elongated oak table that smelled of lemon fur
niture polish, Ivan did the honors of introducing his guests. The tall guy was Jered Longfellow, his attorney.
“I asked you all here because, despite your best efforts, this investigation is at a standstill. We’re going to need a fresh perspective if I’m to remain a free man.”
“I’m sure I can show in court enough evidence to create a reasonable doubt in the minds of the jurors.” It was Longfellow.
“Yes, but I’ll be ready for the booby hatch if it goes that far,” Ivan answered. “And it’s not a done deal that they’ll buy into that.” He continued, “I don’t want to bet my freedom on it. I’d much rather get the charges dropped completely, so I don’t even have to go to trial.”
“I’m for that,” Rachel added.
“So what have we got?” Thomas weighed in. “I thought we might have something with the Tokyo gang idea, but it looks like that fell through.”
Angelo continued that line of thought, “I’m sure you’re right. The provost marshal was definite about that. The ring was not only busted, but all the members were accounted for, either dead or in prison.”
“Come right down to it, we only have that little old lady’s word for it that the guy who came to my home was Asian.” Ivan added, “Maybe she was mistaken. We ruled out Harold Lambright and Rusty Ingalls on her say so. Maybe we should take another look at them.”
“I could hire another detective to work on this thing if you want,” Longfellow interjected. “But I can’t help thinking my guy Castiglione was killed because I put him in harm’s way.”
“It wasn’t your fault the killer’s deranged, and trigger happy,” Ivan responded, “and we can’t be dead certain it was the same guy. Sorry about the pun.” His face had a serious look dispelling the notion he was being flippant.
He looked around the room at the people assembled there. “Look, I really appreciate everything you all are doing on my behalf. I’m not sure I can ever repay you.”
“I’d take this house”, Thomas chimed in, showing a previously undisplayed sense of humor. He gave it away with a huge grin, however.
Rachel, who’d been reasonably quiet, jumped in, restoring the somber mood, “I could go back and talk to the widow again. I think she knows more about this than she’s telling.”
“You could be right,” Ivan answered, “but I don’t want to put you in danger again. Rachel started to protest, but Ivan stopped her. “You could do one thing. Maybe you can draw her out of the house so I can get a look in there. I don’t think that would put you in harm’s way. Say you need to follow up on the story you’re doing. Just meet her in a public place. That should be safe enough.”
“If they catch you breaking in, you’ll end up back in the hoosegow faster than you can say you thought it was your house.” It was Longfellow.
Ivan laughed. “I didn’t think you had those kinds of words in you counselor. We can do it in the evening. Maybe I can get in from the alley, if there is one. Most of those streets have them. It should be dark by six or seven.”
“I’m not hearing all this. I’m in law enforcement you know?” Angelo looked slightly uncomfortable.
Thomas chimed in. “Me too. It might be better if you and I get out of here, Angelo.”
“Yeah.” Angelo answered as he retrieved his coat from the back of a chair, “I need to talk to you anyway, but it has nothing to do with this.”
Just then the phone rang. Rachel walked over to the table where it was cradled and picked up the receiver.
“Hello”, she said with a polite tone to her voice.
She had a quizzic al look on her face as she pointed at her husband and announced, “It’s for you.”
“Ivan Dunn here”, he said formally, after walking over to his wife, and taking the phone from her outstretched arm.
“Hello Greek.”
Ivan instinctively knew immediately he was talking to the killer. He didn’t recognize the voice on the other end of the line, and silently he wished this conversation was being recorded. Of course the authorities still considered him to be the prime suspect, so they didn’t bother to set up a monitor for incoming calls.
A little bell went off in Ivan’s brain. Who knew he was Greek? There were only a handful of people. His name didn’t give it away, not anymore, ever since he had shortened it from Dunnopolous. That had happened just before he obtained his private investigators license from the state of Illinois, and set up practice in Chicago.
Some of the marines he’d gone to boot camp with, and stormed the beach at Makin Island had called him Greek. All of us had nicknames, and not all were flattering. They were buddies though, and not the kind to kill indiscriminately, and harbor a grudge against their fellow jarhead.
There had been that one kid he’d had to slap when he took over the platoon. The nineteen year old had frozen at the sight of the Jap Banzai attack. Ivan had lost track of him after they had arrived back at Pearl, and had never seen him again. If the guy was still alive it was more likely he would think his sergeant had saved his life.
Jerry Greenway was another who knew about his Greek heritage, but he was a friend, and anyway, he had been killed savagely by the deranged August Schell in Chicago.
Ivan returned his attention to the phone, “Are you calling to set up a meeting, asshole? You know I’d just love to meet you face to face.”
“That might happen,” his caller answered, “especially now that you might be off the hook with the law. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“And you went to so much trouble to haul that typewriter into my home. Was it heavy?” Ivan asked wryly.
“It was worth it. I almost had you where you belong.”
“Tell me about it. Why have you got it in for me?” Maybe he could learn something from this stupido’s call,
“You figure it out. Anyway, it was just a small setback, because now I will just have to take care of you myself, you and maybe that whore of a wife of yours too.”
Ivan almost lost control of himself, but he knew the killer was baiting him. He was also thinking that if he kept him on the line, the idiot might tell him something important, like where to find him. He would really like to meet up with this bozo, and get his hands around the guy’s neck, or better yet, slit his throat with a dull knife.
“Why don’t you just come out to my home, and we’ll settle this like men?” Ivan was the one baiting the hook now.
“Naw, I have something else in mind for you. You’ll really like it.”
“Oh yeah? Tell me about it.”
“All in good time my friend. You won’t even see me coming, but I’ll be sure you get a look at me before you go to hell.”
“That’s mighty nice of you, prick. I won’t extend the same courtesy to you. It’s been swell talking to you but I have an important engagement to go to.” With that Ivan slammed the phone back on its cradle, sure by this time he could learn nothing new.
At that point, Ivan turned to his guests, saying, “I apologize for my language. You probably guessed I was talking to the killer. It was obvious he’s not oriental, but I didn’t recognize his voice. He called me Greek, and for the life of me I don’t know how he knew that.”
“I thought you were going to lose it there for a minute.” Rachel said, as she came to her husband, and embraced him.
“He was pushing my buttons, but I couldn’t let him know he was getting to me.” It wouldn’t do to let his wife know what that psycho said about her.
Thomas broke in and said, “Well we are going to leave you two alone, unless there’s something else you need us for?” He made it a question.”
“No go ahead, all of you. We’ll keep you informed as to what we find out. Thanks for coming. With that Ivan shook each of their hands as they headed for the door.
As the two lawmen reached their cars in the driveway, Angelo put his hand on Thomas sleeve. “I wanted to tell you about Tokyo.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“I saw the woman Kim Jong.”
Thomas
was surprised, and suddenly much more attentive. “Did you deliver my letter?”
“Yes, and I thought she might have some information about the gang her brother belonged to.” He didn’t really go over there to play cupid, but the opportunity did present itself when he stumbled on the boutique. He had taken the letter as a courtesy, not really thinking he would be able to deliver it. “I think she still really cares for you.”
It seemed to Angelo that Thomas eyes lit up when he made the remark. He didn’t know what had been in the correspondence, or the back-story of the two young people, but there was no mistaking the response of them both, which he had observed. They were obviously in love. The obstacles between them were nearly insurmountable however. There was the obvious geographic distance, and their diverse backgrounds. Perhaps Thomas thought the same thing, because his shoulders slumped slightly, and his face took on a sadness as they parted, each locating their own vehicle.
Chapter Thirty
Ivan and Rachel had firmed up their plan and were ready to execute it. The timing of the thing was really important, but first they had to get Linda Carey to agree to a meeting.
Rachel made the call, using the same line about working for a magazine and needing more background information. The Carey woman agreed, but at first she balked at meeting in a neutral location. Rachel explained she was nervous about meeting at her house, because of the recent shooting there, so the widow relented. They arranged to get together at a La Mesa café at seven the next evening.
Ivan would be nearby observing when the woman left her home. He should have more than an hour to scour the place for clues to the killer’s identity, or link Linda Carey to the crime.
The events that were to transpire became even more important when, on the day they had picked for their transgression, around noon, the phone in their home rang. Rachel picked up the receiver. It was Andrew Dark calling from Virginia.
Shadow of a Killer: the Dark Side of Paradise Page 11