“Hi Rachel,” he began. “I finally tracked down Harold Lambright. I’m sorry it took so long to get back to you.”
“Where is he?” Rachel drew a deep breath as she awaited the answer that could shed some light on their dilemma.
“I’m afraid we’ve hit a dead-end there. Our man just forgot to check with his parole officer before leaving town. It seems he just wanted to look for work in another town, where they maybe hadn’t heard about his record.” Dark paused before continuing. “The authorities are checking out his story, but it looks as if he was telling the truth. He never left the state.”
Rachel thanked the retired police officer, and they shared a few amenities before disconnecting the call.
She and Ivan were deeply disappointed at the turn of events back east, but they were clinging to the hope their next gamble would bear more fruit.
At six that same night they both left the La Jolla mansion in separate automobiles, Rachel in her car and Ivan in the one he had rented, since his had been totaled in the ill-fated drive down the mountain.
There was indeed an alleyway behind the Carey home. Ivan had little trouble entering the building. A window had been left ajar in a part of the house that was shielded from not only the street, but also any prying neighbors. A large hedge was conveniently placed as a barrier to the adjacent property on the side of the house where Ivan would enter.
Once inside he quickly checked for un-shaded windows. Finding only two he covered them. Remaining undetected still wouldn’t be easy, but he had to chance it.
He started in the larger of the two bedrooms, assuming that was the one used for sleeping. He spent nearly a half hour checking under the mattress of the large bed, and behind and beneath all the drawers. The closet was rather small and revealed nothing.
Next he moved to the other bedroom, which had been converted into a sitting room. The result was the same. There was nothing incriminating.
There was really no place to hide anything in either the kitchen or bathroom, though he did look in all the cabinets.
The time he had allowed himself was running out as he moved into a rather spacious living room. He got down low, checking under both the couch and easy chair. No luck there.
When he stood up, he was facing the fireplace. On a shelf was a picture. It was in plain sight, and it changed everything!
Excited now, Ivan left by the same window from which he had entered. He walked quickly out the alleyway to his rented car. As he drove off, in his enthusiasm over his discovery, he failed to notice the figure crouched down in a vehicle on the other side of the street from where he had parked.
-----
Rachel was waiting outside the café that had been chosen for the two women to meet when Linda Carey walked up.
“I had to park a block away. It’s so busy around here. Have you been waiting long?”
“No. As a matter of fact I just arrived,” Rachel answered. “I don’t think we’ll have any trouble finding a table,” she continued, as the two of them walked in.
Rachel knew she would have to keep her companion busy for at least an hour, so Ivan could complete his search of her house. “So how are you these days Linda?” she opened, after they were seated in a booth across from one another. At the same time she reached over and took the widow’s hands in hers, to show compassion, which she actually felt. She was sure the other woman was a victim in the whole thing.
“I’m doing all right, under the circumstances.”
“Are you planning on staying in that house, after what has happened?”
“I’m not sure at this point. I’ll admit it’s a little scary, being there by myself. Of course there’s a guard outside, but I don’t know him, since Jay was reassigned.”
Rachel picked up on that right away. “Oh, did you know the previous officer?”
“Yes. He and my husband were partners for a while, and they also did some part-time work together.”
“Where was that?”
Linda Carey shuffled her feet under the table, “They worked as security guards for Acme Oil up in San Verdugo. But that ended a few years ago.” She pulled her hands away from Rachel, and, looking right at her she said, rather firmly, “How long are you going to keep up this pretense, Rachel Dunn? I know who you are!”
Chapter Thirty-One
Once Ivan turned onto highway eighty from El Cajon Boulevard, traffic was fairly light. There was no reason for anyone to follow too close, but that’s what the car behind him was doing. There was barely a car length between them.
“Why are all the idiots on the road always gathered around me?” he said aloud. If there’d been an answer he didn’t have time to hear it, or mouth it, because the car behind him accelerated, slamming into his rear bumper hard enough to force his head back violently.
He looked up into the rear-view mirror but could see nothing but a vague outline of a car. It was impossible to see the driver. He pressed harder on the gas pedal, but he couldn’t shake the other vehicle. It stayed a couple of car lengths back, keeping pace with him.
Ivan was traveling well above the speed limit now, and yet here came his adversary again, bumping him even harder than at first. The effect wasn’t as bone-jarring this time however. Ivan had seen him coming and braced himself. His rented Ford moved slightly off-course with the collision, but Ivan was able to maintain control. He was thinking,where was a cop or highway patrolman when you needed one?
He was nearing his turn-off to head north to La Jolla when, out of his left side-view mirror he saw his adversary pulling up alongside his vehicle. Suddenly the other car veered sharply and collided with his left rear fender. The force of the blow was hard enough for Ivan to lose control of his car. It spun around in nearly a complete circle as if it were hydroplaning, and then flipped, rolling over twice before coming to a stop on its hood, partly on the shoulder next to the outside lane, but protruding out onto the roadway itself.
Before losing consciousness Ivan saw the other car stop alongside the wreck, the driver didn’t bother exiting his own vehicle. It wasn’t his intention to help. He stared inside the cab of the now still, but smoking, Ford. Ivan instinctively reached for his weapon, before realizing he wasn’t carrying. It wouldn’t have mattered though because he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
Apparently satisfied the crash had killed his prey, the other driver then sped away into the darkness. It would be nearly five minutes before another vehicle would come to that spot on the highway, and see the overturned Ford.
-----
At the restaurant, Rachel stared at the woman sitting across from her. “If you know who I am why did you agree to meet me again?” Her tone was unrepentant.
“Maybe I wanted to see what lengths you would go to, to protect your man.”
“As far as I have to. He’s innocent, and I think you know it.”
“Yes, I do. I doubt anybody is stupid enough to leave that much incriminating evidence around.”
“Did you tell that to the authorities?”
“No. I’ve been in mourning, in case you haven’t noticed.” Linda Carey’s tone was definitely turning sarcastic.
“So here’s the million dollar question. Who do you think killed your husband?” And Rachel added, “And why?”
“If I knew the why, I’d probably be able to guess who. My husband didn’t have any enemies that I know of, other than people he’d put in jail. It almost had to be a criminal he’d arrested.” She paused before adding, “And he didn’t discuss his work with me.”
“I do apologize for being evasive, and deceiving you Linda, but it was necessary to find out what you knew, so I could get my husband released from jail. I had no way of knowing you weren’t in it up to your eyeballs.”
Linda reached out, taking Rachel’s hands in hers, and smiling, answered, “I understand, believe me. I would have done the same thing.”
Before long the two were visiting like friends, and as unlikely as it seemed, somehow that’s what the
y had become.
After their dinner Rachel drove back out toward her home, using Highway 80. The road was partially blocked at one point. As she inched along she noticed a car overturned in the far right lane. A fire truck and an aid car were alongside. There were also several highway patrolmen directing traffic, while a third stood near the wreck, where it appeared something or someone was under a sheet.
As she cleared the area Rachel thought to herself that, probably, no one could survive a wreck that horrific. She had other things on her mind, however, and quickly dismissed what she had observed as some poor individual, probably drunk, who had met his or her end on that lonely stretch of highway.
She had to rush home to La Jolla to share with her husband what she had learned from the widow Carey. She was preoccupied and nearly missed her turn.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Everything was suddenly becoming too complicated. His temper was getting in the way of his plan. He shouldn’t have killed the other detective, what was his name, Castiglione? And now there was the mess caused by him ramming that asshole Dunn.
There were other ways of disposing of his adversary. He should have thought it out more carefully. It probably wasn’t a good idea to call the son of a bitch either. He had to start making better decisions if he was going to pull this off, and get away clean. At least he could take consolation from the fact that Ivan Dunn was lying dead on the highway. There was only two items left on his agenda, before he would leave for safer ground, away from San Diego; Jay Sommersby would fall under the category of unfinished business, before he and the widow Carey could escape and live happily ever after. He fantasized she would be happy to go anywhere with him.
The collision had left a huge dent in his right front fender, and the headlight on that side was shattered. It might raise too many questions if he took it to a repair shop.
Up until the point of impact on the highway, his plan had worked to near perfection. Carey was out of the way, and his secret had died with him. He shouldn’t have threatened to go to the authorities. That wasn’t friendly. They’d had a good thing going, before his partner had gotten religion, or whatever it was that made him think he was a do-gooder. There was no way the oil company would find out what was going on, them skimming oil and selling it on the black market.
If that Mexican hadn’t wandered onto the plant grounds that night everything might have continued the way it was, with them pocketing a wad of extra cash every month.
“What are you doing?” the intruder had said in English, with a thick Spanish accent.
He and Carey were in their security guard uniforms, and they could not afford to be reported. They would surely lose their moonlighting jobs, and probably be prosecuted, incarcerated, and forfeit their positions with the police. Their lives would, in effect, be ruined.
This was all running through the mind of the man known as Red Imhoff as he drew the pistol provided by his employer and fired just one shot. The Mexican fell immediately to the ground, mortally wounded. He said nothing as he expired, blood steadily escaping from both sides of his now still mouth as a result of the gut shot.
Jack Carey could not react fast enough to stop his partner in crime. He was aghast at what had occurred, but there was no way he could have reacted fast enough to stop it. He too knew that the circumstances of what had just happened would end his life as he knew it. He took the easy way out, and helped Imhoff bury the evidence.
In the confrontation they had at the apartment of the shooter the next night, Carey convinced his partner to resign from the police force and leave town. Otherwise, he told him, he would make a full disclosure, regardless of the consequences for himself.
Their third accomplice sat back and listened to the other two go at it. He had only heard what happened a few minutes earlier. He’d been off the night of the shooting. He was, however, keenly interested in what was to transpire. His future would also be at stake.
Imhoff thought about silencing his partner right then and there. He did consider it, but with the third man in the room, he would have had no choice but to kill him too. He had no qualms about committing the third murder. He had no love for either of them, but it would have been complicated to do it there in the apartment. His name was on the rental agreement. He would have to dispose of the bodies. The only way to accomplish the deed would be with his service pistol. Carey had made him bury the other weapon after the first murder. There would be no chance to get them both with a knife, even if he had one. They wouldn’t just stand still and let him do it.
He fled to Chicago, not willing to take the chance his partner was only bluffing. He was hired by the local police there, using the name of Rusty Ingalls. That way he could at least keep the same initials. Because of the high crime rate in the city, and the fact it was a very dangerous job at that time, he was hired with no background check. They would have probably taken a street person if one had applied.
It ate at Imhoff that the man who could put him away forever could change his mind at any time. He knew Carey had a conscience, and his knowledge would be hard to live with.
He was trying to keep his nose clean, but his partner on the Chicago force was crooked, and pulled him into a situation that had got him shot and wounded, and landed him in jail.
He’d been just along for the ride one evening, when all hell broke loose. A mob boss named Aaron Small, had kidnapped Rachel Embree, hoping she would lead him to his ex-partner in crime Chris Ellison, who had threatened to blow the whistle on their whole crime operation. They’d tried to kill Ellison once before but he had survived. Small knew it was only a matter of time before his ex-partner would return to exact revenge.
Ellison showed up at the same time Ivan Dunn had been brought there. Imhoff, Dunn, Ellison, and an FBI agent later identified as Robert Chase were the only ones left breathing after the smoke from the gunfight cleared. Rachel Embree had been tied up in an upstairs room, and was unhurt.
The police decided not to prosecute the man they knew as Ingalls, since he had not fired a shot, and was, as they told the newspaper reporters, just an innocent bystander, in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He was, however, fired from the police force, after spending three weeks flat on his back in that hospital bed, accumulating bed sores, and harboring a festering hatred of the man who, in his perception, had put him there.
In his own mind, he was under tremendous pressure to resolve the situation in San Diego permanently. Were he to get rid of Jack Carey, he might even have a chance with his good-looking wife. He was sure the woman had eyes for him, though that wasn’t the case.
It had been a stroke of luck that he had seen the wedding announcement in the San Diego paper for the upcoming nuptials of Ivan Dunn, late of Chicago, and Rachel Embree, a southern belle from Richmond, Virginia. He had a score to settle with them too.
It was easy to lure them to that cabin with the fake offer of a getaway. No one saw him as he entered their home, after picking the lock-a skill he’d learned while in a legitimate police uniform. He’d been dressed as a courier while making his entrance to the Dunn home, so it was normal to see him in that upscale neighborhood.
He really wanted to see Ivan Dunn dead, but he needed a patsy to have the Carey case closed, so that no one would be looking for him. In his delusional mind he wanted to be able to come back, and maybe get something going with the pretty widow. She’d need someone to console her.
Another stroke of genius, to the killer’s way of thinking, was to wear an old Charlie Chan mask he’d had from back in the forties, when those movies were popular, as he carried out his plan to gain entrance to the Dunn mansion. It would cover his red hair, and make it impossible to identify him, should the remote possibility of an eyewitness occur.
Now he would make his escape. The border was just a few miles to the south. He would drive to Tijuana, sell his car, and then catch a plane for Miami. Life would be sweet there. But he wouldn’t go alone.
Chapter Thirty-Three<
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Rachel Dunn arrived at the home she shared with Ivan at a reasonable hour. She had hoped her husband would be there waiting, with good news of his search at the Carey house. Of course that wasn’t the case.
She was anxious to share what she had learned. Even after revealing that she knew who Rachel was, Linda Carey was pleasant and forthcoming. They had a bond of sorts, at least in the widow’s mind. She had lost her husband and Rachel could easily lose hers to prison, for a deed they both knew he didn’t commit.
There were new leads to follow, now that Linda had confided that her husband moonlighted at the Acme Oil Company as a security guard. Two of his fellow officers in the Sheriff’s department, Jay Sommersby and Red Imhoff had also taken jobs with the oil company at the same time. They’d been there for about a year when there had been a rift between his co-workers and him. While Sommersby remained an officer, Imhoff resigned and left town. Maybe there was something there. Linda heard that he had moved to Chicago. Rachel’s eyes lit up when she heard that. Maybe this was the link they had been searching for. Did she or Ivan know him? She was excited to discuss it with her husband.
Why wasn’t he home? They’d decided he would only have an hour inside the home Linda Carey and her husband had shared. So where was he?
By midnight when Ivan still had not returned, Rachel was beside herself with worry. He wasn’t the sort to not let her know when he’d had a change of plans. She searched in all the places he might leave a note, to no avail.
At one a.m. the doorbell rang.
------
The first motorist to come upon the place where the car had flipped, drove quickly to a pay phone and called the authorities. When the Highway Patrol officers arrived at the scene of the accident Ivan was still inside the cab of the overturned vehicle. He wasn’t moving. Gasoline was dripping from the ruptured tank of the rental car. One patrolman pulled the unconscious driver from an open window while the other officer called for an aid car and fire truck from the short wave radio of the truck.
Shadow of a Killer: the Dark Side of Paradise Page 12