A Dead Red Heart

by R. P. Dahlke

  "I didn't notice. Let me think," I said, looking at the plain chenille bench seats, the dust free dashboard, the tidy dirt-free car mats. "All I remember was that I opened the door and saw that map on the seat and the suitcase on the back seat."

  I lowered my voice to a whisper. "I pressed her to tell me who she was meeting. I must've said something, but whatever it was, shook her, and, she... she just took off."

  "Stay here a minute, I have to talk to the detective."

  Caleb stood up and when he did, it set in motion the red tassel Chinese good luck symbol hanging from the rearview mirror. He backed away, motioning the I-dent team to begin. That swinging tassel… where had I seen another one like it?

  Caleb walked over to Rodney, and they spoke for a few minutes then Rodney snapped some order that made Caleb bristle. Caleb held up his hands in a conciliatory manner and came back to where I stood waiting.

  "Okay, Lalla, here's what's going to happen—are you listening?"

  I was staring at the red good luck tassel hanging on Grace's mirror. "Do you think she was kidnapped?"

  Caleb sighed. "We'll find her. Mr. Kim is going to be picked up. He'll be arrested for Billy Wayne's murder."

  I was dumbfounded. "But why?"

  "Mr. Nyung Kim was a South Vietnamese military specialist assigned to the United States Army. He was trained as an assassin, Lalla. He's left-handed as the forensic pathologist has reported and he's within the range for height of the killer."

  "That's absurd! He and Billy Wayne were friends."

  "If you'll let me finish; there's one more thing you don't know. The heart transplant Billy Wayne got? The donor was Mr. Kim's son."

  "Oh, no! That's why …."

  "Yes," he said finishing my thought. "You feel like driving home?"

  "Yes—no. Caleb, why would Mr. Kim befriend Billy Wayne only to murder him?"

  "I'm not going to go into it with you now. We'll talk later."

  He reached out to take my arm and I flinched out of his grasp.

  "This is Rodney's doing, isn't it? Because he needs an arrest."

  "He's the investigating officer, Lalla. I got permission to tell you this much, and now it's over, not your problem anymore."

  "Can I see him, Mr. Kim?"

  "No. That's the condition for telling you this much. You're to stay away from Mr. Kim and his family."

  I was furious. "You fed all that information I gave you to Rodney, didn't you? And Rodney used it against Mr. Kim, because he was a veteran of the military in Vietnam and because I told you that there might have been a connection, that they could've known each other in the past. What about Brad Lane's assertion that it was a cop? Doesn't that count for anything?"

  "Brad is dead and Del Potts hasn't been around to confirm that story, has he?"

  I blinked. Did he really not know? "Caleb, Del's not dead."

  He threw up his hands in exasperation. "What do you want from me, Lalla? The little weasel slipped out of the hospital, and nobody seems to be able to bring him in. You wouldn't happen to know where he is, would you?"

  My hoot of laughter brought up the heads of the team going through Grace's car. I grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him close enough to hiss in his ear. "Del survived dehydration and heat stroke to walk out of that hospital because he didn't trust Rodney not to finish him off. And you let me twist in the wind wondering how I managed to be so lucky to get off a murder charge."

  "What're you talking about? Rodney said... he promised me…."

  "He promised you—what? That I wouldn't be charged with Del's murder because there was no dead body? If I hadn't talked to a very live and well Del Potts, I'd be right where you are today, still under that bastard's thumb."

  He drew back, the ice-chip eyes thinly reappraising. "You think I'm under Rodney's thumb? Is that why you gave my ring back? Wait a minute—do you know where Del's hiding?"

  "You're not paying attention, Caleb. Rodney used both of us: me, to feed you the leads so he wouldn't have to bother to work for them, and you, because he knows you're a duty-bound officer of the law. But right now, if I knew where Del Potts was, I sure wouldn't tell you."

  Chapter twenty-six:

  I spent the next few days with the pile of invoices that I'd left hanging because I was involved with an investigation that, except for the still missing Grace Kim, was now all wrapped up. Maybe I should've listened to that little voice in my head that kept telling me not to get involved.

  I dug into work with a vengeance, determined to empty my mind of the worry that constantly troubled my thoughts, like would the case against Mr. Kim stand up in court? I was convinced that Caleb had his priorities where they should be, and it was best if we didn't speak for a while. But, why didn't he call me?

  By four p.m. I was napping on the office sofa, my left hand hanging over the edge. The phone was ringing, and I thought about letting it go to the answering machine then got up and answered.

  Del said, "We're going to corner the doc who did Billy Wayne's heart transplant in Stockton tonight. I have a press pass for you if you want to join us."

  "What good will it do?" I asked, listlessly. "Mr. Kim has already been charged with the murder."

  "Oh, come on. Just because Rodney has a convenient arrest doesn't mean he's got the right suspect. "

  "But what do you expect to find? I mean, we already know that the heart belonged to Mr. Kim's son."

  "Yes, but we don't know the name of the person who was first in line. The one who should have gotten that heart before Billy Wayne, do we? Aren't you interested in finding out if there's a better suspect than Mr. Kim?"

  "The recipient? You think the doc will tell us who that person was?"

  "If he knows, I'm the one to get it out of him."

  I was thinking of Mr. Kim sitting in jail."Then what?"

  "Then we find out who's got the crazier relative."

  "What time?"

  "One hour. Arny will pick you up. Wear something sexy."

  "Why?"

  "Because the doc fancies himself a ladies' man, and I'm just not that attractive."

  "Oh goody, I'm a shill."

  "I’m glad you see it my way."

  Finally, something to do instead of worrying how I was going to prove Mr. Kim wasn't a killer. I agreed to be ready, hung up, and went into the bathroom to scrub the sleep out of my eyes. Energized again, I left behind the rest of the paperwork, and sprinted for the house. I showered and slipped into a beige linen dress with matching jacket. Smoothing down the dress in the mirror, I noticed it stretched a bit across my hips. I was gaining weight, no doubt about it. Forty was hitting me hard, and I would have to do something about it. Like quit eating.

  I ran down the stairs and grabbed a beer out of the fridge. Trailing my dad behind me, I went out onto the porch to wait for my ride.

  He watched me slug down most of the beer in one gulp and then said, "Caleb's coming for dinner tonight. Did you talk to him, tell him you wouldn't be here tonight?"

  "Why do I have to tell him anything? He hasn't called me in days."

  "You ought to stay, clear up this misunderstanding, or whatever it is you got with him."

  Instead of answering, I asked him a question. "Did you tell anyone that Caleb and I are engaged?"

  "Gave you a ring, didn't he?" he said, confirming the rumor was now all over Modesto.

  "I just don't think it's a very good idea right now for us to be engaged, you know?"

  "No, I don't know. You can't be worried for his reputation, are you? Not after everything he went through with you last year. Or is it that he isn't dangerous enough for you?"

  "Not fair."

  He was thinking of last year when I nearly fell for the ruggedly handsome nephew of Patience McBride. I knew he was unsuitable, but I'd been so flattered that this younger man found me attractive, I'd more or less fallen into my old pattern of believing another no good, cheatin' lyin' man whore.

  "So?" Dad asked, "what's eating you, anyway
?"

  "It's not that Caleb doesn't love me, Dad. It's just that his loyalties are divided. It can't be helped, it's his job. Politics probably or…."

  "Or what?"

  "Don't you find it interesting that all charges have been dropped against me? Murder, reckless driving, all dropped?"

  "I just figured, well, you know Caleb."

  "He's good, but not that good, Dad. I think Rodney made a deal with Caleb: string me along but keep me in the dark about Del being alive, while Caleb passes information I give him to Rodney."

  "What's wrong with that?"

  "But, Dad, I gave all those nice fat leads to Caleb that allowed them to arrest Mr. Kim."

  "That Chinese guy had a motive, didn't he?"

  "Mr. Kim is Vietnamese, and they got the wrong suspect.

  "So you see, I don't know if it's in my best interest to tell Caleb anything right about now."

  "Don't be stupid. You just got your nose out of joint 'cause you're out of the loop with the police."

  I got up and handed my dad the empty beer bottle. "Here's my ride. I'll be back before midnight. I hate to sound secretive, but it's probably best if I don't tell you where I'm going."

  "What am I supposed to tell Caleb?"

  "Tell him that I ran away with the circus." I tipped my head at the street rod rumbling to a stop in front of our house. Arny had installed lights around the undercarriage that lit up the car like a traveling sideshow.

  "You be careful, hear?"

  "Of course," I said. It was sad to think that it had come down to this, that I couldn't tell Caleb what I was doing because I couldn't trust him not to share it all with Rodney, who might use it to once again arrest another wrong suspect.

  Arny's dark curls were spiked and gelled so his head looked like a barbwire torture contraption. He also wore a clean white shirt, skinny black tie and a suit jacket from the eighties. He and my dad should meet, talk fashion.

  "You're dressed up," I said, getting into his car.

  "Jan said to be ready for anything," he said, gunning the motor, juking the gas and spitting gravel as we fishtailed onto the main road. The car wobbled once but missed the telephone pole that almost got in its way.

  "You obviously like the speed," I said. Have you ever been in a small plane?"

  "Those pokey little things?"

  "I was thinking of a Pitts. Kinda like this little street racer of yours. Ever see a stunt plane do a barrel roll?"

  "No way!"

  "I could get you a ride, if you like." I knew a guy with a Pitts, and it would be a good way to thank Arny for chauffeuring me around.

  "Awesome!"

  "I'll let you know in a couple of days. By the way, do you know where we're going?"

  The Farr building in Stockton. She wrote down the address," he said, handing me Jan's notes. I noticed her handwriting had a girlish round slant and she dotted her i's with hearts; the girl was an optimistic romantic after all.

  I gave him the exit numbers and in a few minutes we were cruising past an austere two story building.

  Arny frowned at the long line of cars backed up a block from the building. "Uh-oh. This doesn't look good."

  As we crept up to the entrance we could see protestors, signs hoisted in the air, shoving pamphlets at frustrated attendees trying to navigate for the door. A parking attendant was putting out a FULL sign at the lot, while car parkers stood next to a sign that said, "Valet parking: $25.00."

  Arny scoffed at the line of Mercedes and limos backed up and double-parked along the front.

  "I'm not going to let one of these goons have the keys to this baby."

  "We're going to have to hoof it, then," I said, peering down the long line.

  We argued for a few seconds about whether he would allow me to get out at the curb or I would walk a few blocks so I'd know where he'd parked. I won, and we found something five blocks away next to an empty lot.

  Stockton has, over the last years, become rougher around the edges than the local Chamber of Commerce liked to admit. Five to one, the neighborhood we were now parked in was a less than desirable area. Arny would have to stay locked in his vehicle.

  Three young men, their oversized pants hanging low, lounged under the street lamp.

  "Arny, keep your cell on. If you have any trouble, call 9-1-1."

  "I'll be okay. They're just homies."

  They looked dangerous. "Maybe we should move."

  "Nah. They're just hangin', no worries."

  "What do you mean, 'no worries'? They look pretty tough to me."

  "No do-rags, no colors, and no neck tats. They're just homies hangin' out 'cause it's too hot in da crib. Go on, it'll be okay."

  Cribs, huh? I closed the car door hoping he knew what he was talking about and jogged across the street. Other than an appreciative woof whistle, none of them made a move away from the street light. Maybe Arny was right.

  At the entrance to the Farr building, the attendees were all black tie and evening gown as the couples pushed through the protestors and into the building.

  Security had provided rent-a-cops, but the surprise must have been that there were two groups of protestors, and they were noisy in their disagreements.

  "No heart transplants for convicts!"

  "Prisoners have rights, too! Who're you to decide who lives or dies?"

  The other side yelled, "Is there no justice for victims?"

  Ironically, both sides had signs that said, "Dignity for humanity!"

  Now and then a protestor danced through the crowd of attendees and shoved pamphlets at them. I bent down and scooped one up. The print was made to look like blood splashed across white paper, complete with droplets dripping down the edge. Heart transplants are a Sin against God and Nature! it said, and another said, A murderer kills twice when he gets a heart transplant. Is that justice? All of it very similar to the hate mail sent to Billy Wayne's mom.

  Following Jan's instructions, I went around to the side door where Jan and Del were waiting.

  "Boy," Del said, "some party, huh? This is going to be fun."

  "Yeah," I said, looking at the shoving match going on out front, "if there isn't a riot soon. Was this expected? The protestors?"

  Del winked, "It might even become part of the eleven o'clock news feed."

  "What do you mean 'it might'?"

  "Never mind," said Del, steering me towards the door. "Jan will cover the protestors and you and I will go talk to the good doctor. Here's your pass."

  I took the cardboard ID on a lanyard and draped it over my neck. "Do you really think he'll still talk to us with that rowdy mob out there?"

  "You have much to learn my little chickadee. Watch and learn."

  Once Del waved his pass at the gauntlet of security and got us through the door, it was relatively easy to go anywhere we wanted. We walked down a long hallway stopping to peek through a side door and into a giant ballroom filled with the buzz of several hundred guests. Except for the black tie, and maybe better food, it looked like any National Aero-Ag Association convention. Everyone eats and then there are boring speeches.

  "How're we going to find him in all those people?" I asked, peering over Del's head.

  "Not a problem. Follow me." He snagged a door handle, and it opened on a darkened backstage. Small things came into focus, a dim overhead bulb, the steps leading up to the stage and the closed curtain beyond. The stage looked enormous from here, with enough maroon velvet fabric to cover Kansas. I heard the clip of heels, and out of the shadows a woman with a clipboard breathlessly hurried toward us.

  Del flashed the badge around his neck. "Doctor Madison is expecting me," he intoned. "Is he back here?"

  "Police?" She exhaled a noisy breath, relief washing over her thin face. "Oh, thank God you're here. What about her?"

  "She's with our unit," he answered in a way that gave the impression that we were both police.

  "Right this way then." She gave me a quick once-over, shrugged, and lifting a finger to ind
icate that we should follow and marched off.

  Del winked at me, turning first one, then the other side of the badge for my approval.

  "He's expecting the police," I hissed.

  He pursed his lips, blew me a kiss, then hurried after the clipboard lady.

  "Hideous crowd out there," she said, over her shoulder. "This is Doctor Madison's first society fund raiser, and all the invitations were quietly mailed directly to the doctors. You brought in additional security? We have some of this country's most prestigious heart doctors here tonight, and for heaven's sake, do assure Dr. Madison that you'll do something about that mob out there."

  She stopped at a door. "Here we are." She lightly tapped on the door. "Doctor Madison? The police are here to see you. Doctor Madison?"

  She peeked into an empty room. "Oh, dear. Now I have to go round him up again. Wait here."

  We stepped through the door "Must be a changing room for actors," I said. Thankfully, there were two chairs for guests, and I gratefully dropped into one. "We're frauds. We're going to get thrown out of here."

  "No, we won't."

  I watched Del scrounge through desk drawers.

  Finding nothing he went to the screen and pulled back a corner. "We'll get a heads-up if the police show."

  "What're you doing? What if he comes in here and finds you going through his things?"

  "You won't tell your boyfriend about the badge, will you?"

  That shut me up. "Fine, fine. Then why don't you tell me what it is that your mom knows about the killer?"

  "Makes great cookies, doesn't she? Sugar's a great substitute for bourbon, though my mom couldn't save Billy Wayne even if she was at AA meetings three times a day."

  He bent over and pulled out a briefcase. He sat down and put the case on his lap. It wasn't locked. "Ah, good, he left his i-Pad. I'm going to look up phone numbers."

  He scrolled through pages and punched buttons. "If my mom had her way, she'd be here asking questions instead of you. Better you than her, though. Besides, I hear the doc is partial to tall blonds. Don't take it the wrong way, Lalla. You're smart, and you found the connection between Mr. Kim and Billy Wayne before I did. And it never occurred to me to ask Billy Wayne why he hung out in that particular alley in town. Think Billy Wayne knew that the heart belonged to Mr. Kim's son?"