“How did you get here? How long have I been out?” I asked Gus.
“Zoe and I were spending a few days in San Francisco on our way back from Hawaii,” he replied. “Susan had our itinerary. She called to tell me about Millie, and I caught the first available flight. I came directly here from the airport. Arrived just in time to hear about your heroics.”
“Never mind my so-called heroics. Is Millie all right?” I tried to sit up again and once more was told to lie still.
“She was resting quietly last I checked. Her doctor told me there was no change in her condition. The scuffle in the corridor didn’t disturb her in any way.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, gathering my thoughts, grateful for Gus’s comforting presence. “Did Susan tell you what happened to Millie? What Colin did?”
“She told me as much as she knows, and Colin filled in the rest. He’s asked me to represent him.”
“Can you do that? Are you licensed to practice in Nevada?”
“No sweat. I hook up with local attorneys all the time. Why do you think I make a point of attending the American Bar Association meeting every year? I have a colleague right here in Las Vegas.” Gus gave me a quizzical look. “Colin told me you know about his history. His parentage.”
“Millie told me yesterday. She said that she didn’t want any more secrets between us. How much did Colin tell you?”
“He didn’t really need to tell me anything,” Gus admitted. “I was the one who took care of the birth registration in California. I had just begun to practice law in San Diego when Millie’s mother contacted me. My mother was a Hewitt, and it seemed reasonable to keep everything in the family, as it were.”
“So, you’ve known all along.”
“Yes. I hope you understand why I never told you.”
“Of course. I just wonder how Turpin found out.”
“According to Colin, Turpin started researching both you and Millie after that dust-up you had with him three years ago. I suspect he wanted to dig up dirt he could use to pressure or discredit the two of you. We’ll never know for sure, but when Colin was hired by the casino, Turpin probably recognized the surname and made the connection.”
“Did Colin tell you anything about the theft of the gold?”
“He claims not to have known anything about it,” Gus said with a shrug. “Claims he was en route to Vermont the night the theft took place. The police are trying to verify his story. I’ve already warned him, by the way. If Colin is lying to me, he’ll need to find himself another attorney. I won’t tolerate being lied to by a client, Dick. Not even for Millie’s sake.”
Gus raised his head at the sound of approaching footsteps. “Lt. Davila is here to interview you. I’ve already had a chat with him, and you have nothing to worry about. Just go ahead and tell him exactly what happened.” He gave my shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Take it easy, Dick. I’ll see you later.”
I was growing tired, and it must have shown. "Feel up to answering some questions?” Davila asked. “Or would you prefer to put this off for a few hours?”
“I’m game, as long as you answer mine first.”
“Fair enough. What do you want to know?”
“I saw Turpin go over the parapet. How did he survive the fall?” Ignoring protests from the nurse, I raised my head and shoulders off the gurney, supporting myself on my elbows. “Why didn’t you tell me he was alive? I never would have left Millie unprotected if I had known he was still alive.”
“The hotel towers at the Gold Dragon are equipped with window-washing platforms,” Davila replied. “They’re stored on the roof, and deployed using a series of pulleys when a team of washers is at work. By chance, they were working on the 21st floor of the South Tower. When Turpin went over the edge, he landed on the platform. He dislocated a shoulder and bruised his ribs, but was otherwise unhurt.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked again.
“By the time I was notified, your wife was in surgery. I didn’t want to worry you. Besides, Turpin was under police guard. I planned to tell you in the morning.”
“How did he get away? How did he get a gun?”
“I can only speculate that the arresting officer who escorted Turpin to the ER neglected to search him. We found our man disarmed and handcuffed to the hospital bed.” Davila’s face was a study in frustration. “When the county sheriff’s department merged with the various city police departments several years ago, we absorbed a number of officers whose training was substandard. I’ve been complaining about it ever since. Internal Affairs will be looking into this incident. Maybe it will be the catalyst to trigger some changes. Now,” he said, “it’s your turn. Tell me what happened.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, reliving the incident in my mind, seeing it as though watching a movie scene in slow-motion. I walked Davila through, step by step, second by second, hearing the gunshots inside my head, the smell of cordite fresh in my nostrils. He gave me his full attention, leaving the note-taking to a constable who was seated in a corner of the room. When my voice faltered as I described emptying the Glock’s magazine into Turpin’s inanimate body, Davila stood to go. “I’ll let you get some rest now, Mr. Dickens. Don’t beat yourself up over what you did. It was a natural reaction to the situation. We won’t be laying any charges. Just between you and me, you’ve done the county a favor.”
Epilogue
Six weeks later
I glanced over at Millie, who was asleep in the front passenger seat of our rental car, the seat back tilted at a 45º angle. We were driving north on US-101, and I was watching for the Monterey Bay turn-off. The last few weeks had taken their toll on Millie, sapping her health and stealing her happiness. She had lost weight during her hospital stay, and her hair hadn’t yet grown back where her scalp had been shaved for surgery. Even as she slept, fatigue and depression were apparent in her pale, gaunt face.
Physically, the wounds she had received at the hands of Derek Turpin were healing. Although painful for several days, the hairline skull fracture had not generated any secondary issues, and a follow-up CT scan showed it was beginning to knit. Her arm was another story. She had suffered nerve damage, either from the bullet, or during the surgery that had saved her life. Millie’s right arm was paralyzed from the elbow down. In the opinion of the neurologist at Sunrise Hospital in Las Vegas, she would likely regain partial feeling with appropriate physiotherapy, but should not expect to recover full use of her hand. I could tell whenever the arm caused her pain. Her lips would compress until they turned white. But, fearing addiction, she refused any painkillers stronger than aspirin. I admired her bravery, even as I hated and feared the toll it was taking on her physical strength and emotional well-being.
Unlike Millie, the injuries I had sustained in my final confrontation with Turpin were minor. My slaying of our nemesis was ruled self-defense by the Las Vegas police. Nevertheless, his estate had floated the threat of a ‘wrongful death’ lawsuit against me until Gus convinced them to drop the idea. I was in the clear, and we would soon take possession of a nice little nest egg, thanks to Gus’s negotiating skills. He had arranged a generous settlement from the Aces Insurance Company as a reward for my recovery of the Gold Dragon nugget. In addition, we would receive compensation from the Atlantic City company that held the fire insurance policy for our office. The cash settlements would give Millie and me the financial breathing space we needed to recover our health and equilibrium.
Gus had intervened in Colin’s case, negotiating directly with the US Attorney to reduce the federal charges from kidnapping to ‘accessory after the fact’ in exchange for Colin’s cooperation. In return, Colin laid out the entire kidnapping plot as he knew it, fingering Turpin as the mastermind, Duke Zyklos as the principal actor, and Zachary Smits as an accomplice. Smits had been arrested and was free on bail. He was restricted to Blanding, and his pilot’s license was suspended pending the outcome of his trial. Zyklos, now fully recovered from his injuries, was being he
ld in Vermont without bail. If convicted, he could be looking at twenty years behind bars in a federal penitentiary. Colin, too, would have to serve some prison time, and Gus and I had spoken with him at length, urging him to use his time behind bars to pursue his GED.
Once I knew Millie was out of danger, I turned my attention to finding a place for us to live while Millie endured the anticipated months of physiotherapy. She was determined to prove the neurologist wrong. To regain full use of her injured arm and hand. I placed a phone call to Chief James Holmes in Carmel, and he came through for us within a couple of days. There was a small, furnished house with a fenced yard available on a month-to-month rental basis, he told me. It was a short walk from the beach, and the owner was willing to permit a dog. I made a swift trip back east to pack up our personal belongings, and arranged for them to be shipped directly to California. For the moment, I left the furniture where it was. Bruno promised to check on the apartment from time to time, and I told him to feel free to use it whenever he wished.
I spotted the sign for Monterey Bay and took the exit pointing to Route 68. The first couple of miles wound through city streets as we skirted the outermost fringes of Salinas. Then we were on a two-lane highway, heading toward the sunset. Millie stirred as I drove, the setting sun flickering in and out between the tree branches.
We were nearing the coast. I could see glimpses of Monterey Bay as we approached the ramp for US-1 South. I followed the highway past the exits for Pacific Grove and 17-Mile Drive, and turned west onto Ocean Avenue. The road curved gently through a residential area before depositing us at the eastern edge of Carmel’s downtown commercial district. I drove past shops, restaurants, a pharmacy, and a library, and turned left onto Casanova Street. Several blocks later, I pulled up in front of a pale, green clapboard house with a pitched roof. A wisp of smoke was rising from the top of a red brick chimney, and the front yard was a riot of wildflowers. As I parked the car, Bruno appeared in the doorway, waiting to greet us. I stroked Millie’s cheek and her eyes fluttered open. “We’re here,” I told her.
I walked around to the passenger side of the car, to open the door for Millie and help her to stand. As I took her good arm and she leaned against me for support, a genuine smile illuminated her face for the first time in weeks. I turned around and saw Hershey, his big front paws resting on the top of the fence, the tip of his wagging tail tracing circles in the air. I knew then everything would be all right. We had made it through the storm, shaken but victorious. The future would bring new challenges. New difficulties to surmount. But we would face them together.
We were home.
Afterword
Thank you for taking the time to read The Gold Dragon Caper, fourth novel in the Damien Dickens Mysteries series. If you enjoyed my book, please consider taking a moment to leave a review, either on Amazon, Goodreads, or Facebook. To keep up to date with Damien’s doings, sign up for my monthly newsletter on my Gone Writing website or Facebook page.
Also by Phyllis Entis
Fiction
The Green Pearl Caper
The White Russian Caper
The Chocolate Labradoodle Caper
Non-Fiction
Food Safety: Old Habits, New Perspectives
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The Gold Dragon Caper: A Damien Dickens Mystery (Damien Dickens Mysteries Book 4) Page 22
