Shadow of a Killer: the Dark Side of Paradise

by Frank A. Perdue

“Just keep moving fella. The lady isn’t answering any more questions today.”

  “Then maybe you can help me.” He handed his card to the uniformed man.

  “I doubt it. What do you want to know?”

  “Was Jack Carey overseas in the last few years? Maybe China or Japan.”

  “He was in the army during the second World War. He got a deferrment for Korea, the same as me. What difference does that make?” The cop named Jay said, sounding as confrontational as he could. He didn’t like this gumshoe, or anyone who could bother Linda for that matter.

  “It’s just part of the puzzle.” He wasn’t about to share his discovery with this bozo. “Are you sure I can’t talk to the lady? I won’t take long.”

  “Naw, she’s taking a nap. I’m not going to disturb her for you.”

  In exasperation, he turned to leave. The private detective had exited his car in anticipation of getting into the house, but now, as he realized it was not going to happen, he moved back around to the driver’s side door. Just as he reached for the handle, a shot rang out.

  The cop named Jay dove flat out on the grass by where he had stood, but Evan never heard it. He slumped against the car, and slid slowly down to the pavement, an ever-widening circle of blood spreading outward from his chest.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The plane carrying Thomas Embree landed in Richmond, Virginia on a cool, dry, windy day. He felt lucky to have hit the right weather cycle. He remembered that it could be nasty in February.

  After retrieving his one small bag from the overhead bin, he bypassed the baggage section and headed straight for a line of taxis out on the street. He had traveled light, and also booked a return flight for the next day. He anticipated his business would take very little time to complete.

  The police sergeant at Andrew Dark’s old downtown precinct was very helpful, remembering the hero’s welcome for the young man little more than a year earlier.

  “Glad to help,” he stated as he gave Thomas an address for the now retired man.

  His taxi driver had dutifully remained at the curb, with the meter running and it was only a twenty minute ride to the address on the slip of paper he’d been handed.

  The modest bungalow before him was not what Thomas expected. Surely a lifetime of hazardous work deserved more than what appeared to be a one-bedroom house in a less than desirable neighborhood.

  The man who answered his knock was a surprise too. He was stooped, with a balding head and a weary look on his face, even though it was still morning.

  “Yes, may I help you?” said the man who appeared to have been beaten down by life.

  “I hope so,” Thomas began. “I came all the way from the west coast to find you.”

  “And why would you do that, Mister---?

  “I’m sorry. My name is Thomas Embree. My mother was Rachel Embree. Do You remember her?”

  “I most certainly do.” He said, and seemed to perk up some. “She was a very nice lady. She’s not dead is she?”

  “Oh no, it’s just that she’s married now and has a different last name.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Dunn. She is Ivan Dunn’s wife. I believe you’ve met him too.”

  “Oh sure. I’m old, not feeble, even though I might look it.” He wasn’t always so deprecating. He’d just been feeling down lately. Perhaps the approaching first anniversary of his wife Rosemary’s death had something to do with it. “Won’t you come in Mister Embree?” he asked as he opened the screen door.

  As he stepped inside Thomas asked, “Do you live alone Mister Dark?” hoping he wasn’t being impertinent.

  “Yes. My wife is gone, passed away, and my son Jonathon moved to Montana, of all places.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that sir.”

  Andrew Dark nodded, then asked, “So what brings you all this way, to talk to an old man?”

  “Oh you’re not so old sir,” he lied. Then he noticed an impatient look on his host’s face, and decided to get right to it. “Ivan Dunn’s in trouble.”

  “What do you mean? Didn’t he move out to Southern California? Did he get too sunburned?” He chuckled at his own obvious attempt at humor. He couldn’t help himself. He hadn’t heard a word from the private eye since he moved, and he was a little put out about it. “Last I heard, he was following a lead that took him to Texas. Did he ever find Phillip Atchison?”

  Thomas was taken aback slightly, hearing the name of his father. He didn’t know the whole story, just that Ivan Dunn, who was now his stepfather, learned of the death of the man who was his biological father, after tracking him out west.

  “Yes sir, he did.” Thomas didn’t elaborate. Most of it happened when he was in Korea, and he wasn’t really sure of his facts.

  The old man took his curt answer as a rebuff. Maybe the kid just didn’t want to be bothered telling him.

  “So what has Ivan gotten hisself into now?” There was an unmistakable edge to his voice as he reverted to a drawl he had been able to discard years ago when he himself was in the Army.

  “He’s in jail, charged with murder.”

  Upon hearing that, Andrew Dark, the ex-cop, dropped his antagonism, and was ready to solve the problem.

  “I’m sorry kid. I think old age has finally gotten to me.” There was no trace of a southern accent now. “Tell me everything.”

  It was over an hour and a lot of coffee later when Andrew Dark finally spoke. “That’s quite a story young man. I can see how the local police would shut down the investigation when they were convinced they had their man. The gun and the typewriter with the note would just about wrap it up for them. They don’t know Ivan from dirt. To them he would just be an obvious cop-killer.”

  “What do you think?”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think the same thing. These are probably not bad guys. They’re just too emotionally involved with one of their own being the victim.”

  It was time for Thomas to ask the big question.

  “Do you know if Harold Lambright is still in prison?”

  “I know what you’re getting at. There would have to be a strong motive for someone to frame Ivan for the cop’s murder. But you’d think there’d be a connection to the deceased too. How would Harold Lambright know him?”

  “We haven’t figured that one out yet. Maybe we’re clutching at straws, but we need to start somewhere.”

  “Well I can find out if our boy is still incarcerated. I’ll need to make a phone call is all, but I have a hunch he’s not your murderer.”

  “You could very well be right, but at least we need to rule him out.”

  “What you need is good police work on the other end. Did anyone canvas Ivan’s neighborhood, or that Carey fellow’s, to see if anyone noticed anything unusual?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but I think they just gave up on all that when they had my stepfather.”

  “What about the lawyer your mother hired? Has he got an investigator to follow up on all this stuff?”

  “I don’t know. Ivan has a friend in the FBI that’s helping. Maybe he’s doing it.”

  Andrew Dark moved across the room to a coffee table and picked up a phone from its cradle.

  “Get me the Virginia State Prison,” he said clearly into the mouthpiece.

  Chapter Twenty

  In the nearly two years of his incarceration Chris Ellison had only one visitor, and he had tried to dissuade her. Ariel Martinez was not to be dismissed so easily. His letters to her were all light and cheery, but she could read between the lines where the loneliness showed. She knew there was something between them that needed to be explored.

  They hadn’t even so much as kissed. There whole experience with one another had consisted of two days on a bus from Los Angeles to Chicago. He had defused a sticky situation with two drunken hooligans, when they tried to get fresh with her. At first she was just grateful, but then it became something else.

  Ariel was on the rebound from her estra
nged husband, who had left her for his homeland, Spain. Chris, who at that time went by the name of Joe, was himself not free. He was recovering from amnesia, brought on by a traumatic blow to his head. He didn’t know if he had a wife somewhere. He couldn’t make any commitments until he was sure.

  As it turned out there was no wife, but a past that landed him in the State Penitentiary. He had served two years of a five year sentence. Parole was a possibility, but neither of them could count on that.

  Their visit was somber, as one might imagine between two people whose future together was in doubt to say the least.

  Ariel insisted she would wait for him. She wanted to give romance between them a chance. Her two children Juan and Jessica needed a strong father influence, and she was already twenty-four years old. Girls in her old neighborhood of East Los Angeles were often married in their teens.

  Chris would have none of that. He told her to find someone else…some nice young teacher maybe. That was her profession.

  She left with tears in her eyes, promising to return. He said no, he would find her when he was released.

  Now he was about to receive his second visitor.

  Rachel Dunn took a cab from the airport in Chicago to the prison. She was escorted, after being searched, to a drab room where a wall separated visitors from prisoners. They were allowed to talk through a window in the partition using phones. There was no chance of physical contact of any kind.

  From the beginning of her journey, she wondered which man she would encounter. Would it be the tender Joe who had saved her life two years ago, or the savage gangster Chris who was capable of all sorts of mayhem, including murder.

  Her answer came right away, and she was relieved.

  “Hi Rachel. It’s really good to see you.” There was a warmth to his voice that she remembered from the first time they had met. Ivan had brought him to the home they shared, and in private had told her why Joe was there. She didn’t like it, but at that point in her relationship with the tall Greek, she really had no say in the matter. That was the beginning of the adventure, or perhaps nightmare would be a better description, that nearly got them all killed.

  “What brings you to my humble abode?”

  “What?” She was far away, remembering.

  “Why are you here Rachel. You surely didn’t come all this way just to pass pleasantries.” He knew she and Ivan had settled in Southern California. Even if she had flown to Illinois, propeller driven planes took quite a while to travel the fifteen hundred or so miles to the Midwest. Jet travel was in the works, but had not been implemented for that route in nineteen fifty-four.

  “How do you know? Maybe I just wanted to come check up on one of my favorite people. See if you were eating properly, and sleeping well.”

  “Yeah, sure.” He went along, knowing she was teasing, and would get to the point soon.

  Rachel in turn decided their time together would be limited by regulation at the prison, so she finally got to the real reason for her visit. “Did you hear that Ivan is in jail?”

  “Yes. The grapevine here is fast and usually pretty accurate. But I think I know him well enough to be sure he was framed.”

  “He was, and we need to find out who’s behind it.”’

  “How can I help? My resources are pretty limited here.”

  “I’m trying to find out if the dirty cop who was wounded in the shootout in Chicago has been released from prison yet. If he’s still incarcerated he couldn’t have been behind the murder Ivan’s being charged with.” Rachel took a deep breath before continuing, “I doubt he has enough influence to be able to hire it done.”

  “Do you remember his name?”

  “It’s Rusty Ingalls. He was the smaller of the two cops in that room when all hell broke loose.” Rachel had been tied up in a room upstairs at the time of the shootout, but Ivan had told her everything that had happened, including the huge role Joe had played in saving their lives.

  “I haven’t heard anything Rachel, but I can find out. Most of the guards here are a decent sort, and I think I can get them to forward what I learn to you. Where are you staying?”

  She told him. “But I’m leaving tomorrow. Can you have the information by the morning?”

  “I’ll try. What room are you in?”

  “I’m in three three three. That should be easy to remember.” She knew he wouldn’t be able to write it down until he was returned to his cell.

  “We’re really clutching at straws Joe, but we have to prove Ivan didn’t do it.” Her voice sounded pleading, and he understood.

  “I’ll do the best I can Rachel. There has to be a way. Something will turn up. Don’t give up hope.”

  “Thank you Joe. You are a true friend.” She changed the subject. “Is there any chance you’ll be released soon?” She knew he still had three years left on his five year sentence.

  “There’s always parole. I come up for it in about six months. So far I’ve been able to keep my nose clean here.”

  It was true. His reputation in and around Chicago as a tough not to cross had preceded him to Joliet, so he was left alone. Every inmate and guard behind the gray walls knew he had killed the one man who had made the mistake of disloyalty.

  The cab rides were becoming expensive, but there was one more trip Rachel felt obligated to make before returning to the West Coast.

  It was late afternoon when she found herself outside the apartment of Ariel Martinez. She paid the cabbie, not knowing how long this last visit would take.

  As she rang the bell, she heard the sound of happy children laughing. Rachel hoped she wasn’t interrupting anything.

  A pretty young Mexican woman answered the door, “Yes, may I help you?” she said, as she didn’t recognize the woman in front of her. She didn’t open the screen.

  Rachel had doubts the tiny woman she’d confronted would have any idea who she was, unless the man she knew as Joe had mentioned Ivan or her. “I’ve just come from seeing Joe in prison. He asked me to visit you. My name is Rachel Dunn. I’m Ivan Dunn’s wife.” She looked for the spark of recognition of the names she spoke. Suddenly the eyes of the woman behind the screen lit up.

  “Oh, you’ve seen Joe? How is he?” and she opened the barrier between them.

  Rachel walked into what appeared to be a small living room. The area was dark.

  “Excuse me,” Ariel Martinez said. “I’ve just come from the kitchen. I was preparing dinner. There’s more than enough. Won’t you join us?” All wariness was gone from the young woman’s voice.

  Rachel relaxed, “Thank you. I’d love to, as long as it’s not an imposition.” It would be good to just visit with another female, one who could not be involved with the predicament of her husband. “I thought I heard children when I came to the door?” she questioned.

  “You did. Juan and Jessica are playing in the bedroom. I won’t let them spread their toys in the front room.”

  The Martinez woman found a light switch, and suddenly they were bathed in brightness from the overhead fixture. “There, that should be better.” She studied the slim woman before her, who was much taller. Rachel was dressed impeccably, having chosen a powder blue suit. She wore a small dark blue hat that was tasteful, and did not hide her nearly black hair. She had to be over six feet in height with her high heels matching the color of the hat. “Won’t you come into the kitchen? We can talk as I finish preparing the meal.”

  Rachel nodded in the affirmative and followed Ariel toward the rear of the rather large apartment. As soon as she was seated in a wooden chair at what was likely their dining table, she said, “Joe wanted me to come see if you are all right. It seems he cares very much for you.” She felt as if she was assuming the role of a matchmaker, which was all right considering how much she liked Joe.

  The pretty young Mexican woman smiled, obviously pleased with Rachel’s remark. “I care for him too,” she said, using the same words. “I worry about the violence within him though, for the children’s sake.�
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  “That’s natural Miss Martinez, but I’ve seen a gentleness that’s hard to find in most men. He would never hurt you or your children. I’m sure of it.”

  Rachel went on to relate the story of how she came to meet Joe, who was homeless and destitute, having lost his memory. She told of being shot in a home invasion by men who were looking for him to kill him. Had it not been for his quick action in tending to her wound and calling for an ambulance, she would surely not have survived. Then he held vigil at the hospital until she came out of surgery to remove the bullet. It was only when he realized she would be all right that he slept.

  “Wasn’t your man there too?” Ariel interrupted. “And please call me Ariel.”

  “Not for all of it. He was in Chicago, looking for clues to who Joe was.”

  “I see.” She didn’t really, but realizing that she would never know the entire story until she once again saw Joe, she didn’t pursue it.

  The meal was pleasant, the children adorable, and when it came time to say goodbye, Rachel was convinced that Joe was a good judge of character, and just maybe the four of them would have a chance to make it work. She was glad she had taken the time to meet them. It was the first time since her husband’s ordeal began that she was able to feel normal, even if it was only for that one evening.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The killing of Evan Castiglione changed everything as far as the investigation of Jack Carey’s death, or rather the lack of any investigation. The first noticeable shift of opinion came, surprisingly, from the San Diego Sheriff’s department. Perhaps they had been too hasty in assuming that Ivan Dunn was the culprit. But then he could have hired the hit from inside the jail.

  A detective was assigned to the case, where none seemed to be needed at first. It was obvious at the outset that the killer was the retired private dick. The bias felt by law enforcement against civilian investigators probably had something to do with it, though none of the men in blue, or khaki, or whatever, would admit to having their opinions colored.