THE FOURTH BULLET: A Novel of Suspense

by Patrick Dakin

  Lillian gives him a harsh look. “Jake, do I have to remind you of the promise you made to me? That if I was able to come up with something you’d turn it over to Bobby Schultz?”

  There is a lengthy silence while Jake stews over his own thoughts.

  “Jake?” Lillian prods, insisting on a response.

  “Listen, Lil, there’s something I want you to know. Something I’ve never told anyone before.”

  “All right.”

  He starts haltingly, unfamiliar with the course his words will take, for although he has relived the event many times in his mind over the years he has never rehearsed how he might talk of it. “You asked me before about the steel plate in my head.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I want to tell you how it came about.”

  “Good. I’m glad, Jake.”

  “It … it isn’t easy. I’ve spent the last thirty years trying to forget it. But I never will.” There is a pained and reluctant expression on his face.

  “Just let it out, Jake.”

  He wets his lips. “When I was growing up my folks owned a little grocery store in Flagstaff, Arizona. I worked in the store on weekends all through high school …”

  “Go on.”

  “After I graduated I went to college down in Phoenix. At the end of my freshman year I went back home to work in the store for the summer. I was working with my dad one morning, standing at the till, when a guy came into the store and asked me for a pack of smokes. When I handed him the smokes he pulled a pistol from under his shirt. Told me to give him the money from the till. I hesitated, figured no way am I going to just hand over my mom and dad’s hard earned money to this piece of shit. My dad, who’s standing twenty feet away from me, says, ‘Give him the cash, Jake. It’s only money.’ But I’m too cool for that. 'Screw you,' I tell the guy. He points the pistol at my dad. ‘You want me to blow the old man away, wiseass?” he says. I made a lunge for the gun … and then everything went black.”

  Lillian remains silent, watching, while Jake wrestles with demons from the past.

  “I came to in the hospital a couple of days later. The side of my head had been caved in by the butt of the gun. And my dad was dead. Shot twice through the heart when he tried to stop the guy from killing me.”

  Lillian’s hand goes to her mouth. “God, Jake, I’m so sorry. Why haven’t you ever spoke of this to anyone? It would have helped you deal with it.”

  Jake looks up from the floor with tears misting his eyes. “I was so ashamed of myself, Lil. My stupidity had cost my dad his life. If I had just done what he’d said … or if I had been faster, or smarter, he might still be alive today.”

  Lillian moves over to sit beside Jake on the sofa. She puts her hand lightly on his shoulder. “Oh, Jake. It’s not your fault.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s what my mom said, too. But three years later she took an overdose of pills. She left me a note. Said she loved me and didn’t blame me for my dad’s death, but life wasn’t worth living anymore without him.”

  Lillian shakes her head sadly. She can think of nothing to say.

  “The only reason I’ve told you this,” Jake continues, “is so that you’ll understand why I have to do whatever it takes to get this guy. I lost both my parents because I wasn’t smart enough to do the right thing. It’s why I became a cop - so I could try to right the wrongs I had let happen in my own life. Now, because of me, my daughter’s life is in danger. Another slime-ball is threatening to take away the only family I have left. I can’t let it happen, Lil. I don’t care what it takes. I can’t. ”

  “I understand how you feel, Jake, but---”

  “No, Lil, there are no buts. Please … I’m begging you to try and understand. I have to do everything I can to bring this guy down. Even if it ends up killing me.”

  Lillian is quiet while she looks deep into Jake’s eyes. Finally she nods her head in understanding. After all, if their roles were reversed it’s exactly what she’d insist on herself.

  10

  “So what’s the other secret you’re keeping tucked away in that scarred and damaged head of yours?” Lillian asks.

  Jake's deadpan look gives nothing away. “What makes you think I’ve got more secrets?”

  “Call it woman’s intuition.”

  He smiles inwardly, amused at the chance phrasing she has used which so closely touches on this strange new talent of his. “I think I’ve revealed enough confidences for one day,” he says.

  “Aha, so there are more secrets.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t deny it either.” She squints at him, trying to read his thoughts - once again an odd coincidence. “Why did you say earlier that you had a strong feeling that Bobby and his team were never going to solve this case?”

  It’s almost as if she can read my mind, he thinks. Mercifully, he’s rescued from having to reiterate his concerns about Bobby's drinking by Tristan’s arrival.

  The strained relations between his daughter and Lillian have been a source of genuine concern for Jake. He’s not sure whether Tristan is angry because Lillian is the first woman to spend a night in the house since her mother’s death, or whether she’s mistrustful of her - concerned that she will lead her ailing father into danger with which he is ill-equipped to deal. The truth, of course, being that it is he who insists on becoming embroiled in the mission to catch the Goddess Slayer, and Lillian he has had to convince to let it happen. “Hi, sweetheart,” he says as Tristan comes into his study and leans down to kiss him.

  “Hi, Daddy,” she says warmly. Then, acknowledging Lillian in a much less amiable tone, she says, “Hello, Ms. Hudson.”

  Lillian has decided it’s a waste of her time to try to win Tristan over. Eventually, she hopes, Tristan will see her for the true friend she is trying to be. But, of course, given the outcome of the discussion with Jake earlier in the day, there is little doubt that Tristan’s coolness will turn to outright hatred once she learns of it. Her father’s avowal to find his partner’s killer himself, and Lillian’s resolve not to fight that decision, will surely destroy any possibility of a truce between them. She is, she decides, most assuredly caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place - torn between agreeing with Tristan, wanting to curb Jake’s disregard for his own imminent destruction, and understanding his reasons for doing what he feels he must. She derives some relief from her misery by remembering that she has raised three daughters of her own - none of whom were not without challenges - and if history is any indicator she will emerge from an eventual confrontation with Tristan understood if not admired. She can only hope it is not at the expense of Jake’s life.

  “I hope you like spaghetti,” Lillian says to Tristan. “I took the liberty of starting supper.”

  “Actually, I won’t be home for supper,” Tristan replies. “I have a dinner date.”

  “So, how is Keith these days?” Jake asks and then, immediately, realizes his slip.

  “I didn’t say it was with Keith,” Tristan says, looking at her father suspiciously.

  There’s a deadly silence while both Tristan and Lillian look at Jake. “Oh, well, I just thought … you know …”

  “No, Daddy, actually I don’t know. Please clarify how you knew it was Keith I have a date with.”

  “Just a good guess.”

  “Yeah, I’ll say. Seeing as how even I didn’t know I’d be going out with him an hour ago.”

  “Bobby mentioned Keith was interested in you. I guess I simply put two and two together.” In fact, Jake remembers, Bobby had mentioned it but it was more out of surprise than anything else. Abrams’ single-minded determination to advance as rapidly as possible within the LAPD was so prevalent in his life Bobby had never heard him even mention having a date before.

  “Sure,” Tristan says wearily. Then, without lingering, adds, “Well, I’ve got to get ready. I’ll see you later.”

  When they’re alone, Lillian looks over at Jake with raised eyebrows. “A
good guess, huh?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You heard me. Would this by any chance have anything to do with the other little secret you’ve been harboring?”

  “Lillian,” Jake says, the picture of innocence, “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Really.”

  “Jake, Tristan has told me about several incidents where you’ve apparently exhibited traits of E.S.P.”

  “E.S.P?” he scoffs. “That’s ridiculous. I haven’t---”

  “Jake, please … why don’t you be honest with me and tell me what’s happening. Hell, even Crocket seems to know more about what’s going on with you than I do.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “You don’t trust me, is that it?”

  He’s struck by a terrible sense of disloyalty. After all, Lillian is here for no other reason than to help him. She deserves to be dealt with squarely. Then, too, there’s this romantic thing that keeps insinuating itself on them. Little looks between them that in and of themselves signify little but taken over time in larger doses could mean a whole lot. Who knows? To add to his quandary about Lillian there’s the age difference. Meaningless if he were the older one; oddly significant as things actually stand. Then, of course, there’s the really big issue looming over them: will Jake even be around in another couple of months? Ignoring his doctor’s advice about the lifestyle he should be adopting may well prove fatal. Does he have the right to insinuate himself on a woman he has little chance of committing to beyond the very short term?

  “Jake?” He’s awakened from his reverie by Lillian, awaiting a reply to her question.

  “I do,” he says.

  “You do?”

  “Trust you.”

  “Then show it. Tell me what’s really been happening to you.”

  He’s quiet for awhile, then nods in resignation. “All right. I’ve already confided everything else to you. I might as well tell you this too. It’s true, I seem to have acquired some limited ability to … guess the future---”

  “Predict the future.”

  “No, it’s not like I’m some kind of miracle worker. It’s just that sometimes - not always, but sometimes - a feeling comes over me. I get a strong sensation that I know what’s going to happen. When I was in the hospital I’d have a feeling that a certain person was going to walk through the door; sometimes I’ll get a feeling that the phone is about to ring. That kind of thing. Nothing monumental.”

  “What else?” Lillian asks.

  “Nothing really. Just that kind of stuff.”

  “Jake?”

  “Okay, maybe I’ll get an occasional flash of insight into what somebody is thinking. If they’re really upset or concerned about something an image will just jump into my mind. It’s the craziest damn thing.”

  “Not crazy, Jake. Incredible.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe. But one day in the hospital I had a vision. It was about Tristan. She was screaming, there was blood - a lot of it - and a knife at her throat. It was vivid, like it was happening right in front of me. I don’t know what it was that I experienced that day but I can’t ignore the fact that it might be one of those … intuitive things that keep happening to me. What if I’ve foreseen what will happen to Tristan unless I do something about it? It’s why I’ve got to find this guy. I’ve got to.”

  Lillian is quiet as she absorbs what Jake has confided.

  * *

  Outside the Rainbow Club on East Hastings Street a gaudy neon sign advertises the most sensuous and exciting exotic dancers this side of Las Vegas. Inside, an alluring April Showers is gyrating in front of a small audience of regulars. The usual Wednesday night crowd. April finishes her set and, after some unenthusiastic applause, bounces off stage.

  The room is large and dimly lit. A dignified-looking older gentleman with a full head of unstylishly long, near-white hair sits at a table along the rear wall. After applauding politely he signals for the waiter.

  “Another Heineken?” the waiter asks.

  “Yes, please,” Dupree answers politely and, holding up a fifty dollar bill, adds, “and an introduction to the lovely young lady that just left the stage.”

  The waiter hesitates only briefly before the fifty is snapped up and disappears into a shirt pocket. “Sit tight,” he says.

  Five minutes later Miss Showers arrives, clothed now in a low-cut, skin-tight blouse, white jeans, and black boots with five inch stiletto heels. She sits across from Dupree, puts her elbows on the table, and leans forward, letting him get a good eyeful. She has large, dark eyes enhanced with mascara and eyebrow liner, pouty lips, and thick black hair she wears swept forward around her face.

  Immediately after she sits down the waiter arrives with the Heineken and a tall flute of champagne which he places in front of Miss Showers. “That’ll be fifteen dollars, pal,” he says.

  Dupree hands the waiter a twenty. “Thank you for the excellent service,” he says.

  The waiter tips his head in appreciation. “Anything else you need, just holler.”

  “So what’s your name, lover?” Miss Showers purrs after the waiter has moved on.

  Dupree puts his hand over hers and squeezes it lightly. “You can call me ‘Daddy’ if you like,” he says. His voice is as soft as a caress.

  Miss Showers arches her eyebrows knowingly. “As in ‘sugar daddy?’”

  “Yes, my dear,” Dupree assures her. "‘As in sugar daddy.’”

  When April Showers, aka Darlene Belik, fails to show up for work at her regular time the next night the club manager doesn’t think much of it. It’s not uncommon in this business for girls to go astray now and then. But three days later, when she still hasn’t appeared and there’s been no response to phone calls, Karen Ellweiser, her closest friend at the club, stops by Darlene’s West End apartment to check on her.

  Karen and Darlene have been good friends since Darlene arrived from Prince George two and a half years ago to have a go at the big city. For a while they even shared an apartment, but Darlene’s lifestyle didn’t quite jive with Karen’s. Darlene wanted to have men over every night, while Karen, a single mom with a pre-schooler to raise, is a true homebody. Although she dances in a strip club - she is disdainful of the term ‘exotic dancer’ - this is for Karen simply a means to an end. It pays well and she gets to spend lots of quality time with her daughter. And someday soon - by the time her daughter starts school, she hopes - she will have enough money saved up that she can enroll in a secretarial course and get a legitimate job. Not for her the slide into prostitution that so many of the girls take after their bodies are no longer youthful enough to rate as strippers.

  She and Darlene have keys to each other’s apartments so when there is no answer to her knock at Darlene’s door Karen uses her key to gain entry.

  The moment she opens the door she knows something horrific awaits her. The pungent odor of decaying flesh is powerful enough to make her gag. Holding her hand over her nose and mouth she forces herself to check the bedroom, hoping with all her heart that her initial fears will prove to be unfounded. But when she gets to the doorway any hopes she still harbors are shattered. One glimpse of Darlene’s bare legs dangling over the end of her bed, the crimson stain of dried blood all too visible, confirms Karen's darkest fears. She staggers backward, fighting down a sudden and overwhelming urge to be sick.

  Too panic-stricken to venture further into the room, she turns and stumbles from the apartment, screaming for help.

  The inhabitants of several adjacent apartments respond to Karen's desperate pleas. Help in the form of police and paramedics arrives quickly.

  Darlene Belik, of course, is far and away beyond anyone's ability to help.

  11

  Four months after Jake was shot and two weeks after Lillian’s arrival, he sits comfortably ensconced in a rocking chair on his front porch, watching summer fade into autumn. Crocket, one paw in contact with Jake’s foot, dozes in the su
n.

  Lillian brings a tray with steaming cups of coffee and warm, buttered muffins from the house and sets them on a table at his side.

  They have grown comfortable together, not unlike an old married couple. “Thanks, Lil,” he says.

  She pulls a wooden lawn chair up beside him and stares intently into his eyes. “How’re you doing?”

  “Okay.” But despite his effort to sound cheerful he is unable to disguise the truth.

  A frown scores her features. “Another attack?”

  He nods almost imperceptibly, as if by giving little acknowledgment to the pain he will take away it’s power over him. But there is no denying something is wrong and he knows it. It has been a week since the first twinge that woke him from an afternoon nap. Since then, once or twice daily, it’s like a steel spike is being driven into his skull and then slowly twisted. The pain is excruciating for perhaps ten seconds and then slowly subsides, leaving him exhausted and weakened. So far it’s never happened in front of Tristan and he can only hope his luck holds. If she gets wind of how bad it is for him there will be no dealing with her.

  “Jake, you have to let the doctors know. You can’t go on like this.”

  “We’ve had this conversation already. You know how I feel about going back to the hospital.”

  “God, I wish I could talk some sense into you.”

  “Listen, Lil,” he says, changing the subject. “I need you to do me a tremendous favor. I know I’ve already asked more of you than I have any right to but---”

  “Oh, Jake,” she says with a sigh, “don’t you know how I feel about you? Don’t you know I’d do anything in the world you asked?”

  He reaches out and touches the side of her face. She leans toward him, and their lips meet. They kiss gently. A kiss devoid of passion but full of tenderness.

  “I feel the same way, Lil, but …”

  “What, Jake?”

  “I can’t let myself fall in love with you. You know why.”

  “Because you have to focus all your energy on finding the killer,” she says with a strange mix of understanding and disgust.