THE FOURTH BULLET: A Novel of Suspense

by Patrick Dakin

  Jake’s radar is going off the rails. A big neon sign in his head is flashing, Bullshit!! He tries to get a read on Bobby’s mindset but nothing is clear, clogged as it is with booze. “Alright,” Jake says, “let’s put that aside for a minute. Bring me up to speed on the case.”

  “There’s nothing to say, Jake. The case is stalled. We’re going nowhere with it.”

  “What about the girl in Klamath Falls? Is it our guy or not?”

  Schultz looks like a whipped puppy. “I don’t know. They haven’t gotten back to us with anything conclusive yet.”

  “Anything conclusive!? Shit, Bobby! Did they match the d.n.a. or not? What the hell is the matter with you?” Jake stands and paces the floor. “Are you even capable of doing your job?”

  “Jake, could I have a drink? I need a little something to---”

  “A drink? You have got to be kidding me." Jake is floored at the absurdity of this request. He paces back and forth in front of Schultz, trying to get his anger under control. It proves to be a hopeless task. "You know what, Bobby. Just get the hell out of my house.”

  “Jake, please. Don’t---”

  “Out, Bobby. And get yourself taken off this case so somebody with some actual detection skills can put a wrap on this thing. You’re a disgrace.”

  Schultz struggles to his feet with difficulty. He shuffles to the door and looks back. “I’m sorry, Jake.”

  Jake can think of nothing that will make this disaster of a meeting any better. He turns his back as Schultz leaves and sees Lillian standing in the hallway. “You heard?” he asks.

  “Every word.”

  “Well?”

  “You could have handled it better, Jake. Nothing much was resolved.”

  “What’s to resolve? He’s a drunk at best and a …”

  “I know.”

  “What am I going to do, Lil? Looking at Bobby now I’m starting to think you might be right about him. Nothing would surprise me anymore.”

  “Were you able to get any kind of ‘read’ on him?”

  “No way. He’s too full of booze to make any sense of at all.”

  “Well, we’re double damned as things stand now,” Lillian says. “I don’t see that we can just assume he’s the killer’s inside contact. We’re gambling with Tristan’s life here.”

  “So we go it alone.”

  “You said before maybe some kind of sting operation might work. Have you given it any more thought?”

  “No, not really… not yet. You got any ideas?”

  Lillian takes Jake’s hand and steers him to his chair in the living room, then sits down near him. “I don’t know. Maybe some kind of announcement that she’s going to be somewhere?”

  Jake shakes his head in a sad way. “This guy is way too smart to fall for something so obvious, Lil. To sting this guy is going to take some very clever thinking.”

  “You’re tired – I can see it in your eyes. Why don’t we sleep on it and give it hell tomorrow?”

  She’s right, he’s exhausted. And depressed. He’s on the verge of losing a wonderful woman unless he can somehow convince her that his love for her is real and not predicated on standards she seems bound to impose upon him; one of his oldest friends may well be giving aid to a serial murderer; and, if all that’s not enough, his daughter’s life is dependent on his ability to catch an uncatchable killer. “Okay,” he says resignedly. “We’ll give it hell tomorrow.”

  Upstairs, Lillian undresses in the bathroom and comes into the bedroom wearing a floor length dressing gown cinched at her neck. She sits on the side of the bed where Jake lies and puts her hand on his shoulder. “I think maybe I should go back to sleeping in the spare bedroom,” she says in a soft voice.

  “Is that really what you want, Lil?”

  “Not so much what I want, Jake - more what I believe is the best thing for both of us.”

  “I don’t think it’s the best thing for either of us.”

  “I know you don’t. Not now. But I do believe you will think so some day.”

  Lillian stands reluctantly and looks down at Jake. After a moment she turns and leaves the bedroom. Crocket, who has been camped nearby, stands on his back legs with his front paws on the side of the bed and makes a superficial effort to hoist his pudgy body up to be beside Jake. The attempt is futile but the effort brings a smile to Jake’s face.

  With a heavy heart he places his hand on Crocket’s head and gently kneads his scalp.

  25

  There is a solemn atmosphere at the breakfast table the next morning. Tristan is running late and is busily trying to put together a lunch for herself. As a result she misses the meaningful looks that pass between Lillian and her father. Before she’s had a chance to take more than a bite of toast and a sip of her coffee Ed Murillo pulls into the driveway. “Gotta run,” she says, giving Jake a quick peck on the cheek. “See you guys later.”

  “Have a good day, sweetheart,” Jakes calls. He looks at Lillian when they’re alone. There is undeniably a new tone to their relationship. Not one that Jake wanted or is happy with but, it appears, one with which he is stuck. It’s been a long and sleepless night for him. He has spent a good deal of time ruminating about the loss of a good woman, and an equal amount of time on how to catch a killer. “I may have an idea that will help us flush out Dupree," he says, breaking a long silence between them. "At the very least it should help us determine whether or not Bobby is dirty."

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “We feed an item of information to Keith Abrams. Bobby will see the information coming second hand from a trusted ally and, therefore, have no reason to doubt it’s authenticity.”

  “Okay, so far it sounds feasible. But what do you have in mind?”

  “In the letter the killer wrote to Tristan he said he would come back to finish the job on me some day. What if he thought he could do that now with a minimum of risk?”

  “You’re talking about making yourself the bait.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you think this is somehow acceptable?”

  “It’s a damn sight better than making Tristan the bait,” Jake responds.

  Lillian is tempted to respond with some degree of anger but holds back. “Let’s say for the moment you’re right. What exactly are you planning?”

  “I mention to Abrams that the stress I’ve been under is getting to me. I’m feeling like I need to get away for a few days of fishing. Somewhere remote – a resort with private cabins. The impression will be that I’m on my own, totally unprotected. I'll tell Keith to keep the information quiet for obvious reasons, but he'll obviously tell Bobby – after all, they’re partners. Because Bobby and I are on the outs he won’t find it strange that I mentioned it to his partner rather than him. What Bobby won’t know is that I’ll have some people planted at cabins throughout the resort. I know some guys in private security that can keep their lips sealed.”

  “What if Dupree - if it is Dupree - shows up disguised? How will you, or anybody else, know it’s him?”

  “It’s not too likely a disguise will fool me knowing what I do about him. And the resort will be some place small where we won’t be dealing with a large number of possible suspects.”

  Lillian looks uncertain. “I don’t know, Jake. It just sounds like a very risky proposition to me. This guy is smart, and ruthless. He’s capable of anything. And what about Tristan? You can’t leave her unprotected in your absence. Dupree could use this information to make his move on her.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Jake says. “I’ll make sure security around here is tightened up before I go anywhere.”

  Lillian would like to be supportive of Jake’s plan but she’s uncomfortable with the whole idea of him putting his life on the line like he’s suggesting. “Are you sure this is the best way to go about this, Jake?”

  He spreads his hands and shrugs in a gesture of hopelessness. “I can’t think of anything better. Unless you’ve got a superior idea I’m inclined to
go with this one.”

  After a moment of reflection Lillian capitulates, knowing it would probably be pointless to disagree anyway. “When do we put this little dog and pony show of yours into action?”

  "I'll have to line up a suitable resort for a start. There’s a fishing lodge up near Hemet Lake that would be ideal. It’s up in the San Jacinto mountains. Very remote but only about a hundred and twenty miles from L.A.”

  Lillian has a resigned look on her face. “I guess I have no choice but to go along with this but I can’t say I’m thrilled with the plan.”

  “I don’t ask that you be thrilled, just that you be supportive,” Jake replies.

  That night Jake tells Tristan about his intention to get away for a few days. He does not confide the real reason behind his intended trip. She’s told to keep his plans to herself.

  The opportunity to pass the information along to Keith Abrams comes a few days later when he arrives to pick Tristan up for a date. Jake takes him aside while waiting for Tristan to make an appearance. “Keith, I wanted to let you know I’m going out of town for a few days next week. I’ll be leaving on Monday morning, back Friday night. The doctors tell me I need to get out of the city for a while. I’ve rented a cabin up in the San Jacinto mountains near Hemet. I’ll spend the week fishing and kicking back. There’s going to be some private security in place to cover the house while I’m gone but I wanted you to know what’s happening.”

  Abrams looks thoughtful. “Okay, Jake. Anything I can do around here while you’re gone?”

  “Nope, just continue to look after my little girl.”

  “You can count on it. Where exactly will you be – in case we need to get in touch with you?”

  “It’s a small resort on Hemet Lake about thirty miles from the town of Hemet, called the Lamb Canyon Resort. It’s very remote and private, only half a dozen cabins or so. Beautiful spot. I’ve been up there a few times over the years but it’s been awhile since the last time.”

  “Can we reach you by cell?”

  “Reception might be a little iffy but I doubt it’ll be much of a problem. The thing is, Keith, for obvious reasons I want this kept very hush hush. I don’t even want the guys in the department to know about it. The fewer people who know Tristan is staying on her own, the better. You understand.”

  “Sure, of course.”

  “By the way, did you guys get any confirmation from Klamath Falls about the girl killed there?”

  “Yeah, it doesn’t look like it was our guy, Jake. No word back on d.n.a. yet but not the same m.o. at all.”

  This news is surprising to say the least. “Son of a bitch,” Jake says, “I was sure it was him.”

  “We haven’t ruled it out entirely,” Abrams says. “Who knows what might turn up?”

  Later, after watching the evening news together, Lillian brings up the topic of his upcoming ‘fishing trip.’ “You haven’t said either way but I’m assuming I am not invited along on this little excursion of yours,” she says somewhat caustically.

  “No, Lil,” Jake says, “I thought you understood that.”

  She nods almost imperceptibly. “Okay. Have you got everything in place at the resort?”

  “I’ve got two guys occupying two separate cabins this weekend. I’ve brought them up to speed on what we might expect. They’ll arrive well before me for appearances sake. I know these guys and they’re very good at what they do.”

  “And what about here?”

  “Two guys will be taking turns staying in the house for the whole time I’m away. Tristan’s protection remains in place with Ed Murillo looking after things during the day and Keith if she goes out in the evening.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got everything covered.”

  “I hope so. If Bobby is the killer’s contact he’s bound to pass on what he knows. It seems to me Dupree – or whoever the killer is - would find it pretty hard not to take advantage of the situation as he sees it. The guy’s obviously got a huge ego. I can’t imagine him passing up another opportunity to make himself look superhuman.”

  “I just hope your health is up to this. You haven’t had any pain attacks for quite awhile because you’ve been taking it easier and avoiding too much stress. Driving up to that lake on your own and not knowing what you’re going to be facing … I’m worried that this whole thing could blow up in our faces.”

  “It won’t, I promise. And when this is over I hope we can talk some more about us,” Jake says. “I haven’t pushed anything because I don’t want to scare you off. But I meant what I said before – I don’t want to lose you, Lil.”

  “We’ve already talked about this, Jake. I’ve made up my mind.”

  He stares hard into her eyes. A quick read, although he strives not to be obvious about it. He senses there is more uncertainty about her declaration than she wants him to realize. “We’ll see,” he says.

  26

  After an unhurried breakfast with Lillian on Monday morning Jake is on the road, making his way out of Los Angeles. A loaded .44 sits on the seat beside him under a light weight jacket.

  He’s nervous. The unknown is always cause for concern and there is an abundance of it on this venture. When he passes through Redlands the scenery begins to change. The countryside opens up. He hits the Number 10 freeway near Calimesa and begins to relax a little.

  The miles roll by and Jake settles into a mood of quiet reflection. How will this adventure end? Will he finally be able to put his concerns over Tristan’s welfare where they belong? He would like nothing better than to have the worries of most fathers: grades, boyfriends, career choices. Then there are the very real concerns about his own life. Will he be able to convince Lillian that what he feels for her is something meaningful and real? Something worth her embracing. Or will his uncertain health make the whole issue moot?

  Lots of questions, and not a wealth of answers.

  * *

  Marius Dupree, in the guise of an elderly priest, sits at a sidewalk café in Redondo Beach looking fondly at his companion. “So, my friend, what have you got for me that was so important I needed to hear it immediately?”

  The man sitting opposite him seems oddly reluctant to part with the information he knows will mean a lot of money for him. But it is the money that got him involved in this whole disgusting affair in the beginning. It is far too late in the game to be concerned about his conscience. There have been plenty of regrets to be sure, but even if he could go back in time and do things differently he isn’t sure he would. “You still want Jake Foley, right?”

  Dupree’s eyebrows rise in unrestrained interest. “Of course.”

  “What if I could tell you he’s somewhere on his own, unprotected?”

  “Interesting,” Dupree says. “And how did this come about?”

  “He’s at a fishing resort in the San Jacinto Mountains. Very remote. It’s about a two hour drive from Los Angeles. You could be there this afternoon.”

  “And the name of the resort?”

  “First things first. I’ll need money. A lot of it.”

  “Of course you will.”

  * *

  Route 74 winding through the Mt. San Jacinto State Park to an elevation of 4,300 feet is a picturesque, two-lane road flanked by rolling hills and pine trees. The access road off Route 74 leading to the Lamb Canyon Resort, which lies at the furthest accessible part of the lake, however, is an unpaved, rut-pitted cow path. The resort consists of a small owner’s residence, six rustic cabins and perhaps two dozen camping sites, all within a short walk of the lake’s rocky shore. The site is heavily treed with Ponderosa pines and the cabins and camping sites all enjoy a good measure of privacy.

  Stocked with rainbow trout, catfish, bluetail, and Largemouth bass, the lake is a popular destination for family holidayers. Lamb Canyon Resort, however, has deteriorated from a combination of poor management and under-financing and has suffered from declining patronage in recent years as a result. Most of the resort’s clientele now compr
ise a slightly less affluent group. Jake has arrived after the end of the traditional season and, with the first faint traces of snow now already in evidence, all but a few diehard campers have vacated the area.

  The resort owner, a wiry-looking guy of indeterminate age, nods hello to Jake when he pulls up to the main house. He tosses Jake the key to cabin number four and points out its location. With a minimum of fuss and virtually no conversation Jake is installed in his temporary home.

  After unloading the car the first twinges of a pain attack make an appearance. Please, Jake pleads with his gods, not now. He pops a couple of T-3’s and stretches out on the bed. The mattress has seen better days but the two and a half hour drive up here has left him exhausted and within minutes he drifts into a restless slumber.

  When his eyes flutter open it is late afternoon. He doesn’t feel particularly well rested but he has avoided a major confrontation with pain. He prepares a simple supper of canned stew and biscuits and washes it down with a lite beer. Afterwards he steps out on his verandah. The .44, now worn in a shoulder holster under his left arm and covered by his jacket, provides a measure of comfort but there is an undeniable sense of trepidation coursing through him.

  The half dozen cabins comprising the resort are situated randomly among the trees about twenty yards apart and maybe thirty yards from the lakeshore. The two cabins he can see are showing lights in the windows. He’s not sure where his two compatriots are. They’ve been instructed to make no direct contact with him unless absolutely necessary. Tomorrow he’ll set about learning who, besides he and his two guards, are here.

  But right now what he needs is six or seven hours of deep, uninterrupted sleep.

  He pops a couple more T-3’s in hopes of warding off the pain that again seems intent on burrowing into his skull.

  * *