A Dead Red Heart

by R. P. Dahlke

  "Wouldn't surprise me. The way he felt about having that heart transplant, that it was more of a burden than a blessing, it would make sense that he would be drawn to Mr. Kim."

  "Too bad we'll never know. As for my mom, if you don't mind my saying so, people have a way of turning up dead when you're around. Look, I'm sorry to have to cut my mom out of this. In another scenario, I think you two would get along just fine, but I don't want her in the line of fire, and that's that." He moved his shoulders around as if trying to readjust the weight of his guilt.

  "'The more there is, the less you see'… What did it mean?"

  "Who knows? The more I see the less I know." Del's voice broke, and he fisted his eye sockets. When he looked up again, I saw something I thought I'd never see on Del Potts' face—the sharp delineation of grief and regret. "I wanted my best friend back, my big cousin who played ball with me, not some burnt out vet with a drinking problem. I couldn't help him, and now he's gone and it's my fault. If I hadn't sold that damn story to the Star he'd be alive."

  I put my hand on his shoulder. "All kinds of people are running around trying to protect their loved ones from this killer. Caleb's trying to protect me, you're trying to protect your mom, and Mr. Kim is vainly trying to protect his daughter who runs off from everyone who wants to help her."

  Zip it," he said, "Someone's coming. Del put the i-Pad back in the case, the case on the table, and leaned against the table.

  An impeccably dressed middle-aged man stood at the open door. Sandy gray hair combed back from his forehead, his name identified him as our target.

  "Dr. Madison?" Del said, grabbing the other man's hand and pumping it. "I'm Del Potts from The Modesto Bee, and we're close to discovering who killed Billy Wayne Dobson, but we need your help."

  The doctor dragged his gaze off me long enough to register that Del was talking to him. Then he reddened, and nailed us with a glower. "This is a private event! How'd you get past security?"

  I cowered under the harsh assessment of our lowly status. Del, however, wasn't the least bit intimidated. "You and a couple hundred of your closest friends, huh?"

  The doctor bristled. "You impersonated a police officer to get in here. I'll see you arrested."

  "I most certainly did not. I have a press pass, see?" He held up the side of his pass that said, PRESS. I mimicked the gesture, but kept my mouth shut. To open it would only compound the stupidity of this stunt.

  "I could care less who you are. You weren't invited—now get out!"

  Del pointed at the wall vibrating with the rising tide of discontent. "You can talk to me, or the protestors, or the TV stations that are lining up to question you about Billy Wayne Dobson. But we're probably going to be easier to handle than trying to break through that mob."

  "I have no intention of giving you an interview, I hate the press. It's the press who've been twisting my life's work into inane sound bites. It's despicable. Now get out!" He pointed to the door. I looked at Del for signs that he was going to move for the door. Watch and learn, huh?

  Seeing that we weren't going to move, the doctor turned to leave.

  "Wait," Del said grabbing him again. The hot glare from the doctor was enough to knock Del's hands away, but he wasn't giving up. "There's an angry crowd out there, all because of one murder case. TV cameras from all over the state, all of them hungry for a story. We're between elections, and there's not even an apartment on fire to keep them busy. You're it. Do you really want your first event as president to be on the eleven o'clock news?"

  "If you were with the police, I would grace that with an answer. As it is, you're not worth my time. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go call someone who can do something about the rabble outside."

  Del followed him out, practically walking up the doctor's heels. "I can quiet that crowd for you. Make them all disappear so it doesn't interrupt your nice speechifying."

  "You?" The doctor smirked. Then a shrewd look crossed the doctor's face. He tucked his lower lip thoughtfully under his perfectly capped front teeth. "How do you propose to do that?"

  "You'll have to trust me on this, but for a few questions answered, I promise to make it happen."

  "Who are you?"

  "I'm a reporter, but I have a very personal interest in Billy Wayne Dobson's murder."

  The doctor put his manicured hands on his hips and considered the short, dumpy, balding man in front of him. "You're just another scum-sucking sleeze rag reporter hoping that I'll give you the name of the person who should've gotten that heart, aren't you?"

  I had to say, Del and Jan were two of a kind, they both stood up to bullies, though I doubted Del would be able to pull off quelling the rising flood of protesters outside.

  I moved Del aside. "He's a scum-sucking sleeze rag newspaperman, but he's also the murdered victim's cousin."

  "Pitiful," he said, looking Del up and down. "Barely the same species, if related at all."

  At Del's shrug, the doc's attitude shifted ever so slightly.

  "Cocky little bastard, aren't you?"

  Seeing a break, I said, "Yeah, he's cocky, but you should at least hear him out."

  The doctor's charm went from sub-zero up a notch. "Well, gorgeous, if you handed me a court order from the devil, I couldn't tell you the name of the patient if I wanted to, because I don't care. It was a waste of a perfectly good heart. The young woman in line for that organ transplant died because we were too late."

  "We want a name," I said, feeling bold. "You can do that. Someone who will talk to us."

  He paused long enough to trail acquisitive eyes over my body. "Have dinner with me tomorrow night and I'll give you a name."

  Del shoved between us. "Hey, forget the girl. You still have an angry crowd out there. I offered you a trade. For a phone number, I can make that mob out there melt away, or you can deal with them. So, Which is it?"

  The doc sighed. "Why don't you let the police handle this?"

  "The police might be a bit late getting here."

  The shouts of the rabble were getting louder.

  "I'll give you a name, but it's off the record. You'll have to convince the head technician that your story is worth risking her job," he said. He nodded to the pen and pad I held and spelled out the name and department of the person we should contact. I started to write it down but the pen wasn't working.

  Exasperated, the doc handed me a pencil from his breast pocket. "NASA spent millions perfecting an ink pen that would defy the lack of gravity in space. The Russian's conquered that little problem without spending a dime; they used a pencil."

  I ducked my head and wrote down the name.

  Taking back the pencil, he said, "We never had this conversation, and I'll expect that crowd gone by the time I get to the podium or I'll be the one making a call. Do we understand each other?"

  Del and I nodded. Satisfied, the doctor did an about face and marched through the door.

  "You did it!" I was so excited I momentarily thought about hugging him, but held off, since I didn't know if I could trust him not to grope me. "Now you just need a really good trick to get that mob outside to leave."

  He winked. "Nasty lot, aren't they? Are you scared? Never fear, I'll protect you." He flipped open his cell. "Okay to go, and tell them I said thanks."

  "They... You... This whole thing was a hoax?"

  "Worked too, didn't it?"

  By the time we walked out the front door, there was nothing left but the litter of pamphlets scattered over the sidewalks and bewildered rent-a-cops milling around. Jan ran up to us. "Did you get it?"

  Del hugged her. "Am I your main man, or what?"

  She squeezed him tight and smiled. "We did it. I'm still so pumped, I can't stand it. I need ice cream."

  I smiled at her. "We passed a Denny's at the freeway off-ramp, will that do?"

  She nodded and smooched Del's cheek.

  "See you there in ten minutes," I said, thinking they could make it if they didn't decide to get a room inste
ad.

  I power walked the three blocks to where I'd left Arny and his car. Even from a block away I could hear the hip-hop. Arny and his new found friends were hoisting a few brewskies while teaching each other hip-hop moves.

  I tapped him on the shoulder, and he halted mid-step and blushed. "Uh… back already?"

  "Yes, if you can break away from your impromptu dance team."

  "Okay. Later, guys." Arny, now the chauffeur again, opened my door, then raced around to the other side.

  When we were half way down the street, he said, "That was fun. So, home?"

  "Actually we're meeting Del and Jan at Denny's. There, see it on the right?"

  Arny only nodded. "I don't drink coffee at night, so I'll wait in the car, if you don't mind."

  "Don't be silly. Your mom will be disappointed. Their ploy to get the doctor to talk, worked. Don't you want to hear how it all came down?"

  Arny lifted his shoulders and looked away.

  "I had my mouth all set for a nice, big, double-chocolate sundae, how about you? It'll be my treat for the great job you've done as my chauffeur."

  "Hot-fudge sundae?"

  "Anything you want."

  It was like Pippa Roulette said, it was easy to read minds, and ice cream was a simple win over any dislike of his mother's boyfriend.

  He hopped out of the car and headed for the door.

  We were seated in a booth: Arny and me, Del and Jan on the other side.

  Jan asked Del, "You still think Rodney's involved in a rolling meth lab?"

  I said, "Mr. Kim's is the only business left in that block but cops are in and out of there all the time."

  "Not at night, they aren't," said Del.

  "Wouldn't work, too smelly," Arny said, stuffing another spoonful of fudge-drenched ice cream in his mouth.

  Jan speared him with a motherly glare. "What do you know about meth labs?"

  "A lot," he said around the mouthful. "I'm doing a paper on it for my new courses in law enforcement."

  When Jan swiveled her head to look at him, he said, "I told you I was thinking about it. Maybe a degree in criminal law. My prof said with my grades, I could get a scholarship and transfer from here to Berkeley in a year. Maybe go into law enforcement."

  Jan was all smiles. "Oh, Arny, are you sure you want to stay in Modesto that long?"

  He shrugged. "The garage owner likes me, says he'll schedule my hours around school."

  Del, said, "Okay, okay, now can we get back to Rodney and his rolling meth lab? I think he's part of a gang of cutthroat drug lords who force it on their soulless minions."

  Arny laughed. "That sounds like the propaganda film we got in high school for marijuana. I'm right about the meth, you know, it's too smelly to cook in a downtown restaurant."

  Del shook his head. "That alley's the perfect place to schlep the stuff in and out of."

  "Never happen," Arny said, putting down his spoon. "My teacher says that's a tightly patrolled area at night."

  "Not if a cop is keeping tabs, Del said. "And for my money, Rodney's the man for the job. A kitchen to cook, a convenient and dark back-alley for a quick get-away."

  Jan took a deep breath, let it out, then put up her hand. "Del, I'm sure Arny's right about this, he's very interested in this case."

  Arny's ears reddened. First he was embarrassed by his mother's boyfriend, then by his mother coming to his defense. He glared across the table at Del. "It's a fact, asshole, not a guess! The stuff is smelly, and it's too risky a location."

  Del tilted his head, and raised his eyebrows at Arny. I'd seen that look before. Del was in character, pushing for something, but what? "So, have you tried it?"

  Arny fisted his hands on the table. He leaned over and closed in on Del's extended nose. "You're so lame. Bet you didn't even know that it can cause convulsions and tremors that mimic Parkinson's, did you? Or that it can cause irreversible brain damage or strokes. Or that twelve point four million Americans over the age of twelve have tried meth, or that the drug is exploding as the most popular drug for young men between the ages of eighteen and thirty-four? I'm not dumb enough to go for that shit!"

  I put up both hands to ward off the fight about to break out. Arny wasn't sophisticated enough to see that Del was baiting him or that Del, considering himself barely out of his teens, knew a thing or two about what buttons to push on teenagers.

  "Okay, okay," I said, putting my hands up between them. "Arny, I'm sure you're right, but Del was just giving us some ideas to consider. In case the lead for the heart recipient is nothing, and Billy Wayne's killer is a dirty cop, right, Del?"

  Del looked from me to Arny and then to Jan. He blinked, and then as if remembering that he should behave, said, "Okay, so it isn't manufactured there, since the smell would attract someone's attention, but Mr. Kim is old, he goes home at night, and Rodney and his gang transport the stuff through the alley. It still could be the reason why Billy Wayne was murdered."

  Arny had been blindly staring out the window. Now he turned to regard Del's last statement and nodded.

  Jan beamed.

  I paid for everyone's ice cream.

  Outside, the night air was warm and balmy. The stars were smudged in a way that said an inversion was settling into the valley. We would have a reprieve from any imminent weather change, at least for the next twelve hours.

  Arny had lost his sulky mood. "Still want to go home? I know a party we could crash."

  "No thanks. I have to work tomorrow."

  He shrugged good-naturedly, and in another few minutes we were taking the exit for my ranch.

  "You won't forget about that plane ride, will you?" he asked, slowing for the turnoff to my house.

  "Stop!" I said, putting my hand on his arm. "This is your road, isn't it?"

  "Yes, but just stop a minute."

  "What is it?" Arny asked, his head swiveling around looking for the danger.

  "Look at that and tell me what you see," I said, pointing to our mailbox.

  "Is that your mailbox? Sorry… was a mailbox. Kids, probably. High school kids, out joy riding. Trashing mailboxes with baseball bats. Not that I ever did anything like that."

  The mailbox had been ripped off its stand of sheet metal on metal tube post and was hanging by a single wobbly bolt.

  "Wait here," I said, and hopped out with the intention of setting the box back on its post. It seemed a bit heavy, so I looked inside. It was dark, but I could tell something was in there, so I reached inside to pull it out for a look. When my hand touched something furry and squishy I automatically squealed, jerked back my hand, stamped my foot, and cursed.

  "What is it?" Arny said getting out of the car.

  "I hate it when women do that… squeal just because they find something unexpected. Have you got a flashlight?"

  "Sure, but what's in there?"

  "Get it, please?"

  He trotted back to the car, opened the passenger door and then finding what he was looking for, switched on the small flashlight and put it in my hand. I got down on my knees to peer inside.

  Inside was a furry brown rat, its yellow teeth and beady black eyes giving me a bucky beaver greeting. It was also bloody and very dead. Around its neck was a string and attached to the string was a folded piece of paper. Oh, goody. Nothing I like more than ominous messages to my family. I sighed, resigned that I'd have to at least read it, and pulled the rat out by the note.

  Black felttip pen scratched onto white paper said, "Mind your own business, or next time this'll be you!"

  How original and every bit as menacing as it was meant to be. I shuddered to think of someone stuffing me into a metal mailbox and then hitting it hard enough to splatter my brains all over the inside.

  "Got a paper bag in your car? Napkin? Anything I can put this thing in?"

  "You should let the police see it en situ," Arny said.

  Then he shuffled from one foot to the other, awkward at the tone of his own words. "You know… prints and stuff like
that."

  I ignored Arny's burgeoning aspirations to get into police work and said, "I've got my reasons, now go find me something to put this critter in."

  He went to rummage around under his seat and came back with an empty Burger King bag. "Lucky you, I usually sweep for deleterious, uh stuff, before I go anyplace."

  "Arny, I see a long and happy career as a criminal investigator, but for now, let's just keep this between us, shall we?"

  "What're you going to do with it?"

  "Bury it. Then tomorrow morning, come down here with a hammer and put the box up on its post."

  "But—but, shouldn't you tell the cops? It might mean something—like maybe they got the wrong suspect?"

  "Dead rats or not, they do have the wrong suspect. So, are you going to drive me the rest of the way, or do I have to walk?"

  He put the car in gear and silently drove the graveled road to my house, got out, walked around to my side, and opened the door. When I got out, he said, "Okay, so anytime you need a ride, call me."

  Or pucker up and whistle. It wouldn't take more than that to bring Arny whizzing to my aid. It was kind of sweet.

  Inside the house, except for the overhead light in the foyer and the one in the kitchen, the place was dark and quiet. On the kitchen table was a folded note with Caleb's handwriting on it. I put off reading it until I'd loaded the coffee maker and set the timer for tomorrow.

  Ignoring the madly blinking message light on our home phone, I went upstairs to perform my nightly ritual of flossing, brushing my teeth, removing makeup, taking off the linen dress, and checking it for stains. Deciding the dress could stand a trip to the dry cleaners, I folded it up and put it on a chair for tomorrow. Then I put on my favorite soft cotton nightgown and sat on the edge of my bed to read Caleb's note: When you get a minute, call me.

  I now had no doubt that Rodney had arrested the wrong man, and to prove it the killer had left me another very pointed message. Only this time, I had no intention of letting go.

  I shut off the questions tumbling around in my head, picked up West With the Night by Beryl Markham, and imagined myself flying mail over the African bush to landlocked Europeans, then turned off the light and fell instantly into a dreamless sleep.