Ions Of Luck

by Markus Fredericks

  “Not so good. He’s in surgery right now with a badly fractured skull. They say he’s in critical condition.”

  “Oh boy – do they know if he’s going to survive?”

  “No, not yet,” said Jessica. “Say, Aldo, could I please speak to Danny?”

  “Absolutely…”

  Moments later Danny said, “Jessica – how are things going?”

  “Oh, Danny – I’m stressed out of my mind. While I’m over here at the hospital, my whole house is swarmed by a team of investigators looking at everything. I hope we didn’t overlook something obvious which would contradict the story I gave them.”

  “Me too,” said Danny. “Aldo was pretty thorough in paying attention to detail, but if the police ask a question that you can’t answer, you can always place the onus on your husband by stating that there probably was a secret deal between him and the limo driver, but that you really don’t know all the specific details. Thus, the police will have to wait until your husband wakes up – if indeed he ever wakes up.”

  “Oh, Danny – I’m so worried. I’ve fallen deeply in love with you, and now we’re faced with all this… If my husband happens to die, you might easily end up dead as well, and if he survives to tell the truth, then we will all surely go to jail.”

  “Jessica, don’t forget we have a third option to hope for… He could end up in an extended coma, and you can afford to keep him on life support system permanently. Besides, Aldo says that even if he emerges from any lengthier coma, he might suffer from a case of amnesia as well. Whatever may be the final outcome, I just want to tell you that the highlight of my entire life was to meet you. Regardless of what the future may bring, I have absolutely no regrets. Jessica, I love you with all my heart.”

  “I love you too, Danny.”

  Aldo took over the phone, “Thank you again for the three million dollar donation. I just got off the phone with the college dean, and I already have an appointment to deliver the check to him tomorrow morning. He was very excited for me, and he promised to renew the contract for my lab for another six years. I’ll be working everyday over at the lab, and as soon as Danny can walk without crutches, he’ll become my research assistant. Whenever you want to visit us, you can find us over there, but again, never make the mistake of calling my house from your private phone.”

  “Don’t worry, that won’t happen. Wish me well, and I hope to see you and Danny at the lab in a couple of days.”

  Jessica’s heart skipped a beat when she turned around to see Detective Harrison standing right behind her…

  “I’m sorry to startle you, Mrs. Donaldson, but we’ve found some astonishing evidence at your house. We need to have a private talk in the conference room. By the way, who were you just talking to?”

  Trying hard to respond in a normal, calm voice Jessica said, “My cell phone battery needs recharging, so I used the hospital phone to try to call my mom. Somehow, I got a wrong number. I guess I can call her later after I get more information on my husband’s condition.”

  She was eager to change subject matters, so she asked, “Where’s the conference room? I wonder what sort of astonishing evidence you have found.”

  Detective Harrison led her down a corridor to a private meeting room. He asked her to be seated before he pulled out a tape recorder and set it in the middle of the table.

  He clicked it on and said, “This is Detective Paul Harrison interviewing Jessica Donaldson, wife of the famous writer, Danny Donaldson. Mrs. Donaldson, do you hereby swear to tell us the truth?”

  “Yes. I do,” said an increasingly nervous feeling Jessica.

  “Mrs. Donaldson, are you aware that you have a giant, stretch limo buried in your backyard?”

  “Say, did I hear you right?” said Jessica as she tried to act surprised. “No – what are you talking about?”

  “That’s right. The missing vehicle belongs to a company by the name of, ‘Luxury Limos’, and the man found shot dead in your house was a limo driver who was scheduled to drive your husband to the airport, yesterday morning. Are you saying that you had no idea that a limo was buried in your backyard?”

  Jessica felt a bit shaken as she answered, “I was unaware of the limo, but as I explained at the house, my husband has been acting very strange lately.”

  “Can you please elaborate?”

  “Yes, Danny suddenly changed his mind on the swimming pool we were going to build in the area behind our garage. He insisted that I call the contractor to cancel the job. My husband told me to pay off the contractor in full, even though only the excavation had been completed. Like I said, he’s been acting in some very strange ways lately, and he’s been distant and irritable. I was gone most of yesterday, but when I returned home, my husband was all sweaty from back-filling in dirt by shovel into the excavated pit. I just thought that Danny was filling in the big hole in the ground since he had changed his mind about the swimming pool, but now I realize that he must have been burying the limousine.”

  “You said that your husband had a pulled hamstring. How could he have backfilled most of a swimming pool if that were the case?”

  “My husband said he just pulled his leg muscle while shoveling the dirt. He said that he would need to finish the filling later on when his leg felt better. I needed to get him a pair of crutches, and help him climb upstairs into bed.”

  “OK, Mrs. Donaldson, you said you were gone most of the day, yesterday. Is there anyone who could testify that you were with them at the time?”

  “I’m afraid not,” as she recalled Aldo’s fib to a cop about bird watching… “I was out bird watching yesterday. I always do that alone, so as not to disturb any of the wild birds I’m looking for. I was following up on a sighting of a bald eagle’s nest, but I was unable to find it.”

  Jessica felt as though she was on a witness stand in a courtroom while being grilled by a prosecuting attorney…

  “OK, Mrs. Donaldson, I’m still trying to find out how much involvement you personally had in this charade. You mentioned that after you visited the bank, you went to the grocery store. Is there anyone there that can verify that?”

  “There was a young man who worked at the deli counter. He couldn’t seem to figure out how to slice my salami correctly. He’d probably remember that I was there. By the way, I’m sure there’s a grocery store receipt in our kitchen garbage to verify the sale.”

  “Yes, we’ll certainly follow up on that,” said Detective Harrison.

  “You also said that your husband confessed having an affair with a girl named, Babs, and that he broke up with her. I understand that you and your husband had agreed to reconcile.”

  “Yes, sir, that’s true. You can probably verify from Danny’s smartphone that I’m telling you the truth.”

  “We’ve already done that, and I’ve even seen the selfie photo you sent to Babs of you kissing your husband.”

  “Well, Detective Harrison, then I suppose you also saw the tasteless selfie that Babs sent of her private parts as well – isn’t that so?”

  “No comment… Pretty much everything seems to check out. It makes sense that your husband needed a large cash withdrawal to pay off a limo driver who obviously must have been blackmailing him. Also, we dusted the inside of the limo for fingerprints, and sure enough, your husband’s fingerprints are all over the inside of it. The only thing that doesn’t make sense to me is the sequence of events.”

  “I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” said Jessica with a confused look in her eye.

  “I guess that the limo driver came to learn about his affair with Babs, and that he was attempting to blackmail him. That would make sense, and I could see that a botched blackmailing attempt could lead to a murderous situation. By the way, your husband must have had quite a battle with the limo driver. His first gunshot missed, and the bullet got lodged into your bedroom wall, but he killed him with a clean, second shot right to the heart… Anyway, I see that your husband buried the limo with the driver duct-tap
ed up in his trunk in your backyard. Your husband may, or may not have known the driver was still alive at the time. Anyway, what I don’t understand at all is why would your husband withdraw a large amount of cash for a blackmail payoff after, presumably, the blackmailer is supposedly dead and buried. Do you have any way to justify that, Mrs. Donaldson?”

  A very nervous Jessica recalled Aldo’s advice, so she said, “I’m not sure why either. That’s something you’ll have to ask my husband when, and if, he ever regains consciousness.”

  13

  Danny spent the rest of the day at Aldo’s Shoreline house on the couch with his injured leg elevated. As expected, every TV news show highlighted the violent event at Danny Donaldson’s residence.

  “I strongly recommend that you assume a new identity,” said Aldo while viewing a plethora of video footage of Danny Donaldson, the famous writer.

  “I can certainly see what you mean, Aldo, but how can I get all the necessary documents?”

  “Wait just a minute,” said Aldo as he hurried to his bedroom.

  A couple of minutes later, he returned to the living room and tossed a wallet onto Danny’s lap…

  “This is the best I can do – you can easily grow a short-cropped beard and restyle your hair to look like this fellow’s driver’s license. His signature, ‘David Dawson’, looks pretty easy to forge. He’s only a couple of years older than you, and I guess that you’re pretty close to his listed height – an even six feet tall.”

  Danny emptied out the contents of the wallet. Besides a valid driver’s license, there were credit cards, and even a social security card. Danny asked, “Who is this guy – and how do you happen to have his wallet?”

  A very concerned look came upon Aldo’s face as he brought over a chair from his dinner table, and positioned it directly in front of Danny…

  “David Dawson was my personal assistant at the lab for the past couple of years. He was working on his PhD in physics, and he was a good friend of mine. His only character flaw was that he was willing to take big risks – in the name of science. One day, about a year ago, we had the communication chamber set to the same frequency as the day you inexplicably appeared in my lab. David was mesmerized by the swirling lights of a wormhole tunnel leading to a distant vortex. He wasn’t concerned about his own safety at all. In fact, he was more concerned about his credit cards becoming demagnetized by our contraption, so he left his wallet in my possession before he shocked me by diving in headfirst right into the tunnel. David never made it back.”

  “Did David’s friends and family come looking for him?” asked an intrigued Danny.

  “David was mostly a loner with no family to speak of, and I was pretty much his only friend. It was well over a month before the police came to question me about his whereabouts. The police became suspicious that I might have had something to do with his disappearance, but I passed their polygraph test when they asked me if I knew where he was. To this day I have no clue where he ended up, so I easily passed that question on the lie detector machine.”

  “I wonder if by any chance David Dawson ended up in my world,” mentioned Danny.

  “Ever since the day I met you, I’ve been wondering the same thing,” said Aldo. “I wouldn’t rule out that possibility.”

  “Well, Aldo, I guess I’ll just have to assume David Dawson’s identity. I don’t see any other good alternative.”

  “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

  “There’s just one little thing – when it’s just you and me, can you still call me, ‘Danny’?”

  “For sure. You’ll just have to remember that you need to be David Dawson if you are ever questioned by the authorities.”

  “No problem, Aldo. That’s easily done.”

  Meanwhile, back at the hospital, after hours of hanging around the ER waiting room, Jessica was approached by Dr. Tanaka and another person she hadn’t met yet…

  “Mrs. Donaldson, this is our chief neurosurgeon, Dr. Wiley. We’d like to discuss with you your husband’s condition.”

  The trio ended up in the same conference room where she had earlier met with Detective Harrison…

  Dr. Wiley was a tall, thin man in his fifties, with short-cropped, gray hair. In a very businesslike manner he said, “Mrs. Donaldson, your husband is alive, and physically stable. However, we are deeply concerned about the severity of Mr. Donaldson’s head trauma. The rear portion of his skull was damaged beyond repair, so I had to implant a permanent, steel plate into his head. The feedback from a CT scan shows extensive, deep bruising of his cerebellum. His brain activity appears to be below 50% of normal, so my expectation is that your husband will be in a coma.”

  Jessica tried to subdue her enthusiasm since Aldo had told her that a lengthy coma would be the best possible outcome for her difficult predicament. She managed to act morose as she asked, “How long will my husband be in a coma?”

  Dr. Wiley took her by the hand as he explained, “There is no way we can tell for sure. The brain is such a complex organ. He could regain consciousness in a few days, or he could remain comatose until he dies. Often, with the case of very severe injuries such as your husband’s, his body will go into a period of gradual shutdown, whereby his other organs will cease to function without life support. Even if he wakes up again, he could be partially or fully paralyzed since the cerebellum controls muscular activity and balance. Another likely outcome is that his brain will erase portions of his memory. This is what is meant by amnesia. I suggest you go back home since there is nothing more for you to do over here. We will keep you updated on any changes to his condition. Please send him your prayers – his life is clearly in jeopardy.”

  Thank you, Dr. Wiley – and thank you, Dr. Tanaka, too,” said Jessica as she wiped away some more tears. “Just promise me that under no circumstance will you pull the plug on my husband’s life support at any time. I really can’t tell you how important his life is to me.”

  “We promise to do so,” replied Dr. Wiley. “It’s wonderful to see how dearly you cherish your husband’s life.”

  As she drove down the winding, private road leading to her house, she saw a veritable convoy of TV camera vehicles and paparazzi crews lining the street beginning half a mile from her residence. A policeman allowed her to enter her driveway when he saw she was the homeowner. Cameras flashed incessantly as she exited her Cadillac Escalade. Voices from behind the gate called out irritating questions like: ‘Is your husband dead?’ and even more vulgar questions like: ‘Did you kill the limo driver?’

  Jessica did her best to ignore them as she entered the house. The police were still present, and unfortunately, so were the drying puddles of blood.

  “Hi, Mrs. Donaldson, I decided to make a return visit to follow up on a few more questions that I had…”

  It was Detective Harrison. He said, “You mentioned earlier that I might find a grocery receipt for some salami you purchased today at the time of the murder somewhere in the kitchen garbage. We went through everything, but it’s nowhere to be found.”

  “I’m sorry – under any normal circumstance, the receipt would have simply been thrown into the trash. However, we got so distracted by the horrific scene that I forgot to even bring the bag of groceries in from the car. I actually forgot it in the back seat of my car. The salami is still there.”

  “Great, I’ll check up on that in a minute, but first, why did you just say, ‘we’? You just said, ‘We got so distracted by the horrific scene that I forgot to even bring the bag of groceries in from the car’ – so are you saying that you weren’t alone when you discovered the scene of the crime?”

  “Oh my God,” said Jessica, “that’s just a figure of speech. I assure you that I was alone when I returned from the store. Why are you grilling me like this? Am I some kind of suspect?”

  “At this point, everybody is a suspect until I figure out the truth. Right now, things are not adding up quite right in my mind. I recommend you stay at a hotel until we finish
our investigation.”

  “That sounds like an excellent idea,” replied Jessica as she took in a couple of deeper breaths of air to relax. “Today has been a very stressful day. Detective Harrison, if you need to reach me, I’ll be staying at the Westin Hotel. Just don’t forget to feed my dog.”

  “We have everything covered, Mrs. Donaldson – we’ll be keeping in touch.”

  14

  Jessica enjoyed staying at the Westin Hotel since the hotel security did an admirable job in keeping the paparazzi at bay. The hotel had a history of famous celebrities staying at their fine hotel, and these were guests who did not wish to be bothered by cameramen. Still, Jessica felt it was a good idea to make a daily appearance at the hospital to check on her comatose husband. It seemed like every day the doctor had the same news: he is stable, but there were no changes regarding his coma.

  Jessica also made a quick, daily stop at her residence – mostly to pick up her mail and to feed the dog. She was glad to see that someone had done a thorough job of cleaning up the bloody mess. The first day back she went to look behind the garage, and she saw that the huge limo had been dug up and hauled away. She thought to herself, “I’m sure the authorities kept the limo as evidence if this case ever goes to court.”

  Still, each time she left her house, there were always a few diligent cameramen snapping pictures of her, so she continued to prefer the peace and solitude provided by the hotel. Three days passed by, and she was pleasantly surprised by the lack of contact from Detective Harrison, so she decided to sneak away for a visit to Aldo’s lab at the university campus. Besides, she really longed to see her new love – the other Danny from another dimension…

  Although Aldo had been working daily at the lab, this was the first day that Danny’s leg had healed to the point where he could walk without crutches. His beard and mustache were growing, although they weren’t thick yet. Aldo did a fair job at cutting Danny’s hair so that he sort of resembled the guy on the driver’s license: David Dawson. Aldo performed the rudimentary haircut on Danny, since they did not want to take a chance that a professional hairstylist at a barber salon might recognize him as the famous writer, Danny Donaldson.