“What is it you want, Ms. Conrad? Where are the rest of your Grand Old Lady Detectives? You sure hit it big when you helped bust a smuggling ring right in your own backyard.”
“It’s Neely, please, Nick. I’d prefer to be on a first-name basis if that’s okay with you.” Nick shrugged. She continued. “Since you seem tuned in on new developments in the area on the crime front, you must have heard about Leonard Cohen’s claims that someone murdered an old friend of yours.”
“I have. Some punk police officer, who looked to be about twelve years old, came by and asked me about it.” Neely and I glanced at each other, trying to hide our surprise that the police were making inquiries. Domino yawned and then leaned her head against Nick’s leg. He reached down and rubbed her soft ears, and his body language changed as he instantly relaxed.
“What did you tell him?” I asked.
“That it all happened a long time ago and my memory sucks. Methamphetamine does a number on your body and your mind. I’m lucky I can remember my own name.” He was getting riled up again and stopped petting Domino. She pawed at his arm and smiled. “She’s your secret weapon, huh?”
“I’m lucky to have her in my life, Nick.” He made eye contact, and a flicker of something like recognition passed through them.
“One of the stories mentioned you were a recent widow. I’m sorry for your loss.” Before he could say anything else, our drinks arrived.
“Do you two like fresh seafood? I’d recommend the barramundi with citrus salsa. You can’t go wrong with anything the chef has on the menu, but the fish is excellent. I never ate so well until I started this job.”
“The barramundi sounds wonderful.”
“To me, too,” Neely added.
“Can Domino eat chicken?” Nick asked.
“Sure. She loves it.”
“Cindy, will you tell the chef to send out a plain broiled chicken breast for the pooch, please?” Cindy smiled, and a dimple appeared in our server’s little round face.
“Of course, I will. What a beautiful dog. So well-behaved, too.” As soon as Cindy was out of earshot, I decided to press Nick for his help.
“Nick, was Leonard Cohen telling the truth? Did someone kill Allen Rogow?” He looked side to side, the lights glinted off the lenses of his glasses as he turned his head.
11 Unexpected Tears
“We need never be ashamed of our tears.” ~ Great Expectations
∞
“When I said my memory sucks, I was telling the truth. Something happened that night, but I honestly can’t tell you what.”
“You were there—on Dickens’ Dune?”
“Yes. I didn’t want to go, but Wendy insisted. Allen was her friend, not mine, although she was convinced it was love, not friendship. He suddenly broke it off with her, said he was done getting high and was going to turn his life around. Wendy was a miserable wreck for days. I tried to get her to calm down, and then Mark dropped by armed with comfort in pill form.” When Nick spoke again, it was barely above a whisper.
“That guy was whacked even when he wasn’t high or drunk. He got a little stoned, and let it slip that he and several guys he served with in Vietnam, were going camping with Allen near the Nipomo Dunes. After he left, Wendy got it into her head that if she could only talk to Allen, she could change his mind about going back to his wife.”
I almost did a spit take hearing Nick confirm that Allen had hoped to reconcile with Judith even though they were divorced. I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from interrupting him with a dozen questions. I’m glad I restrained myself because Nick was suddenly overcome by emotion. Tears streaming down the leathered cheeks of the seemingly jaded man stunned me.
“Sorry, about the tears. Yesterday was my sister’s birthday. She would have been sixty-two if she hadn’t died from an overdose.”
“Sister?” We asked in tandem.
“Yes, I assumed you’d already figured that out. Wendy and I were adopted, so we have different last names, but we had the same birth mother and never lost touch. As soon as I turned eighteen, I moved in with Wendy. I knew she was in trouble with drugs. I swore I wouldn’t let her end up like our mother, but I failed. Instead of getting her clean and sober after I moved in, I joined the party.”
Then the unexpected tears returned. Nick hung his head and sobbed quietly. Domino put both paws on his leg, trying to get his attention. He dried his eyes on the napkin at the table, and then patted Domino’s head.
“It’s okay, girl. I’m embarrassed about the tears, and I don’t want you to take what I’m about to say the wrong way. We would have been better off if Mark Viceroy had died or disappeared that night instead of Allen Rogow.”
“We never need to be ashamed of our tears,” Neely said. “Or any display of honest emotions, for that matter. Mark Viceroy is still alive, so it’s obvious you didn’t act on your anger toward him.”
“Maybe Wendy would have been better off if I had. He supplied us both with drugs, and I’m sure he’s the one who gave her the dose that killed her—whether she wanted it or not. When she died, I couldn’t stand being around here for another minute.”
“When you say he supplied her with drugs, I take it you mean he was a dealer, not Allen Rogow.”
“Yes. Allen had feelings for her and refused to sell or give her drugs, and he told her to get back into treatment. Wendy thought he was in love with her, but I think he saw her more like a sister. Mark, on the other hand, had his eye on her as a girlfriend. Mark was happy when Allen told us he was moving out. I’m sure that jerk would gladly have sold drugs to his own sister. Maybe that’s because he wanted to make it big. Mark was more committed to the drug business than Allen, with ambitions to be a kingpin.” My mind was racing wondering how Mark’s ambitions for his relationship with Wendy and his career as a dealer might have been related to whatever happened to Allen.
“So, what do you remember? Anything about what happened that night on Dickens’ Dune?”
“Wendy and I had started partying before we got there. It wasn’t that far to Dickens’ Dune from our apartment in San Luis Obispo, but don’t ask me how my sister drove that far or found her way to Dickens’ Dune if she was as wasted as I was. I remember laughing hysterically while trying to hike in that condition as it was getting dark. We slipped and slid, and I hit the ground hard at one point. Wendy had a good laugh at me, but when she did the same thing, and I laughed at her, she smacked me. I never have been able to take a punch. The last thing I remember clearly is walking into an old bunker during a disagreement between Mark and Allen.”
“What about?” I asked.
“Allen was ticked that Mark was using the old bunker to sell drugs to high school kids, but they were also arguing about money.”
“Drug money?”
“Probably. There were a couple of thugs in the bunker I’d never seen before, so maybe Mark or Allen owed them money. When Mark and Allen realized Wendy and I had joined the party, they shut up. Mark grabbed Wendy and tried to kiss her. She took a swing at him, and he hit her. Like the idiot that I was, I charged him, fists flying, and took it on the chin, and the lights went out. When I came to, the sun was coming up, and the others were gone. Wendy was shaking me and telling me to wake up so we could go home.”
“You really can’t take a punch if you were out that long,” Neely said in a skeptical tone. Nick shrugged.
“Maybe I would have passed out even if Mark hadn’t punched me. Or he could have hit me again as I fell. My face was a mess the next day. I told you that we were wasted, and I don’t remember much.”
“Your memory is better than you said. Did you tell the police about any of this?” Neely asked in a low voice. There wasn’t anyone seated nearby, but Nick appeared to be getting antsy.
“No. Wendy wouldn’t let me. She said if we talked to the police, we’d all get arrested for drugs and assault and who knew what else? So, I kept my mouth shut. I always figured something bad must have happened because Mark nev
er asked us to pay a cent for drugs after that. According to my sister, Mark had moved up the food chain and could take a cut of the drugs he sold.”
“Did she say what happened to Allen?” I asked, wondering if Mark had moved up by getting rid of Allen if he perceived him to be a competitor.
“No, but it seemed obvious to me that Mark or those thugs had killed Allen and ditched the body somewhere. When the police stopped by our apartment to ask about Allen’s whereabouts, we said we had no idea, which was true for me anyway. Then, when they asked where we’d been the night before, we lied and said we’d been stuck at home because Wendy’s car had broken down on us.”
“Yeah, we heard Wendy told the police her car was in the shop.” Nick looked hard at me. His eyes were still a little red from crying which undermined the set of his jaw. “Look, I’m not going to turn you in, although I will encourage you to contact a detective friend of ours and tell him everything you’ve told us.” I pulled out a pen and wrote Hank’s name and phone number on a cocktail napkin.
“I’ll think about it,” he said when I slid the napkin across the table. Then he picked up where he’d left off. “When we got home, it was still early. Mark had let himself into our apartment and was waiting for us. It was his idea to have a friend pick up the car and take it to his shop, and then tell anyone who asked about where we’d been the night before that we were stranded at home because the car had conked out on us. I was suspicious of his motives, but Wendy was so grateful, she threw her arms around his neck. It was as if he’d never hit her and was doing her a favor instead of making sure a couple of druggies didn’t let something slip. I wanted to throttle him, but I wasn’t going to take him on again.”
Our server showed up with our meals, and he shut up. Nick placed the paper plate with Domino’s treat on it on the patio floor in front of her. Domino looked at me as if it was too good to be true.
“Aren’t you lucky? Nick had that made especially for you.” She nuzzled his hand and then gulped down the chicken before Neely or I had even taken a bite. Nick smiled and shook his head.
“I’d love to have a girl like her in my life. She knows how to eat, doesn’t she?”
“She sure does. Can you have a dog where you’re living?” I asked.
“Yes, but I’d probably have to go all the way to San Francisco or LA to find a beauty like Domino.” He pushed back his chair as if he was going to stand up. “Enjoy your meal. Dessert’s on me if you have room for it.”
“We know how to eat, too, Nick,” Neely said and winked at him.
“I’ll bet you do. Try the chef’s Crème Brûlée; you won’t be disappointed.” Then he let out a sigh so big it’s as if his body deflated right before my eyes. “I was too messed up to think straight back then. To be honest, when Wendy overdosed, I’d started to use drugs again after getting myself clean at The Men’s Colony. I figured it was only a matter of time before I ended up like her—accidentally or on purpose—if I got desperate enough to go back to Mark Viceroy as my source. Years later, when I heard that he was mixed up in that incident at Calipatria, I figured he’d die in prison. It finally felt safe to return. He’s out now, though, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Which is another reason to tell Hank Miller everything you know about Mark Viceroy and what went on at Dickens’ Dune.”
“I might as well. What have I got to lose?” I tried not to think about that as he gave Domino a last hug. He’d made his share of mistakes, but he’d paid dearly for them.
“That was revealing,” Neely said as he walked away. “He seemed sincere, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but I couldn’t help feeling he knows more than he’s willing to say.”
“What makes you say that?”
“His memory of what went on at Dickens’ Dune was too good at times to be as bad as he claimed it was at other times. I think that’s a convenient way to avoid laying it all out on the table.”
“I suppose that’s possible if he’s still afraid that he’ll go to jail if he goes to the police. At his age, I’m sure he doesn’t want to spend his golden years in lockup. Let’s hope he decides to sit down with Hank. Unless he killed Allen Rogow or had a hand in burying the body, it’s too late to charge him for any lesser crimes he and his sister committed that night.”
“Wendy Ballard sure sounded like she was mad enough to kill someone. Maybe she murdered Allen and Nick’s protecting her even though she’s dead,” I suggested.
“He sure is carrying a load of guilt about letting her down while she was alive. In his mind, outing her as a murderer might feel like he’s doing it again.”
“Or he’s scared to death that Mark Viceroy will get revenge if he goes to the authorities.” I paused for a second, trying to figure out what was nagging me about another issue—the argument about money. The image of Pete with his hand out to Jimmy Dunn floated into my weary brain. “If Mark Viceroy wanted to make it big in the drug business, wouldn’t he have had to come up with lots of cash? They’re not going to hand over a load of drugs on credit, are they?”
“I’ve never seen drug buys on credit in any of the movies I’ve watched. Otherwise, I’m not all that well versed in how drug deals work. I could ask a couple of my old friends in Hollywood about how their connections worked, although I don’t believe any of them ever approached kingpin status.”
“No! All we need is to attract attention from members of the drug cartel in addition to mobsters and psycho ex-convicts if Mark Viceroy has heard that a gang of old people are asking questions about him.”
“Okay, okay! Maybe we ought to start reading more in the True Crime genre. I gather the point you’re making is that the money he and Allen were arguing about wasn’t chicken feed.”
“Right, I’m talking about big bucks, not chump change!”
“I’m going to call Charly and bring her up to speed,” Neely said. “I’m curious about what the money argument was about, too. I’ll see if she’s had a chance to snoop into Mark Viceroy’s finances. Maybe the place to start is to figure out how he’s making ends meet now that the State of California is no longer paying for his upkeep.”
“That’s a very good place to start. If Wendy was right that he’d moved up the ranks as a drug dealer, his success was short-lived before his arrest. Even though he escaped, hiding out from the law all those years must have put a crimp in his criminal career,” I argued.
“Maybe not. Dealing in illegal drugs could have been the way he survived while he was underground. If he squirreled away cash before he was finally caught and sent to Calipatria, that could be what he’s using now.”
“Ask Charly about the money, and let her figure it out. She has more experience than the two of us combined when it comes to thinking like a criminal.” Neely didn’t sound the least bit tired when she laughed at the idea of telling Charly what I’d said.
When we got back to the hotel later, I was too exhausted to worry about another encounter with Ricardo Cantinela. I dragged myself through the lobby to the elevator without even looking around. As it turned out, that would have been pointless.
“Hello! How fortunate to run into the two most attractive females I’ve seen all day,” Ricardo Cantinela said the moment the elevator doors slid open. He was looking at Domino as he spoke so I couldn’t be sure to whom he was referring.
“Thanks, Attorney Cantinela,” Neely responded. “You’re not half-bad to look at, either.”
I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing out loud at the expression of surprise on the man’s face. I couldn’t tell what had shocked him, Neely’s cheeky comment about his looks or addressing him as an attorney.
He had two grim-faced bodyguards with him. When Ricardo Cantinela broke into a smile, they snickered, and I had a good laugh, too. What a strange day—unexpected tears followed by unexpected laughter. What could possibly happen next?
12 Friends with Chocolate
“There is nothing better than a friend, unless it is a friend with c
hocolate.” ~ Charles Dickens
∞
“That’s room service. I need coffee so, I already ordered breakfast.” Neely hollered when there was a knock on the door the next morning. “Tell the server to set it up for us on the veranda unless you’re worried the hitmen in your life are early risers.”
“Ha-ha! Very funny. You don’t need coffee—you’re already wide awake.” Domino, who had been chowing down in the kitchen, ran for the door when she heard that knock. She woofed and spun around.
“You’re wound up too? Am I the only one who’s pooped this morning?” I opened the door still watching Domino’s silliness.
“Come on in and set up on the lanai, please.”
“Set up what where?” Joe asked as he stepped into the room, carrying an enormous bouquet of flowers. Carl strode into the room behind him, with a huge box of chocolates.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“That’s no way to welcome friends—especially friends bearing chocolate.” Carl held the box up to his ear and rattled it. “I assume it’s candy—there’s nothing ticking, and I smell chocolate.”
“You didn’t buy it?” Neely asked as she wandered into the sitting area of our suite.
“No. We rode up on the elevator with a delivery guy. When we realized we were all going to the same place, we said we’d make sure you got it.” Carl’s eyes wandered around the suite and then settled on the gorgeous view. “We gave him a nice tip, too, and told him to put it on your tab.”
“To which he responded, ‘no can do.’ When I asked what that meant, he assured us the sender had already taken care of it. Has Hank kicked it up a notch?” Joe asked as he took the flowers to the kitchen, and stood them upright in the sink.
Grave Expectations on Dickens' Dune Page 10
