“There’s a new man in Miriam’s life. He’s loaded—probably in more than one sense of the word,” Neely snickered.
“Go ahead and laugh. You’ll miss me when I’m gone!” I quipped as Carl and Joe stood there waiting for an explanation.
“The punster in our midst means loaded as in packing heat as well as rolling in dough.”
“Duh,” Carl responded. “What I want to know is why a guy like that has taken a sudden interest in you?” I was trying to figure out how to respond when there was another knock on the door.
“Room service!”
“Thank goodness the coffee has arrived. Don’t ask me to share. I need a whole pot if I’m going to catch up with the rest of you.” This time, I did what I should have done earlier—used the peephole to make sure it really was someone from room service delivering our breakfast.
“Yay, coffee! Come on in, please. Can you roll that out to the veranda?”
“Of course—my pleasure.” In minutes our breakfast was set up, and the young man from room service even poured me a cup of coffee. “Will there be anything else?”
“That’ll do it,” Neely replied as she signed the ticket. She must have added a nice tip because the grin on his face widened when he took it from her. After he was gone, I’d barely had a sip of coffee when Carl and Joe demanded to know what was going on. I hesitated for a minute, wondering if we could be overheard while we sat on the large balcony that ran the length of the two-bedroom suite.
“Oh, what the heck?” I muttered. “My life is an open book these days—to everyone but me, anyway.” It didn’t take long to fill them in about Ricardo Cantinela. In fact, there was surprisingly little to say.
“Charly mentioned that they’d picked up someone suspected of killing Jimmy Dunn and that he’d lawyered up—courtesy of the Ohio mob. She neglected to add the best part, though. Does Hank know he’s got a rival for your affections?” Carl asked. The snickering had begun again, but I wasn’t sure Carl’s question was so funny.
“Hank can hold his own with a slick lawyer dude any day,” Joe added as he helped himself to a strip of bacon from a small plate sitting on the cart.
“What brings you here so bright and early?” I asked as I passed the plate to Carl and then sat down to eat my breakfast.
“We wanted to see how the other half lives,” Carl quipped. “This makes our hotel room look like a dump.”
“I don’t believe you for a second,” Neely snapped. “What’s up?”
“Charly thought we should compare notes—share what we learned from our round of visits yesterday. She said you might have news for us, too, if your conversation with Nick Martinique went well last night.”
“Did you find him at The Maiden Inn?” Joe asked.
“We did,” Neely replied. “I must have spoken to Charly after you did because I told her about our dinner conversation with Nick Martinique. He had plenty to say, although Miriam doesn’t believe he told us the whole story about what happened at Dickens’ Dune. He and Wendy Ballard, who, as it turns out, is his sister, were there the night we figure things went bad for Allen.”
“His sister?” Carl asked.
“They were there—at Dickens’ Dune?” Joe added as he made himself comfortable on a nearby chaise. I nodded, and then Neely and I filled them in on the information we’d picked up from Nick Martinique, trying to hit the important points.
“I hope he takes your advice about calling Hank—pronto! We talked to one of the guards who was working at The Men’s Colony when Allen Rogow and Leonard Cohen were inmates.”
“How’d you manage to do that?” I asked.
“We hung around at lunchtime until a couple of the oldest-looking guards came out. Then we followed them to a local diner, and asked if we could buy them lunch in exchange for stories about their experiences on the inside.”
“They bought that?” Neely asked.
“Yeah, it worked great! Even when we told them we were interested in stories about a guy we knew who’s dead now.”
“Joe had to order a round of pie to sweeten the deal.” I rolled my eyes at more punny humor and poured myself another cup of coffee.
“Only one of the two men had been at the facility long enough to remember Allen Rogow—a war hero with a drug problem was how our lunch partner, Skip, remembered him,” Joe said. Carl jumped in at that point.
“As soon as Joe brought up Allen’s name, he asked us if Allen was murdered after he got out of prison. We told him that’s what we were trying to find out. He suggested we check out a ‘whack-job’ by the name of Mark Viceroy who came to visit Allen more than once. Shortly before Allen was released, he and his buddy, Mark, got into it.”
“As in a verbal disagreement, or were punches thrown?” Neely asked.
“Mark Viceroy threw a punch, but Allen dodged it. The guards in the room went into action and got Mark under control. They escorted him out of there, although it took two of them to do it.”
“They should have called the local police and held him there until they picked him up.” Neely shook her head.
“If that punch had landed, they probably could have charged him with assault and battery and made it stick,” Carl said.
“That could have been a forewarning of things to come, huh?” I asked. Neely nodded as I asked another question. “Did Skip tell you about Mark Viceroy’s role in a disastrous escape attempt from Calipatria? That would have earned him the whack-job label.”
“Yes, but Skip says he’d nailed the guy as a ticking time bomb long before that,” Joe said. “He tried to get them to ban Mark Viceroy as a visitor before he took that swing at Allen. Mark had turned up at the facility angry, cursing, and making rude remarks about the guards on duty and other visitors.”
“And high as a kite, according to Skip,” Carl added.
“Yep. They always searched him to make sure he wasn’t bringing drugs into the facility to pass along to Allen Rogow, or the other guy he visited once or twice. They never found anything on him.” Neely and I instantly reacted to the “other guy” part of Joe’s comment.
“Whoa—wait! Time out,” I said using both hands to make the T-sign.
“The other guy, who?” Neely asked.
“Didn’t I already say something about that?”
“No!” Even Carl joined in responding to Joe’s question.
“Senior moment, sorry. Mark Viceroy also visited Leonard Cohen. After one of those visits, Leonard was as pale as a ghost when he left the visitors’ room.”
“Did Skip say why?” The moment the question was out of my mouth, I realized it was a stupid one. Joe would have been eager to share that information if the prison guard had given it to him.
“He didn’t know, but Leonard made sure Mark was never allowed to visit him again.”
“If he was that scared, it’s easier to understand why he didn’t come forward about Allen’s murder until he was on his deathbed,” Neely commented. “I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall or somewhere close enough to hear what passed between them.”
“A cheer must have gone up when Mark Viceroy ended up behind bars at Calipatria—once they put him away for a long time in maximum security,” I added.
“That’s the truth. We had no trouble finding old guys in the SLO veterans organizations who knew who he was,” Joe said.
“Sorry to interrupt, but what are slow veterans organizations?” I asked.
“S-L-O—as in short for San Luis Obispo,” Carl replied. “They use nicknames around here too.”
“Okay, thanks. Please go on, will you? I take it that Mark wasn’t well-behaved among his fellow vets, either.” Carl and Joe both nodded in response to the conclusion I’d reached.
“Sad, but true. They had their share of troubled vets, but Mark was ready to fight once he had a few drinks in him. Nasty if he lost a penny ante poker game. They called the cops on him at a couple of the places we visited to get him to leave, but he was always long gone by the ti
me the cops arrived,” Carl said. Joe spoke up next.
“This old guy, Ernie, who served in Vietnam, too, told us he was disgusted by Mark Viceroy’s behavior. Ernie was mostly upset that Mark was trolling the place and peddling drugs. He admitted he’d called the cops and wasn’t surprised that Mark left in such a hurry because he must have had drugs on him or in his car.”
“That makes sense,” I said. “Has he shown up since he was released a year ago?”
“He hasn’t been seen at the places we visited—including several of the bars closest to the veteran’s halls. Charly probably told you that his kidneys are wrecked, so it sounds like his drinking days are over,” Carl said.
“Yeah, she told us the place he’s most likely to visit these days is a VA dialysis unit,” Neely commented. Then Joe spoke in an excited tone.
“Yes, and rumor has it that he shows up three times per week at the same time and place. We’re planning a stakeout for this afternoon. He’s there for two or three hours, and when he leaves, we’ll follow him home. After we have an address for him, we’ll call Charly and give it to her. She’s hoping she can find out more about how he’s paying for things like rent these days.”
“How will you know it’s him?” I asked.
“Charly sent us a copy of a picture she found with the California DMV. They issued him a new driver’s license not long after he was released from prison last year.”
“Doesn’t that have an address on it?”
“Yes, but it was issued while he was still staying at a halfway house in Indio, not too far from Calipatria. Charly says he left there a few months ago, without leaving a forwarding address.”
“Doesn’t he have a parole officer he has to report to?” Neely asked.
“He does, and if we can’t locate Mark Viceroy, we’ll try to get an appointment to see if his parole officer will tell us where we can find him,” Carl replied. “If he even agrees to meet with us, I doubt he’ll say much.”
“I’ll bet there’s no employer information either or Charly would have found him like she did Nick.” I was becoming frustrated at how elusive Mark Viceroy seemed to be.
“As sick as he is, who would hire him?” Neely asked.
“Now that Charly knows how bad his health was while he was in prison, she suspects he might be receiving disability benefits from the VA,” Carl said. “She’s looking into it.”
“That would sure answer the question about how he’s living now that he’s out of prison. Miriam and I had cooked up a scenario speculating that he’s living off money that he hid before he was sent to Calipatria.”
“Even if he is on disability, there’s still something strange going on with money,” I insisted. I went back over parts of the conversation we’d had with Nick Martinique about the fight over money he overheard between Allen and Mark. “How about this? If Allen and Leonard knew each other before they went to prison, Allen could have given money to Leonard and he lost it. If the money belonged to Mark, too, he could have visited Leonard and tried to terrorize him into giving it back. Maybe when that didn’t work, Mark blamed Allen and got into that argument in which he took a swing at Allen before the guards intervened,” I suggested.
“Yeah, that would make sense if they argued about it again, and Mark lost control at Dickens’ Dune. Mark may have settled the matter once and for all.” Joe pretended to fire an imaginary gun.
“Judith made it sound like they met when they were both inmates at The Men’s Colony. They both had a history of drug problems. What if they met in rehab or in an AA meeting?” Neely argued.
“Let’s call Judith and see if Allen went for treatment anywhere before he was sent to The Men’s Colony. He and Leonard could have crossed paths even if Allen didn’t stay in treatment for long.”
“That’s a good idea. I say we also ask Charly to search their case files. There ought to be reports about previous efforts to seek treatment in the affidavits filed before their presentencing hearings. That’s where their history of drug problems, and any efforts they already made to deal with them, would have been presented in some detail. Judith has already said Allen kept secrets from her, which would explain why she was under the impression they met while they were inmates at The Men’s Colony.”
“Okay, Neely, let’s finish breakfast. Then you call Charly, and I’ll call Judith.”
“And I’ll make sure the chocolate’s good enough for the two of you.” Neely and I had almost finished eating, and Joe had passed the box of chocolates to Carl when Neely’s phone rang.
13 More Surprises
“Surprises, like misfortunes, seldom come alone.” ~ Charles Dickens
∞
“Hi, Midge! How are you?” In the next instant, Neely was up on her feet. “Give me the address.” She jotted down the address. “We weren’t too far from there last night. We’ll be there in ten or fifteen minutes—tops. Have you called Charly?”
The moment I heard Neely ask Midge for an address, I was on my feet. I scooped up dishes and cups and piled them onto the room service cart. By the time Neely asked Midge if she’d called Charly, I was rolling the cart through the suite to the hallway.
“Tell her we’re on our way,” I said as I grabbed Domino’s leash, and slipped on my shoes.
“The Angels are on their way, too,” Carl said as he towered over Neely and copied the address she’d written down. Neely passed along the message to Midge that we were all on our way and ended the call.
“On the way where? Why?”
“To a hotel just up the road, Joe,” Carl replied, still looking at that address Midge had given Neely. “Neely will have to tell us why on the way to our cars.”
“I don’t have the details, but Midge and Marty followed Leonard Cohen’s nurse—Elizabeth Stockton—here from Santa Barbara. I heard Marty telling Midge to make sure we know that she’s a crook. She insisted that you bring Domino and that we call Charly.”
“Why call Charly?” I asked.
“In case there’s a Deputy Devers in this jurisdiction, and we get into a dodgy situation with the law. Midge and Marty are in Elizabeth Stockton’s hotel room, and it’s been trashed. She’s gone, and they’re going to call the police, but they want us to see something before the police arrive and declare it a crime scene.”
When we got to the elevator, we didn’t have to wait. I hit the button and the door slid open. Neely and Carl had called ahead for valet service, so both cars were at the curb by the time we bolted from the lobby. I called Charly and gave her a heads-up in case Midge needed help dealing with the San Luis Obispo police. Eight minutes later, we pulled into the hotel parking lot, and Marty waved us down before we could go inside to the check-in desk.
“This way,” she said, and we followed her around the outside of the main building to a public pathway that led to the beach. Soon, Marty made a quick right turn, and we were on a slatted wooden walkway that ran in front of a row of beachfront cottages. Calling the tiny detached buildings cottages was a stretch. They weren’t much bigger than garden sheds or beach cabanas. We dashed after Marty with the walkway clattering and squeaking underfoot until we reached the last cottage. The door was ajar, and Midge stood just inside the doorway.
“When you said trashed, you meant it!” Neely exclaimed. The room had been thoroughly and completely searched. Drawers were emptied, the chests and nightstands were overturned. The mattress was on the floor, and the bed upended. Someone had slashed the mattress, pillows, and chair cushions.
“Yeah, whoever did this must have been convinced Elizabeth Stockton had something important hidden in here. The police are on their way. This is what I wanted you to see before they arrive and close off access to this area. Didn’t you mention that you saw a lightning symbol on the wall of the bunker?”
“Yes, I think that’s what it was—in among other graffiti scrawled on the wall in there.”
“Did it look anything like that?” she asked and pointed to some pieces of paper lying on the floor
near an overturned wastebasket. Before it had been torn into four pieces, a bolt of lightning inside an oddly shaped border appeared to have been sketched onto a slip of paper torn from a hotel memo pad.
“There’s definitely a resemblance, although the version I saw was even more crudely drawn—carved or scratched into the wall of the bunker near the floor.”
“That looks to me like an emblem used to designate the infantry division Allen and his soldier buddies were attached to in Vietnam.”
“What’s it doing in here?” I asked.
“If you can find Elizabeth Stockton, ask her.” Then Midge took us to the end of the slatted wooden walkway. In the sand, just inches from where the walkway ended, was what looked like a drop of blood and footprints—two sets.
“Marty and I tried to catch up with Elizabeth and whoever ransacked her room. We followed the footprints up the beach to the boardwalk and gave up. I’m sure one set belongs to Elizabeth. Even though we lost the trail once we got to the boardwalk, I hoped Domino might have better luck. That’s another reason I wanted you to get here ahead of the police.” We all paused to listen to the wailing of police sirens. Midge continued, speaking with more urgency.
“Go now. Take Marty with you because she’s seen Elizabeth Stockton. I need to stay here and try to convince the police the woman who occupied this room could be in danger. You know how police can be about a missing person—especially if we’re dealing with a police officer like Devers. Getting them to act might take some time and effort.”
“If what they see in that room isn’t enough to make them worry about the occupant, show them the blood.” Neely rolled her eyes.
“I’m not going to leave you here alone,” Marty argued.
“The police will come barreling in here any minute, now. Besides, I’m not alone. Joe and Carl will stay with me, won’t you guys?”
“For a while,” Joe replied. “We have an appointment we can’t afford to miss.” If Joe had more to say, it didn’t matter because Carl cut him off.
Grave Expectations on Dickens' Dune Page 11
