Journey of Shadows: a Fast-Paced Mystery Where Time is the Enemy

  Lost in the Shadows; an Ivan Dunn Mystery

  Chapter One

  It began as a whim; a momentary lapse in judgment. I could have just driven by, and my life would have been so much easier. That’s what I would have done if his sign was the same as all the others. You see these guys at just about every intersection these days, but back in 1952 it was a novelty. The movement, if you could call it that, hadn’t really gotten started yet. The American dream of a house, a car, two kids and a dog or cat was still a reality to most, and everyone was hard at work to achieve it. The sign on a busy street corner was just a dream of one person; a way to extract our hard-earned dollars. Or it could be that the first one really needed the dough. He could have been a war hero, out of luck, with no family to turn to. Not knowing where his next meal was coming from. Or if there would be a next meal.

  Even if I had seen that first guy I would have driven by. I didn’t have any money in those days. I don’t know if it started in Chicago or not, but that’s where I was when I saw the first one. His crudely drawn sign, probably on a piece of cardboard that he had rummaged out of someone’s trash, could have said something like, “Out of Work, and Starving. Please Help.” I don’t remember because I drove by trying not to make eye contact. Before Jeremy Taylor sauntered into my cheap office, I only had enough money for a few weeks. I didn’t even have a secretary. I was dressed a little better though. I was trying to make an impression. It turned out that the case he offered me brought me fortune if not fame. Some of the money I had earned, but not all. Anyway that’s another story. Before I got lucky I could have been that guy on the street corner. So maybe that’s why I talked to this fellow, but I prefer to think it was his sign, drawn on a piece of cardboard with a black marker. It read, “Buy me lunch and I’ll tell you my story.” This guy was dressed pretty much the same as the others; dusty-looking dungarees, and a plaid shirt with what looked like moth holes up near the collar. His hair was long, not even braided. He wore sandals that didn’t go with the rest of him. Granted, we were in the beach town of San Diego, but it was January, with the temperature that morning hovering around forty. He wore no jacket. It made no sense, my stopping that is. My whole perspective had changed in just two short years. So had the world for that matter. Early in 1950 the communist North Koreans were still above the 38th parallel. I lived in the windy city of Chicago, and Rachel Embree didn’t exist as far as I was concerned. Contrast that to now; The war was raging, no longer called a “Police Action”, and I was in the beautiful city along the Southern California coast living that dream, except for the kids and pet, and a little thing called a marriage certificate. I was working on that.

  I was a little too old to fight. Besides I’d had my war. Now that I had money, lots of it, I was semi-retired. My private detective career, short as it was, was a thing of the past.

  The panhandler jumped eagerly into my old Studebaker as car horns behind me shrieked in unison. In the old days I would have raised my middle finger suggestively, but I was much smarter now. I’d picked up my passenger on Harbor Drive near the civic center, so I made a u-turn and headed out toward the ocean. There was a little café in Ocean Beach that I liked. They didn’t serve liquor or beer, which I thought was a good idea under the circumstances. We found a fairly quiet table near the back, and ordered non-alcoholic drinks when the pretty waitress came by. Right away my companion excused himself to go to the restroom. I studied the man as he walked away. He had no obvious physical impairments. The first time he talked was when we ordered at the café. He had a clear deep voice that showed no sign of despair. It didn’t compute. He was reasonably tall, around six feet. There didn’t seem to be an ounce of fat on his muscular frame.

  When he returned and we had ordered, I said, “Okay, we have a few minutes, so talk to me. What’s going on with you?”

  He looked me square in the eyes and answered, unhesitatingly, “I wish I knew. Up until a week ago, I didn’t exist, as far as I know. I woke up soaking wet, in Chicago by the lake, with a ringing headache. I have no idea how I got there, or what happened before that.”

  “Do you know your name?” I interrupted.

  “No.” He said, simply.

  “How did you get to San Diego?” I said, and then as an afterthought, “and why?”

  “There was a piece of paper in my pocket. It was all I had on me. I could hardly read it, because of the dampness, but it was an address here in the city. It was my only lead to who I am.” He paused to catch his breath. “I hitchhiked out here.”

  We stopped to eat when the waitress brought our food. My companion wolfed his down before I had finished my salad. I asked if he wanted something else. He finished off two plates but he politely declined a third. It just didn’t fit. He seemed a little too courteous for a street guy. I couldn’t tell whether he was lying about his loss of memory or not.

  “Go on”, I said. “I can finish eating and listen at the same time. What did you find at the address you had?”

  “It was the Longshoreman’s union hall. No one there knew me. As long as I was there I asked them for a job on the docks but they had nothing for me.” He answered dejectedly, dropping his head. “I had nowhere else to go.”

  I had a thought. “Where did you get the fine duds?”

  He ignored the sarcasm and answered, “One of the guys at the hall gave them to me. I thought then that they might hire me out of pity, which would have been alright with me but, as I said, that didn’t work out either. That was my only lead, and I didn’t know where to go from there.”

  “So did you go right out and make your sign?” It was an honest question on my part, but it must have sounded trite, because he got a disgusted look on his face before he answered.

  “No. I was able to get temporary work at a department store, cleaning up after the holiday rush. I only worked nights. I suppose it was so that no one would see me. The job only lasted three days.”

  “So why the sign?”

  “Simple really. I haven’t eaten in a couple of days, and I had no one to turn to.” It seemed like an honest statement. “I figured I’d worry about the rest of my life on a full stomach, if that was possible.”

  I thought of something, “I have to call you something. Hey you won’t do. How about Joe? What do you think of that name?

  “I suppose it’s as good as any,” he replied.

  I made a decision then that, in light of what happened later, had to be the worst ever. “I have some experience in detective work, and I’m at leisure these days, so here’s what I’d like to do. I’ll put you up at my place temporarily. I have an empty guest house. Meanwhile let me do some poking around and see what I can find out about who you are. Will that be all right with you?”

  He was incredulous. “How could I say no to that? You might have just saved my life.”

  I remember thinking at the time that maybe he was being overdramatic. As things turned out it was just the opposite!

  Chapter Two

  It was a short ride through Pacific Beach to the La Jolla hills where I now resided, in the lap of luxury. Joe was impressed, especially looking back along the beach as we climbed. It was a pretty sight, with the Point Loma peninsula stretching out toward Mexico. I’d been saying to myself a lot these last few weeks, “Ivan Dunn you are a lucky son of a gun!”

  My Studebaker didn’t really match up with my surroundings, and I’d gotten a few disapproving looks from the neighbors, but I was used to it, and didn’t yet feel really rich, though I was. Maybe I’d get a second car one of these days, but I wouldn’t sell the one I had. It
was comfortable. Rachel kidded that I liked it because I didn’t know whether I was coming or going. If you’ve never seen an old Studebaker, the front end looks just like the back, with the cab in between.

  When I pulled onto the winding driveway leading to the big house, I wondered if Rachel would approve of our new house guest. She was pretty broad-minded, so I hoped it would be okay.

  Rachel Embree had moved out to the coast right after her son Thomas returned to the Army. He’d gotten a hardship discharge when he was needed at home, but had it rescinded when the crisis was resolved. After he left she had nothing but bad memories to keep her in Richmond, so she packed up and moved to the west coast, at my selfish suggestion. It would be a new start. I had saved her life, and I was sure she had feelings for me. It wasn’t hard at all to ask her to move in with me. She would have her own room, and I assured her I would stay at arm’s length. She worried about what the neighbors might think, but when she saw how secluded my place was, she decided it would be all right-until she could find her own apartment.

  That was a year ago, and lucky for me, she was still here. She wanted to find a job, but I kept talking her out of it. I told her it was unnecessary, since I had all the money in the world. She could always do it later, if she became bored with the life, or with me.

  I was becoming accustomed to the domesticated life again. Had it really been ten years since I put Annie on that bus to Boston?

  Annie and I had been very young when we were married. We both became different people as the years ticked by. I changed more than her, and not for the better. We split up just before the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor.

  When the man I called Joe and I reached the front door of the huge house, it opened and Rachel stood there, an inquisitive look on her pretty face. I continually marveled at her beauty. Her dark, nearly black hair, that she had cut short since she moved to the warmer climate of Southern California, framed her beauty well. Her slim body on a five-foot ten frame was just right for me, since I was nudging six feet.

  “This is Joe,” I said, anticipating her question. “He’s going to rent the guest house for a while.” It was just a small lie, and I would straighten it out with her later, in private.

  Rachel held out her hand to him, and he shook it, very formally, and, I might add, slightly ill at ease.

  As I observed the two of them I noticed that Joe was very pale, almost waxen, but that could be due to his diet, or lack of one. Otherwise he was a good looking guy with long brown hair combed straight back with no part. His jaw was rather pointed. His nose appeared to have been broken, but was not unsightly. One thing that seemed out of place, other than his clothes, was his eyes. They were a steely blue. When he looked at me I had the feeling he was looking right through me.

  I was yanked back to the moment when I realized Rachel was speaking. “Have you eaten, Joe? I can make some sandwiches if you’re interested.”

  “No thanks Rachel. May I call you that?” He was awfully courteous for a homeless guy. There had to be more to him than I knew.

  She smiled and answered in the affirmative. “How about you Ivan? Are you hungry?”

  “We just ate, but thanks,” I replied. “I’m going to take Joe out to the guest house and get him settled.”

  There was a back door to the big house that was separated from the smaller structure by a porch and short walkway. There was no side door to the guest house. It had only one floor, as opposed to the main building which had three. A three-car garage sat on the other side of the big house from the guest cottage. Rachel had her own car, a ’51 Ford, which I had bought for her when she arrived on my doorstep. It was parked in the garage.

  After showing Joe around his new digs, I headed back to the main house to answer Rachel’s obvious questions.

  “Okay, what’s going on?” She asked, as soon as I entered. I explained the whole thing in as much detail as I could muster.

  “How are you going to help him?” She continued.

  I thought for a second before answering, “I’m not sure, but I don’t think I’ll find the answer here. What would you think if I went to Chicago?”

  “I’d say you are being foolish right offhand, but you have to do what you think is best.” Then she added, turning away from me, “It’s not like you have anything to hold you here.”

  I reacted by grabbing her by the shoulders, making her look at me, “You know that’s not true. You’ve become my life!”

  She turned her face upward, and placed her left hand behind my neck, “Oh Ivan, I know it’s been hard for you these past months, and I appreciate what you’ve done for me. I feel I’m at least moving back into the world from where I’ve been.”

  I grinned, “How far back?”

  “This far”, she answered, pulling my head so that her lips were close to mine. She closed her eyes as I completed the union between us. Her mouth opened slightly, suggesting that she wanted more from me.

  I had to be careful to let her lead with what she was willing to give, lest she be frightened back to that other world, the one that she had been trapped in ever since she’d been assaulted. Up until now I’d made no demands on her, sexually or otherwise. I was trying to be content just being near her. But now my male hormones were getting in the way, and I pressed against her, harder than I probably should have.

  Suddenly she pulled away, but her eyes never left me. She appeared to be fighting with herself over which way to go. I realized I had won when she took the step that brought her back to me. Our second kiss was much more passionate than the first, as she molded her frame to mine, and we both became lost in the embrace.

  Rachel said nothing as I lifted her while she wrapped her slim legs around me. I carried her up a flight of stairs to my room, where we fell on the bed still entwined.

  I kissed the spot just behind her collarbone near the base of her neck, and she moaned appreciatively. Her hands went to my belt, and I stopped her. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I could feel her trembling as she looked up at me questioningly.

  “I’m in love with you Rachel. I have been for over a year. I’m not a monk, but I want this to be perfect.” Then I voiced the thought that had been on my mind ever since I found out I would have money. “Will you marry me?”

  She took a deep breath before answering. “I’m a hussy Ivan. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life. I don’t deserve you, but the answer is yes. Will tomorrow be soon enough?”

  Chapter Three

  In California there is a three day waiting period that begins after applying for a marriage license. I was going to use that time to fly to Chicago and see what I could dig up on our John Doe, conveniently named Joe, which, I never thought of before, was a combination of the other two names. Brilliant. While I was gone my beautiful Rachel was going shopping for wedding dresses.

  The Pan Am flight I caught left from Los Angeles, and only made three stops before reaching Chicago. I had taken a commuter flight north to L.A after Rachel dropped me off at Lindbergh Field, I would use a cab in the windy city for what I thought would be only a one or two day investigation.

  I checked into a downtown hotel. After showering, I called the AAA cab company to pick me up. They were the same ones who drove me from the airport, and who were helpful in finding a good hotel. I also received a crash course in Illinois politics from my driver. I felt I owed them my business in spite of it.

  I wanted to check with the police to see if they had any record of a missing person fitting the description of Joe. After that I’d visit the local library to scan old copies of the newspaper for information that might fit. Come right down to it, I didn’t have much of a plan for later. Maybe I would go by the Longshoremen’s Union in town, if there was one. In my mind I was a hotshot investigator, so it was time to prove it. At least I knew where most everything was, having lived here before. The downtown area hadn’t changed much, save for a few name changes on things like hotels.

  I couldn’t have picked a worse time to both
er the cops with my problem. One of their own had been shot and killed the night before, and the gunman was still on the loose. They had no time for me and let me know it right away. They used some choice words to explain what they thought of PI’s. I didn’t mind.

  I had tried to join the force when I mustered out of the Marines, but the injury I suffered to my knee from the action on Makin Island in 1942 kept me from passing the physical. The esprit de corps we had was pretty much the same in the police. When we lost one of our own we all suffered, and we tried never to leave a fallen buddy on the battlefield.

  Recovering from my wound at the Naval Hospital in San Diego allowed me time to fall in love with the area. I had always wanted to return, and when I inherited a fortune from the estate of my mother I made the move. Now here I was back where I had started, and I was lost.

  The Chicago Daily News turned out to be a dead end. In the week following when Joe had said he emerged from Lake Michigan, there was not one story about a near drowning. No one had been reported missing, as far as the newspaper was concerned. So I was zero for two.

  I had no luck at the Longshoremen’s hall either. There was only one guy there. I told him my name and I showed him the same picture I had flashed at the police station, the one I had hurriedly snapped before I left for Chicago. At least he looked at it.

  “That’s not one of our guys”, he had said, with a blank look on his face. He didn’t offer any more than that, before he returned to his comic book.

  I had one more idea before I packed it in and flew back to paradise on the west coast, but it would have to wait until the next day. I was bushed. I think it was because I seemed to be at a dead end. At any rate, sleep sounded like a good idea.

  Before heading back to my hotel I decided I had better rent a car after all. I didn’t feel like throwing more money away on a cab, since by that time I realized I would have to drive out to the lake where Joe had his near death experience. And it would be more convenient.