Shadow of a Killer: the Dark Side of Paradise Page 2

  “What are you talking about?” Rachel hadn’t heard the update.

  “They’re saying the gun that killed that cop is mine, and that’s impossible.”

  “But what if it is somehow?” Rachel answered, now equally as fearful as her husband.

  “Then it had to be stolen. It was in our bedroom closet, but I haven’t checked to see if it’s still there for a while.”

  “But why us? It doesn’t make sense. Who would even know that you possessed a gun?” Ivan rubbed his chin where he had let a stubble grow, as Rachel continued without waiting for an answer, “What will you do?”

  “I’ve got to go down the mountain, and straighten this all out. I’m sorry to cut our stay here short.”

  I wish we knew someone in law enforcement who could be on our side.” She emphasized the word “our”.

  I know. I’ll just have to turn myself in at the Sheriff’s station. You know I’ve been with you this whole week, so you can vouch for me.” Silently he thought that probably wouldn’t hold water, since she’d obviously be prejudiced, and no one else had seen them since they checked in. It might ease his wife’s anxiety however. He could just see some slick prosecutor in his trial, smirking in front of a jury of his peers, saying “Oh sure, we should believe your wife in this and just release you.”

  To anyone else’s thinking, he could have slipped out and done the deed, then rushed back to the cabin. The murder had occurred late at night, and maybe she was asleep and didn’t even notice that he had left. Or it could be that she’d even been in on it. Ivan didn’t want to bring that up, and worry her even more.

  “All right, but if we wait until morning, it will be safer.”

  “Neither of us will get much sleep tonight kid, with this hanging over our head, but I don’t want to take a chance that you could be hurt if they intercept me before I have a chance to turn myself in. You should stay here, for your own safety.”

  “Why do you keep calling me kid? I’m your wife now you know.”

  “How about wifey poo? That has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” He thought a little levity might ease the knots in both their stomachs at that point.

  “This is no time for comedy.”

  “You’re right about that. I could have been a stand-up comedian if my ego hadn’t been shattered by the guy who told me I was as funny as a greased pig with esophageal reflux.”

  “Esoph-what? Now you sound like a doctor.” It was almost imperceptible, but she was beginning to relax a little.

  Ivan continued with the light banter. “I could have been. I played a lot of doctor when I was a kid.” That one finally brought a laugh from his wife. Maybe the spell was broken.

  “You’re my husband, and I should be with you.” Rachel pleaded, after regaining her composure. She knew, even after their short marriage, how hard-headed and stubborn her man was.

  “No Baby. There’s no way I will put you in danger.”

  And that was that. He dressed warm, kissed his wife goodbye, and was out the door.

  Ivan’s mind was racing as he navigated down the steep, winding roadway in the dark. He should have slowed, but he was too preoccupied.

  He saw no police cars. He had the radio on to keep him company. On the hour, when he was about halfway down the mountain, he caught the local newscast. It was not good. The San Diego police had searched his house, and they found an incriminating letter still in his typewriter. It was threatening the cop who had been killed, and promising there would be more. The letter didn’t give any reason for the vendetta.

  “That’s crazy,” Ivan yelled out loud. I don’t even own a typewriter!”

  He made the decision to turn himself in to the San Diego City Police rather than the sheriff. He didn’t know any of the officers, but the emotions shouldn’t be running as high there. It wasn’t one of their own who had been cut down.

  Perhaps it was his distraction that caused him to miss the turn, or his speed. He knew right away that he was in trouble as his front tires left the blacktop. There was hardly time to apply the brakes.

  Instinctively he opened his door and dove out onto a snow-covered hill bordering the road. The car continued downward, finally coming to rest upside down, nearly one hundred feet from where it had begun its descent. Because the snow had cushioned his landing, he was bruised but conscious as he looked down toward the wreck of his Chevrolet. He couldn’t see the car in the dark.

  “Well at least I’m dressed for a long walk,” he muttered to no one in particular, as he pulled his woolen hood over his head, and zipped up the fur-lined jacket. He estimated he was only a couple of miles from civilization, if he used the road. At this juncture he didn’t want to be seen, so he was ready to head off into the wilderness at any sign of a vehicle.

  He’d been walking for almost a mile before he had to hide from oncoming headlights. He stepped off the road and moved behind a tall pine tree. The car passed without slowing. It was too dark and foggy to tell if it had been a sheriff or police vehicle, but he could see the lights flashing atop the car. He waited a reasonable time before walking back onto the roadway, not wanting to take a chance they might turn around and come back. It wouldn’t do for him to be captured before having a chance to give himself up, and tell his story. When he was sure it was safe he continued his descent down the mountain.

  It occurred to Ivan that there was no way to reach Rachel up in that cabin. They had no phone. It probably wouldn’t be long, however, before the authorities figured out where she was. If nothing else, the killer who framed him would make an anonymous call to alert them. He didn’t think Rachel would be in any danger. It appeared that he was the target of whatever was going on.

  Surely the free vacation had been set up by the same man or woman who was intent on pinning the murder on him. They had to be away from the house, so that whoever it was would have access to take his gun and leave the note.

  Since it had been a cop who was killed, it was safe to assume that every uniformed officer, and even some detectives, throughout all of Southern California would be out looking for him. They might even shoot without the formality of questions, if he was sighted. That was probably the outcome the killer expected.

  It seemed strange, because he had always been on the side of the law. There’d been times he could have strayed to the dark side, but he always resisted. He wasn’t particularly religious, and he wasn’t forced to go to church as a child, even though his father had a deep faith.

  He never knew his mother. She was gone from his life, almost from the beginning. He’d been told she abandoned him, and when he vowed to look for her, the man whom he worshiped told him she had died. It wasn’t until much later when he was an adult that he found out she’d been alive all the time. He couldn’t confront his father because by this time he was in that place the older man called heaven. Ivan had been blessed to meet and talk to his mother before she too passed away, and that memory would be etched in his conscience forever. It completely changed the perception of her that was developed when he was first told she had walked away from him. Nothing about their later relationship was as it seemed when he was a child. To his surprise, he found himself caring for her, and when she revealed she was dying, he felt a tremendous loss; that he had been denied all those years with her.

  Ivan shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold. It seemed like hours since he had left the accident scene when he finally reached civilization. He’d had to hide many times before the Sun finally peeked out from over the tall mountain just south of east. Traffic had grown proportionately to the increasing daylight, and the fact that it was a work day for most.

  He found a mom and pop grocery store where he could change his currency into coin, so that he could make a phone call. It had occurred to him that he did have a friend in the area, or at least an acquaintance. It wasn’t likely there was a photo of him published yet, but just in case, he put a few blocks between himself and the convenience store before looking for a pay phone. The clerk had
n’t shown any recognition but it didn’t hurt to exercise a little caution.

  Outside a gas station he found what he was looking for. The phone booth was set back away from the street, and not close to the pumps or the attendant. It was even in shadow, which was a plus.

  He called the local newspaper and asked to speak with Vincent Allison. He remembered that Allison had been friendly. Maybe he could cash in on that friendship and at least get some unbiased news print. He was told the reporter was on assignment, and when he was asked for a phone number where he might be reached, he hung up.

  Next he asked the operator, when he dialed zero, to connect him to the main division of the Los Angeles Federal Bureau of Investigation. With any luck Harry Shields would be at his desk, hard at work.

  Chapter Four

  Harry Shields had hardly settled into his new assignment when the call came in. He’d had mixed feelings when he left Chicago for the sprawling city of Los Angeles. It would be a promotion, but he was leaving a lot of memories behind- and his wife.

  Marge Shields had been a vital woman right up until she became ill. She played tennis once a week with her husband, weather permitting. She’d gone back to school to earn her master’s degree in education. All this was in addition to teaching full time at their local high school. Harry often worked late, so Marge did most of the cooking.

  When she began throwing up, unable to hold her meals, especially in the morning, they worried that she might be pregnant. At the age of forty-two that wasn’t a very pleasant thought for her. She was a rather small woman, only five-foot two and one hundred twenty pounds. Her only pregnancy before had not been a good experience. She’d lost the fetus in her second trimester. She was not anxious to go through another experience like that, especially at her age.

  Harry did not share his wife’s misgivings. He didn’t like the discomfort she was going through, but he really wanted a child, hopefully a son, to carry on the Shields name. They had even discussed adoption before her perceived pregnancy. He realized, at fifty, he would be older than the other fathers at ballgames, and the PTA meetings, let alone the Cub and Boy Scout activities. He hadn’t discussed gender with Marge. It didn’t occur to him that she might want a girl.

  It all became academic when, at a follow-up test to discover why she was having cramps too often, their doctor quickly dispelled all thoughts of them having another chance at parenthood. Ex-rays showed a large mass in Marge’s stomach. It was cancer. Her devoted husband was grief-stricken. She tried to put on a good show, even knowing that a death sentence hung over her. At night they held each other just a little tighter than before. Right up until she entered the hospital a month later, they talked of a future together when they beat the odds.

  Marge Shields passed away only two days after she became bedridden. The official finding was pneumonia, from a depleted immune system. She died on a Saturday in June. The year was nineteen fifty-three. It had only been two months since she first visited the doctor, and was diagnosed with the dreaded disease.

  Harry continued to work, even through his grief. By summer’s end that year he was offered the position of Special Agent-in-Charge at the Los Angeles office of the FBI. He was urged by his co-workers to take it, not because they were anxious to be rid of him, rather just the opposite. They felt he was one of them, and they suffered with him as he tried to shed the malaise that had gripped him since his wife’s death. Perhaps a new start would be just the thing to bring him out of it.

  It took only a few days to tie up all the loose ends of a life that had brought him joy, and in the end a sorrow so overwhelming that he had given brief thought to ending it all.

  Once he had settled into his new surroundings, and rented an apartment not far from his office, his depressed feelings seemed to ease somewhat. Heading into nineteen fifty-four, it didn’t hurt that he was keeping really busy.

  When the phone rang he had three cases going; a bomb threat called in to an airline flying out of Los Angeles International Airport, a kidnapping, and a post-office burglary. When he was told by another agent who had answered the phone that the call was for him he automatically assumed it was related to the cases at hand.

  “Special agent Shields. What can I do for you?”

  “Hello Harry. This is a voice out of your past.” The FBI agent recognized the voice on the other end of the line immediately. Perhaps it was because of the current notoriety attached to Ivan Dunn.

  “What the hell is going on with you?” He didn’t believe the stories at all. The man he knew could not have done such a thing. Harry Shields knew Ivan Dunn as a cool customer on the side of the law, not a gun-happy killer who had taken a policeman’s life. They had crossed paths two years earlier. It was in Chicago. Ivan had come up with a plan to rescue his fiancée, who had been kidnapped. Between them, with a little help from another agent, and a felon named Chris Ellison, they managed to rescue Rachel-yes that was her name, and dispose of the bad guys.

  “I may need your help, Harry.”

  “What you need is to turn yourself in. You’ll get killed out on the street.”

  “Not going to happen, at least not yet. I want you to get Rachel. She’s at a cabin up in the Laguna Mountains.”

  “Sure. I can arrange that. Then will you surrender to authorities?”

  “I can’t. They’ll throw away the key to my cell once they have me, thinking I’m a cop-killer. I need to find out who wants to frame me first.”

  “You’re crazy. There’s no way in hell you can last out there by yourself. The whole state’s looking for you. It’s only a matter of time before a reward’s posted, and your picture will be up everywhere.”

  Ivan was not to be swayed, “I know you’re right, but I need some answers first.”

  “What answers?”

  “Okay. Who was the cop who was killed? Was he working on any cases? Did he have a happy marriage? I’m just thinking it’s just as much about him as it is me.”

  “I’ll find that out. How can I reach you?”

  “I’ll call you. I may need some money too. I won’t be able to access any of mine. You know I’m good for it.”

  “There’s no way I can help you there. I’d be jailed myself as an accessory.”

  “All right,” Ivan was slightly disappointed, but he understood the agent’s dilemma. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “Stay out of sight until you get me the info on the dead cop. Then I’ll make up my mind what my next step will be.”

  “It better be to turn yourself in. Like I said, you’re going to get yourself killed if you stay out there. The odds are really stacked against you.” Then as an afterthought he added, “How did you end up in that cabin?”

  “We got a letter in the mail, offering us a free week. It sounded like a good deal. I thought Rachel would like it. In retrospect it looks like it was a setup, to get us out of the house so that dickbrain, whoever he is, could take my gun and leave that note.”

  “The sheriff’s department in San Diego sent us the gun, and the note, along with the typewriter, to see if we could extract any prints.”

  “That son of a bitch. Hell, I don’t even type!”

  “Have you got an alibi? Anything that will point to you not doing it?”

  “Only Rachel’s word that I never left the cabin.” Ivan answered.

  “That’s not enough.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m not ready to turn myself in yet.”

  Shields could hear the frustration in his friend’s voice. Still he repeated himself. “You’ve got to give yourself up. You’re life isn’t worth a plug nickel out on the street.” He couldn’t remember what cowboy western movie gave him that cliché, but it seemed to fit.

  “Can’t do it Harry. I should have some say in all this.” And he added, “What if he decides to come after Rachel? I won’t be able to protect her if I’m locked up in the hoosegow.”

  Harry, realizing it was futile, said,
“Okay, hang in there. Maybe something will turn up, and we’ll get you out of this mess.”

  When Ivan hung up the phone, Shields slumped back in his swivel chair, so deep in thought he didn’t realize he still held his receiver in his hand. a defeated expression crossed his face as he confronted the odds of helping the fugitive escape a murder sentence. He wasn’t a betting man, but it seemed the odds were certainly against his friend.

  Chapter Five

  It was the next day before anyone showed up at the cabin to pick up Rachel. She was beside herself with worry by that time. A young, well dressed man knocked on her door shortly after sunrise. She’d already been up for an hour, wondering what she could do to track her husband down. They hadn’t really talked much about his plans, other than that he would turn himself in to authorities in San Diego. She didn’t know about the note that was found in their home, or the fact he had changed his mind about surrendering.

  The FBI agent showed Rachel his credentials at the door. She carefully studied the card that identified him. She remembered the last time a stranger showed up unannounced. She had the gunshot scar to remind her. Her hand went instinctively to her side, and her middle finger traced the scar tissue.

  “What did you say your name is?” She would compare his answer to what she had read on the government issued card.

  “I didn’t say, but it’s Angelo Rodrigues, Mrs. Dunn. Harry Shields sent me. He said you are stuck up here without transportation.”

  “I expect my husband back at any time. You’re welcome to come in and wait, if you need to talk to him.”

  Rodrigues entered the small cabin when Rachel opened the screen, but he didn’t move to sit down. “I’m not at liberty, Mrs. Dunn, to share confidential police or FBI information with you, but I think it would be better if you come with me, until this matter is cleared up.”

  Still Rachel hesitated. It was true this stranger knew Harry Shields’ name, and she knew that the man she’d met in Chicago had been transferred to Los Angeles. Anyone not associated with law enforcement would not be privy to that information. “Why don’t you think my husband will be returning soon, Mr. Rodrigues?”