empty tomb” clue provided by Eli. Dantzler concluded his briefing by stating his reasons why he was now certain Eli was innocent despite evidence indicating otherwise, and why he was convinced a single shooter was responsible for all four deaths.
With one exception, asking Dantzler to repeat a name, Lisa remained silent throughout. She had been taking notes, waiting until Dantzler finished before asking questions. Only after he was silent for several seconds did she did finally speak.
“Okay, call me a dummy, but I don’t see where you need my help. Am I missing something, or is there more to the story?”
“The single shooter-he’s who I need you to help me nail down.”
“All right. Do you have a name for me to work with?”
“I have an alias-Johnny Richards. I need you to tell me who he really is.”
“Why are you so certain Johnny Richards is an alias?” Lisa asked.
“Because prior to nineteen-eighty, when he showed up in Lexington, the man didn’t exist. There is absolutely no trace of him in any data base, no paper trail whatsoever. Prior to his arrival here, the man was a ghost.”
“Not good,” Lisa said, adding, “people don’t simply change their identity and ‘show up’ out of nowhere. When they do, it’s usually the result of nefarious circumstances.”
“Exactly.”
“And you are thinking he is in the Witness Protection Program, right?”
“Has to be. And that’s where I need your help.”
Lisa thought for a few moments. “I’ll look into it from my end and see what I can come up with. Also, I have a good buddy in the U.S. Marshal’s Service who owes me about a dozen favors. I’ll contact him and pick his brain. In all likelihood, he can find out more than I can anyway.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“What else can you tell me about Johnny Richards?” Lisa said.
“Not much, to be honest with you. He moved to Lexington in nineteen-eighty, bought a bar, which he still owns and operates, and was married to Mary Magdalene Richards. She went by Maggie. Her maiden name was Costello. Says he’s from Chicago, but judging by his accent, I’d say New York or New Jersey. About six-foot-one, one seventy-five, brown hair, probably in his fifties. Looks younger, though, and my hunch is facial surgery. Beyond that, it’s all a blank. You can see why I need your help filling in those blanks.”
“I have a few tasks I still need to clear here in Denver,” Lisa said. “Shouldn’t take more than another day. I’ll get to work on it when I’m done. Meantime, I’ll go ahead and call Jeff Walker-he’s my contact in the Marshal’s Service-and see if he can help us. Or at the very least, put us in touch with someone who can.”
“Sounds good. And, Lisa, if it’s at all possible, I’d like to work fast on this one.”
“I understand. You want to put away another bad guy.”
“Yeah. But I would also like to see Eli Whitehouse die a free man.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Heavy storm clouds floated above the night sky like giant black zeppelins, hovered briefly before moving on, only to be replaced by bigger, darker zeppelins. Off to the east, sporadic flashes of lightning bumped up against the darkness, pushed it aside for an instant, then vanished, leaving the night even darker than before. Thunder rumbled deep and low-Eli’s Yahweh must be suffering from a bellyache, Dantzler thought-and the first drops of rain began to tickle the lake behind the house.
Standing on his deck, glass of Pernod in hand, Dantzler felt like a man who had fallen into a pit of quicksand. He wanted to move-needed to move-but forces beyond his control had him at a standstill. Frustrated and trapped, once again at the mercy of others, and there was nothing he could do about it. Just wait, while watching the minutes and hours tick away.
Two days and he had heard nothing from Lisa Kennedy or Jeff Walker. Not a word, not a peep. Only silence. He was disappointed, but more than that, he was surprised. He knew Lisa, knew she was a pro, true to her word. If she gave her promise, it was good as gold. But Lisa had her own job to do and it had to take priority over helping him. He understood that. He also figured if Lisa had spoken with Jeff Walker, she probably didn’t impart the same sense of urgency to him that Dantzler had stressed when talking with her. There was also a good chance Walker handed the case off to yet another agent who might make it a high priority, or just as likely, stick it at the bottom of his to-do list.
The Feds tended to move at their own speed, which invariably meant moving at a slower pace than Dantzler cared for. Usually, it was a crawl rather than a slow pace. Of course, if the situation were reversed, if the Feds needed or requested his assistance, they expected to receive it pronto. Urgency was important if they were the ones seeking answers.
Dantzler flopped down into a chair, sipped at the Pernod, closed his eyes, and listened as the rain began to come down harder. The rain, he knew, was here to stay, and would likely last the night. This was fine with him-he loved the rain and had since he was a small boy. Few sounds were more soothing than rain hitting on the roof. A gentle summer breeze suddenly kicked in, bending the grass, jostling the trees, their branches waving like shadowy arms in the darkness.
Nice, he thought. Peaceful. A rare moment of inner quiet, when the detective voices in his head were silent and his thoughts drifted in other directions. There had not been many moments like this lately, not since he… Then quick as the next lightning flash, those detective voices smashed through the barrier, shattering the inner quiet, directing his thoughts back to the Eli Whitehouse case. Back to Johnny Richards.
Back to what was proving to be an impossible, frustrating challenge.
Dantzler had spent much of the past two days poring over the female obituaries. He was all but certain Johnny Richards was the shooter, but he had to make sure. He had to be absolutely convinced he had not leapt at the first clue without giving the full weight of his attention to other possibilities. He wanted to be one-thousand percent positive he was going in the right direction. In his line of work, where a person’s fate was at stake, there could be no screw-ups. Ever.
You can’t blunder on match point.
His research into the female obituaries uncovered three names he deemed possibilities-two Marys and, incredibly, one Salome. As expected, they turned out to be dead ends. Both Marys were long-time widows, in their eighties, neither of whom had so much as a speeding ticket on their record. They were law-abiding, upstanding citizens in every regard.
So was Salome Renee Garrett, who, according to her obit notice, owned and operated a successful florist business, had never been married, and was survived by her life partner, Becky Allen. Like the two Marys, Salome’s record was spotless.
His researched had only confirmed what he suspected all along-Mary Magdalene Richards was the clue Eli hinted at.
And Johnny Richards was a four-time murderer.
Initially, Dantzler had been disinclined to keep watch on Richards. He thought it best to wait until he heard back from Lisa Kennedy, or whomever she handed the case off to. See what they could come up with, which might turn out to be something big or nothing worthwhile or helpful at all.
Despite his conviction that Richards was the shooter, at this stage of the game, barring more pertinent information, round-the-clock surveillance was not in the cards. Captain Bird vetoed the plan in no uncertain terms. Bird argued, and rightfully so, there wasn’t enough evidence against Richards to justify a full-court press surveillance-wise, which would involve too much manpower and too much expense, neither of which could be spared unless more relevant information came to light.
Still, Dantzler wasn’t about to hang around and do nothing, no matter what Captain Bird said. It was bad enough having to wait for the Feds to get him information regarding Richards; that particular stumbling block was
