But above all else, Dantzler was a pragmatist. In the end, all good cops are. You do what it takes to put the bad guys away, and if it means bending a few rules along the way, or seeking help from outside sources, you do it, regardless of the dent inflicted upon your pride, or the bitter taste such a move might leave in your mouth.
Justice must always outweigh ego.
Dantzler was sitting as his desk when the phone rang. He put down the file he was reading and picked up the receiver. He knew who the caller was-Lisa Kennedy. Earlier that afternoon, he placed a call to her at the Justice Department and was informed she was on assignment in Denver. He left his name and number, and asked that Lisa contact him as soon as possible.
“What a pleasant surprise,” Lisa said. “I didn’t expect to hear from the guy who saved my ass. How long has it been now? Two years?”
“Almost three,” Dantzler said, referring to the Victor Sammael case they worked together. “How are things in your part of the world? I would imagine you’ve been staying busy.”
“Extremely. There simply aren’t enough hours in the day. I feel like I’m chasing after something I can never catch.”
“You are,” Dantzler said, laughing. “The illusion we can make a difference that truly makes a difference.”
“Don’t tell me that,” Lisa said. “If I thought we weren’t making a real difference, I would be out the door faster than you can say goodbye yellow brick road. I’d go live on a beach and drink rum all day.”
“Now, there’s a plan I could fall in love with.”
“You may fool some people with such talk, Detective Dantzler, but not me. I’ve seen you in action, remember? I know how much you care about little things like protecting the innocent and putting bad guys away. And I also know-we both know-that what we do does make a difference. There is nothing illusory about it.”
Dantzler laughed, said, “Spoken with the passion of a true believer. J. Edgar Hoover would hold you in the highest esteem.”
“Yes. But would he let me borrow one of his dresses? That’s the real question.” Lisa snickered. “I shouldn’t make such crass comments on the phone. You never know who might be tuned in.”
“Listen, Lisa, the reason I called is to ask for a favor.”
“You name it, you got it. I never say no to anyone who saved my life. What do you need?”
“Your help in identifying a possible four-time murderer.”
“Sounds intriguing. But why me? Why not the FBI? That’s the kind of thing they excel at.”
Anticipating Lisa’s response, Dantzler was ready with his answer. For the next fifteen minutes, he gave Lisa a detailed rundown of the Eli Whitehouse case, omitting nothing, unraveling his tale from its opening act, his first meeting with Eli in the prison, through to the death of Rocky Stone. He gave her background information on the murders in 1982, and the more recent murders of Colt Rogers and Devon Fraley. He told her about the Whitehouse children, and how Eli’s finances would be divided upon his death. He told her about the obits, the “think of Jesus’s 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.