Dead End: Rick Bishop Novels, #2

By Larry Darter

The Rick Bishop private investigator series continues when a local attorney hires Bishop to find her missing friend and then insists on tagging along to help with his investigation. The missing friend has a sordid past. Her mob-connected ex-father-in-law wants to find her just as badly for about two million good reasons.

 

When Honolulu attorney Nicole Hersey hires Bishop to help her find her best friend Diane Clark, she insists on accompanying him in the search. In a financial bind, he agrees. Rick and Nicole follow her friend's trail to a small town on the North Shore, only to learn from the locals that Diane died there of heart failure. That literal dead end should have closed the investigation, but Bishop notices someone is tailing them. And, later, when the pair interviews the doctor who pronounced Diane dead, Rick's suspicions Diane isn't dead at all grow.

 

After confronting the man following them, Clifford Shepard, he informs Bishop he is an IRS special agent, also looking for Diane Clark because she had come into two million dollars recently but hasn't paid the taxes owed.

 

Once Rick uncovers more evidence that Diane Clark may have faked her death, he ends up in a cemetery in the middle of the night with his two closest friends Joe Rose and Koko Mahelona, intent on digging up Clark's casket. But just as they unearth the casket, three east coast mobsters from the mainland, also searching for Diane Clark, ambush them.

 

When Bishop's case takes a deadly turn, will the penurious PI find Diane Clark and her money before hitting his own dead end?

 

Dead End is the second book in the Rick Bishop series, but you may enjoy reading the series in any order.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fedora Press
• Release date: Feb 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985056532

Larry Darter

Larry Darter is an American author best known for his crime fiction novels written about the fictional private detective Malone. He is a former U.S. Army infantry officer, and a retired law enforcement officer. He lives with his family in Oklahoma.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Two civilians brought a 33-year-old man with a gunshot wound to the head into the ER at Queen Liliʻuokalani Medical Center. They identified themselves as friends of the victim. Blood covered both individuals’ clothing, but both stated it was their friend’s blood and denied having any injuries. Hospital security restrained both people from trying to accompany the patient into a treatment room. Another hospital employee phoned the Honolulu police to report the situation, standard protocol, whenever a patient with a gunshot wound arrived at the hospital.

The patient’s skin was pale, cool, and moist, indicative of hypotension or shock and the need for aggressive resuscitation. After the trauma team intubated the patient to establish a definitive airway, the ER doctor evaluated immediately life-threatening injuries, starting with the airway and progressing to an assessment of breathing and circulation. Next, a nurse got a manual blood pressure measurement and called it out—another placed large-bore intravenous (IV) catheters in each of the patient’s arms. After irrigating the wound, a third trauma nurse applied direct manual pressure to the bullet wound to control the life-threatening hemorrhaging before applying a pressure dressing. Significant bleeding is common with head wounds.

Amy, hurry with that transfusion, he’s lost a lot of blood, and we need to get the plasma in him before he goes into hemorrhagic shock, the doctor said. We’ve got to get his blood pressure up and heart rate down stat, or we’re going to lose him.

Yes, doctor, the nurse replied.

Then I want a 7.5% sodium lactate solution drip to control the intracranial pressure.

Yes, doctor.

Iolani?

Yes, doctor? the nurse applying the pressure bandage said.

Finish that up and then call Doctor Akana. We may need a neurosurgeon. He may be hemorrhaging inside the cranial cavity, and I want Akana down here on standby.

Yes, doctor.

The patient’s eyes fluttered open for a moment.

Diane? he moaned. Diane… Diane.

What did he say? the doctor asked, holding the patient’s right eye open and shining a penlight into it.

It sounds like he’s calling for someone named Diane, a nurse said. Maybe it’s his wife, or girlfriend.

His skin color is looking better, the doctor said to no one in particular. Then he addressed the patient. Take it easy, sir. You’re going to be fine.

SBP above 90, pulse 118, oxygen saturation 94% via the airway, said a nurse named Himari.

Good work, people, the doctor said. Blood pressure and oxygenation are stable. Get him down to emergency six stat for a CT scan of the head. I’ll have a word with the people who brought him in and meet you there.

Yes, doctor, the three trauma nurses said in unison.

Chapter 2

At half-past ten in the morning, Rick Bishop, private investigator, unlocked the door to his walk-up Hotel Street office and went inside. The office smelled musty and reeked with the odor of old, stale cigarette smoke left behind over the years by former tenants before Honolulu passed its no-smoking ordinance, which prohibited smoking just about everywhere, including private workplaces. Bishop yanked the cord to turn on the ceiling fan and then opened the window behind his old, worn desk. After hanging his suit jacket on the coat rack next to the office door, Rick walked around and dropped into his desk chair, forgetting the broken caster. The chair pitched sideways and almost tipped over. Springing to his feet, Bishop gave the chair a shift kick, sending it careening against a wall. After kicking the chair, he hopped up and down on one foot for several moments, cursing. The kick resulted in throbbing pain in the great toe on his right foot. Rick hobbled around the desk and dragged a wooden visitor chair around behind it. Once he sat down behind the desk again, he noticed the message light blinking on his desk phone. Picking up the receiver, Bishop dialed in to retrieve his voice mail. He listened to the outgoing message.

You have reached Honolulu Confidential. This is Rick Bishop. At the tone, leave your name and message. I’ll get back to you.

Then he pressed the pound sign and listened to the first incoming message.

This Mrs. Wong speaking. Mr. Rick, rent due two days ago. You come pay today, or I evict you. You know rule, Mr. Rick. No late rent payments. You come and pay now.

Bishop sighed and pinched his nose. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet, and he already felt another headache coming on. And his toe still hurt and now felt swollen. He hoped he hadn’t broken it since he was still making payments to the hospital for several past mishaps.

Mrs. Wong, his landlady, owned the building and ran the Chinese herbal store beneath his office. Rick prayed she hadn’t heard him slam the desk chair against the wall or she’d be up the stairs pounding on his door any minute. Mrs. Wong did not suffer late rent payments gladly, nor did she tolerate Bishop parking his car at the curb in front of her store, as he had done that morning. Ms. Wong was a stickler for the rules, her rules. Whenever she caught him parking in front of her store, she always gave him the same speech.

Mr. Rick! I tell you already. You no park in front. Customer only. You park in alley. In back. You hear, Mr. Rick?

Mrs. Wong reminded Bishop of Chief Washington, his BUD/S, Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL, first phase instructor. One of Washington’s favorite taunts was to tell the trainees they did not need to be there if they couldn’t follow his rules, that they should quit, and just do the online correspondence BUD/S course. But, of course, there wasn’t one. CPO Darren Washington would get on a bullhorn during the PT runs and torment the guys at the back of the pack unmercifully, taking diabolical delight in verbally abusing the trainees. The man was an evil bastard in the eyes of every man in Class 209. First phase sucked. Bishop hadn’t quit and finished the course, though none of his memories of the school were hazy at all, even after all the years that had passed, because Washington had inflicted trauma that was real.

Bishop pushed Washington from his mind and pressed the pound button again, advancing to the next message.

Mr. Bishop, my name is Nicole Hersey, attorney-at-law, and I must speak with you as soon as possible…..

Ahh, nooo, Bishop groaned. Not another lawyer!

The lawyers were worse than the bill collectors. His mind raced as he rapidly reviewed the growing list of creditors he owed late payments to and decided it must be the hospital. Good grief, he thought. Were they suing now because he’d only missed two measly payments?

I’m hoping we might meet around noon today to discuss an important matter, Hersey continued.

Important matter? Bishop shouted into the phone. Like how to get blood from a turnip, bloodsucker?

If you are available right away, I’d like to hire….

Hersey’s message had reached the maximum limit, and it cut off.

Hire? Bishop asked in astonishment. She wants to hire me, not sue me?

Hastily, Rick advanced to the next message to see if there was more from Hersey. To his relief, he found there was a continuation of her message.

Yes, it’s Nicole Hersey, again. Sorry, the voice mail cut off. Anyway, please call me back if you’re interested in discussing my situation. I’m in court all morning, but I’ll check for messages during the breaks. Thanks.

As Hersey recited her mobile number at the end of the message, Bishop grabbed a pencil and scribbled it on his desk blotter. He then pressed the switch hook button to disconnect from the voice mail.

Boo-yah! he shouted, doing a fist pump.

Rick had never heard of Hersey, but he figured she must do divorce work. Since most of the Honolulu divorce attorneys knew him, the legal community was aware Bishop specialized in divorce cases. So, why would a lawyer call him about any other type of case? He assumed Hersey must be new in town, and that’s why her name didn’t ring a bell.

Bishop punched in Hersey’s number, and when her voice mail picked up, he left a message saying he’d be happy to meet her to discuss whatever she had in mind and would try his best to work her case into his busy schedule. Bishop asked her to call his mobile number at her convenience so they could meet.

Hanging up the phone, he leaned back in the chair with his hands behind his head. It seemed Rick Bishop’s ship had come in, and not a moment too soon. Since resigning from the Honolulu police after a traumatic incident that Bishop blamed himself for, he had done okay after getting his license and hanging out his PI shingle. Usually, Rick got plenty of divorce cases because most private investigators didn’t want them. As a result, he took in enough money most months to keep his head above the troubled financial waters. But the pickings had been slim of late, and Bishop hadn’t had a case for nearly a month. That’s why he was behind on his office rent, apartment rent, and a slew of other bills. So Hersey’s call was an answered prayer. Rick intended to wrap up her case fast, quick, and in a hurry. Then he could collect and catch up on the bills.

Chapter 3

Bishop and Nicole Hersey stood together on the sidewalk in front of Honolulu District Court on Alakea Street at the intersection with Hotel Street. Hersey wore a navy business suit jacket over a mauve blouse with a navy skirt that hit just above the knees and pumps with four-inch heels. She was young, with a waifish figure and fine, flat shoulder-length brown hair that looked desperately in need of both volumizer and moisturizer treatments. Hersey wasn’t unattractive as far as it went, but the trendy tortoiseshell glasses with round lenses perched on the end of her nose made her look too bookish for Bishop’s taste.

So, this isn’t a divorce case you called me about?

No, Diane is a friend, a close friend, and I want you to find her.

Diane, who? Bishop asked.

Diane Clark, Hersey said. She disappeared three days ago—cleared out her apartment in the middle of the night and left without a word to me.

Hersey’s mobile chirped. She glanced down at the phone’s screen.

Look, I have to get back to the courtroom, she said. The judge has delayed the lunch break until 1 PM. We have one more witness, and she wants the case to go to the jury before we break for lunch. We can talk more after court.

Well, alrighty then, Bishop said, not bothering to hide his increasing annoyance.

He’d been on the clock for an hour already, waiting for Hersey to come out of the courthouse, and he still wasn’t clear on exactly what she wanted to hire him for, much less whether he would take the case. Moreover, he didn’t find Hersey particularly likable.

The lawyer frowned and turned to walk up the steps to the courthouse. But on the landing, she turned back.

There is an Asian fusion place on North King Street just past Nuuanu Avenue, a short walk from here, she said. You know it?

The Pig and the Lady?

Hersey smiled brightly. Yes, that one. Order me a papaya salad, the vegan pho, and iced tea.

You want fries with that? Bishop asked sarcastically.

Hey, don’t mind me, Hersey said, still smiling. I’m a lawyer, so sometimes I’m a little too assertive. I know I can be a little off-putting at first, but once you get to know me, I just know we’ll be great friends.

Hersey turned and walked through the courthouse entrance. Then, pausing, she turned her head to shout, No fries, thanks.

* * *

Bishop and Hersey sat across from each other at the end of a long wooden table inside the restaurant. Hersey ate some of her vegan pho.

Still chewing the food, she said, Sorry, it took so long. My stomach was growling by the time the judge adjourned at one-thirty.

Bishop, still annoyed with his new prospective client, took a bite of his pho French dip sandwich before replying.

Well, you said we’re on our way to a beautiful friendship, so what’s a three-and-a-half-hour wait between friends.

I said I was sorry, but that is the nature of the law profession. Attorneys are at the mercy of the judges, and sometimes it isn’t easy to make meetings on time. So, yeah, yeah, I know it all sounds so boring. But that’s the lawyer’s life.

Look, Ms. Hersey—

Nikki, it’s Nikki. My given name is Nicole, but all my friends call me Nikki.

Bishop sighed and nodded. The woman wasn’t getting any more fun to be with, and he was tired of listening to her talk.

Yes, yes, he said. Well, Nikki, you’ve given me the gist of what you want to hire me to do. Now, let’s talk about my fee."

What? I can’t talk to you unless you’re on the clock or something?

I just thought we should get that out of the way. You know, to keep things professional.

Hersey looked askance at Bishop, then nodded.

How much?

Three-fifty a day, plus expenses.

Hersey looked thoughtful. Is that your standard rate? Or are you open to negotiation? You see, the opportunity to negotiate makes a prospective client feel like they’re getting a fair deal, not paying the maximum price the prospective service provider feels the market will bear. It makes them feel they aren’t getting fleeced."

Do you allow your clients to negotiate your fee, Ms. Hersey… er, Nikki?

Well, no, but I’m an officer of the court, a licensed professional.

As I am, Bishop said. I have my state-issued private investigator license in my wallet if you’d like to see my professional bonafides. I don’t size up prospective clients and then gouge them by charging whatever I think is the maximum the market will bear. That’s why I have a standard non-negotiable fee, which is quoted on a take it or leave it basis.

There’s no call for you to get angry, Hersey said. That isn’t very professional, is it?

Angry? Bishop asked, swallowing the last of the beer he’d ordered with lunch. Why would I be angry?

Yes, I’m sure of it, Hersey said.

Sure of what?

We’re going to get along great. There’s one thing I should mention, though. I’ll be running the investigation. I mean, I know a lot about police procedures and investigative work. So, what I need you along for is a little insurance in the event we should run into any unsavory types.

I see, Bishop said in astonishment. So, you’re an expert on police procedures and investigative work, huh? Watch a lot of Law & Order episodes on television, do you?

Please, Mr. Bishop. Why must you be so testy and sarcastic? For your information, yes, I am something of an expert and not because I watch crime dramas. I’ve practiced criminal law for over two years and have cross-examined many police officers and detectives on the stand. That’s where I gained my insight into police procedures and investigation techniques.

Bishop rolled his eyes and then ran a hand over his face.

"Okay, so let me get