by Mark Lashway
“Then it’ll all lead back to me,” Lando continued, “and then it all collapses. Game over.”
How do I send Inkwell down a dead end? he wondered. Simple, I don’t, it’s not going to work, especially since Inkwell seems tight with that Cameron Witter, that other investigator from another state. I don’t like that Witter character. He’s always observing, always analyzing, always suspicious, I can see it. Combined with Inkwell, there’s no way to erase the trail. No way, unless….yes, that’s it. I’ll have to move the timetable up. That’s the only hope.
Lando had reverted back to thinking instead of talking to himself, but the little that he had said would be crystal clear to the person listening to the recording device hidden on his cot.
Deciding that he needed to get out of his tent for a while to get some fresh air and think some more, Lando exited his temporary home and walked away from the main action at GWIBE. He walked to his truck, encountering nobody along the way. Satisfied that he was completely alone, he took out his cellphone and made a call to a number in St. Louis.
“Yeah? Hello?” a sleepy and irritated voice answered on the other end.
“Lyle, it’s me, Duke.”
“Kinda late, ain’t it, Duke?”
“Yeah, I know. I need your skills now, rather than later as I said before.”
“Where are you?”
“North Dakota.”
“Gimme a call in the morning and I’ll head out.”
“You’ll head out right now. As you can guess, it’s important. For what I pay you, you don’t argue, understand?”
“Shit! Alright. Give me directions. I’ll get Frank to come with me.”
“That sounds good, Lyle.” Lando gave some brief, but very clear, directions to GWIBE. The two men he’d summoned were troubleshooters of a sort whom he’d employed in the past. They could help limit the damage from the sudden storm that Lando felt gathering around him.
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
Cam’s chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath from his short jog. Time was precious, as now he had only a short spell to do what he needed to before hurrying back to catch Shauna at the end of the last competition. He’d finally made it to a spot where nobody was close by. He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, but merely held it while he continued to recover.
The whole matter of getting rid of Ned Inkwell had taken him a bit longer than he’d anticipated. Not having been able to see Wes and Sally yet, he’d had to visit awhile and get them used to Inkwell before he’d been able to give a plausible excuse for suddenly leaving.
His breathing back to normal, Cam turned on the cellphone, opened up his list of contacts, made his selection and pushed a button before holding it up to his ear. There were several rings before there was an answer.
“Hello?” came the voice on the other end.
“Andy,” Cam said simply. Andy was the state trooper from back home who had provided support for him last year during the GWIBE investigation.
There was a click and then the sound of nothing. Cam fumed, then re-dialed. After a few rings there was a pickup. Cam wasted no time.
“Andy, don’t you hang up on me again, you fuck!” he snapped.
“Cam, what the hell do you think you’re doing, calling me?” Andy cried in a whisper as though his wife was in bed beside him, which was probable, but no matter.
“I know,” Cam replied, almost in a hiss. “I can’t help it, though, Andy.”
“What do you mean, you can’t help it? Is somebody behind you with a gun to your head, forcing you to call me?”
“Cute, but you know what I mean.”
“Oh, I know what you mean, alright! You’re curious again, aren’t you, Cam?”
“Yeah, afraid so.”
“Well, I’m afraid that I can’t help you, whatever your curiosity is.”
“Andy….”
“No, Cam! Do you know what’ll happen to me if I get caught helping you in any way?”
“Yeah, I’m there, Andy, really there. I know that I’m the skunk of the lot.”
“You’ve got that right! Do you know that you’re now part of the curriculum in the school for new investigators? You’re a training aid, Cam. In the section where they deal with the pitfalls to avoid in investigations, they use your example. The line they use in the presentation is: Whatever you do, don’t pull a Witter.”
“Wow, I’m a legend in my own time,” Cam sighed, his face reddening.
“And just because I happened to be the unlucky slob who managed to end up as your support last year, I’ve been under a cloud ever since.”
“Yeah, man, I’m there, really. Anyway, I need some info from you, buddy.”
“No! What’s not clear about that, Cam?”
“Andy, just remember when I was there for you in the past. I was the one who stayed with you that night after your girlfriend put your antique baseball bat collection through a wood chipper. Remember that?” He immediately heard sobbing on the other end.
“Th-that f-fucking bitch!” Andy cried. “I hate her! I hate her!”
“And yet, you still married her after that,” Cam reminded him.
“Well, she cooks such great meals. I’ve never eaten so well.”
“Anyway, I’m callin’ in that marker,” Cam told him. “It’s not that bad. I just need info.”
“About what?” Andy gasped, getting hold of himself.
“My case last year. I want to know what went on after I left the scene.”
“You mean when they lost your friend’s body?” Just the way Andy said “friend” grated on Cam’s nerves.
“I know about that part, obviously. I’m hearin’ that some FBI stars showed up after that. That’s what I’m interested in.”
“Uh, Cam, I can’t….”
“Don’t give me that shit, Andy. Tell me, right now!”
“Cam, it’s not that simple. All of us, right up to the top, were told not to breathe a word about to anyone, not even amongst ourselves.”
He heard Andy draw a deep breath, obviously agonizing over it. “Alright. After that ambulance crew lost the body….”
“Repeat that part for me,” Cam directed him.
“From what we could determine, those yahoos didn’t take care when putting the body into the ambulance, eager as they were to sample the GWIBE beers. They apparently didn’t latch the gurney into the back of the ambulance the way they should have.”
“And?”
“After having their fill, the crew drove away in the ambulance. Passing through the mountains, they took a sharp turn up a hill a little too fast and came upon a tree down in the road. They couldn’t react fast enough. Not only did they hit the tree, the front wheels went over it. They said that the minute they did there was an awful racket as the back doors came open and the gurney slid out the back. They were a bit stunned by the impact, probably more from the brew, so it took them a little bit to scramble out of the ambulance. The gurney rolled down the hill, imagine two middle-aged guys trying to run it down. There was no hope. They said they were at least a football field away when they lost sight of it as it went down a dip. When they finally got to that point they were near the edge of the cliff that emptied out into a gorge. You know that gorge with the river at the bottom….”
“Yeah,” Cam sighed. “So what then?”
“They had to stop at that point, of course. The last thing they saw was the bottom of the gurney as it sank into the river.”
Cam pictured the scene. The river in that gorge was fast-flowing and the gurney would have sunk like a rock and disappeared into the depths which Cam knew to be at least 10 feet deep. He could kind of picture the looks on the ambulance crew’s faces, too.
“Then they reported it in and we had to organize a recovery effort,” Andy continued, anticipating Cam’s next question. “But we had barely arrived on the scene with the first few fire department people when….”
“When the FBI sweethearts showed up,” Cam interrupted
. “I heard that they were real assholes, Andy. I heard they abused the ambulance people.”
“I’ll say! They were threatening the poor bastards with all sorts of punishment, until somebody pointed out that there were no state or federal laws punishing drunken incompetence.”
“And then?”
“Well, some of us tried explaining to them that we’d show them the body as soon as we recovered it. No dice. They said that they’d bring their own people in and make sure it was done right. We had no choice but to let them have their way. Feds trump state, that’s it. Before we left they made sure to threaten us some more, telling us that we were never to say a word about it to anybody, ever, since their interest in this Trub guy was a matter of national security. If we did we’d be liable to prosecution.”
“National security, huh? That’s very interestin’, Andy.”
“I could lose my job and go to prison for even telling you this, Cam.”
“Nobody will know. I would like to know, however, how it is that just by talkin’ about a case that you were involved with that you….never mind. So much for free speech.”
“You know how it is in the current climate. Everything is national security.”
“So what else?’
“As if to make their point, those jerks called Welker and then Major Vanderwaal, making the same threats. They never liked the Feds anyway, so it put them in quite a mood.”
Cam immediately grasped what Andy was saying. The FBI had a longstanding reputation for arrogance and condescension when dealing with local and state agencies, so they’d acted true to form. It certainly went a long way in explaining why Vanderwaal had been so determined to oust him despite Welker’s efforts to smooth things over. Vanderwaal had wanted to flush the whole sorry mess down the toilet, including him.
“This was very informative. Thanks, Andy. Ooops! Christ, I lost track of time. I gotta get goin’ Andy, and go get Shauna. Thanks again. I’ll call you again sometime.”
“Don’t be in a hurry,” Andy muttered, then hung up.
Cam shoved his cellphone back into his pocket and hurried away, feeling a strange kind of contentment. Re-living the episode hadn’t bothered him that much this time. He had filled in a piece of the puzzle and now knew more of the story. That would satisfy him for now. It was time to gather up Shauna and see if he could enjoy a little of the remaining evening.
-16-
Cam felt himself sweating a bit as he slowly strolled with the others at the abbey. It was a warm morning, without a cloud in the sky as the bright sun beat down on them with the promise of a hot day.
The time for the tour promised by Abbot John was here. Cam was glad that he hadn’t drank that much last night. After finishing his conversation with Andy, he’d retrieved Shauna from the competition tent and simply gone back to their place for the remaining few hours until bedtime. She hadn’t been interested in going out at all, which had been fine with him. Sonny and Helen had turned in early, and he hadn’t been able to make himself go to Little Germany. He’d realized then that he really needed to expand his social circle.
“Well, that’s pretty much it for outdoors. You’ve seen what we do there,” Abbot John said, jolting Cam out of his thoughts. “We’ll take the tour inside now. I’m sure that that’s what you’re really interested in.”
Cam noticed that the abbot wore a quizzical look on his face. Yeah, this crew we showed up with definitely wasn’t what he was expecting. He would’ve expected Shauna and Helen, but Shauna wanted to sleep in. God knows what Helen is up to. Instead he got me, Sonny, Inkwell, Bobby Bobb, the Four Horsemen, three of the Stardust Boys, Bucky Fritsch and Tommy Indelicato. Thirteen, instead of the ten that Abbot John wanted. Not a pretty bunch….
As they walked inside the abbey, Cam glanced over at Ned Inkwell, who for once hadn’t quickly gravitated to him. The investigator was clean-shaven and wearing fresh clothes, but all of that couldn’t hide the haggard look on his face. Inkwell had stayed up late again last night, consuming quite a few beers in the process, Cam knew. Inkwell was as much a subject of the scuttlebutt as Cam had been last year. Unlike him at the same point in time, however, Inkwell appeared to still have some direction. Cam noticed right off that Inkwell was taking in everything, never hesitating to ask questions to make something clearer. If Shauna had been here she’d have seen through it in a hurry, so maybe it was best that she hadn’t come. This guy’s good, though. Apparently he’s still keeping up appearances back at the office….
“Abbot John, is this the only Catholic abbey in the country making beer?” Ralphie Quinn of the Four Horsemen asked as they walked through the corridors.
“Well, I can see what your main interest is here!” Abbot John replied, chuckling. “But no, we’re not. Actually, there are other abbeys that do so too. We hope someday to earn our beers the designation of authentic Trappist beer.”
“So, is it just Catholics who make beer?” his fellow horseman Billy Bomb inquired.
“No, actually there are a few operations run by the Lutherans in this country that produce abbey beers too.”
“Lutherans?” Tommy Indelicato sputtered incredulously. “I thought they were killjoys.”
“It’s a popular perception,” the abbot replied, “but Martin Luther was known to enjoy his beer nonetheless. You see, gentlemen, Catholic or Protestant, some churches have not objected to people consuming beer, as long as it was for daily sustenance and not just for the sake of getting intoxicated.”
It was all very engrossing, Cam thought, as Abbot John continued to lead the group through the heart of the abbey. Before long they were standing at the entrance to the brewery. Ned Inkwell was clearly intrigued, although he had a disturbingly excited look on his face that Cam couldn’t guess at.
“So, John, that beer that you showed at the screening, was that the same stuff that all of the monks drink here, too?” Sonny asked.
“No, actually it’s not. Besides the dubbel and tripel styles that we’ll produce for public sale, we also make what we call ‘the brothers’ ration’. It’s weaker than the others, of lower alcohol. That’s what we drink, in keeping with our austerity. Besides, we wouldn’t want our monks to get lit on dubbel and tripel before going out to operate machinery now, would we?” the abbot replied. Everyone in the group laughed. This was turning out to be quite enjoyable, Cam thought. Although he would probably deny it, Abbot John came off as entertaining.
“Brother, what do you use as a base malt for your beers?” Eight Ball Kowalski suddenly asked. “Domestic, or imported?”
“Beer geeks!” Bucky Fritsch whispered.
“Umm, yeah, just like us,” Cam shot back. “We were all thinking the same thing, but none of us wanted to be the beer geek.” The rest of them merely smiled.
“We use domestic malts,” Abbot John replied. “We use two-row.”
Inkwell turned around and gave Cam the look that told him to explain.
“Two-row is a malt that is the standard for brewing,” Cam muttered to him. “It’s the only type that European breweries use, so it would be what they would use here for their styles. There’s another variety, six-row, which is used only in North America for some beers. Europeans won’t touch the stuff, from what I’ve heard.” Sonny nodded.
“So who do you buy your malt from?” Eight Ball asked.
“We started out buying from Flatlands,” Abbot John quickly replied, “but we’ve changed suppliers and now get our malt from Big Sky Malting Company.” Cam noticed that the cleric had been very smooth, but he picked up on the little catch in Abbot John’s voice. He thought back to what Reuben had told him about Duke Lando’s way of business.
“Flatlands, huh?” Eight Ball muttered, wearing a smile that indicated that he was very pleased with himself. “The interesting facts that turn up through questioning.” Cam noticed a slight buzz among the Four Horsemen. Oh no, that can’t be any good….
“Flatlands? Isn’t that Duke Lando’s company?” Inkwell wondered. The
abbot nodded and Inkwell failed to see any significance in it.
Yep, Cam thought, grasping what Inkwell couldn’t as his mind flashed back to the other night at the competition tent when Lando had been staring at the cleric. That’s who Abbot John was referring to when he mentioned “ethical concerns” with one of the abbey’s suppliers, I’ll bet my life’s savings on it. There was a previous connection between Flatlands and the abbey. Could Lando be tied in to Brother Manuel’s murder? It can’t be a coincidence, Lando being at GWIBE, right next to his former customer. His eyes must have narrowed, as they always did when he came upon a revelation, he realized, as he noticed both Sonny and Richie Hobbs gazing at him. He merely gave them a slight shake of the head.
“Now I will show you what you’re most interested in,” Abbot John continued, opening a plain wood plank door that happened to be the one that Joey Creed used to spy on the brewing operations. “Our brewery.”
He led the group just barely inside the door, but no farther. Nobody said anything for over a minute as everyone’s minds tried to take in all that they were seeing to make sense of it. Cam whistled softly, gaining approving grins from Tommy Indelicato and Vince Costa. The Four Horsemen whispered excitedly among themselves before giggling like teenaged girls encountering the latest heartthrob celebrity.
The brewery was spread out over three floors; a full basement along with the two upper levels consisting only of concrete mezzanines extending out about 20 feet from each wall, terminated by safety railings, leaving only enough room for various equipment and a little space for the workers to move around in. The first floor enjoyed the ability to have 100% of its square footage utilized, which Cam estimated to be around 15,000 square feet.
“Gee whiz!” Cam exclaimed, awestruck.
“This is the big leagues,” Bobby Bobb remarked.
“Actually, I would say that we’re about Double A level,” Abbot John said, smiling. “We’re small compared to even the mid-level breweries.”
“Yeah, but this is big stuff to poor, simple homebrewers like us,” Sonny countered.
