New Brew

by Mark Lashway

  Lando rounded the last slight turn, knowing that immediately after that was the designated spot where his nephew would be waiting. After so much planning, so much scheming, he was about to cash in. He smiled in spite of himself.

  His nephew was waiting for him, alright, but hardly in the way Lando had been expecting. Slowing the truck to a crawl, Lando spotted the body as soon as his headlights hit it. The sprawl of Joey’s figure told him right off that the young man was dead. Without stopping, Lando quickly scanned the body and the surrounding area. The cooler pack was gone, therefore the items were gone too. His spirits dropped lower than his floorboards.

  Duke Lando was no chump and knew better than to give in to the temptation to get out and look around this slaughter site. Finding a wide enough section of flat ground to the side of the road, he turned the pickup around in a slow arc. When he faced back in the direction from which he had come, Lando gunned the engine and sped off into the night. Joey’s body would be found, and under these new circumstances Lando had to come up with a good lie to feed to his soon-to-be stricken sister.

  -20-

  Cam sat on a bleacher, comfortably situated atop a cushion that made the hard metal more bearable. He checked one last time to confirm that he had his little cooler by his feet. In addition to the cold, freshly poured helles that he held in his hands, courtesy of Gerhard, the cooler contained a cup of Johann’s dunkel and two bottles of water. It had only taken one GWIBE to get him to thinking like an old pro. He looked around and saw that he was far from the only one who did this.

  Tonight’s competition would be a long one, for it was the category that the GWIBE leaders had vaguely termed “Belgian and abbey-style ales”. It went on for so long, Cam knew, because there were so many different Belgian styles alone, that it would certainly not be completed in just one night. At other beer competitions that wasn’t the case, as the judges simply and quickly did the business, moving along from one style to another. However, that was impossible at GWIBE. The whole thing about all of the competitors being allowed to sample an entry with the judges, along with the cutthroat commentary, were cherished and fiercely defended customs that added significant time to the process.

  “Cam! Glad to see you’re holding down the fort and saved us some seats!” Reuben hollered to him above the rising noise. Cam turned and saw his new crony, along with Bobby Bobb. Both of them were lugging large plastic coolers, which of course would have ice in them. Trailing immediately behind them were the Stardust Boys, each one of them toting pitchers in both hands filled with various styles of beer. When the men sat down and took their seats, the pitchers were carefully place inside the coolers and ice banked up around them. Cam whistled softly in admiration. These guys knew how to go in style. Then a sudden thought occurred to him and he wheeled in horror to look over at the judges’ table, hoping that the judges hadn’t entered yet. However, they had, and he saw Shauna staring their way, smoldering with fury. Panicking, for although he’d stood up to her earlier but was now having second thoughts and intended to knuckle under, he looked at her with pleading eyes. Honey, please, it’s not my fault! I didn’t invite them, they just showed up and sat with me. Oh shit, I’m so screwed now….

  “Ned! Ned! Ned!” hollered different voices as Ned Inkwell sauntered in, grinning that grin that told Cam that he was shit-faced already, holding a clear plastic cup half-filled with a very pale golden, but cloudy, brew. The investigator sat down with Cam’s group.

  “Whoooeeee!” Inkwell exclaimed as he took a sip of his beer. “This one is really different, let me tell you! It’s got quite the tang to it!”

  “What are you drinkin’ now?” Cam asked.

  “They called it Berliner Weisse,” Inkwell replied, seeing the knowing nods from the rest of the gang, who were familiar with the sour, and obscure, style. “You know, guys, I’ve been working really hard to get experience in the many styles. I mean, just today I had my first saison, bière de garde, kriek, Bohemian….”

  “Yoo hoo, excuse me!” came the familiar voice of Phil Utah. “Can I have your attention, folks? It’s time to start tonight’s competitions.” Cam was thankful for the reprieve. Hopefully, now that the competitions were beginning, Shauna would forget about him and be completely absorbed by the judging.

  “There’s been a slight change to the schedule,” Utah announced, “due to one of our key contestants having to get back home at a decent time.” Nobody laughed, as they usually would have, because everybody knew that it applied to Abbot John, who stood with the other contestants. The abbot gave the crowd a wave and a smile. “Therefore, the first style to be judged tonight will be the dubbel category, so get yourselves settled in, people, for an action-packed evening of intense competition! Let’s…. get…. it…. on!” It was typical Utah schlock, but people had mellowed a little toward him again and they roared with approval.

  The pourer of the brews went to his work with a zeal that was uncommon even for him. He knows that he’s in for some delicious samples with this one, Cam guessed, remembering back to the heavenly dubbel that Abbot John had provided them at Sonny’s tent. He felt guilty for wanting another one when he still had Gerhard’s and Johann’s beers to drink.

  The last sample had barely been dispensed from the keg when Utah declared, “The first entry is from Hanscombe Rever, and it looks like it’s a fine one indeed!” The judges and other contestants sipped their samples. The pourer of the brews had already guzzled his.

  “Hmmm, I suppose it’s adequate,” one of the other contestants announced loud enough for the crowd to hear. Rever just rolled his eyes and smirked.

  “Actually, it’s a bit better than that,” another competitor added. “It certainly has some rich body, although I’m not impressed by the lack of that certain taste left by the yeast. Maybe it was fermented at too cool a temperature.”

  And so it went, each of the remaining six competitors remarking on Rever’s dubbel, except for Abbot John, who maintained a dignified silence.

  “So, Witter, do you think that criticism from the others affects the judges?” Inkwell wondered.

  “Nope! I can certainly vouch for Shauna that nobody changes her attitude on anythin’. From what I know of the other two, they’re nobody’s fools either.”

  The other beers were judged one after the other, although it took about half an hour to finally make it to Abbot John. There was the usual routine of sampling and critiquing, but nothing that matched the fireworks of last year. Cam was disappointed again. Only Abbot John’s entry was left, and that would be kind of an anticlimax, for nobody, even here at GWIBE, would conduct the vicious cutthroat commentary toward him that was standard for others.

  “Our final entry is from Abbot John, who represents the Our Lady of the Plains abbey nearby!” Utah announced. “Word on the street is that a few lucky GWIBErs have already had the chance to sample it and loved it! Let’s see how it goes with the judges!”

  “Why are you getting some really dirty looks?” Inkwell asked Cam.

  “Because I was one of the lucky slobs who got to preview it,” Cam told him. “Look over there in that far corner and you’ll see Sonny gettin’ the same treatment. The problem with GWIBErs is that they’ve always got a grievance over somethin’.”

  The pourer of the brews went about opening a six-pack of bottles filled with Abbot John’s dubbel, passing small samples around but keeping almost a full bottle’s worth for himself.

  “That guy sure knows how to measure!” Inkwell exclaimed, chuckling.

  “He’s an old pro,” Cam replied, smiling and shaking his head.

  The contestants and judges sipped their small samples. The only comments were along the lines of “Oh my God”, “This is unbelievable”, or “This can’t be real”. Even the judges’ faces, normally expressionless, showed surprise and joy. A few of the other competitors merely held their hands up in that timeless sign of surrender. It wouldn’t even be close at the judges’ table.

  Good for him….goo
d for the whole abbey, Cam thought as the judges handed Phil Utah the score cards and he announced the abbey’s dubbel as the winner of the blue ribbon. These things have enough prima donnas and runaway egos in them. It’s a good change seeing somebody quiet and humble come out on top. I’ll go over and congratulate him in a minute.

  “Shit,” he heard Inkwell growl in a low tone.

  “What’s up?” Cam asked, seeing Inkwell’s grim look and the cellphone in his hand. Inkwell didn’t answer right away and Cam knew from that that Inkwell was debating whether or not to tell him anything. “Ah, I see. More trouble in the North Dakotan paradise?”

  “Can’t talk here,” Inkwell muttered. “Come with me, Witter.”

  He accompanied Inkwell to the exit, noticing Inkwell give Abbot John that look which told the cleric to meet him outside. The abbot took just enough time to shake the hands of well-wishers looking to get a taste of his dubbel before excusing himself and leaving. Inkwell walked to a spot well away from the competition area that was on a side path. The three men were quickly joined by Sonny, who invited himself into the meeting.

  “So, what’s goin’ on now?” Cam asked.

  “There’s been another killing, Witter. I need you to go with me for a second set of eyes,” Inkwell said.

  “Is it related to….”

  “Another one from the abbey. Sorry, Abbot John.” The abbot’s mouth was agape, but he said nothing. “I know that this was just between the two of us before, but I’m going to need Witter to help me unofficially,” Inkwell informed him. His tone indicated that it wasn’t up for debate.

  “There’s no way to explain my presence,” Sonny cut in, “so I’ll take my leave, gents.”

  “Witter, can you take me in your vehicle?” Inkwell asked.

  “I’ve had a few too many. But if Abbot John is willin’ to drive….”

  “I can do that,” the abbot declared. Cam handed him his keys, watching the abbot as they all piled into Cam’s vehicle. I can tell that he’s still going to be reluctant to tell me anything, Cam guessed. But now I have to wonder if….

  “I have the location,” Inkwell told them. “Jeanne Lamp is there with another patrolman and the ambulance is on the way. Damnit! Sorry, John.”

  Abbot John drove into the darkness and within a minute GWIBE was just a bunch of lights in the rearview mirror. The plains out here are pretty large and really lonely in spots, Cam thought. There are lots of places to kill somebody and dump the body. But now….

  “You’ve got that look, Witter,” Inkwell said from the back seat. “What are you….”

  “If it is indeed another one from the abbey, then that’s the center of the investigation, the Tex Cutter murder notwithstandin’. There’s at least a pattern with the monk murders. The other one might just be random and you have two separate cases in the end.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that, Witter. I think you’re right for the most part, but I can’t get a possible GWIBE connection out of my head. It’s too much of a coincidence that murders start happening when the festival shows up and yet they’re not related.”

  “You’re on the case of a lifetime, Ned, just like I was last year.”

  “Oh God, don’t say that!”

  “What do you have for theories now?”

  “There are a couple in my head that I’m considering, but I’m not going to put them to you until after I check out this latest victim.”

  Cam pretended that he was staring at the darkness ahead while occasionally glancing sideways at Abbot John, whose face remained absolutely inscrutable. He’s a good one, this abbot. Just like all clerics, he knows how to keep the secrets. He also has a pretty good idea of what’s going through my head. But it’s coming down to crunch time now, and like it or not he’s going to end up telling us what we want to know.

  It took about 10 minutes of driving, but Abbot John found the spot very easily as he knew the surrounding area so well. About a quarter-mile away they saw the headlights of several vehicles, none of them with the flashers on. Cam silently approved of the low-key approach as he saw one larger vehicle that was clearly an ambulance, along with a North Dakota Highway Patrol car and an unmarked car that looked so civilian that it probably belonged to the coroner. Abbot John pulled Cam’s vehicle into a position that faced opposite from the others and added the illumination of more headlights to the area.

  The three men walked slowly over to the small group standing near a body. Cam saw Jeanne Lamp, the officer who often accompanied Inkwell, a male officer who was obviously older than Lamp and probably more senior, a civilian who was likely the county coroner and two ambulance squad people identified by their department jackets.

  “Who found him?” Inkwell asked as soon as they reached the spot. Cam stared at the dead young man sprawled on his back just off the road, noting the two chest shots and what would be the coup de grace to the head. Very professional.

  “A couple of kids out running the roads,” the male officer replied, not looking up from the body. “They just happened along and saw it. There was nobody else around, they said.”

  “You got their names and numbers?” Inkwell asked almost accusingly.

  “Of course, Ned. This isn’t my first rodeo,” the man replied, clearly annoyed.

  “Good. Forensics….”

  “Have already been notified,” Jeanne Lamp interrupted. “Sam and Harvey will be here as soon as they can.”

  “Good. Hank,” Inkwell said, speaking to the coroner, “if you’ve declared him dead, then you can take off. You can still get a few hours of sleep, at least.” Cam fought the urge to smile at Inkwell’s polite dismissal of a non-essential participant. Fewer people to let things slip later, after all. He could guess what Inkwell would do next and was right. “Max, you and Jeanne stay here with the ambulance people to guard things while we wait for forensics. Witter and Abbot John, come with me. I need some eyes out here with me.” Inkwell went over to the marked car and got some flashlights out of it, handing one to both men.

  “Do you recognize the victim?” Inkwell asked Abbot John.

  “Yes, I’m afraid I do,” the abbot sighed. “He is….umm….was Joseph Harper. He came to us very recently, as a matter of fact.”

  “Uh huh. And what was his story?” Inkwell asked.

  “Another young man with a troubled past,” the abbot replied. “Drugs, burglary, and other things. He was looking to turn his life around and serve God.” Cam noticed Jeanne Lamp and the male officer smirk nearby. Yep, we’ve all heard that one a lot.

  “Alright. Well, let’s walk around a little,” Inkwell said, turning on his flashlight. Cam and the abbot did likewise as they walked away from the scene.

  “What are you thinkin’, Ned? What’s your theory?” Cam asked him.

  “Like I said before, anti-Catholic hate crime.”

  “Let me be the dissentin’ crank then,” Cam replied now that they were out of earshot. “That kid was wearin’ civvies, not a monk’s robe, so how would anyone on the outside know that he was with the abbey? And I highly doubt any anti-Catholic fanatic would be waitin’ outside the abbey in the dark on the off-chance that somebody would wander out of the place that late at night. It doesn’t work, Ned.”

  “You’re absolutely right, Witter, as I expected,” Inkwell chuckled softly. “Not a very promising angle, I admit. But I want you to shine your light up on the slope there and tell me what you see.”

  “I already saw it when you put your flashlight on it before, Ned,” Cam responded. “There’s a swath of disturbed vegetation from someone passin’ through. I also saw a second, separate swath with my flashlight when we were walkin’ over here.”

  “Abbot John, where is the abbey from here?” Inkwell asked the cleric. The abbot pointed with total confidence in a direction that was at an angle to, but in the same general direction as the two swaths. Inkwell smiled and muttered, “Exactly.”

  “Ned, you’re sayin’ that this kid was trailed from the abbey, which m
eans an inside job. Are you tellin’ us that there was a snake in the bosom?”

  “Entirely possible, Witter. At daylight I’m going to do some walking and follow the signs back to the abbey and maybe….”

  “If you’re thinkin’ you’ll see a return route to the abbey, I’ll bet you a hundred bucks here and now that you don’t.”

  “Oh yeah? And what makes you say that, Witter?” Inkwell asked a bit impatiently.

  “This killin’ was very professionally done by someone who knew what they were doin’. It was one cool hombre who did it. Somebody like that has enough fuckin’ brain cells to know better than to leave a return trail, Ned. Oooops! Sorry, father.”

  “Right again, Witter. You’re really good. So now it leads up to the unveiling of my grand theory. It still involves anti-Catholic activity, but it was an inside job. Look, it is a planned, concerted effort by a well-organized, well-disciplined operation with a cold-blooded, self-interested motive.”

  “Ummm….OK, Ned. And who, or what, does this evil cabal consist of?” Cam asked warily, wondering if Inkwell had some secret information that he hadn’t revealed yet.

  “Lutherans,” Inkwell answered quite simply.

  “Lutherans? Did you just say Lutherans?” Cam gasped, wondering if he’d heard right.

  “Yes, Witter, Lutherans. They sprang out of the Protestant revolt against the Catholic church in the 1500s. I’ve been doing some research, you see. Historically known for being very anti-Catholic in its dogma and public positions.”

  “Yeah, and that describes any Protestant sect,” Cam replied. “You see, reaction against the Catholics was the very essence of the Protestant movement, Ned. So why do the Lutherans get the top nod in your anti-Catholic theory?”

  “I’m glad you asked, Witter. You see, this is where the cold-blooded, self-interested aspect comes into play.”