5 - Choker: Ike Schwartz Mystery 5

by Frederick Ramsay

  The men shuffled their feet and looked at Bunky. He stared at Ike for a full minute and then relaxed. “You’re square with me, Ike?” It was the first time he’d called Ike by his first name. A good sign.

  “Straight as a string, Bunky.”

  “I guess I don’t have no other choice but to play this one out, but I tell you true, if you ain’t right on this, me and these good men will have something to say about it.” The men nodded but relaxed a bit. “I reckon they’ll hang around a spell ’til your people come, though.”

  “Fair enough. I also should tell you that we are probably being watched right now. No, no, don’t look around. You won’t see them. But in a few hours I might ask some of your friends here to have an accident with a boat out in the bay. Not a bad accident, mind you. I don’t want you to hole the boat and send it to the bottom, just bad enough to force it to head home. I want to see where it goes.”

  “Which boat would that be?” Harley asked. He glanced toward the bay and looked ready to set out immediately.

  “I don’t know yet Harley. There’s a yacht out there that looks familiar, but I can’t be sure. We’ll have our own surveillance going soon, and then I’ll let you know.”

  “Why’d they be watching us?” a tall man in camo pants asked.

  “They’re unsure what, or who, we are. So far they think Bunky and I are curiosity seekers, but they can’t know exactly. See, last week I flew over that area very low.”

  “So that was you,” the man said. “I wondered who the idiot was that was flying over the bay.”

  “I’m the idiot. Anyway, they’re nervous.”

  “Why’d they be nervous?”

  Ike considered his options. He had to be straightforward with this group but there were some things he couldn’t talk about. “Hard to say. People are funny, you know?” then he added, “They might be Virginia watermen out to see who from up here has been poaching their crabs down in Tangier Sound.” It didn’t make any sense, but Ike counted on their chronic anti-government paranoia to cloud the illogic of the statement. Nodding, they bought it. A temporary stay.

  “Let’s go look at your boat.” As they made their way toward the water, Ike glanced at the shed with his equipment in it. “Did they go for the shed?”

  Bunky shook his head. “Near as I can make it out, they sailed in from the bay, sloshed gasoline over my boat’s gunwales and tossed a match. ’Course the gas went into the bilge and spread stem to stern. No way could I save her. I tried. I holed her out to sink her, but ’bout time the wave took her down that so it didn’t do no good. The J. Millard Tawes is history, and I’m done working the Bay.”

  “When I drove over here a week or two ago, I stopped at the Kent narrows for lunch and saw several work boats for sale. It’s not like it can’t be replaced.”

  “How am I going to find the money to do that?”

  “No insurance?”

  “I’m an independent operator. When the crabs don’t run, I don’t eat. Insurance lapsed last year.”

  “Stick with me, Bunky, we’ll get you back on the water, one way or another.”

  The work boat sat on the bottom with only the charred remains of its small cabin above water. An oil slick trailed from it out into the bay and away. The tide was at ebb.

  “How do you mean, stick with you?”

  “I still need you to pilot my boat.”

  “You have a boat? Where’d you get a boat? If you had one, why’d you use mine? Cripes, I mighta’ had my boat still.”

  “It’s not mine. Belongs to the folks that’ll be arriving soon. You familiar with bigger, faster boats?”

  “I did my time in the U. S. of A. Navy on PBRs and FPCs— you know, river boats, swift boats. Yeah, I can handle something bigger and faster, and before you ask, no, I never met what’s-his-name who ran for president and drove one of them. Didn’t vote for him, neither.”

  “Wasn’t going to ask. We’ll be working at night. You okay navigating in the dark?”

  “Is the Pope Catholic?”

  As they walked back to the house, a van and two battered pickups drove into the yard.

  “Now who in the heck is that?”

  “That would be the folks I mentioned. Have your pals mix and mingle. They don’t have to make nice, just seem to. In an hour or so they will pull out and, hopefully, so will some of your guys. Not all will go. Four or five will slip into the shed and the bushes over there. They will be here for the duration. I don’t want the people who sank your boat to get any ideas about putting you under the water too.” Bunky swallowed. Ike’s phone chirped. Charlie.

  “Hello, Charlie. The troops just arrived. What else do you have for me?”

  “We have the spotter in place off the pier in Romancoke. Tonight a boat will be berthed at the Kent Narrows. Tomorrow evening two SEALs and two divers will join the crew with their equipment. They’ll be ready to do some night diving. The crew is not that familiar with the waters around where you are. Can your guy help them?”

  “What kind of boat?”

  “A PBR, surplus Navy riverine patrol boat. We borrowed it from the ATF. They use it for interdiction and had it sprayed flat black. Your man?”

  “Oh yeah, he can drive it. We’ll be ready.” Ike turned to Bunky. “Get plenty of rest today and tomorrow. We’re going out there,” he waved toward the crash site, “tomorrow night, and you’ll be steering. Meet me at the Narrows at dusk. You can’t miss the boat. It’ll be painted black.” He turned back toward Eastern Bay. Its waters, usually inviting to sailors, hunters, and fishermen, now seemed ominous and forbidding. “Charlie, don’t you think it’s time to call in the locals or the FBI?”

  “Can’t do it, Ike. Upstairs doesn’t want the embarrassment if we’re wrong.”

  “What embarrassment would that be, Charlie? We’re on a hunt for what could be a major disaster that could make 9–11 seem like a missed dental, and they’re worried about looking bad?”

  “How would it look, Ike? We go to the bureau and say Garland’s niece’s fiancé disappeared over the bay and since we lost track of some Sunburn missiles somewhere around Iran, we want you to tear the Eastern Shore of Maryland apart looking for them?”

  “It’s more than that.”

  “Okay, yes, there’s more, but you know the drill.”

  “I do. That’s why I don’t work there anymore. Say, what did you tell Fugarelli about me? Some of these clowns he sent down here are giving me a look.”

  “A look? What kind of a look?”

  “I don’t know, exactly, like I’m off the reservation somehow.”

  “Oh, that. Well, Tony has funny ideas about what we do to nonagency personnel to make sure they don’t talk after an operation. You remember the rumor that made the rounds after Hawkins took a walk?”

  “They sent someone to terminate him and the guy never returned?”

  “Yeah. I just told him it was you, not Alex Hawkins. Scared the you-know-what out of him, and his boys apparently got the word, too. You’re a dangerous man, Ike.”

  “Thanks for nothing. Okay, we go tomorrow night.” Ike turned back to Bunky, who studied him with something between fear and admiration in his eyes. “You folks don’t mess around, do you?”

  “Can’t afford to. More than anything else in the world, Bunky, I wish this will turn out to be the wildest of all wild goose chases.”

  “But you don’t think so.”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Chapter 35

  Frank Sutherlin had a problem. He’d agreed with Blake Fisher about the potential danger the sinkhole activities held and with the need to shut them down, but in the hard light of morning, he wasn’t so sure. If he stormed into the site and found nothing more than a group of kids partying, there’d be some angry parents to deal with. If he were to do nothing, that wouldn’t happen, but then other consequences might rebound to him. He did not think of himself as a coward, but he also didn’t believe in rushing in without something substantial in
hand. He didn’t need a warrant to mount the raid, he knew, but he wished he did. That would give him an out, one way or the other.

  Essie and Billy strolled in to announce they were taking off for lunch. Frank had the feeling that since Ike left for vacation, his deputies were stretching the limits of what he took to be standard procedure.

  “Whoa up, you two. Since when did the department start having a lunch hour?”

  Billy waved vaguely toward the clock on the wall. “Shoot, Frank, I’d be pulling off patrol to grab me a bite anyway, and Essie always has an hour, so I figured we’d just combine, like.”

  Frank gave them a sour look. “Before you go, I need to ask you a question. You saw the video of the kids in the park. The Rev wants us to stage a raid and pull them in. He thinks that crazy devil stuff they’re doing is dangerous. Sam agrees. What do you think I should do?”

  “When you planning on doing it?” Billy asked. Essie sat and cradled her belly with her hands. It was flat, showing no signs of her nascent pregnancy, but she sat, a Mona Lisa smile on her lips, as though she held the future of the world in her hands. Frank’s mother had laughed when she saw her do it the night before. “First-timer,” she’d said. “By the third you just plow ahead like the Titanic.”

  “That’s part of the problem. We don’t know when they’ll be out there again. Sam and the Reverend think Friday night or, possibly, Thursday. I’d hate to set up a big operation and then have to send everybody home. You know, I’d have to get some county help to pull it off.”

  “I saw the dancing, and it’s pretty clear they’re doing drugs out there.” Essie said and shifted in her chair.

  “Lord, Essie, if we busted every party in this town where we thought there might be drugs, half the population of Picketsville under the age of thirty-five would be in the slammer—including you two.”

  “Not no more, Frank,” Essie said patting her nonexistent bump, “we got to think of this here baby. Ain’t that right, Billy?” Billy looked less sure.

  “You still didn’t answer my question. What do you think I should do?”

  “You know something, Frank, if Ike were here we wouldn’t be having this confab.” Billy said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ole Ike, he’d just make up his mind and do it, or not. I don’t think we ever voted on whether we should, or should not, do this or that.”

  “This isn’t a vote, Billy, I’m asking for advice.”

  “Well, I ain’t got any for you. Come on, Essie, my lunch break is dwindling down to take-out.”

  “You should do it,” Essie said, and stood to follow Billy out the door. “I think the Reverend is right. That business can lead to no good. That’s what Ma says.”

  “You talked to Ma?”

  “Sure I did.”

  “Times they are a-changing. We never brought work home to Ma before.”

  “Sometimes I think all you Sutherlin boys are thick as sticks. You think she didn’t know every detail of what you were up to twenty-four seven? Come on Billy, I’m hungry. Remember, I’m eating for two.”

  They left the office. Frank drummed his fingers on the desk. His brother and sister-in-law had been no help at all, and the suggestion that Ike would have simply acted without consultation galled him. Ike had his ways, Frank had his. He shuffled through the papers on his desk. He picked up the phone and called the county. He still did not like the prospect of facing a roomful of angry parents, but he guessed, on the whole, the operation made sense.

  ***

  Ike hung around Bunky Crispins’ place for the rest of the afternoon. A call from the spotter at Romancoke identified the yacht Ike had indicated earlier as having a man with binoculars watching them.

  Bunky dispatched Harley and the guy in the camo pants, who turned out to be the brother-in-law of the waitress who’d served Ike lunch over in Kentmor the previous week. The shore provided an up-front look at how a closed society worked. Ike thought for a moment he was back in Picketsville. Everybody knows everybody and is probably related to them as well. The plan Harley hatched involved the two watermen accusing the watcher of spying for the Virginia authorities. Camo pants would wave his deer rifle around and with any luck chase the yacht off. An hour later, Harley’s battered Boston Whaler smacked the yacht amidships, and an argument ensued that Ike could hear, even though the boats and their occupants were a mile away. The yacht hauled anchor and left. Ike had instructed the two men to follow at a distance to see where it went. It ended its flight at a marina south of Kent Narrows.

  When he returned, Harley said that three men who “looked like foreigners” drove off in an old Pontiac with DC plates. He also reported he’d written “Watermen Rock” on the boat with a Sharpie. He allowed it would be a while before the message wore off or could be cleaned. Ike was impressed. About the same time, a spotter on the opposite shore reported he saw a vehicle answering the description of Harley’s Pontiac entering the property that had the duck blind. Ike wrote down the plate number and called Charlie.

  “Charlie, do a trace on a yacht in the marina south of the narrows with a North Carolina registry. I don’t have the number but there can’t be that many North Carolina yachts in the area, and it has “Watermen Rock” scrawled across the port side near the waterline. Also find out what you can about a Pontiac with DC plates.” Ike consulted his notebook and gave Charlie the number.

  “Yes, sir, Chief. Anything else?”

  “When is your guy going to show up and run this operation so I can get back to doing nothing?”

  “He still wants something solid.”

  “He’s dreaming. Look, I’m good until Friday. Then I’m out of here.”

  “Ike, you know what’s at stake here. You can’t walk away now.”

  “I should, I can, and I will. This business is way over my head. I have no creds here, Charlie. If anything goes bad, I’m standing here with my pants down. This is your deal. You do it.”

  “Ike—”

  “I mean it. The risks are huge and even if you’re right about the Sunburn, it’s a job for the real cops, not an on-vacation, off-duty Smokey from the Valley. You get someone with authority on board, and then get their ass down here pronto.”

  “Ike—”

  “That’s it, over and out, and goodbye.” Ike turned the phone off and snapped it shut. “Enough is enough,” he muttered, to no one in particular.

  Chapter 36

  Wednesday dragged. Ike tried, but failed, to sleep in. It started to rain. Again. His mood began to match the weather. Gray and bleak, the hours ticked away. He took a stab at sorting through the satellite pictures scattered across his kitchen table. He didn’t see anything new. He studied the duck blind-barge again. As far as he could see there was no connection, one to the other. The barge seemed to be occupied solely in the dredging process. Ike didn’t know anything about dredging but, then, what was there to know. Suck up the mud, dump the mud somewhere, in this case, behind the bulkhead. He jotted a note to have the company that had been contracted to do it checked out. He didn’t know where that might lead, but when you have zero, anything is something.

  He rifled through the pictures a second time, searching for the yacht. If it was in the area, that might mean something. After an hour and a half of fruitless searching, he stacked the pictures in a pile and surrendered to his frustration. A rainy day at the beach is a downer under any circumstance. He tried the television, nothing on but soap operas and reruns of game shows. The cable channel had been disconnected for the off-season. Ruth’s line was busy. His father didn’t pick up. He left a message for both to call if they could. He left the cottage and went in search of lunch. The Avenue had a special on tilapia. He wondered about the state of the world when a seafood restaurant situated on the Atlantic Ocean had to resort to frozen fare from some aquaculture establishment in Alabama. Where were the rockfish, the croaker, the red snapper? He settled for a second breakfast.

  Charlie called him in the afternoon. He sounde
d hesitant.

  “You still there, Ike?”

  “I’m here.” Ike felt a little guilty for snapping at Charlie the day before. He hadn’t changed his mind, but they had been through some things together and…“Where’s the ops director? Is Fugarelli going to show up and earn his salary or not?”

  “Out sick today. But, listen, what’s on the agenda is simple enough. Just get those divers out over the plane tonight, extract the body and anything else you can find, and come in. We’ll take it from there. Okay?”

  “One more day. That’s it, Charlie. Then either Tony Fugarelli shows, or you do, or somebody with important-looking paper in his pocket does, or the operation ends.”

  “One more day may be all we need. Have you any thoughts for me? I could use something—anything.”

  “I went through the photos this morning and…I couldn’t see anything except ships, freighters coming and going up and down the Bay. And a gazillion sailboats. Even in late September there are sailboats out on the Bay. Oh, and powerboats, yachts. Speaking of which, have you run the trace on the yacht and the Pontiac?”

  “We have, but there’s not much to know. They were both leased by one of those corporate entities that bury their ownership in layers of holding companies, off-shore and European, and with absolute anonymity. We’ll keep looking.”

  “While you’re at it, find out who owns the land adjacent to the duck blind and who did the dredging for them. I don’t know why, but I don’t like that whole operation. Something’s not right.”

  “Any reason in particular?”

  “None whatsoever. I’ve studied the satellite pictures ’til I’m blue in the face, and I can’t see a thing. The barge is there, the dredging ends, the barge is gone. The duck blind appears. No big deal.”

  “But you don’t like it?”

  “Not even a little bit.”

  “I’ll trust your hunch and put someone on the property and the dredging. Meantime, rest up.”

  “With my luck, it will pour out on the bay. I’ll get soaked again, and die of pneumonia.”

  “You’re not that lucky, and if it does rain tonight, whoever they are that watch us won’t see you, or what you’re up to, out on the water. I’ll have a doctor on call, and a bottle of brandy put on board.”