5 - Choker: Ike Schwartz Mystery 5

by Frederick Ramsay

  ***

  Mary did not want a ring. “I will settle for a simple band. I had an engagement ring once before and it didn’t work.” Blake didn’t know if he should be relieved or offended. Diamonds are not, and never have been, cheap, a tribute to the diamond cartel that limits the number of carats on the market to keep the price up and the economies of some African nations afloat. Not having to come up with the cash on a vicar’s salary put her decision on the plus side of the equation, but there is something about a ring on your fiancée’s finger that was part of the whole experience. How would anyone know?

  “That’s not the point, Blake. You sound like a rancher who wants to put a brand on one of his cows.”

  “Oh, come on, Mary. That’s not fair. And you will never be mistaken for a cow. I think ranchers herd steer, or do you say steers? It must be like deer, don’t you think?” He said, and conceded, in his mind, that she might, in fact, be close to the truth. A ring did give the man a proprietary sense.

  “How about we do this. I will buy you a ring instead,” she said.

  “No, that’s…” He wasn’t sure what he objected to. Mary never struck him as a radical nonconformist before. Her reluctance confused him. But he was sure that he would not be interested in becoming the wearer of the engagement ring. “Let’s go to dinner and figure this out later.”

  Mary smiled and agreed.

  They wandered away from the jewelry store and made their way to a small restaurant off the food court. It boasted an Italian menu, but the food’s relationship to Italy was mostly a matter of semantics. It tasted fine, had an obvious acquaintance with oregano, garlic, and tomatoes but probably had a closer connection with a can bearing a picture of a mythic Italian chef on it.

  “Tell me where you are with the Starkeys and their offspring,” she asked, between bites of her Caesar salad.

  “I’m worried where this might lead. We have a tape of some kids from the school, including the older Starkey girl, on tape. Sam, the deputy with the computer skills, downloaded video of their latest gathering. Peachy is clearly featured, and so is her boy friend. We don’t have much else, I’m afraid. Except the drugs, of course.”

  “You’re sure about the drugs?”

  “Pretty sure, yeah.” Were they? The images on the tape were blurred and erratic. One could make a case that the behavior was no more frenetic than that of cheerleaders at a pep rally. If Frank raided the event Friday night, as they had tentatively planned, and they turned up nothing, there could be some serious explaining to do. Blake would not be exempt from a parental backlash either. “I don’t know, Mary, what’s your take?”

  “Are you worried you won’t find the silver or drugs? I mean do you think the threat of angry parents is that important?”

  “Well, if the cops go charging in there and there’s nothing except some kids acting out…”

  “That should be a problem for the police. It should not be a problem for you.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Blake, the police need to worry about the niceties of the law, not you. They need probable cause or something. They need to feel sure about stolen goods, or drugs, or some other activity on the part of the kids that will justify their time and effort. The business needs to be certifiably illegal, and if not felonious, at least it should be a misdemeanor. If they simply break up a party, they may be able to explain it away as disturbing the peace or something, but they will also put themselves in a bad light and maybe be sued or harassed for false arrest. Is that what they call it?”

  “But the Constitution allows any worship under the second amendment.”

  “The Constitution is their problem, not yours. Your position is, or should be, Satanism is wrong, dangerous, and the parents of kids who are dabbling in it need to know about it. Remember, you’re the clergy guy, not the police. They have their priorities and you have yours. It’s your job to deal with the occult. The police can take care of the rest.”

  “You’re right, of course. Still, if there isn’t some sort of criminality at that event on Friday, assuming we’re right about Friday and the black moon, we’ll be in hot water with somebody.”

  “You’re worried about the bishop and the Starkeys, aren’t you? You shouldn’t be. Trust your judgment—trust God. After all, in the end, He’s the only one you need to answer to. You just do what you think is right.”

  Of course, Mary hit it. “Tell you what. We’ll compromise.”

  “On the police action? How?”

  “No, on the rings. No engagement ring for you, but a nice wedding band with little diamonds set in it. One for you, one for me.”

  “A double-ring ceremony, yes, that sounds about right.”

  Chapter 37

  The weather worsened as the day wore on. By nightfall, rainsqualls raced along the Delmarva Peninsula and up the Bay. Visibility on, the water dropped to a few hundred yards. The remnants of a waning moon disappeared behind scudding clouds. By the time Ike arrived at the marina, he felt a cold coming on, and he hadn’t even set foot out in the storm yet. The divers, SEALs, and crew waited for him aboard the patrol boat. Flat black paint made the craft functionally invisible. Only its running lights flickered in the downpour, and they would be extinguished as soon as they cleared the marina. He tightened his rain gear’s fastenings against the wind and climbed aboard. Bunky had settled himself in the stern and was in full teaching mode, describing to the boat’s crew how it would have been armed when it served as a Navy boat. He pointed to the now empty gun mounts, fore and aft, and explained the range, use, and accuracy of the twin fifty-caliber machine guns and other exotic armament that once graced them. The crew, all young enough to be his children, or perhaps grandchildren, listened politely. Ike unpacked his GPU, introduced himself to the captain, and sneezed. He really did have a cold. That realization did not improve his mood.

  The captain, who looked to Ike to be about twelve years old, gestured toward the unit in Ike’s hand. “We have a global positioning unit on board, Mr. Schwartz.”

  “I’m sure you do, and I’m sure it’s a sight better than mine. However, the coordinates we want are locked into this memory chip and Bunky, here, is used to working with this one.”

  “I see. For my information, sir, who is Bunky?”

  “He’s the guy who’s been lecturing you on the good old days of river patrol-boat command. He knows the Bay like the back of his hand, in the dark or the daytime, and he’s going to be your navigator on the way out. He will drive this craft while we’re over the site, and he will no doubt bore you to tears about the state of the government, the plight of Chesapeake Bay watermen, and the sex life of crabs. However, if you watch and listen, you will have an exciting night, and will, no doubt, add some useful seamanship tips to your skill set. But it will require a good deal of patience on your part.”

  “No one said anything about giving the helm over to a civilian.”

  “Son, you are probably not as familiar with the spook business as you might be. For your edification, this is a civilian undertaking. Your orders, if I understood them correctly, were to do what I ask of you. Is that your understanding, too?”

  “Yes, sir, but—”

  Ike waved him off. “Start your engines and put this bucket in motion. It’s cold, it’s wet, and I’m not in a particularly good mood, and certainly not in one ready to dispute the chain of command here.”

  “Yes, sir.” The boat’s captain did not look pleased, but he had his orders, and they did say he should follow this man’s directives. He glanced at Bunky and shook his head.

  “Captain,” he said to Bunky, “Will you step up here and chart our course?”

  “Sure thing, sonny. You see the green light on that buoy in the gap, there? Well, keep that to starboard ’til I tell you otherwise. Then, you can open her up as soon as we clear it.”

  The boat eased away from the pier and, its twin Detroit diesels throbbing, and made its way into the channel. Once clear of the marker, Bunky circled o
ne finger in the air and the boat roared south.

  Ike positioned himself out of the wind as best he could and huddled with the divers and the two navy SEALs. It would take at least fifteen minutes to reach the dive site. Enough time for him to fill in the gaps of their earlier briefing. Satisfied they knew what he wanted, Ike released them to unpack their gear and suit up. The SEALs took positions at the gun mounts. Ike knew they had weapons under their rain parkas. He prayed they would not be needed. In spite of the snuffling and sneezing that now occupied him, he started to appreciate the weather. It would effectively cover any noise they might make as well as keep other boaters off the water and ashore.

  At Bunky’s direction, the young captain brought the boat to the approximate site and handed the helm over to him. “You want to drop anchor here?” he asked.

  “No anchor. We might have to bug out, and I sure don’t want to cut your line.”

  “How do you plan to hold this position? The divers will need a stationary platform.”

  “Watch and learn, son, watch and learn. Okay, Mr. Policeman,” he shouted into the wind, “we’re ten yards, more or less, south of the plane. Tell them divers to go in and swim north by northwest for ten yards, then turn on their lights. They should be dead on it.”

  The divers gathered their equipment and went over. By holding the boat south of the wreck, any glow the lights might show at the surface would be screened from anyone watching from the shore. It didn’t seem likely any sane person would try, but Ike recognized that in the scenario Charlie described, sanity did not play a major role. The divers retrieved the body and bagged it. They filled a basket with miscellaneous items found in the cockpit, shot some pictures of the torn fuselage, and retrieved Ike’s television camera. In less than two hours they were back on deck, the body stowed in an over-large ice chest brought for the occasion, the boat turned into the wind, and they were on their way back to the marina.

  “That corpse was in really bad shape, Mr. Schwartz.”

  “I’m not surprised. He’d been in the water nearly three months. Did you see anything interesting down there?”

  “That plane did not have an accident, I can tell you for sure.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I’ve done some salvage for Uncle. I’ve seen what planes look like if they have an explosion on board. This plane was caved in at the break, not pushed out. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it took a shot.”

  “Anything else?”

  “His body…well, like I said, it wasn’t in good shape. Um…sort of coming apart, like. His ring and watch must have slipped off and were on the floor, along with a cell phone. They’re in the basket.” Ike opened the wire cage and removed the three items. “Say, is that an Academy ring?”

  “Yeah, he was Navy.”

  “Hey,” the diver called to the cadre from Little Creek, “he’s one of ours. Some bastard shot him down.”

  “We don’t know that for a fact.”

  “Maybe you don’t, sir, but I do. This ain’t the end of this drill.”

  Bunky set a course to follow home, and handed over the wheel to the captain. “All yours, Skipper. When you see the channel marker remember, it’s red, right, returning.” The young man scowled but said nothing.

  Ike wiped the phone down and pushed the power button. It didn’t work. No surprise there. He stuffed the items in an evidence bag and slipped it into his slicker pocket.

  “This should be the end of it.” His words were carried away by the wind.

  Chapter 38

  Ike sat across from Charlie in the same booth, with the same breakfast before him as he had nearly two weeks previously. The aroma of fried food and coffee filled the air—no change there either. Silverware and china clinked and scraped against the countertop as if nothing had happened during the interim. The plastic bag with Nick Reynolds’ ring, watch, and cell phone lay on the table between them. Charlie fiddled with his butter knife. He hadn’t touched his food. Ike wondered if Charlie ever ate. He’d never seen him do so. He usually talked and then bolted out the door, leaving a perfectly good meal behind. Ike did not have that problem. He blew his nose and attacked his pancakes. Starve a fever, feed a cold.

  “Eat, Charlie. I’m buying, so you at least ought to be polite and eat. Didn’t your mother tell you it’s ungracious to spurn the host’s offerings?”

  “I’m buying, and my mother had very little to say about gustatory obligations. Tell me about last night.”

  “We went to the site, retrieved Nick, or what was left of him, and recovered those items from the plane. The divers agree that the plane did not have an accident. It was downed deliberately. I doubt there’s much you can get from the phone, but the SIM card may have some photos and messages on it that your technical people can reconstruct. They may help your niece. I don’t know. I expect his parents will want the ring and watch.”

  Charlie pulled the bag to him and poked the items through the plastic with his finger. “Your divers were right about the downing. I had an ME work overtime last night. Nick’s back, neck, and arms, were full of bits and pieces of the airplane. It took a hit and blew. It seems incredible that anyone would do that out in the open, and on the Fourth of July.”

  “No so odd, Charlie. It was a moonless night and all the folks on the bay had gone ashore because of the fog.”

  “Not all. There was that sailboat you gave me the heads-up about.”

  “Anything on that?”

  “Nothing yet. It’s tricky, sometimes, to convince local police to cooperate with us.”

  “Gee, I wonder why.”

  Charlie grimaced and swept the bag and its contents into his briefcase. He started to rise as if to leave.

  “Sit, Charlie. We are not done here. I want an official release from this mess. I want to arrange for the return of all the junk you’ve dumped on me, except the GPU, of course. It fell overboard, as you recall. And we need to find Bunky Crispins a new boat.”

  “What? A new boat? Where did that come from? We can’t buy him a boat.”

  Ike blew his nose again, snuffled, and fixed Charlie with an “I’m not taking any crap from you” stare. “He lost The J. Millard Tawes because of us—of you. He was a civilian who simply rented his boat to help me look for a missing pilot. His livelihood was taken from him by the bad guys, whoever they are. By the way, who are they? Never mind. I don’t want to know. He never bargained for the loss of his boat. We owe him a new one. Now, you go rooting around in that pile of money you people have squirreled away to fund black operations, and buy him a replacement.”

  “But…”

  “He’d settle for that nifty black PBR we used last night, but I don’t guess the ATF would be willing to part with it. Anyway, on your way back to the asylum, stop at the marina at Kent Narrows. There are two or three workboats for sale there. Buy him a nice one. Fix it up and paint The J. Millard Tawes II on the transom.”

  “You’re being very uppity, Mr. Schwartz. You know that?”

  “Uppity is my middle name.”

  “Actually, it’s not. It’s Abraham, after your dad. And I’ll see what I can do for your waterman. No promises. You’re off the hook, for now, but keep your cell phone on.”

  “Not a chance. I am in way over my head as it is. Thank you anyway, but I am going back to my little cottage. Drink lots of eighty-proof cold medicine, and tomorrow I will return to Picketsville for a party and a sleepover. I may spend the weekend. You can go now. Don’t call us, we’ll call you.”

  “No, I will mind my manners, and eat this gorgeous heart attack breakfast. Then I will go back to the office and try to explain to a committee of my peers what the hell you were doing in the middle of the night on the Chesapeake Bay, on our dime.”

  “Mazel tov.”

  “The same to you.”

  ***

  The sun shone hard and hot, causing evaporating rainwater to rise like steam from the pavement. With his newly acquired sense of freedom, Ike made his way
toward the boardwalk. He remembered seeing a gift shop with an end-of-season sale sign in the window. He would buy Ruth a present. One turn around the shop, “shoppe” to be accurate, and he realized that its sales prices were still significantly above what he’d pay for the same item back home, not on sale.

  Farther down the boardwalk, an auction house caught his attention. He loved auctions. It would be a nice way to relax and let his breakfast settle. He entered, helped himself to free coffee and Danish, and took a seat at the rear. The item on the block was a Tabriz rug. He liked the colors and the size. He toyed with the notion of bidding on it, hesitated, and a woman with an unlikely up-do bought it before he could act. He considered bidding on several other items. Auctions, as every auctioneer knows, are as addictive as potato chips. Between the first gaveling and the last, otherwise fiscally sane people will, under the influence of a skillful presenter, buy practically anything. Ike, it turned out, was one of those people. By lunchtime he had bid, but lost out, on seven items ranging from a pair of silver candlesticks to a painted Sarouk of dubious vintage. Overall, he felt lucky to have gotten off so easy. Then, just as he was about to leave, he did successfully bid on a one and a half carat, yellow–“canary” the auctioneer called it–diamond in a platinum ring setting. That would put a serious dent in his savings. He’d set out to buy Ruth a present, but this was ridiculous. He tucked the box with the ring in his pocket and left before he ended up buying its matching choker.

  He ate lunch in the same booth he had at breakfast. His cell phone, contrary to Charlie’s orders, had been turned off. He powered it up. No missed calls. He speed-dialed Ruth. Perhaps, he thought, he should sound her out on the whole ring business before he sprung his purchase on her.

  “I’m in the middle of something here, Ike, so make it quick.” He could hear voices in the background. “What’s up?”