5 - Choker: Ike Schwartz Mystery 5

by Frederick Ramsay

  “Just checking on tomorrow, we’re still on for the big hoo-hah for Dillon?”

  “Yes. I would have called you if it were off. Is that all you wanted to know?”

  “That and I have finished with Charlie, so I can stay the weekend, and I could use your sizes.”

  “My what? Sizes?”

  “Yes, you know, dress, hat, ring, that sort of thing.”

  “I don’t wear hats or jewelry, as you must know by now. I maintain my dress size is a four, but six is closer to the truth, and eight is coming at me fast. Are you going to bring me a present? Forget the clothes. You have terrible taste in women’s wear. I could use a new blender.”

  “A blender? What size would that be? And the lady at Victoria’s Secret said I had enviable taste.”

  “She would. I gotta go, bubba. Stay safe, and I’ll see you tomorrow. A whole weekend together sounds great. We can go to your little mountain hideaway right after the party.” She clicked off.

  “I think I handled that well,” he said.

  His waitress, pad in hand, raised an eyebrow. “Sir?”

  Chapter 39

  Ike flew from Georgetown after lunch on Friday. He’d plotted his flight path to Picketsville, which required him to thread his way past busy airports in and around the Baltimore-Washington corridor and avoid several restricted military areas. Had he been allowed to fly in a straight line, he’d have cut thirty minutes off his transit time. Once clear of urban sprawl, however, Virginia’s green piedmont spread out before him like a giant Christmas garden. He cleared the Blue Ridge and turned southwest, following I-81 to Picketsville. He decided he needed to fly more frequently. He should take Ruth up. Perhaps they could travel to more private places on their weekends together. His euphoria over the joys of aviation slipped away when he hit some rough air south of Harrisonburg and the Reuben sandwich he’d wolfed down before takeoff started talking to him.

  Ezra Hooper owned not quite one hundred acres of farmland east of Picketsville. The arable land he leased to a factory farmer from Winchester. The wood lots he kept stocked with game. On weekends, during the various hunting seasons, he had congressmen, industrial movers and shakers, and the bevy of sycophants that usually accompany them flown down for a weekend of hunting, drinking, and deal-making. Ike phoned ahead to inform him he’d need to use his private strip. Eager to do a favor for the police that might someday need to be returned, Ezra agreed, and had had the grass mowed the day previously.

  Ike made a bumpy landing on the undulating field and taxied to the barn where Hooper hangared his King Air. Frank Sutherlin waited for him in a patrol car.

  “Good to see you, Ike. I didn’t know you knew how to fly.”

  “The FAA has a few thoughts on that matter, as well. I learned a few years back. In another life, you could say.”

  “Well, as long as you’re in town, I could use some help.”

  “Help, as in manpower or help, as in advice?”

  “Both, I think, but advice is what I need straightaway. We’re going to raid a kid’s thing out in the park tonight, and I’m afraid there’ll be repercussions from some of their parents.”

  “What kind of kid thing? Is this about Blake Fisher’s satanic stuff you were telling me?”

  “Yes. See, we are going in there on a suspicion, at best. All we have is a video of the last time they met, and it certainly looks bad, but we don’t have any real reason except we think they’ll probably be up to more of the same. And then there’s Ashley Starkey’s business to account for.” He filled Ike in on the conversation the girl had with Blake Fisher.

  “Aside from your weak probable cause position, your problem is what?”

  “Well, that’s pretty much it. If we go and all they’re doing is dancing and partying, there will be hell to pay when the parents are called in to pick up the kids.”

  “You’re sure they will be doing whatever they do tonight?”

  “Yes, that’s confirmed. I had my brother, Henry, you remember him…”

  “Who could forget the walking bill board?”

  “Yeah. Those tattoos of his are pretty defining, for sure. Anyway, I had him ask around and it checks out. Tonight’s the night.”

  “What did the video show, exactly?”

  Frank described the scene they’d watched from the downloaded material Sam had prepared.

  “It sounds to me like you need to get out there and break that business up, Frank. Never mind what the parents may or may not say. That is not good, clean fun by anybody’s standard. It needs shutting down. You do it. If there is any flak from the parents, have them talk to me. Say you’re working under my direction, or something.”

  “Ike, don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t want the responsibility, it’s just that local policing is still new to me. On the Highway Patrol we didn’t do much of this kind of thing.”

  “I know, Frank, and even though you grew up in Picketsville and you’re local, you’ve been away and so you’re still new, sort of. Trust me. It will be fine.”

  “You’re okay with this, then?”

  “Protect and serve, Frank. It can’t always be about legal niceties. These kids may be on the edge of something bad. Or they may not. Prudence says protect first, apologize later if necessary. That’s what local cops do. It’s one of the benefits of small town living. Everybody knows everybody and we share responsibility for each other in ways city folks cannot understand. That’s why they think we’re hicks.”

  “Right. Okay, you want to help?”

  “No can do. I am booked for the evening and most of the weekend. Tell me how it turns out, but for all practical purposes, I’m still on vacation.”

  ***

  Ike caught a lift with one of his deputies to the Callend University campus and made his way down the pathway to the president’s house. He’d had too many high-calorie breakfasts at the Crossroads Diner in the past three years, and he’d unable to wedge into his tuxedo. His only suit, however, was dark navy blue and with a white shirt and a subdued tie, he managed to look more or less presentable. A flunky in a brocade waistcoat ushered him in the door. Ruth waved to him from across the room. As Armand Dillon was not a supporter anyone wanted to disappoint, the president’s residence had been decorated for the occasion. Fresh flowers in autumnal hues crowded every nook and cranny of the living room, dining room, center hallway, and parlor. Waiters in black tie circulated the rooms with trays of hors d’oeuvres and glasses of wine: red and white, and probably expensive. That was not something Ike would know for he frequently, and truthfully, confessed he had no palate. He ordered a gin and tonic. The waiter, for a brief moment, seemed about to say something, but changed his mind. Ike had become accustomed to the questioning looks from wait-persons, bartenders, and other drink purveyors who believed that gin and tonic, like white shoes, was not acceptable after Labor Day. He didn’t care; he knew what he liked and had decided long ago that he had earned the right to be contrary.

  Ruth brought Dillon over to him.

  “Mr. Dillon asked for you especially, Ike. Try to behave,” she said and walked away to greet another guest.

  “She’s a winner, Sheriff. When are you planning on making an honest woman of her?”

  “As usual, your subtlety is lost on me, sir. Just what is it you want to know?”

  Dillon laughed and took Ike by the elbow. “I think you ought to lasso that heifer before someone else puts his brand on her, that’s all.”

  “A word of warning, Armand, don’t ever let Ruth hear you refer to her, or any other woman, as a cow, young or old. As much as she depends on you for all sorts of things, she can be positively sulfuric about sexist allusions. They may even cause her to become homicidal. Second, she is not the sort to worry over much about the honesty, as you so delicately put it, of her relationships.”

  “So I hear. Nevertheless, when?”

  Ike shrugged and shook his head. “It’s a matter under study.”

  “Okay, I get it. It’s no
ne of my business. How’s your dad?”

  “Not his usual self lately, I’m afraid. My mother died last winter and he’s not quite recovered. He’s over there.” Ike pointed out Abe Schwartz, who, on any other evening, would be working the room like a candidate for office or an insurance salesman. Tonight, he stood staring at a dingy oil portrait of a DIP, deceased important person, probably one of the beneficent Callends.

  “I’ll go jolly him up a little.” Dillon made his way to the elder Schwartz. Within two minutes he had Abe laughing and pointing a finger at Ike.

  “Now, what are you two old birds up to?” he muttered.

  Ike’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He made a face and retrieved it. Charlie.

  “Charlie, I am at a very nice party, having a cocktail, and being charming to Ruth’s friends and a few of her enemies. Don’t bother me.”

  “Ike, charming is not in your toolbox. Anyway, we have a problem.”

  “Not we, we do not have a problem, Charlie. You. You have the problem.”

  “Listen, Ike, this is serious. It’s about the cell phone you recovered.”

  “I assume you mean Nick Reynolds’ cell phone. What about it? Surely it doesn’t still work.”

  “It had a picture.”

  Chapter 40

  “A picture? Listen, Charlie, I told you I was done with this project. You asked me to find a plane. I found it. You wanted to know how it ended its flight in the Chesapeake Bay, I found that out, too. I am done, Charlie. What part of no don’t you understand?”

  “Ike, the technicians in the lab were able to restore a bad picture on the cell phone’s SIM card. It’s amazing what those little phone cameras can capture.”

  “Hurrah for Japanese technology. I should care about this, how?”

  “The picture, Ike, is of a ship close to shore, and it’s off-loading a Sunburn missile.”

  Ike swallowed. This was serious. “So, I was right, you do have a problem. You have a big problem. Operative word is, you. Now I intend to rejoin the party.”

  “Don’t hang up on me. We need to talk.”

  “I’m done, Charlie. Good luck and goodbye.” Ike powered down and snapped the phone closed. He stood a moment staring out into the dark, questioning his refusal to help Charlie. No, no, no. Enough is enough. He refused to shoulder any guilt over this. He didn’t owe anybody anything. He re-entered the chattering throng of academics and snagged another drink from a passing tray. It wasn’t gin but it would do. He made his way to his father and Dillon.

  “What are you two plotting? It had better not have anything to do with me.”

  “What makes you think we were talking about you?” his father asked. “See that, Armand, the boy is all about hisself.”

  “I know you, old man. You are up to something.” Ike retrieved a handkerchief and blew his nose.

  “Why do you have to go and be so difficult all the time, Ike?” his father said. “Me and Armand, here, have been doing some figuring, is all. We calculated that if you’d get an early start next spring, we could get you into the Commonwealth’s Attorney General’s—”

  “You remember what happened the last time you plotted my future?”

  “Shoot, you’re all grown up now. You ain’t going to run away from home. Jest listen for a minute.”

  “Not tonight, Pop, I’m only interested in enjoying this very fine party, having some time with Ruth, and continuing my vacation at the beach.”

  “Now, that’s another thing. You ain’t hardly ever to home anymore. You aren’t planning on missing Yom Kippur, too?”

  “What? What did you say?”

  “I said, are you planning on missing Yom Kippur? I know your momma’s not around, but we were always together for the high holy days, at least when you weren’t gallivanting around the world.”

  “When?”

  “When what? When you was gallivanting? Well—”

  “No. no, when is Yom Kippur?”

  “Wednesday, of course.”

  “In five days?”

  “Unless the government introduced a new day of the week and I didn’t hear about it, yep.”

  “Oh, my God. Excuse me, I have to make a call.”

  “Kids now-a-days, always glued to them mobile phones. You got one of them doodads, Armand?”

  Ike didn’t linger to hear Dillon’s answer. He exited the room and stood outside on the wide veranda that surrounded the house on three sides. Its wisteria had long since lost its purple blossoms and its leaves had turned a golden brown. He opened the phone and powered up. The face read One Missed Call. He ignored it and speed dialed Charlie.

  “Ike why did you turn off the phone, I wasn’t finished.”

  “Never mind that. Five days, Charlie. You guys have five days to find those missiles.”

  “What do you mean, we have five days. What’s the big deal about five?”

  “Yom Kippur. It comes on the ninth day of Tishrei. That’s always in late September or early October. We forgot about Yom Kippur.”

  “You would know that.”

  “No, that’s the point. I don’t know that. My father would know that. I missed it.”

  “Okay, you’re haphazard in your faith. What of it?”

  “The war, Charlie. They’re going to launch those damned missiles on the anniversary of the Yom Kippur war. Don’t you see?”

  The line fell silent. Then Ike heard Charlie’s voice, slightly muffled, speaking to someone at the other end. He heard his name, Yom Kippur, and five days. Ike figured he’d gotten through. He turned the phone over and had his finger on the power button when Charlie came back on the line.

  “You have to come in, Ike.”

  “No way. It’s your hot potato.”

  “Wait, hold on a minute. Don’t hang up…okay…here’s the director.”

  Ike had never had a conversation with the Almighty, and didn’t expect he ever would, but he was sure that if he did, He’d sound like the director of the CIA.

  “Ike, you need to come in.”

  “Director, absolutely not. I told Charlie no, and I’m telling you the same. This is way out of my league.”

  “You don’t get to choose, son. I’ll draft you if I must.”

  “With all due respect, Director, you can’t. More importantly, you don’t have to. You have assets all over the place. Flood the Eastern Shore with them, find the damned things, and call me when you’re done.”

  “Ike, please listen to me. It’s not a question of assets. You’re right. I can call on as many people as necessary. I can borrow from the FBI, the Army, you name it. But you said it.”

  “I said what?”

  “You said we have five days…don’t interrupt. I think you’re right and I haven’t the luxury of time to get anyone else up to speed on this. And flooding the Eastern Shore is not an option. If they get even a sniff we’re on to them, you can bet they won’t wait five days. You were on the spot. You did the ground work. You must run with this.”

  “What’s happened to Fugarelli?” Ike felt his independence slipping away. He didn’t want to inspect the director’s analysis for fear it was correct.

  “Has pneumonia or something. I think he’s losing his nerve and is coddling his retirement plan, but I could be wrong. And before you ask, I can’t spare Garland. I need him in place, and if he ran this operation, it would blow his cover.”

  “What did I do to deserve this?”

  “Put it down to bad Karma. I need you here in the morning at seven sharp.”

  The line went silent for a moment and then Charlie came back on. “You okay, Ike?”

  “I’m in Picketsville, Charlie. I had a weekend all planned. I don’t even have a car here.”

  “I’ll send one.”

  “No, don’t do that. I’ll tell you what, clear me to land at Fort Belvoir and have a car and driver waiting for me. I’ll fly out tomorrow morning. I’ll call you when I take off. You can figure somewhere around an hour, more or less, for me to get there, and
pick me up.”

  “Done.”

  Ike looked at his phone. The One Missed Call winked at him. He closed it. Ruth came out onto the veranda.

  “There you are. Why aren’t you schmoozing my guests?”

  Ike stared off into the night.

  “Hey, what’s up, Doc? You look sick. Bad booze or bad news?”

  “I have a cold.” He sneezed as if to confirm it.

  “Gesundheit. I know. You promised to give it to me this weekend. See the sacrifices I’m willing to make for you?”

  “The weekend is off. I’m sorry. Something came up.”

  “By the looks of you it’s something serious. You look terrible and it’s not just the cold, is it?”

  “You should see me when I’ve had one of Flora Blevins’ pork chops. Anyway the weekend at the A-frame is out. I have to fly to DC tomorrow around six or six-thirty.”

  “It’s bad serious, isn’t it.”

  “Yes.”

  “You want to tell momma?”

  “I’d love to, but—”

  “You can’t. Damn Charlie Garland anyway. I told you it would end badly.”

  “Did you? I don’t remember.”

  “I did. You may not have heard me, because I said it in the shower last Sunday. But I said it. Are you okay?”

  “Super.”

  A waiter drifted by with canapés and Ike snagged one. One bite and he was looking for a discreet place to spit it out.

  “What on earth is this?”

  “Agnes, my secretary—”

  “Administrative assistant.”

  “Give it a rest, Schwartz. She wanted to help and offered to make an hors d’oeuvre. They are her famous, you should pardon the expression, asparagus roll-ups. They’re ghastly aren’t they?”

  “Better keep them away from Dillon. They could cost you some serious cash.”

  “Right. So you have to go and be a hero. Okay, I know we’re agreed that you are the last Boy Scout in town, and you must go save the world from imminent destruct…” She caught sight of Ike’s expression and gasped. “It’s like that?”

  “I can’t say. It’s important.”

  “Woof, I am not ready for Armageddon. Are you sure? Don’t answer that. We will wind up officially nine-ish, which means everybody will be gone by ten or so. You try to be civilized to all these people. Try not to scare the pants off with dire news—”