7 - Rogue: Ike Schwartz Mystery 7

by Frederick Ramsay

  “We need your okay to visit Ruth,” Frank said. “Visitors are limited in the ICU. The lady at the desk asked Essie if she was Agnes Ewalt. I guess she has a pass, that right?”

  “Ike, I don’t look a thing like that dumpy old woman. That nurse had a nerve.”

  “Indeed you don’t, Essie. I think she’s a volunteer and wouldn’t know either of you, so give her a break. Ruth’s mother set up the permission for Agnes, I gather. Do I need to sign something?”

  Frank dropped a slip of paper on the table. Ike turned it around and signed. “Not too long and for God’s sake, Essie, no talk about Jack Burns and the accident.”

  “Ike! I wouldn’t do that. Shoot we’re just going to say ‘Hi’ and all.”

  “Billy, Essie, you two go on ahead. I will join you later. I need a minute with Ike.”

  Frank plunked down opposite Ike. “Couple of things you need to know. I thought you might like an update. We have a connection for the dead guy.”

  “You pulled in the drug users and dealers?”

  “Well, no. We started to and then got a call from the State Police on the missing-but-not-missing truck. Do you know about the latest theft target? Hay. Honest to God, people are stealing hay out of the fields and people’s barns. A farmer up the valley heard about what was going on and went to Radio Shack and bought a surveillance camera with night vision capability. When the thieves hit, he called the cops and they ran the tape.”

  “People are stealing hay?”

  “Hay, yes. With the drought and the increase of small feeder lots and so on, the price of hay and straw has gone up enough to make stealing the stuff worth the risk. It’s a big problem in Britain and in Maricopa County, Arizona, too. I saw that on the Internet. Who’d believe it?”

  “I guess I heard about it, but it never occurred to me that it would be a problem here. What took the State so long to call us?”

  “The farmer’s setup wasn’t very expensive or very good. The pictures were grainy, if that is what digitalized pictures are—probably not—but anyway, they had to tinker with the picture and then only got a partial on the truck’s plate. After that they had to run it through the motor vehicle system computer. They skipped over the college’s vehicle because they couldn’t imagine it would be a likely candidate. Anyway, after they crossed off every other suspect truck, they called us.”

  “Did they see who was driving the thing?”

  “They didn’t say. Some figures in the field but no ID. Like I said the images were kind of raw.”

  “So this leads us where, exactly? I mean, besides knowing that someone at the college was moonlighting as a hay thief.”

  “To Bolton and the next item in the story. It’s fascinating. You remember me telling you about the couple in the area that had the fight about their dog and the husband took a steak knife in his backside?”

  “I do. So, that goes where?”

  “To their barn. These part-time residents of Bolton leased it a month ago. The owner called to complain that his tenant hadn’t paid the rent, had skipped, and had damaged his tractor to boot.”

  “But that wasn’t what the fight was about that produced the coup de derrière?”

  “The what? Oh, no, it was the dog, but it might have been connected. I went out there and took a look. We found the dog dead a few yards from the barn—been shot. I don’t know how badly the tractor was damaged or even how the owner knew. He doesn’t farm the land but leases it to a factory farmer out of Madisonville. There was evidence that a lot of hay had once been stored there, and a sign had been set up on the road nearby advertising hay for sale. Long story short, he identified a picture of Marty Duffy as the guy who rented the barn. Marty was dealing a different sort of weed, apparently.”

  “So the big score he bragged about wasn’t dope after all. You think it was hay?”

  “Don’t know, Ike. I’d have to say probably not. I’m thinking it had to do with something else, something bigger. Tell me, what substance which has a high street value and can easily be stored in a hay mow comes to mind?”

  “You think?”

  “Maybe. A bale of marijuana looks and smells enough like hay to be invisible in a place like that. It’s speculation, but think of the possibilities.”

  “Take the county’s drug-sniffing dog out there and see if it confirms the presence of weed. It has a nose that can detect an ounce in a carload.”

  “Will do.” Frank stirred as if to leave. Ike held up his hand.

  “Try this while you are poking around looking for trace evidence. Duffy used the truck on the weekends and at night, presumably to haul hay. Leave the dope out of the equation for a minute and consider the possibility that he goes to the university to ‘borrow’ the truck and while he’s at it, he sees or hears someone near it or fooling around. Whatever he or she or they are up to looks like an opportunity for him to blackmail someone and so he approaches him/her/them. But instead of shaking them down, he’s snuffed.”

  “As an alternative, I like it. But until the dog with the magic nose says otherwise, I’m putting my money on the drug deal gone sour. Remember, he plied that trade before he came here. Old habits die hard.”

  “You’re probably right. Did you have something else you wanted to tell me?”

  “Oh yeah. Again, you’re not going to like this. Essie and Billy were over in Buena Vista snooping around. Apparently they stirred up a ruckus in a bar over there when they started asking questions about Burns.”

  “Where’s the uproar in that?”

  “Well, it turns out Billy was over his limit in Rolling Rock and proceeded to get very loud. Then Essie jumped on his case, and the upshot is the county cops were called and escorted them out with a warning.”

  “Put a leash on those two, Frank. God knows, I appreciate what they are trying to do but tell them it isn’t helping.”

  “I have, and I will again.” Frank left to join the others and Ike headed to his car and the trip to Arlington.

  Ike closed his eyes and tried to see the humor at the image of midnight hay thieves. It was there but it eluded him. The darkness that followed him through most of his waking hours dropped over his mind like the curtain in a theater. What comes next in this two-penny drama?

  ***

  “Well, hey there, Miz Harris. You’re looking pretty spiffy today. Billy’s here and Frank is coming. He wanted to talk to Ike first ‘fore he got away. We can’t stay long, just came by to say—”

  “Essie, what are you doing? She can’t talk. If she can hear you, you’re just frustrating the bejeezus out of her.”

  “What do you know, Billy? I don’t recall as how you been to medical school anytime lately.”

  “It don’t take a doc to know that, Sweet Cheeks.”

  “Well, I still think she ought to know who’s here and who’s not. If I was laid up like that, you know, and couldn’t move or see or nothing, and I knew they was people in the room I surer’n heck would want to know who they was. Scare me half to death if I couldn’t yell out for help and all if there was a stranger hanging around.”

  “Nnngh.”

  “Did you hear that? She’s trying to say something, Billy.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. Probably agreeing with what I just said…ain’t you, Ms. H?”

  “Nnngh.”

  “See, what I tell you. Say, here’s Frank come to say hi, too. Lordy, we hope you pop out of this soon, because Ike, he’s a mess.”

  “Essie!”

  “Sorry. You rest easy there. We’ll keep Ike straight, don’t you worry.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Ike received Charlie’s text message while waiting in Byron Yeats’ outer office. At first he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Charlie said he’d gone to Chicago on Company busines
s. Judging from the message, that was not the case. Or perhaps he had gone on one unrelated mission and had stumbled on this information by chance. That did not harmonize with Charlie’s normal modus operandi and therefore seemed unlikely. Ike scratched his head and reread the text. The oddity was, Charlie never texted. He claimed he didn’t know how. Yet here it was, and not a simple line or two with abbreviations that took longer to decipher than it would have required to spell the word out. Here were whole paragraphs with names of individuals and organizations. As he knew less about texting than Charlie, or Charlie claimed to, he assumed he’d figured a way to attach a standard keyboard to his phone or make his laptop function like one. Bluetooth? Who knew? Either way, he was impressed. He would ask Charlie how he did it when he saw him next. He saved the message and rose when Yeats’ administrative aide signaled for Ike to go into the main office.

  If a call went out for a slightly over-the-hill, middle-aged but fit college professor, probably teaching the Humanities, Byron Yeats could have come from central casting—tweedy, pipe in the breast pocket, horn-rimmed spectacles, and in need of a haircut—perfect. He greeted Ike cordially and asked if he would like something to drink. Ike declined both green tea and coffee. Thankfully, Yeats did not offer the sherry sitting in a decanter on a sideboard. Ike had had his fill of that beverage at the occasional faculty gatherings Ruth dragged him to on Sunday afternoons. Sherry, as far as Ike was concerned, was only good for cooking, and as an adjunct to split pea soup in lieu of vinegar. He’d been told terrapin soup also benefited from it as well. He’d yet to try that. Soup made from a turtle created a gap in his imaginings.

  “You are an interesting man,” Yeats said as Ike settled into one of a matched pair of leather chairs across from his desk.

  “I am? Why is that, Mr. Yeats?”

  “It’s Doctor Yeats, actually—Sociology, Haverford. You are interesting, at least to me, A, because you are no ordinary sheriff, B, because you are here, I assume, to inquire into the accident involving Doctor Harris, and, C, you are way out of your jurisdiction if you do so. I will refrain from pointing out your past for the moment. It does feature in my estimation, however.”

  “Since you know all these things, you might not want to set my past aside so quickly. If you looked into it, as I am sure you must have, you will have discovered that jurisdictional issues and the niceties of formal interrogation did not loom large on my horizon in the past. That could be the case again if I am looking for a particular killer or, rather, a potential one.”

  “Ah, I see. And you believe I may be one, or am I just harboring one?”

  “Four.”

  “Four? And how did you arrive at that number?”

  “I have my sources. You do run an organization that has in the past shown very strong contrary opinions to the government in general and certain issues in particular and you have attracted the notice of more than one agency because of it.”

  “Ah, the FBI?”

  “Among others.”

  “Surely you do not believe opposing the federal government, or any government for that matter, constitutes sedition. We went through all that with the late, unlamented second president of the United States, if I recall my history.”

  “John Adams, yes and no. I consider it a near sacred duty to oppose authority when there is a clear misuse or abuse of the power entrusted to it.”

  “Then we agree. So what do you see as objectionable about my organization in-as-much as we are in basic agreement?”

  “We are not discussing the fundamental right to disagree. I am drawn here because there is no provision in the Constitution or elsewhere that sanctions violence in the pursuit of that disagreement.”

  “And you are under the impression that Let States Decide is purveying such action?”

  “I am persuaded that possibility exists, though not stated, yes.”

  “You overestimate me and the group I represent.”

  “I think not. You have charted a very public course of action encouraging the members of your group to display their anger at the government.”

  “First Amendment rights, Sheriff. We are guaranteed the right of assembly and freedom of speech, among other things.”

  “The operative word in the amendment is ‘peaceably.’ The right to peaceably assemble. And the First Amendment right to freedom of speech does not, as Justice Holmes said, extend to the right to falsely shout ‘fire’ in a crowded theater. You are pushing the limits of the Constitution in some of your meetings and assemblies. It has consequences you cannot ignore, much as you might wish to.”

  “And I would say to you, define ‘falsely.’ One man’s truth is another’s prevarication. The difficulties, when they arise, stem from the intimidating presence of police and the FBI mingling among our numbers jotting down names, taking pictures, not to mention a biased media. It is not we who are fomenting trouble.”

  “I don’t know whether to reach across this desk and rearrange your teeth or keep up the pretense that I am a gentleman. You said you investigated my past. Are you sure you want to continue in this way? Yeats, you either suffer from gross self-delusion or have become the worst kind of demagogue. I can’t make up my mind which, but in either case I am not interested in debating with you about what I take to be your skewed notions of law and order. I am here because your opposition and reaction to the work of the committee Ruth Harris chaired had near-fatal consequences.”

  “Consequences? What consequences? We oppose it as we opposed the antecedent legislation that established Federal Curriculum Standards. There is no provision in the Constitution or anywhere else establishing Federal oversight of education in the separate states. The Department of Education needs to be eliminated.”

  “Except for the composition of the Legislature, the Presidency, and the Judiciary, there is no provision in the Constitution for the establishment of most of the departments of government. But they exist and you and your organization benefit from their existence. If you are so keen on reform and return to fundamentals, consistency would require you also object to the Departments of Health, Transportation, Commerce, Defense, and all of the regulatory agencies that keep snake oil off the market, banks out of your pocket and, more immediately, your current tax-free status. Am I right?” ”

  “You are, like most liberals, blind to the insidious takeover of our rights by a centralized government.”

  Ike laughed. It hurt to do so. Laughter was no longer part of his program. “I’ve been labeled many things, but you are the first to pin that tag on me. I am not here to debate this. Nor is it my purpose to play Constitutional chess with you. Too much damage has been done to the fabric of society by people like you already. I am here to request from you the addresses and particulars of the names on this list. They are your members, as you know full well, and they lurk on the fringes of your organization. They are like rogue predators. You have provided them sanctuary and a mission. Any or all of them are capable of forcing Ms. Harris off the road.”

  “You say it was not an accident?”

  “Do not toy with me, Yeats, this is personal and I am not in a mood to play games.”

  Yeats finally lit the pipe he’d been stroking with his thumb for the previous fifteen minutes, and disappeared behind a cloud of smoke, which had a significant measure of latakia, if Ike guessed correctly.

  “I will concede that there are in this organization, as with every organization, a fringe of, shall we say, zealots—your rogues, if you will. I mean, look at any group and you will find them. Even in police departments. Surely you have among your employees one or two who will step over the line in the pursuance of a suspect or a lead. In point of fact, you are here out of your jurisdiction chasing after what—revenge? Does that not make you a rogue as well?” Yeats read Ike’s expression. “Did I hit a nerve? I did. So, how do you expect me to be held accountable for the occasional
knuckle dragger who shows up at our rallies?”

  “None of my nerves was even in the neighborhood, much less hit. Those fringe elements are responsible for violence that cannot be justified or excused. You know who these people are because, unless you are an idiot, you have them monitored by your own security people. Please don’t waste my time. I need their current locations and status.”

  “Ah, but as we agreed, you are out of your jurisdiction. Forcing that from me would require a warrant of some sort and you can’t get one, so sorry, not going to happen.”

  Yeats leaned back in his chair in smug silence.

  “You can wipe that supercilious smile off your face. I have something better than a warrant. I will read you a message I received today and when you’ve heard enough, you will tell me what I want to know. You must not have been paying attention. I said this is personal.”

  Ike retrieved Charlie’s text and began reading. When he started to read the list of organizations on the Homeland Security’s watch list he paused from time to time and looked up.

  “Any of these sound familiar? You have a multiplicity of donors, surely one of these…I could ask Homeland Security to check, of course, and then, who knows what might happen? Agents might be here scouring your files, digging into the pasts of your employees and members, perhaps even looking at your books. As I said, who knows where that might lead?”

  Yeats held up his hand, pulled a notepad from his desk, and began writing.

  Having Yeats offer up the data was a start, but Ike had hoped for something better, something more immediate. The disturbing thought darted through his mind that he might be hunting the wrong animal. He pushed it aside.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  A few minutes past seven, Eden’s taxicab pulled up at the address Charlie had given her at the airport, a dingy storefront on an equally dingy street. A window to the right boasted a neon sign which flickered, buzzed, and read, “BAR.” Another to the left announced that “This Bud’s For You,” She didn’t think so. Two suspiciously green evergreens in plastic tubs, looking a little worse for wear, flanked the door itself. Overhead, the elevated tracks rattled as a train rumbled past carrying the last stragglers from the evening rush hour westward. She hesitated a moment before paying her driver. The door, she noticed, though deep in shadows, was painted a bright red and over it, at right angles but hardly visible from the street, hung a sign saying “The End Run.” She stared at the sign for a moment trying to decipher its meaning. She feared Charlie had pulled a very bad practical joke on her. She seriously considered turning back. The cab drove off, leaving her no choice but to push her way in.