5 - Choker: Ike Schwartz Mystery 5

by Frederick Ramsay

  “It’s really big, isn’t it? I don’t know anything about hunting waterfowl, but that thing looks like if could hold a football team. Do they make them that big?”

  “Never seen one like that, no sir. And it ain’t got no floor. Hard to see how them city slicker hunters are going to shoot out of that thing if they ain’t got no place to stand.”

  “Do you suppose they sit in boats?”

  “Don’t rightly know, but even with a flood tide and standing straight up, they’d be hard put to get a gun over the top of that thing. Probably fixin’ to floor it over later.” The blind fell off to the stern.

  “Swing around and go by again.”

  Bunky pulled the tiller over and the boat made an easy three-sixty. They cruised by again with the blind on their port side. Bunky concentrated on the tiller and the depth finder. Ike unslung his camera and quick-shot twenty pictures.

  “Whoa, up there. You got that dingus plugged in?”

  “Yes. It’s on and seems to be working okay.”

  “Well, something’s not right.” He swung the craft around again and throttled the engine back to slow trolling speed. “Look at the bottom there.”

  Ike looked. What am I supposed to see?”

  “A twelve-foot deep trench for a sailboat. It ain’t there at all. If they didn’t dredge a trench, where’d all that spoil come from?”

  Ike looked to the shore and the new bulkhead. It had been partially decked over but appeared to be completely backfilled with dredged bottom.

  Where indeed?

  Chapter 22

  Ashley Starkey arrived twenty minutes early for her appointment. Blake found her in the sanctuary staring at the large carved figure of an ascendant Christ fastened to the wooden cross on the wall over the altar.

  “Father Blake,” she said as he crossed the chancel to her, “How come this Jesus has clothes on and isn’t, like, nailed up like the one in the Catholic Church?”

  “It’s supposed to represent a resurrected Christ. The image you’re thinking of is properly called a crucifix. In that configuration, Jesus is dead. It’s before he is buried. In this one he is alive—risen.”

  “Umm…” Ashley seemed to have difficulty getting her mind around the difference.

  “Look at it this way. A crucifix shows the Good Friday message, this one is about Easter.”

  “Down to the Methodist Church the cross is, like, empty.”

  “That sends a different message, Ashley.” Blake realized that iconology and the meaning of sacred symbols were probably lost on a twelve-year-old. “So, you wanted to see me. Come on in the office and have a seat.”

  Blake ushered the girl through the Sacristy and into his office. Gloria left her desk and joined them.

  “Why’s she here?” the girl asked, apparently unaware of how rude she sounded. Blake guessed she’d acquired the tone from parents who routinely assumed their heritage and wealth gave them license to assume an air of superiority, a posture others took for arrogance. Gloria received the remark with a thin smile and Blake let it pass. Kids.

  “There is a new policy from the Diocese that requires either the door stay open or a secretary sit in when there is a minor in the room with a priest.” Blake knew he stretched the truth on that one. The Diocese’s chancellor had sent a memo making that only a recommendation, a suggestion. Ashley looked doubtful. “Gloria can sit outside with the door ajar if you’d rather.” If Ashley had any plans to compromise Blake in any way, surely, she’d hem and haw, and soon take a powder.

  “It’s okay, I guess.” She said and sat opposite Blake.

  “So what’s on your mind, Ashley?”

  She screwed up her face in what Blake assumed was an expression of earnest concentration. While she gathered her thoughts, he studied the girl. Some preteens, he’d discovered, were consummate liars. Others couldn’t dupe an idiot. He would wait and see what this one could do. Ashley sat in a semislouch. She was at that stage when girls are on the brink of turning into swans after their preteen duckling years. She was freckled and gawky. Her teeth seemed too big for her mouth and her feet the same for her legs. Girls, he’d been told by his sister, who’d raised one, grew into their feet. If that were so, Ashley would someday become statuesque. The bone structure and proportions were certainly there. Ashley would break some hearts in a few years. Right now, however, she remained a kid, all elbows and knees.

  “It’s like this,” she said and paused again while she rearranged her face into what Blake guessed was her serious expression. “I have, like, this friend and she might be in trouble.”

  Blake had become familiar with the teenager circumlocution of “a friend in trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble would your friend be in?” Blake did not ordinarily refer kids to Planned Parenthood. He didn’t feel as strongly about abortion as many of his colleagues, but at the same time, he thought that, in most cases, such an action should involve the families—particularly with girls as young as Ashley. Lord, he thought, this can’t be a pregnancy. She’s only twelve!

  “Well, people are asking her to do weird things, you know?”

  Not an abortion. Blake breathed a silent sigh of relief and allowed as how he did not know. “Weird, what do you mean, weird?”

  “Like, you know the place where the kids hang out…out in the park?”

  “You mean the Pit?”

  “Nobody calls it that any more. Jeeze, my mom calls it that. Like, it’s the olden times or something.”

  “But is that where you mean?”

  “Yeah, only now they call it the Cauldron. Neat, huh?”

  “Very neat. What sort of weird stuff?”

  “This guy I know…my friend knows, is into some, like, really strange religious stuff. That’s why I thought I should talk to you on account of you know about religion and things.”

  “Someone is doing weird religious things out in the park, in the Cauldron, is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yeah, he wants…my friend to…” Ashley paused and seemed to weigh whether she should continue. “There’s a rule that you can’t tell secrets that people tell you. Is that right?”

  “You mean like the seal of the confessional? Yes and no, Ashley. I wouldn’t keep a murder from the police, or child abuse. It’s not what most people would say, but that’s my rule, and I tell people that up-front if they want to confess. But you’re not here to confess to anything like that, are you?’

  “Confess? Oh, my gawd, no.”

  “Okay. Then just tell me about your friend, so that I can give you my take on what she should do. It’s not like your friend’s confessing, is it?”

  Ashley turned that over in her mind. Her new expression said confused. “Okay, I guess. Like, there’s this kid in school, you know, and he’s doing, like, this Satan ceremony out there. He says it’s Christian and all, so it’s okay.”

  “Did he call it the Church of LaVey, or something like that?”

  “No, I don’t think so. But he said lots of movie stars did it. The Cauldron, that’s where they meet.”

  “First thing, Ashley, Christian and Satan worship is an oxymoron.”

  “He’s not a moron, Father Blake, he’s like, real smart, only not in school.”

  “Oxymoron means mutually exclusive. You can’t be one if you’re the other, you see?” Ashley didn’t. “Like jumbo shrimp, or guest host.” Still no glimmer of comprehension. “Okay, so what else?”

  “Umm, well, they meet in the Cauldron and he’s doing this religious thing out there.”

  “What’s the weird part?” Blake didn’t really want to hear what he was sure would come next, but he knew he should, and then if what he guessed were true, he had some work ahead of him that would not win him many friends.

  “They want some blood.”

  “What? Blood? What kind of blood?”

  “They want me to give them some blood.” All pretense of an anonymous friend had disappeared. Gloria shifted in her chair and leaned forward tow
ard the obviously frightened girl.

  “Why do they want you to give them some blood, honey?” she said. Her voice was calm and soothing. Blake was grateful for the intervention. His instinct would have been to yell.

  “Like, they want to use it…” she turned her eyes on Blake…“like you do.”

  “Like I do…Like I do what?”

  “You know, in the cup on Sunday. You say ‘This is my blood.’ In confirmation class they said it was, like, Jesus’ blood and all. Chad says they do the same thing.”

  “Chad. That’s your sister’s boy friend?”

  “Yeah. Only he’s not the one doing the priesty stuff. He’s just into it, you know.”

  Gloria cut in again. “Why you, Ashley? Do you go to the religious things?”

  “Jeeze, no. But my sister does. She…she does stuff out there that is…”

  “Is what, Ashley?”

  “I can’t tell. She’ll kill me if I do.”

  Blake realized Gloria had a much better sense of how to handle the girl than he, and he settled back in his chair to listen.

  “What do they want to do with the blood?”

  “That’s the really weird part. They, like, you know in the communion service? They want to drink it.”

  Gloria blinked and glanced at Blake, who breathed slowly in and held his breath.

  “You did say drink?”

  “Yeah. It’s gross. Like they mix water or wine or something with it so they don’t, like, need a lot. Like you do, Father Blake.”

  Blake exhaled and started to say something but Gloria went on. “So why not your sister’s blood?” Ashley studied the pink laces on her Reeboks and pursed her lips.

  “Ashley?”

  “Like they said they needed blood from somebody who’s, you know…never done it.”

  “They need it from a virgin, is that what you mean?”

  A tear rolled down the girl’s cheek. “Yes, ma’am.” Gloria sat back and folded her hands.

  “You don’t want to do that, do you?”

  “No. It’s too weird.”

  “Ashley, I’m sure your parents have given you the talk about your right to your body and your right to say no.”

  “Yeah, but this is different than…you know…it’s not like it’s sex.”

  “Actually, it’s not different, Ashley. Tattoos, sex, piercings, touching, and even personal sharing are decisions you make. It’s your right. And my advice to you is just say no. Father Blake, you agree?”

  Blake roused himself from momentary shock and agreed. “And you might alert your parents,” he said. The chances that she would were slim at best. He just hoped she could resist the peer pressure that would be put on her by her sister and the boyfriend and hold off giving blood. Gloria handed the girl a tissue and led her out. When she returned she looked at Blake.

  “What do you make of that?”

  “Do you think she told us the truth?”

  “No idea. It’s hard to take in, though.”

  “If she’s lying, what is she after? The whole thing is too bizarre. You think she’s trying to get her sister and her boyfriend in trouble?”

  Gloria shrugged. “But to call that nonsense Christian…”

  “Unfortunately, it’s not that odd or uncommon. Christian Satanists are people who’ve been raised Christians. They believe the principles of Christianity, but they choose to worship the figure of Satan rather than Christ. Their primary motivation is rebellion. I gather they make up their worship services as they go along. In this case they’re just aping ours. It may or may not lead to something darker, or it may, like most acting out, go away as the kids mature. But this sounds like it’s getting dark and dangerous.”

  “Whew. I don’t think she made that story up. Father Blake. I don’t know if it’s true, but I think she believes it, and she’s upset—scared. So, what do you do now, boss man?”

  “I wonder if my father’s offer to make me a stock broker is still good.”

  Chapter 23

  Ike couldn’t think of any reason to continue to check the depths behind the duck blind. Several runs in front of, and at various locations south and north, failed to turn up the missing trench. The bottom out from the blind did seem unusually deep. Ike checked his map and even allowing for high tide, the depth was well off that indicated. Bunky declared that the maps, being a government product, were probably wrong. He repeated his “man and boy” speech and declared in his remembrance this particular stretch of water had a bit of a shelf. Ike jotted down the readings anyway and then asked him to cruise the area where he thought he’d seen the disturbance in the Bay’s surface. Once Bunky got the idea of running a grid pattern, he managed very well.

  Ike started with a quarter-mile square and then increased it another two hundred yards. He nearly gave up in despair after two more hours of motoring back and forth. Bunky, meanwhile, contented himself with navigating the back and forth and tending to his fishing rod. He hooked three big rockfish which took the place of some by-now empty beer cans. He said he figured his day a complete success, even if Ike didn’t. On the last pass through the square, the depth-finder showed a disturbance of some sort on the bottom. Thirty seconds later it indicated a second, smaller one. He had Bunky crisscross the area eight times from different compass points, and each time he logged the coordinates into the GPU. Satisfied he’d done all he could, he told Bunky to head for home. The sun glowed on the western horizon. Bunky pointed toward it.

  “That there what you see sticking up in the sun is the dome on the state capitol. Maybe the oldest in the country. Well, I ain’t sure about it being the oldest, but pert near. Old George Washington gave up his commission in there. Historical is what it is. And that’s where today’s politicians gave up the Bay to the developers. I’d like to blow it to Kingdom Come along with that dinged duck blind.”

  Ike settled on the motor housing and packed away his equipment. Tomorrow he’d fly to Martin State and take the GPU along. He wanted to see what that particular stretch of water looked like from the air and, using the GPU, planned to fly over the same spot. He’d turned his phone off early in the morning. Now, relaxing in the boat with the sun setting at his back, he toggled it on. “One missed call,” the face announced. He pushed View and read “Unknown Caller.” Charlie. He ignored it and called his office in Picketsville instead. He hadn’t checked in for days. He didn’t think he’d be missed, but you never knew. Frank Sutherlin picked up.

  “Frank, what’s up in God’s country?”

  “Ike? Ho. Well, not much to tell the truth. You picked a good time to go off. We had a dust-up at Gary’s Grill. Coupla locals took exception to some visitors from Washington and Lee who came over to date some Callend girls. But nobody got hurt and they all left.”

  “Sounds familiar.”

  “The women were field hockey players who finished practice early. Can’t imagine what the coach is going to think about them out drinking on a week night. Hey, do you think that now Callend is gone coed, they’ll put together a football team?”

  “I wouldn’t count on it. The male students are coming from a business school. Not too many offensive tackles in an MBA program. Anything else?”

  “Well, the Reverend down at the Stonewall Jackson church is missing some silver, and Esther Peepers lost her cat. That’s pretty much it.”

  “What about the silver? Someone took it from the church?”

  “Yeah, seems like. No sign anybody broke in, and nothing turned up in the reports from pawn shops and jewelry stores. Don’t know what to make of it.”

  “No sign of a break-in means whoever took the things had a key and the combination to the safe. I know there are probably two or three dozen keys in circulation, but there can’t be that many people who have the combination to the safe.”

  “Yeah, you’d think so, but it turns out there’s a problem with that, too. My ma helps out down there and she says the combination is written in pencil on the back side of the closet door in the room
that has the safe. They didn’t figure a thief would look there, and the ladies had trouble remembering it. So, it narrows the field down to the ladies who volunteer, those who have volunteered, the people who sit on the vestry, who sat on it at one time or another, and…well we’re back to about three dozen.”

  “Don’t they change the combination?”

  “Ma said they did—yesterday. And then wrote the new one up in the same closet. I tell you, if that church’s insurance agent gets wind of this, they’re out of luck collecting.”

  “Still, I expect between you, your mother, and the Reverend, you can narrow it down pretty good.”

  “Yeah, I reckon. How well do you know the Reverend?”

  “Not well. He had a shooting in that church a year ago, and that’s when I came to know him. Seems okay for someone from Philadelphia. Why do you ask?”

  “He’s got a bee in his bonnet about devil worship. Caused a ruckus up at the school and has the Starkeys all bent out of shape. They’ve been calling around.”

  “You did say ‘devil worship’?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, stay on it, Frank. From what I know about Fisher, he’s not the type to get hysterical. It might be worth a minute to hear him out.”

  “Okay, Ike, will do. How’s the vacation going?”

  “Great. Sun, sand, and nothing to do all day.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot, Billy and Essie say ‘hi,’ and I should tell you Essie is in the family way.”

  “Well, that’s just grand. We’re going to need a substitute dispatcher in a few months, it seems. Back to Fisher, you might ask Sam to do a search on the topic. She’s as good as they come in finding out things. Ask her to Google Satanism. Um…you might have her add something about kids and Satanism or…juvenile. Like that.”

  Ike closed the phone and thought about missing silverware, Esther Peepers’ missing cat, and the devil. At this remove, he couldn’t know, but he’d bet a dollar they were connected somehow. The boat cleared the northern tip of Rich Point and turned east. Ike pulled up the message from Charlie and connected. He answered on the second ring.

  “Where are you, Ike? You were supposed to keep your phone on.”