He glanced in the mirror, slicked down his hair and straightened his Italian silk tie. It had cost him seventy-five dollars but Sheila said it gave him a presence, whatever that meant. She was okay, could use some grooming in the right way to have a presence—her word—herself. Content with his appearance he left his office. Sheila sat at her desk as he stepped into the outer office.
“You look nice, Scott, I mean Doctor Fiske.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Overton.” Had he looked closer, he would have noticed the unabashed look of admiration on her face. Another man would have been genuinely flattered and possibly concerned. As it was, Fiske merely accepted it as his due. He was, after all, the Acting President. He smiled, gave the knot in his tie one last tweak, and moved down the corridor. Sharp.
A wit once described Academe as the last outpost of medieval governance. In it the president assumes the role of the king and deans and chairmen/women, are the barons. The president, like the king, maintains power because he can allocate space and money. In the case of a college or university, that translates to budget approval and the dispersion of the more liquid grant overhead allowances and FTEs. The trick to running a university, a trick Ruth Harris had to learn early, was the judicious allocation of these assets, thus keeping more barons with you than against you. To do so took guile, an iron constitution, and guts.
Scott Fiske, unfortunately, possessed few of the important characteristics. That would not necessarily be fatal. After all, he was the Acting President—allowances would be made. But the fact that he was ignorant of these shortcomings meant that the barons routinely manhandled him like bullies working over a nerdy kid on the playground during recess. When Ruth returned to her office, assuming she would, she would have some serious fence mending to attend to. Very likely, given her private thoughts about her vice president, she had already planned for it.
Fiske proceeded to the administration conference room and joined the department chairpersons for the scheduled weekly policy meeting. Rarely was policy the topic of these meetings, however. Lately they had devolved into verbal pushing and shoving about whatever issue the “barons” seemed to think important. This day the topic would be messy, but Fiske felt he could handle it. How hard would it be to establish norms for Interpersonal Referencing? The term was his. He intended it to replace “political correctness,” which he believed no longer passed muster. He’d show them how to run a meeting that produced results.
He just hoped the woman with the degree from West Virginia didn’t get smart with his talk about mind control, First Amendment rights, freedom of speech, and coerced censorship. What the hell did that mean? And what was she talking about with Brave New Worlds? Fiske sort of remembered reading that book, and he’d seen the movie 1984 in sociology class twenty years ago, but so what? Everybody agreed some things were not to be said, period. He could live with that and if the hillbilly bitch from the mountains didn’t get it, well tough cookies. Time to move on.
Chapter Nineteen
Charlie lingered over his rapidly cooling carryout coffee to chat with Lee Henry. Sherleen/Charlene had the day off and in her place were two other women who, he was told, also rented chairs in Lee’s Cuttery and Style. He didn’t catch their names, which was unusual for him. He had a prodigious memory for names, places, addresses, and telephone numbers. Ike sometimes referred to him as an idiot savant. Charlie was anything but intellectually challenged and had responded by suggesting that Ike possessed an inordinate quantity of Neanderthal genes in his DNA.
When he returned to the van, Kevin handed him a message. “It’s from the director. He wants you to call and he told me to wipe those names we were so concerned about.”
“Did you?”
“Not yet, waiting to hear from you.”
“Good man.” Charlie stepped out of the van and reclosed the doors. He managed to reach the director’s unlisted number and an aide on the other end put him through.
“Garland? About those names, am I right in assuming this has something to do with Schwartz’s probe into his friend’s accident?”
“Yes, sir, it does.”
“Okay then. Here’s what you need to know about those four names. They are ours, we put them in there, the Bureau knows they are there and is okay with it.”
“Yes, sir. Am I to assume they are plants to monitor possible connections with international organizations?”
“Yes and no. That will do for the moment. I’ve talked to them all and here’s what I want you to do. One of them, Hank Baker, might be able to help you out in this. He has some information that he says could be relevant. I can’t see this being the work of someone on the fringes, but I suppose that’s all Schwartz has to work with at the moment. Anyway, I don’t want Schwartz in this patch of turf at all. I’m just being cautious, mind you, so I want you to interview Baker yourself. Break out of there for a day or two and head to Skokie and hear what he has to say. He may have some other information to pass along to me as well. Two birds, one stone, and all that.”
“Skokie? Odd place for us to lurk isn’t it?” The director did not answer, “Telephone not good then?”
“For a variety of reasons, that is to say, reasons not related to this business, absolutely no. So, no telephone. Fly out and back and use the information as if you’d gleaned it some other way. Clear?”
“What do I tell Ike?”
“Does he know what you do?”
“He’s guessed. Ike is quick. He won’t admit it, but yeah, he knows.”
“Then he won’t have any questions for you if you have to bug out for a couple of days, will he?
“No, sir, I expect he won’t.”
“Good luck. How’s the lady doing, by the way?”
“Holding her own, I think. We remain optimistic.”
“But you don’t know if she’ll make it or not?”
“No.”
“Damn.”
Charlie spent the next hour on the phone making his travel arrangements, details he could have done in five minutes if he did not have to use the Company’s travel booking service.
***
Ike had agreed to meet Charlie for dinner in Lexington. The restaurant was not far from the hospital and it allowed Ike some extra minutes with Ruth. He arrived at the Palms Restaurant a few minutes before Charlie and had a drink in his hand when the latter arrived.
“Charlie, will wonders never cease? You are on time.”
“And you are early. What are the chances of either of those two circumstances repeating singly or coincidently ever again?”
“Not good. So what news do you have for me?”
“Lists are up. Kevin will have the details for you tonight or tomorrow. It appears that as with most groups with an axe to grind with the government, the people you are interested in are primarily headquartered in the DC area. No surprise there. Also, not surprisingly, they have political action committees and money to funnel to congressmen in the form of election campaign contributions and, thereby, the wherewithal to purchase the votes they need to swing the legislation in which they have an interest.”
“No surprises there either. As far as I’m concerned, PAC funds are just legal bribes—the oil that lubricates the machinery of government.”
“Tsk, you have become a cynic in your old age, Ike.”
“Maybe. I’m not feeling terribly bright-eyed these day, that’s for sure.”
“Justifiably. However, do not lose all hope. As quirky as the system often seems, it is still more open and efficient than most countries I have visited. And if you have a problem that needs solving, you can always start your own PAC and buy a solution.”
“Goody.”
The server took their orders and refilled Ike’s glass.
“I must leave you for a few days, I am afraid. Duty in the dark recesses of the Compa
ny requires my presence. But, as the good general once famously said, ‘I shall return.’”
“Where are those dark recesses located, or can’t you say?”
“No secret, I am off to the Windy City, or near enough. Skokie, I think.”
“Interesting. This is real, or some BS you cooked up to make contact with a lady?”
“Ike, is that likely? Why would you think that?”
“Because Eden Saint Clare is also scheduled to travel to Chicago for a few days. It seemed a logical conclusion.”
“Very logical and very wrong. Why is the handsome Mrs. Saint Clare traveling to the Midwest?”
“Personal reasons, I think. Her husband is an Alzheimer’s sufferer and his sister is after Eden for a piece, at least, of the old man’s pension. He is on the last leg of his journey, she says. She goes to Chicago to consult with doctors, lawyers, and Indian chiefs, not to mention morticians.”
“Ah, some humor has returned to my dour friend. Shall I call on her?”
“I think keeping an eye on her would be a good idea. She is about to take a dip in a shark tank. Any help you can give to keep her from being devoured by attorneys who, because there is money involved, will be in a feeding frenzy, will be appreciated.”
“Give me the address of where I can find her and I will do what I can.”
Ike slid Eden’s three-by-five card across the table. Charlie studied it for thirty seconds and pushed it back.
“Got it.”
***
Ida Templeton made a much needed part-time income by working as a temp at the hospital. She had three kids under five at home and so full-time nursing was out of the question, but like many young couples, she and her husband were upside down in their mortgage and a refi not on the radar. She worked shifts, when she could get them, that were opposite those of her husband’s at the county fire department.
Tonight, she’d drawn the ICU. She liked it. Always quiet in the ICU. She looked up from her paperwork and nodded to the doctor as he passed the desk. She thought she recognized him but she’d couldn’t be sure where. She’d only been on this floor once or twice but she was sure it was not in this hospital that she’d seen this doctor. Nice looking, she thought. What other hospital could it have been? Perhaps she’d seen him that week she worked in Roanoke. She shook her head. It would come to her eventually. She gathered her papers together and sat back. An IV alarm sounded. Ms. Harris’ room again. She stood and walked down the corridor, the soles of her sneakers squeaking against the vinyl tile. She rounded the corner and saw the new doc bent over the apparatus.
“Doctor, I’ll do that, thanks.”
He stood abruptly and backed away from the machine, dropping the tubing he held in his hand.
“Doctor?”
“Sorry, I never was very good at these things. Carry on, Nurse.”
He turned and slipped through the doorway and disappeared down the hall. She frowned. Doctors seemed to be younger every year. Or was she getting older? Nah. She adjusted the IV, replaced the bag. The old one was nearly empty anyway and she could save a trip later. Very strange. She would ask who this tall, slick-looking doc was when the charge nurse came back from break. She knew most of the nurses in Rockbridge County by sight, but doctors seemed forgettable. She wondered if that was a significant psychological insight. By the time the charge nurse returned, Ida was busy updating charts and forgot to ask.
Chapter Twenty
Ike met Frank Sutherlin at the Crossroads for breakfast again. It had become part of his routine. He did not want to go to the office, as much as he missed seeing the staff, because of the presence of the mayor in the person of Amos Wickwire. He also did not want to listen to the phone calls and read his mail, and mostly he did not want to talk about Ruth, to answer the questions, to be reminded. And then there was the election to consider. The job of sheriff seemed distant to him now. He’d stubbornly ignored his father’s pleas to campaign. He’d refused to authorize the expenditure of funds for new posters to replace those allegedly defaced by Jack Burns’ supporters. His father overruled him and the posters now adorned most of the street lights and intersections in and around Picketsville.
Ike sat in his usual booth, soothed by the familiar aroma of diner food—in the morning, bacon and coffee. Around noon it would shift to hamburgers and grilled onions, and coffee, and by evening, mostly just coffee. Frank sat down across from him and took the cup of tea offered by Flora, who scowled her disapproval at the thought of a policeman drinking tea rather than the high-octane variety of caffeine she regularly brewed, which she believed a necessary part of any man’s breakfast generally, and a policeman’s, certainly. Frank was, as nearly as Ike could tell, impervious to Flora’s disapproval, and might well be the only male in town who was.
“What’s new this morning, Frank?”
“Ah, nothing much. A couple in Bolton let an argument about their missing and very expensive pedigreed golden retriever escalate into a smackdown, and somehow the wife ended up sticking a steak knife to her husband’s backside. I put Billy on it and told him to stay on it. That way he may stop harassing Jack Burns’ people.”
“Are they still complaining?”
“Oh yeah, they insist that you have charged your deputies with politicking in your favor, and other things as well. I can’t keep an eye on Essie and Billy twenty-four seven so I can’t say what they’re up to.”
“Can’t be helped, I suppose. What else?”
“Ike, it’s none of my business, I guess, but don’t you think you ought to campaign a little? I came over to the sheriff’s office from the highway patrol because of what I believed you represented here. I’m not sure I can work for Burns if he’s elected. The other guys feel the same way.”
“I know, Frank, and I’m sorry. I’ll try to make an event or rally here soon. But right at the moment my heart is not in it. Anything else besides the Bolton ruckus?”
“Some developments in our not-so-suicide. It seems one of his neighbors down by the trailer park where he lived mentioned that he was ‘on to a big score.’ We received a notice from AFIS that his prints matched a person held briefly in Scranton, Pennsylvania, as a possible participant in a drug-related shooting. I called Scranton PD and a very annoyed narc told me that the deceased received immunity for providing information to the cops and that’s probably why he ended up, and very dead, in our jurisdiction.”
“You believe it?”
“Well, it makes sense. It allows us to shift the investigation back to Pennsylvania and clears one off the books.”
“That’s true, but that is not what I asked.”
“Am I buying it? No, I don’t think so. Movies and TV notwithstanding, my experience tells me if he sold out his pals, they would not, more likely could not, have hired a hit man to finish him off while they lolled around in jail. I mean, how’d they pay for it, and wouldn’t it be more likely they’d wait until they were sprung and do the job themselves?”
“I think you’re right. You probably need to stay on it. See if there is a local connection. ‘On to a big score’—that could mean anything, but with his priors all related to drugs, there might be a connection there. I guess the local dopers need to be pulled in and interviewed. As soon as he’s finished with the Bolton business, put Billy on that, too. I don’t want him to have a life until the election is over.”
“Got it. Are you going to eat that donut?”
“No, go for it.”
Frank stood, scooped the donut from Ike’s plate, and left. Ike sat a few more minutes to finish his coffee and then followed Frank out the door. He needed to talk to Kevin.
***
Charlie preferred entering Chicago by the back door, that is to say through Midway rather than O’Hare airport. Before that mega-airport had been built in Orchard, Midway was the entry, but no longer.
As he needed as much anonymity as possible in his prowling in “the dark recesses of the Company,” a smaller airport suited him to a T. Eden would doubtless land in the larger and better served O’Hare so he did not expect to run into her at all.
He was mistaken. Her flight had originated from Roanoke, wandered across the south, and finally landed a few minutes before his direct flight from Washington. He almost ran her down in his dash to the car rental desks.
“Why Mr. Garland. What a surprise. What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be helping Ike?”
“I am, you are correct, but duty called me away for a day or two. You are here on a personal matter, Ike tells me.”
“I am. I must tackle a passel of money-grubbing lawyers and their avaricious client, that is to say my sister-in-law, and other things.” Her face fell with the mention of the last.
“Yes. Well if I can be of any help, please call me.” Charlie made the offer knowing that Eden did not have his phone number or know where he might be reached. He was raised to be polite at least, if not always genuinely accommodating.
“I am fine, I believe, Charlie, but then it is a big town and I have no company this evening. If you are not busy…will you be? If you are not, maybe you will join me for dinner. I am staying at the Drake. You know the Drake?”
“I do. Very nice hotel…lots of history. It’s a Hilton property now, I believe. So you’re at the Drake?” Charlie, of course, already knew that, but a lifetime of caution willed him to keep it to himself. “I am not sure how engaged I will be, but I think dinner could work. Not at the Drake, however. I am required to be invisible right now. I know a place on the west side where I can be that way. Perhaps you could meet me there, say sevenish?”
“A place? Invisible? Mercy, you sound like a man of mystery. Are you, Charlie?”
“It is all a front, Eden, but for a few days, I need not to be seen. Sorry.”
“Really? How exciting. Well, I tell you what, give me the address and I will see you at seven. Oh, wait. What if either of us can’t make it. You can call the hotel to tell me, but how will I contact you?”
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