7 - Rogue: Ike Schwartz Mystery 7

by Frederick Ramsay

  “Ruthie, your boyfriend thinks I am a monster. So does your aunt Joan, for that matter, but not for the same reason. What do you think? Don’t answer that.” She sighed. What a mess.

  “Your father, in the depths of his dementia, cut me out of his will and left me without a sou. He’s left his entire estate, or what will be left of it after two or three different sets of lawyers finish mining it, to you. My problem has been whether I should contest it or leave it stand. Happily, your Aunt Joan has the same problem. She thinks she should be in the will and might have been in an earlier version. Until I discover what those other ones specify, I dare not touch this last one. That fact, however, gives me a motive to bump you off, Sweetie. Don’t worry, there’s a guard outside the door, so you’re safe.”

  Eden started to cry. She had managed to put off tears since Ike first called her with the news. Either she was tired, or the possibilities she’d just outlined to Ruth and to herself, the awfulness of it all, had finally caught up with her. Probably both. She sat and cried, silently wishing for another life, another day. Anything.

  She couldn’t really blame Ike. After her chat with Charlie Garland the other night, she realized she didn’t know him as well as she thought. But it was enough to know that when it came to Ruth’s safety, he would be ruthless, take no chances, and rule out no possible scenarios however unlikely and potentially embarrassing. Not until he’d exhausted them all. She’d heard the stories about him from Ruth. Some she believed, a few she found almost impossible to take in. She conceded that he was the best thing that had ever happened to her daughter, but…

  Now that Ike was Ruth-less, he’d be ruthless—nice pun, but no help. Damn it, I’m her mother, Ike! How could you? Then again, maybe he didn’t. A guard did make sense. Her instincts told her she might be the problem, her heart wanted to believe otherwise, that Ike had new and disturbing news. She snuffled, and hiccupped, and brought her crying to a halt, took a deep breath, and began to chat with Ruth about her dinner date with Charlie Garland.

  The Janus.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Frank and Ike were seated in Ike’s office. He had agreed to come back in, as it offered the only opportunity for him to see and hear the evidence Grace had gathered from her phone surveillance software. Ike surveyed his desktop. Amos Wickwire had obviously been shuffling through his mail and rearranging the carefully constructed mess Ike had made of the papers, reports, folders, and magazines. His trash can, filled with Styrofoam cups and fast-food wrappers, suggested that Amos had appropriated the office as his lunchroom.

  “Where do you want me to start?” Grace asked.

  “First, the phone calls. Do you have a fix on where they came from?”

  “Yes, but ‘fix’ is not quite an accurate description of what we have. The first one, we know, originated on the Callend University campus. The second—”

  “Wait. Did you say on the campus? Where on the campus? Dorm room, faculty housing? Where?”

  “Well, see, that’s the problem. The best we can do is put it somewhere in or near Old Main.”

  “I thought the triangulation apparatus could pinpoint the location to a few square feet.”

  “Sometimes it can. It depends on the location of the relay towers, how many there are and how close. In Iraq, for example, if a terrorist makes a call on a cell phone, the drone pilots can get a reading that close and drop a rocket down the caller’s shorts. It’s the way the thing was set up. But out here in the sticks, where, let’s face it, the terrorist threat is not considered great, we have fewer towers, farther apart, and a lot less accuracy.”

  “Fewer bars.”

  “Yes. Now if we were in DC or any city, I could tell you exactly where he was because the buildings and—”

  “I get the picture. So, we know the call came from Old Main. You have a time stamp on it, I assume.”

  “Yes, six-twelve p.m., so it’s not likely to be a student. Classes were over and most of that building would be deserted.”

  “Except for administrative offices, security, and janitorial. Can you at least give us an idea which end of the building it came from?

  “South, I think.”

  “Who’d he call?”

  “This number.” Grace handed Ike a slip of paper with a number on it. “It’s another cell phone. We did a crisscross and came up with a name. Sheila Overton.”

  “Who is…wait a minute, I’ll get it…she’s Acting President Fiske’s secretary, or whatever. It was her phone?”

  “Her cell phone, yes. She didn’t answer and the caller didn’t leave a message.”

  “Okay, noted. Next call.”

  “This is the weird one. It was made from the Valley View Mall near the Roanoke Airport. And there is a conversation but it doesn’t make much sense.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  Grace punched the play button on her recording device.

  Hey, Tina it’s me.

  Who?

  It’s me, Tammy, I had to, like, borrow a phone. My battery is, like, dead or something.

  So, who’d you borrow the phone from?

  It’s some old perv, you know? Says his name is Harry, Yeah, like for real? So, how come you’re not here at the mall like you said?

  My mom grounded me.

  Why?

  Because of Danny and, you know, Saturday night when I said I was with you only me and him were at his aunt’s house and—

  “I’ve heard enough, unless ‘the Old Perv’ is identified. Am I correct in assuming he isn’t?”

  “He or she. I doubt it’s a she, but nowadays, you can never be sure. No, no ID, but we have the receiving party’s name and address. So, if you wanted to backtrack to the caller and interview her, you could.”

  Ike nodded, “I’ll send someone from the afternoon shift down. Any more calls made?”

  “One more after twelve that night to the same number as the first. No answer, no message.”

  “From?”

  “Oh, right. Same mall.”

  “So our guy tries to call the Overton woman, fails, goes to a mall in Roanoke, lends his phone to a teenaged girl, and calls Overton again. What do we learn from that?”

  “Whoever used the phone to call Ms. Harris may work at Callend and have access to an office, and knows Sheila Overton.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Anything else would be speculation.”

  “Right, very good. Let’s see the video.”

  “Okay, before I start, I have to tell you that the time stamp made on the sales receipts and the time stamp on the cameras differ by almost five minutes. They are set by different companies. The cash register time is set via an atomic clock, the cameras aren’t. The installer set them. He must have a cheap watch.”

  “Or an expensive one. So, what you’re saying is we have to watch roughly ten minutes of surveillance if we want to be sure.”

  “Yes, and the worst part is, we have no idea if the person who bought the phone is the same as the person who used it.”

  “I should think that’s a given, Grace. Run the tapes.”

  The television flickered and then a grainy black and white picture appeared. An elderly woman with a large shopping bag stood at the counter peeling bills from a wad in her change purse.

  “I’m willing to concede she’s not the ‘Old Perv.’ Why can’t I see the counter and what she’s purchasing?”

  “The installer must have thought a picture of a face and the folks behind were more important than what was on the counter. He hiked the frame up so you can see if he’s holding a gun or not.”

  They watched for five minutes while the cashier rang up sales, bagged purchases, and took the next customer. Some of the bags might have held a phone, but the bu
yers did not qualify in anyone’s mind as potential killers.

  “Whoops, who’s that?” A slight figure wearing a hoodie and sunglasses stepped up to the counter, paid her bill and scooted quickly out of view. “Anybody recognize that girl?”

  “I’m not even sure it’s a girl,” Frank said. “I can make a better case for whoever that is being a boy. Hoodie, shades? How about an underage kid buying cigarettes?”

  “Right. Who’s next?”

  “Little old lady number two followed by…whoa, isn’t that Mrs. Saint Clare?”

  “It is. And look who she is talking to.”

  “Doctor Fiske.”

  “I think we’ve seen enough, Grace, unless you think we should watch it to the end.”

  “There’s nothing more, really. More kids and more little old ladies—of both sexes.”

  “Frank, take Billy or somebody and run out to the university and pick up Fiske.”

  “Ike, I would love to, but on what charge? The call on the phone that night was made in Washington. The attempt on Ruth’s life went down there, too. It is not officially a criminal investigation because the Metro Police haven’t filed one. I think we need to talk to them first, get one on paper at least. Also, we don’t really know it was Fiske who bought the phone. We should get more information, at least enough to drop Fiske on a material witness.”

  “So we don’t have jurisdiction. He won’t know. Go lean on him.”

  “Ike, if we do, and it turns out he’s our guy—”

  “What do you mean, if?”

  “Just that. Ike, I’ve watched you work, and I trust your instincts, but you are still angry and that could get us into trouble here. We have only the thinnest circumstantial evidence so far that he did anything more than stand in line while someone bought a phone. If we bust him, with no case pending anywhere…well. Even if we manage to turn up something real when we bring him in, and he hires a sharp lawyer, none of what he says or we find can be used in evidence.”

  Ike stared at Frank for a full minute, then shook his head and relented. Frank was right.

  “Alright, here’s what you do. First I’ll get the DC cops to initiate a criminal inquiry. They have the tape of the so-called accident. Even if it’s just a paper chase they’ll do it, as a courtesy I think. Then, you go out there and say something like, ‘We have a problem, Doctor Fiske, and maybe you can help us.’ Tell him we heard of the threats coming to the school and does he know anything about them? Then, when he’s relaxed, give him an, ‘Oh by the way, where were you last Sunday night?’ If he’s guilty, he’ll show you something and maybe even do something rash. From what I remember of the guy, he’s convinced he’s too smart to get caught.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  After an hour of playing phone tag with the DC police, Ike finally located someone who not only would listen to him, but might possibly do something. He explained his situation. He described Ruth’s non-accident and his suspicions and the data he’d amassed. The deputy chief, for that was the person he finally wound up speaking with, pulled up Ruth’s accident report and read it to Ike to make sure they were talking about the same case.

  “There’s a note here that says that victim’s fiancé, that would be you I guess, acted aggressively and out of control at the station that night.”

  “Actually it happened the next morning. The desk sergeant was off his feed and I was upset, I guess you could say. I’m sorry about that.”

  “Understandable, under the circumstances.”

  “Yes, well, as I said, I’m sorry if I sounded off to the sergeant. Anyway, that’s the one. Later that morning I reworked the scene when there was enough light to see,” Ike said. He skipped over his opinion of the DC cop’s accident investigation. He didn’t need to annoy them anymore than necessary. He needed their help. He would cut the precinct cops some slack. “I can send you photos and some other data if you want. You should have a record of the traffic surveillance camera tapes I forwarded as well.”

  “Okay, I do. Give me a minute to have a look-see.” Ike waited. “Okay, it appears that the truck deliberately hit the car and pushed it off the road into the pole. Is that what you wanted me to see, Sheriff?”

  “Exactly. That car belonged to me, Chief, and the driver was my fiancée. I have been busting my butt trying to nail down the why and who of it. I couldn’t talk the precinct into a second look that night but I was hoping maybe you could now.”

  “You want us to instigate an investigation?”

  “Yes. I don’t think your guys will have the time or patience to do much, but if it’s an open case, then I can work it at this end.”

  “Do you have any idea why someone would do this?”

  Ike explained the situation at the Department of Education. The threats and his thoughts on political operators living on the fringes of protest groups. He was pretty sure he no longer believed it, but Washington thrived on the dark side of conspiracies and plots against the government. Anything else would be hard to sell. The Deputy Chief didn’t sound convinced, but he bought it.

  “Okay, Sheriff. I’ll order a case review. That should hold you for now. In the meantime, send us what you have. I can’t promise anything, but who knows, somebody has to know something and maybe he’ll spill it when he needs a break from the police when he’s picked up for something else.”

  “Thanks, Chief. I’ll send you what I have and you can give me a case number.”

  Ike hung up. Now he’d have to wait and see what Frank found out in his interview with Fiske, and then he would send Elroy to Roanoke to talk to some kid named Tina who would, in turn and with any luck, lead him to Tammy. She could ID the “Old Perv” and that would be that. He cut a picture of Fiske from the Callend directory and clipped it to the slip of paper with the names and an address of the kid for Elroy. He called Charlie and asked if Kevin, relocated back to DC, had anything new for him.

  “Nada, so far. Mostly he’s eliminated possible candidates. Alibis all.”

  “How about he adds Scott Fiske to the list. Who knows, maybe he’s a sleeper of some sort.”

  “A thought that is not so far-fetched, considering we do it all the time and so does everybody else. There’s no end to spies and spooks lurking in the suburbs, it seems. Old and apparently lost Russian deep plants, Al Qaeda fanatics, and who knows how many North Korean, Chinese, and Venezuelan plants there are.”

  “Venezuelan?”

  “Alas, yes. Not all border crossers are simple folks seeking a better way of life.”

  “Or drug cartel employees.”

  “Them too. Then add to the mix your man’s predilection to write fiction in his résumé. Donnie the Snoop wasn’t tasked to dig into his past, only to check the current listings, but now that you mention it, Fiske could be one of us, so to speak, or maybe once was one of…not us specifically, but us, metaphorically…has a past and…you get the idea.”

  “I do. I don’t think it’s probable but, if he was burned or deep undercover for some reason, you could be right. It’s much more likely he’s hiding from someone or something else. Shady past, perhaps. We, actually that is you—I don’t live in that murky world anymore—can appreciate that.”

  “Never too late to come home.”

  “It is for me. That life is now just a very bad memory.”

  “How’s Ruth?”

  “I don’t know. I’m on my way out there now. The last time I visited, I would swear she tried to make noises, but all she could manage was a little gurgling sound.”

  “Maybe you should ask a simple question and say one gurgle for yes, two for no.”

  “You should be writing for television, Charlie. The hero asks all the wrong questions, the comatose woman is trying to say, ‘Look out behind you!’ and he wants to know if she needs her pillow fluffed.”

 
“You saw that program, too?”

  “What? No, I…never mind. I’ll take a miss on the dramatics, if it’s all the same to you. I’d rather not ask any more of Ruth than she already has to deal with. All I know is she is trying to talk. That’s a good sign. It means she’s gaining. So, I’ll wait. Will you see if Kevin can dig out anything more on Scott Fiske? He spells it with a final E but he may have begun life without it. As you say, we have what your pal Donnie says he isn’t. I’d like to know who he is, or maybe, who he was.”

  Ike hung up and headed to the hospital. Maybe Charlie was right. Should he try one if yes, two if no and three for…for what? And what on earth would he ask her? Yes and no doesn’t help much if you don’t know what you’re after.

  ***

  Jorge Escobar landed the job with the Parks Department three months earlier. He was proud of the fact that in a bad economy, he could find work and support his family. It was part-time and it didn’t offer benefits, but the boss told him as soon as things picked up, he’d be first in line to be taken on full time. His duties involved making the rounds to the town’s park sites and maintaining them. He drove to the first of the day’s jobs, a small park on the west side. He pulled the truck with its trailer full of mowers and tools into the graveled pull-off. Another, older truck sat at the far end of the parking area near an overhanging clump of trees. He scanned toe tables and charcoal pits but didn’t see any sign of activity.

  He grabbed his tools. He would police the area first. These picnickers, they didn’t care how they left things. Bottles, cans, trash everywhere. Cerdos. Then he would mow the grass around the tables, empty the big trash barrels, and check to make sure everything was in good working order. Sometimes the kids from the university had parties here and they would leave things in a mess. Once one of the charcoal grills had been torn off its post and left in the spot-a-pot. He was happy that maintaining that little blue building was somebody else’s problemo. This area was small compared to some of the other facilities he had to clean and maintain. It took him a little less than an hour to finish up. He heaved the trash bags into the back of his truck, reloaded the mower onto the trailer, and then went to check out the pickup truck parked at the other end of the lot.