4 - Stranger Room: Ike Schwartz Mystery 4

by Frederick Ramsay

“Thanks for sharing, I’ll take a miss.” Ike turned to leave. Ruth repacked her lunch and cocked her head.

  “Dirty copper.”

  “Excuse me. What did you say?”

  “I was thinking about your pennies. That was an old joke when I was a kid. Question…How’s a penny like Officer O’Hara? Answer…they’re both dirty coppers. Get it?”

  “Goodbye. One more like that and I’d have to run you in.”

  “Would that involve handcuffs? Because if it did, I might be persuaded to take the afternoon off…”

  “I wish. But no, I need to call on a local aristocrat today. I’ll check back with you about your arrest later.”

  “You’ll never take me alive, Copper.”

  Chapter 41

  Ike found Sam in her office playing computer solitaire on one of the several screens arrayed across her desk.

  “The black four can go on the red five at the far end,” he said.

  Sam jumped. “You startled me, Ike. Don’t do that.”

  Ike recalled Karl’s description of Sam when the rock came through their window and glanced at her hip. No holster, no Glock. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to. Aren’t you supposed to be in a car on patrol?”

  Sam’s jaw dropped. “What time is it?”

  Ike told her.

  “I lost track of the time. I haven’t even had lunch.”

  “Neither have I. In any case, I need you to go with me to interview Jonathan Lydell. We’ll stop at a deli and pick up something to eat on the way.”

  “You’re going to accuse Lydell?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. His grandson, the lawyer, is visiting and we may not be able to do much, but I want him worrying about what we might know.”

  ***

  They sat in the car, shaded by hundred-year-old oak trees, and studied Lydell’s house a hundred yards away and across the street. Sam finished her Boca burger and diet soda and waited, her hands folded in her lap. Ike wiped the last bit of mayonnaise from his lips, crumpled the sandwich wrapper and said, “You ready?”

  “Yes, as ready as I’ll ever be. I’ve never had to do this before.”

  “Just stay cool and detached. Whatever you do, don’t let him know you’re rattled or intimidated—even if you are. Remember, we’re the police. We are the authorities. He is under investigation. We don’t need to explain anything to him. He has to explain everything to us.”

  “Until he lawyers up.”

  “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen too soon.”

  Sam put the car in gear and they glided to Lydell’s front door, parked, and stepped out. Ike reached into the backseat and grabbed a fat folder.

  “Remember, Sam, you’re in reserve. I’m going to push him on the daughter thing. I don’t want him to know everything and then have him go legal on us. I have a hunch we may peel his grandson, the lawyer, loose if we play this right.”

  Lydell answered their knock. The annoyed expression on his face made it clear he wasn’t expecting them or anyone else.

  “Sheriff,” he said, and peered around the door jamb as if expecting more deputies to appear. “What can I do for you? This is quite unexpected. I’m in the midst of arranging my daughter’s funeral. I have called the Governor’s office. He’s a busy man and may not be able to…why are you here?”

  “Actually, we have a few questions that just can’t be answered from the reports and your previous statements. About your daughter’s accident—”

  “You never quit, do you, Sheriff?”

  “Do you mind if we come in? Perhaps your grandson should be here.”

  “My grandson? You think I need a lawyer?”

  “No, no, certainly not, but it does concern his mother, after all.”

  Ike stepped around Lydell and found a place on an overstuffed settee. Sam, following his lead, chose a comb-back Hitchcock chair and perched on its edge. Lydell seemed taken aback by Ike, and retreated into the room. He found a place behind his desk, called his grandson who entered from the back of the house, and the four, arranged in a rough circle, stared at one another, waiting.

  “Mr. Lydell, here is the problem…” Ike paused and shuffled some papers he’d removed from the manila folder he’d brought. He sighed and shook his head sadly.

  “Problem? Problem? See here, Sheriff, I am tired of this constant harassment. I have told you, repeatedly, what happened. It is unconscionable that at this time…in the midst of my making funeral arrangements, you barge into my house just as you please and start in on this…this…witch hunt.”

  “I am sorry to bother you at this time but, as your grandson will tell you, loose ends are a policeman’s bane. We hate them, and I don’t want to be the one to hold up the funeral over a detail that surely you can explain.”

  “What loose ends? What detail,” Lydell nearly shouted. “There are no loose ends. She fell. That’s it.”

  Ike ignored Lydell and pulled one sheet of paper from the stack on his lap. “We have your statement that you were at the foot of the stairs and your daughter was at the top—”

  “Yes, yes, where is this going?”

  “We have a witness, the same that heard you arguing, who says you and your daughter were both at the top of the stairs at the time. Upstairs, you understand.”

  “He’s mistaken.”

  Ben Winslow had been lounging on a sofa. At Ike’s words, he sat bolt upright. “Say that again.”

  “The witness who heard the argument between your mother and your grandfather, places them both at the top of the stairs, and will also testify that while he did not hear the full content of the dispute, it most certainly was not about the evening’s dinner menu.”

  “I won’t have any more of this.” Lydell’s face had gone from pasty gray to scarlet. “You barge in here and say these awful things. Who is this witness, anyway? It’s probably that idiot Henry Sutherlin. That whole family is dimwitted.”

  Sam watched this exchange with growing amazement. Ike brushed aside this last outburst.

  “I just wondered if you’d like to amend your statement.”

  Winslow stared unblinking at his grandfather. Sam thought, if looks could kill, they’d have another homicide on their hands.

  Lydell caught his grandson’s look and began to sputter. “I…I…”

  “We’ll let you think about that for a moment. There is one other thing.”

  Lydell slumped back in his chair and fiddled with his watch chain. Sam wondered about his dress. How many people wore vests and riding jodhpurs around the house?

  “We have been tracking the murdered man, Grotz. You said, when we talked…” Ike pulled another sheet of paper free from his folder and read, “‘There’s nothing to tell. I never met the man before, had nothing to say to him. He collected his key and went to his room.’ And I asked, ‘That’s it?’ And you replied, ‘He was from up north somewhere, I think he said.’ Is that the substance of your statement?”

  “I said it. I do not equivocate, Sheriff.”

  “Sam, fill Mr. Lydell in on what you discovered about Mr. Grotz’s reading habits.” Sam hesitated. Ike shook his head fractionally. “Just Mr. Grotz’s reading habits,” Ike emphasized, “that’s all.”

  He did not ask for the whole story, just enough to make Lydell wonder what they really knew. She collected her thoughts and then outlined the information they’d gleaned from the various sources in New Jersey. Nothing specific, just suggestive. Ike nodded as she recited her brief version of the story. When she finished, he turned back to Lydell.

  “Apparently, he’d been studying your books and he was more than eager to switch places with another traveler to use your stranger room. It seems unlikely he wouldn’t try to strike up a conversation with you. Wouldn’t you say? I mean it would seem like he was a fan of yours. He didn’t mention your books?”

  Lydell squirmed in his chair. “Now that you mention it, he may have. I don’t remember.”

  “May have.” Ike scribbled something on the paper in his hand. “I see. He
also had some documents pertaining to a Mr. Brian in his possession, we think. He didn’t mention, by any chance, them to you, did he?”

  Winslow held up his hand. “I think that’s all, Sheriff. You are fishing. If you have a specific charge you wish to place against my grandfather, please do so. Otherwise, this interview is over.”

  Lydell recovered enough to rise and add, “And you are in this house against my wishes. You will leave and not come back.”

  Ike stood and motioned for Sam to do the same. “We will leave, but I promise you we will be back and with a search warrant. And when we do, we will tear this house apart. Good day, Mr. Lydell, Counselor.”

  He led Sam out the door, down the steps to the car. When they had driven for five minutes Ike turned to Sam. “You write up what you told us this morning and go to the judge for a warrant. I want that bastard.”

  Chapter 42

  Winslow watched the two police officers leave. He waited until their car turned the corner and headed back toward Picketsville and then turned on his grandfather.

  “What did you do?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t appreciate your tone of voice.”

  “I don’t give a damn whether you like my tone of voice or not, old man. That sheriff knows something—”

  “He doesn’t know anything. Why he’s just a—”

  “He knows a whole lot more than he’s letting on. What did you do?”

  “A man like that. What can he know? I mean this is Picketsville. He’s a hack politician’s son.”

  “I looked him up, Grandfather. He’s a graduate of Harvard undergrad and Yale law. He served in the CIA, I think. The record is a little vague on that. He is tough and smart. You can believe what you want to about Jews, country folk, and Black Americans, and all the other people who don’t measure up to your social standard. I don’t care. But you underestimate that man at your peril. I’ll ask you one last time, what did you do?”

  “Your mother falling down the stairs was an accident, I swear it.”

  Winslow paced the living room. A piece of carpeting placed near the coffee table, apparently to cover an old stain, snagged his toe and he almost tripped. He kicked at the carpet. “You are going to need a good lawyer, grandfather.”

  “You’re my lawyer. You said so this morning.”

  “I try civil cases. Criminal law is out of my area.”

  “Criminal? I am not a criminal.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “You shouldn’t listen to those people, they—”

  “Shut up! I am weary of hearing you go on about ‘those people.’ You may be the last of the Bellmore Lydells. I may be your blood, but I will not buy into your bigotry. And I will not defend you in court.”

  “Court? There will be no court. They can’t prove anything. The man was found dead in a locked room. How can I be going to court?”

  “That sheriff is smart enough to put together a prima facie case and he will take it to a grand jury and get an indictment. What happens after that is problematical, but everyone is going to hear what he has to say and, prosecution or no, you can kiss your connections at the statehouse and any of the friends, organizations, and honorifics you hold so dear, goodbye. Do you understand?”

  “This is nonsense. I am Jonathan Lydell. I am not some share cropper, some janitor’s son. They wouldn’t dare.”

  “They will dare, and happily. I will get you the best lawyer I can find locally. You are still family and that’s the least I can do. And then I’m going back to Richmond. I don’t know what happened between you and mother. The possibilities suggested by Schwartz scare the hell out of me. So, I don’t want to know. You talk to your lawyer. Come up with something. And you’re right. The locked room protects you if, in fact, you need protection.”

  “You can’t leave.”

  “They will be back here soon with a search warrant. I am constrained by professional ethics from saying this, so we will pretend I didn’t, but a word to the wise, get rid of anything that might even suggest you had anything to do with anything. Burn it, shred it, bury it under a ton of manure, but get rid of it.”

  Winslow retreated upstairs. When he came down he had his bag in his hand.

  “I called a firm in Winchester. They are very good at criminal law. They will call on you tomorrow.”

  “But your mother’s funeral—”

  “Start without me.”

  ***

  Essie huddled in the corner like a kitten confronted by pit bulls. The dogs in question were leaning across the booking counter. Ike had no idea what they’d said to her before he entered, but it apparently frightened Essie. The men turned as Sam and Ike entered. Randy LeBrun he knew. A stockier and shorter version of his brother, he had the same malevolent look and posture. The nondescript man next to him, he didn’t know. He seemed merely scruffy. Ike gestured toward the men.

  “Sam, you know Randy Lebrun and…” he turned to LeBrun’s companion, “excuse me, I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

  “Oscar Benoit.”

  “…and his friend, Oscar.” Sam took the two men in with a nod. “What can I do for you, Randy?”

  “I came to settle a few things.”

  “That wouldn’t include threatening my dispatcher, I hope.”

  “She sold George out. He’s in the slammer because of her.”

  “He’s in the slammer where he won’t ever come out for kidnapping, possession, and for ramming a ten inch spike into your cousin, not to mention threatening to kill two of my deputies and my dispatcher.”

  “None of it would have happened but for little Missy there.”

  Ike turned to Sam while LeBrun spoke and muttered something in her ear. She frowned. “Probable cause,” he said, and turned back to Randy LeBrun. Sam grabbed Charlie Picket by the arm and left.

  “How do you figure that?”

  “George, he was just a little shaky from the meth. He didn’t mean nothing. Murder ain’t in his nature.”

  “Tell that to Daryll’s mother.”

  “Daryll had no business talking out of turn. He musta’ really riled George to bring that on himself.”

  “I must say, Randy, you have a unique take on personal responsibility. Next thing you’re going to tell me is you want to file a wrongful death suit against the department.”

  “I maybe might just do that.”

  “In that case you should probably check out the scene of the crime, as we say.” Ike led him and Oscar Benoit to the cell once occupied by George LeBrun. The two men stepped in and Ike slammed to door closed.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” Randy yelled.

  “Your cousin Daryll sang like a bird. One whole chorus was about you, Randy, and Oscar, thank you for identifying yourself. You had a verse or two as well. We’re holding you on suspicion of drug trafficking. My deputies are turning your tractor inside out as we speak. What do you want to bet they will find drugs in the compartment under the seat?”

  “You can’t do this, Cop.”

  “I can. I am.”

  Sam and Charlie returned with a block of what could be uncut cocaine and several blocks of weed.

  “There’s more,” Sam said. “This is just the start.”

  “It looks like you are going to be guests of the township for a while, gentlemen. Make yourself comfortable. You will be booked on as many charges as I can dream up, and that includes assault on Miss Falco. You each get a phone call.”

  “Assault? We never touched her.”

  “That would be battery. Assault is the crap you threatened her with before I came in. You and your brother are going to be spending some time together soon. Family reunion, you might say. Oh, and by the way, since your rig was where we found the stuff, it now belongs to the government. Have a nice day.”

  Ike turned his back and a deaf ear to the cursing coming from the cell. He gave a thumbs up to Sam and Charlie. Essie seemed calmer now that the men were behind bars.

  “I
ke, how much time you think he’ll get?” she asked.

  “Hard to say. But we’re not done with him. If we can show he had anything to do with Daryll Jenkins’ murder, and I think we can, he’ll be in for accessory at least and that could be stretched to murder one. Either way, he’s in for a long time. You’ll be a grandmother before he’s sprung.”

  Essie looked relieved. Ike hoped what he’d said to her was true. But, he knew the vagaries of the judicial system and nothing was a lock anymore.

  He went to his office and pulled the evidence bag containing the tree stump materials from his desk drawer where he’d dumped them in the morning. He needed to look at the key once more.

  Chapter 43

  Ruth’s office door stood ajar. Agnes nodded to Ike and stood. She gathered her purse and a quilted bag Ike guessed had contained her lunch and started to leave. It would take a while to get used to an amicable Agnes. He waited for the next shoe to drop.

  “How was quilt camp?”

  Agnes beamed. “Wonderful. President Harris, I mean, Ruth, says you may be taking a vacation soon.”

  “It’s a possibility, Agnes. Are you off somewhere?”

  “It’s nearly five, Sheriff.”

  Ike glanced at his watch. It was. He smiled Agnes out and peered around the lintel of the inner office door. Ruth, her back to him, finished a phone call.

  “So where are we, or more accurately, where are you, Madam President?”

  Ruth started and spun her chair around. “Holy cow, you scared the hell out of me, Ike. What are you doing here this late in the day?”

  “Checking up on my woman.”

  “Excuse me, on your what?”

  “Sorry. Grossly incorrect. Um…I’m following up on the state of affairs with my significant other. Better?”

  “What is it with you, Schwartz? Why can’t we have a simple conversation, using normal figures of speech and conversational gambits? Why do you need to push my buttons all the time?”

  Ike flopped down in his accustomed chair. “I do more than push them, I’m happy to say.”

  “If you want to keep that occupation current, you’ll show some respect around here.”