7 - Rogue: Ike Schwartz Mystery 7 (17 page)

Chapter Thirty-three

Frank and his brother, Billy, drove back to Buena Vista to re-arrest Smith, this time on a cruelty to animals charge. The dog had been shot with Smith’s gun and because the ballistic evidence more than supported the warrant, and this was Virginia, after all, still resonating from the Michael Vick business, Frank believed the judge would not be so lenient when they brought him in this time. Smith had to know something about Duffy’s death, if not directly then indirectly. Something said or intimated at least. He had hoped to keep Smith close by and lean on him a bit. Putting Jack Burns on the hot seat made the prospect even better.

But, as predicted, Smith had skipped town. Both the man and his old Ford 150 pickup were nowhere to be found. His neighbors had no idea where he might have gone, and of course, Jack Burns had nothing to offer either. Frank called in an APB and resigned himself to waiting until after the election for his man to resurface.

“Billy, I’m telling you this Smith–Burns connection stinks to high heaven.”

“You know me and Essie been after him for weeks.”

“Oh yeah we all know that. Look, Billy, forget Burns as the guy driving the truck, okay? That dog don’t hunt.”

“What then?”

“He’s got to be connected to Smith, right? I mean, they’re related. He works in a small town. People are tight and everybody knows everybody else’s business. Smith is stealing hay, he had to know.”

“You want us to like, give up our investigation?”

“Not quite. I think you can help out better by not playing rogue cops, okay? The last time you came over here—”

“I know, I know. So what should me and Essie do now?”

“For a start, call around to all his former colleagues on the local force. You know, say something like he’s maybe going to be your new boss and—”

“In a pig’s eye he is.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey we’re pretending here, Billy. And then you ask ‘what’s he like to work for’ and things like that.”

“Me and Essie found out he fixes traffic tickets.”

“Well, that’s a start, but we need some real stuff. I want to nail that guy, Billy.”

“We’ll get on it.”

***

Ike still refused to come into the office even though the mayor and his dogsbody, Amos Wickwire, had removed themselves from the scene. While he seemed less intent on scouring the country for a suspect in the attack on Ruth and, in fact, had serious doubts about pursuing that approach any further, he hadn’t completely let it go. He’d left Grace a supplemental list of names to scan into the various police and FBI files. He hoped she could determine where they might have been on that Sunday evening. He really didn’t expect much, and since Grace was out with an emergency of some sort, nothing had been done on that project anyway.

The company that distributed the cell phone he assumed to have been used to call Ruth the night of the crash faxed over information which put the sale in a specific store in the Lexington area. They had managed to establish the time and date as well. Essie took it upon herself to call the store and they confirmed they had, indeed, sold a phone on the date and time the distributor had specified. She asked Ike what she should do next.

“Ask if there are surveillance cameras in the store and if there are, ask them if they would provide us with tapes for the time and day and from any camera with a view of the cash registers.”

They’d replied that they did have tapes. It was good the office had called when it did because they usually taped over after two or three weeks. They promised to make them available. Ike then called Grace, commiserated with her about her husband’s accident, and asked her to come in to the office a little early to set up the TV to run the tapes and, also, to check her phone monitoring program. She agreed to be in the first thing in the morning.

***

Eden Saint Clare went to the hospital immediately after her return to Picketsville. She had no idea why someone posing as Franklin Barstow wanted to know about her husband’s will. The young clerk’s description could have been for any lanky past-it middle-aged man—including, she thought, Charlie Garland. But why would he be nosing around her lawyer’s office and asking questions? He had been in town and had, as Ike would say, the means and the opportunity. But what would be his motive? If she saw him again, she would ask.

She waved to the nurse at the desk as she strode toward Ruth’s area. She happened to glance back toward the central desk just as she reached Ruth’s cubicle. The duty nurse was on the phone; her head lowered, half turned away from her. She had Eden targeted with the corner of her eye. What the hell was that all about? A few minutes later, a young man in a uniform took up a position outside Ruth’s door. She frowned. Something did not feel right.

“Be back in a minute,” she said to Ruth. She marched back to the desk. The guard avoided her eyes.

“Who’s the kid in the cop suit standing outside my daughter’s door?”

“Oh, Mrs. Saint Clare, that’s security. It’s…umm…it’s, you know, routine.”

“How come he wasn’t here before? I’ve been coming to this hospital every day for what, two weeks?” Why now, all of a sudden, I’ve got security? You mind telling me what’s up?”

“I’m not sure. I think the sheriff asked for it. I understand he’s decided that your daughter might have been a victim of a deliberate attack or something, and is afraid another try will be made.”

“I see. You know…”

“Ma’am?”

“Never mind.”

She returned to the bedside and sat quietly with Ruth, not daring to speak. Ike had known about the crash not being accidental from the start, so why all of a sudden the need for a guard at the door? Two possibilities occurred to her. The first was that Ike had more information, or disturbing news about the perp. If that was the case, she regretted putting Charlie up to asking Ike to call it off. The second possibility she didn’t like at all. Someone might have told Ike about John’s will. In any paperback novel, that situation would make her a suspect. Did he think she would, or could, do such a thing? It was a scary thought. Did she qualify? Had she the means, opportunity, motive? She thought a moment. Good God, she did. Ike had to call her that night on her cell phone because she was out. If she tried thinking like him, no mean feat, she realized she could have been in Washington that night in a borrowed vehicle. What kind? Did Ike ever tell her? Should she know or had she said what it was?

“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 buyers 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.”