3 - Buffalo Mountain: Ike Schwartz Mystery 3 (21 page)

Chapter 42

Ike didn’t expect to hear again from Bolt. He’d spooked him back into the mountains or wherever he had found sanctuary and nothing short of a major upheaval would pry him loose. No matter. He called his opposite number in Floyd County, who said he’d keep an eye out for Bolt and ask his people to keep their eyes open as well. At that moment, Bolt and Kamarov were at the bottom of Ike’s list. The person he wanted, and wanted badly, was the owner of the pickup that had been involved in Whaite’s death. He wanted to know if he should be looking at a hit and run or a murder, and if the latter, what had Whaite done, or said, that had triggered it. Either way, his top deputy was gone and he was angry. Jurisdiction belonged to Floyd County and he feared Whaite’s death might not rate the sort of effort he wanted. Jurisdiction or no, he aimed to find a way in. He just hadn’t figured out how.

“Well, well, looky what the cat dragged in. What do you want around here, backstabber?”

In all the years he’d known her, Ike had never heard Essie speak rudely to anyone. She remained the one cheery voice among a crowd of variously grumpy ones. Except for a rare brush with PMS, Essie could be counted on to have something upbeat to say to anyone walking through the door—from known felons to the town gossip. Ike stood up to get a better look at the object of this amazing outburst. Karl Hedrick stood frozen in place, mouth open, and hand on the knob of the still open door.

“Shut the door before you give us all pneumonia,” Essie added, “preferably from the outside.” Ike made a mental note to never have Essie angry at him.

“Karl,” he said and waved him into his office, “you’re a little off base, aren’t you, or did your boss finally figure out we had his man, in a manner of speaking—oh, and in the same state as the last time you barged in here.”

Karl let the door fall to and stared first at Essie, then at Ike.

“I don’t know what either of you are talking about. Maybe I should go out and check the address. I could have sworn this was the Picketsville Sheriff’s Office. I must have made a mistake.”

“You made a mistake, all right,” Essie said. If she’d been authorized to carry a gun, she looked like she might have used it.

“Hey there, Karl,” Billy Sutherlin said. “How you been?”

“Don’t you talk to him, Billy, he’s an enemy.”

“We need to talk,” Ike said and waved at him again. “In here.”

Karl, looking perplexed, walked in and at Ike’s gestured invitation, sat down. Ike closed the door.

“Cutthroat,” he said.

“What?”

“We know you are with Cutthroat and we know you’ve been tracking Kamarov. You must have cross-checked John Does and figured out that we have him.”

Karl stared at Ike as if he wanted to find some part of the speech he could respond to and had failed.

“You got me, Ike. Except for ‘John Doe,’ I don’t have a clue.”

“Karl, you know Sam is our wizard of cyberspace. She just finished in a dead heat with the gurus up at Langley for snooping. She found Cutthroat before they did and she found you. You want to fill me in. If you do, I might be able to keep her from using her sidearm on you when she gets back.”

“Wow. That is a load. I can’t help you, Ike, because I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. I just drove down here from a session with my section chief, Bullock—you remember him? And he reamed me out pretty good, but he could take a lesson from you guys. What do you think…no, how about this? I tell you what I have been doing and why I am here and then you can tell me what I’ve done wrong.”

“You really don’t know?” Karl shook his head. “Okay, talk, but be quick. I expect Sam back within the hour.”

Karl explained he’d been in Picketsville Thursday and Friday of the previous week and then was called back to DC to meet with Bullock that morning. He described his cross assignment to the fraud squad, how they’d been tracking Brent Wilcox and since he, Karl, knew the territory, he’d been sent in.

“We’re investigating a Ponzi operation. He’d been selling shares in a Public Lands Access program and promised huge returns to his investors. He says he has an inside track on the natural resources reclamation in several national parks and trust lands. It all sounded legal. He quoted statutes that allow it and so on. The trouble is, he’s not filed a single application to access the lands, and he’s collected huge sums. You with me so far?”

“A Ponzi scheme?”

“When I realized that you were out of the loop, a deliberate move on our part, by the way, I complained. That’s when I moved into Bullock’s crosshairs. He’s still angry about the other thing.” The other thing referred to a murder investigation earlier that Ike had worked and that made the FBI look bad. Ike sat back and smiled. He loved it when he guessed and got it right.

“I know Wilcox. You should have told me you were coming. He’s not stupid and I could have helped. In fact, there is nothing I’d have liked better.”

“Yeah, I pointed all that out to the boys in DC and they suggested I consider a career change. I’m on probation pending a hearing to terminate.”

“You weren’t involved in Cutthroat?”

“Never heard of it, and I am just pissed enough to blow the cover of anybody in the Bureau right now. Sorry. What or who is Cutthroat?”

“It’s a long story, Karl, and since you remain in the bosom of J. Edgardom at the moment, I can’t tell you. Right now, I need to figure a way to keep Sam steady while we sort this out. See, she found your name in a personnel list for what we believe is a black program out of the FBI. You said you’d been reassigned and there you were. That upset her, but not sufficiently to want you sent to the moon. It was the woman in your apartment who answered your phone that finished her.”

“Oh, man, I don’t believe this. Ike, there wasn’t any woman in my apartment. It was an answering service Bullock hired. He got it into his head that answering machines posed a security threat or something. He shut down our machines and then, to make the whole operation a complete FUBAR, he ordered us to cut off all communications to anyone and especially you all. I told you, he’s a pretty dim bulb.”

“No other woman?”

“No, and I’ve been trying to reach Sam for days and either get her voice mail, dropped, or, lately, a recording saying the number is out of service.”

“Two problems—she can’t use the phone when she’s driving—new town ordinance and her phone died anyway. She has a new one complete with new number. She didn’t want to keep the old one.”

“This is so bogus. I’m being hammered from both sides because my boss is an idiot. Worse—I have to go to hearings in the next week or so to keep my job…so I can still work for him.”

“You have my sympathy. Offhand, Karl, do you know if the Bureau has any other special agents named Hedrick?”

“No, but I can find out. Can I use Sam’s computer?” He said Sam’s computer. Everyone did, as though it had nothing to do with Ike’s operation. Ike let it pass. The truth? Without Sam, he probably wouldn’t have anything going in that area at all.

“Make it quick.”

Karl hustled around the corner to Sam’s space, ignoring the dirty look sent his way by an outraged Essie Falco.

The door burst open and Sam entered with T.J. Harkins in tow. Ike held up his hand to silence Essie, who looked like a volcano ready to explode.

“Ike—you have to hear this. Tell him about the pictures, T.J.”

Chapter 43

“In here,” Ike said and stole a glance at Sam’s office door.

“In a minute, Ike, I need to get copies of the rest of the pictures for T.J. to look at.”

“That can wait. In my office—now.”

The outside door opened again and Colonel Robert Twelvetrees came in, his hand on the booking counter to make sure of his footing. “Where’s my driver? Sergeant, where are you?”

“I’ve got him, Colonel. He has some information for me. As soon as we’re done, he’s yours. You can have a seat at that empty desk. Essie, help the Colonel.”

He had Karl in one room, Sam in another, and Essie playing avenging angel.

“This is looking more and more like a Restoration farce,” he muttered, “and this is Act One.”

Once Colonel Bob was settled, Ike took Essie aside. “Ditch the bad attitude, Essie, we have some serious work to do here and I don’t think Karl is the bad guy. In fact, I think at the end of the day, you are going to owe me my jelly-filled back. Now go in Sam’s office and tell Karl to sit tight. If he finds the answer to my question, show him how to call me in my office.”

“But—”

“An order, Essie. Now go.”

“Ike,” Sam called through the door, “it will only take me a minute—”

“Sam, first things first. T.J., what can you tell me about these pictures?” Ike closed the door. Sam and T.J. sat with their backs to it and did not see Essie head for Sam’s office, or return.

“Well, Sheriff Ike, they are pictures of Donald and Hollis.”

“You know these two, then.”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“How?”

“Donald lives in a house that is behind mine. He used to be my friend, but not any more.”

“Where exactly do you live?”

T.J. frowned, turning
exactly
over in his mind. “I live in Willis now but not next week.”

“You are moving?”

“Yes. My mom and me are moving to my Aunt Rose and Aunt Minnie’s apartment. We have to leave our house.”

“Donald is your neighbor. How about this Hollis person. How do you know him?”

“He is Donald’s friend. He hurt his leg one afternoon at Donald’s house.”

“He told you that?”

“No, sir, I saw him fall down the steps and then Donald came out and they drove away. And that night they came back and Hollis had crutches and a big bandage on his leg.”

“Okay, T.J., that’s very useful. Thank you. Is there anything else you can think of that might help?”

“No, sir. But I saw the license plate.”

“He helped me turn up another bit of crime,” Sam said.

“Really? That wouldn’t be Mrs. Morse and her stolen tags, would it?”

“T.J. was the one who spotted them.”

“Well, good job.” Ike’s phone rang. When he picked up, Sam made a move to rise. He waved her back down.

Karl started talking. “I found him, Ike. There is a Kevin Hedrick in the Bureau, Special Agent Kevin Hedrick. He is listed as on special assignment to Andover Crisp. No details.”

“Kevin? Okay. I’m going to relay that information to a certain person in a minute, and then send her to you. Is that agreeable?”

“You bet.”

“Who’s what’s his name, Crisp?”

“Not much of a book on him. They call him Darth Vader.”

“Got it.” Cutthroat, the Dark Side of the Force.

Ike told Sam what he could remember of Karl’s story and mentioned that Kevin Hedrick was the Hedrick she’d found in her hacking—Hedrick, K. She looked doubtful and then her face softened. It was enough that she wanted to believe. He sent her to her office.

“T.J., the colonel’s waiting for you. I guess it’s time to go. Thank you for making those IDs.”

“Would it be all right if I used the bathroom?”

“Certainly.” Ike pointed T.J. in the right direction and stepped out of the office.

“Sorry to hear about your deputy,” Colonel Bob said. “How’d it happen?”

“Ran into a tree on a slippery road. Maybe an accident, maybe not. We’re checking. We have a witness who thinks he might have been run off the road, but…”

“Not reliable?”

“Well, she’s old, can’t see too well, is hard of hearing, and her cat knocked over her teacup at the wrong time.”

“Leave out the cat and I’ve been there, done that. Don’t much cotton to cats. Now you take a dog…sorry, you were saying?”

“Anyway, she thought she saw a truck hit Whaite’s car. So I’m looking for a pickup with a mashed-in passenger side fender and some red paint on the door. That’s it. So, Colonel, I hear T.J. drives for you. How’s that working out?”

“Best thing that has happened to me in the last decade, Sheriff.”

“What I don’t understand is how he managed to get a driver’s license in the first place. I mean, he’s nice, but—”

“Don’t sell that boy short. He’s slow, but not stupid. He can read and, therefore, with some coaching, he managed to memorize all the answers in the driver’s ed book. He still knows them, by the way, every danged one of them, and he drives to them. If any of your people need a brush-up on traffic law, just call the boy.”

“Still, it has to be hard—”

“Sheriff, you need to rearrange your thinking. You are too young to know everything, and one of the things you don’t know is what the world looks like to someone like the Thomas Harkins of this world. He manages just fine. He can work things out. It just takes him more time. Concepts are a struggle for him, but I daresay, over half the senior class at Picketsville High has the same problem. Only theirs stems from plain laziness, T.J.’s from a shortage of gray cells in the right place.” Ike sat on the edge of the desk and started to say something, then thought better of it.

“Look, in my day, oh…maybe not mine exactly, close…but, anyway, say one hundred or so years ago, most youngsters raised in the country, and what we now delicately refer to as the inner city, never finished high school. As soon as they were able to help put bread on the table, they went to work. If things were bad at home, they didn’t get counseling or a visit from social services, they hopped a freight train and headed west. In that world, in the world of a century, century and a half ago, T.J. wouldn’t seem much different from any other kid. He could harness a team, plow a straight furrow, and work all day—better’n most—no distractions. He could get by as well as the next young man. He could dig ditches, shovel coal—in a non-technical world he could fit right in. When I was in the cavalry I had a horseshoer like T.J., big African-American named Sampson. Worked hard, raised a family, but slow. You see, people like T.J. might be taken advantage of, but they manage. What he wouldn’t do is stand out as strange. He’s loyal, honest, and never has a mean word for anybody. That counts for a lot in my book, and he’s employable. Think about it. T.J. is just a four-cylinder engine in an eight-cylinder world.” T.J. walked in the room. “Okay, T.J., let’s saddle up.”

“Sometimes Colonel Bob thinks he’s still in the U.S. Cavalry., T.J. said with a grin. “He went to war with General Patton.” T.J. steered Robert Twelvetrees to his car and drove away. Ike stared out the door at the car’s taillights.

“Did you hear all that, Essie? That’s why other cultures honor their older citizens instead of warehousing them in nursing homes. What you just heard was the voice of experience—the wisdom that only comes with age.”

“Heard what?”

“Never mind. Break up the happy reunion in Sam’s office. I need to talk to the two of them.”

Everitt Barstow flung himself through the door.

“My God, this must be Act Two. Dr. Barstow, is there something we can do for you?”

“Arrest Brent Wilcox. He took my money.” The phone rang.

“I’m putting the well-worn jelly-filled on this being either Ruth or Karl’s boss. Any takers…Essie? No?” He picked up.

“Ike, what did you do to Brent Wilcox?” Ruth demanded. Ike began to laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“I just won a bet with myself.”

“Congratulations. Now, what happened between you two?”

“You have a source. You are calling at someone’s behest. Let me guess. Agnes is upset. Her sometime beau, Brent Wilcox, has flown the coop.”

“How’d you know? Never mind, Agnes says that Wilcox told her you threatened him last week. And then the FBI came around asking questions and now he’s apparently left town.”

“Ask Agnes if he was driving a rental car. A pretty big, fancy one?” A pause.

“She says she thinks so.”

“Would it have been from Enterprise?” A shorter pause.

“She’s not positive, but she thinks she remembers a green E on the bumper.”

“Bingo.”

“What? What has this to do with—?”

“Agnes’ boyfriend has been running a Ponzi scheme in town. You know what a Ponzi is?”

“Enough. And you put the FBI on to him?”

“No, that was all their idea. I just refused to file assault charges against Flora Blevins for a very graphic suggestion she made to him in my presence.”

“Agnes is not going to like this.”

“So what else is new with Agnes? How much money did she invest?”

“I’ll ask later.” Ruth rang off and Ike turned back to Everitt Barstow.

“Dr. Barstow, you heard all that?”

“Yes, but…Wilcox was running a Ponzi?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“Well, why didn’t you arrest him sooner? He took my money.”

“Perhaps if you and your friends had been a little more forthcoming with the FBI last week, he might have been. It was their investigation, by the way, not mine. Sorry.”

Barstow opened his mouth to speak, stopped, and slouched out of the room just as Karl and Sam came in. Sam was flushed from the roots of her hair to where her collar covered what Ike suspected was bright red clear down to her knees. He decided not to ask.

“You two,” he barked, “in my office, now.”