5 - Choker: Ike Schwartz Mystery 5 (19 page)

Chapter 36

Wednesday dragged. Ike tried, but failed, to sleep in. It started to rain. Again. His mood began to match the weather. Gray and bleak, the hours ticked away. He took a stab at sorting through the satellite pictures scattered across his kitchen table. He didn’t see anything new. He studied the duck blind-barge again. As far as he could see there was no connection, one to the other. The barge seemed to be occupied solely in the dredging process. Ike didn’t know anything about dredging but, then, what was there to know. Suck up the mud, dump the mud somewhere, in this case, behind the bulkhead. He jotted a note to have the company that had been contracted to do it checked out. He didn’t know where that might lead, but when you have zero, anything is something.

He rifled through the pictures a second time, searching for the yacht. If it was in the area, that might mean something. After an hour and a half of fruitless searching, he stacked the pictures in a pile and surrendered to his frustration. A rainy day at the beach is a downer under any circumstance. He tried the television, nothing on but soap operas and reruns of game shows. The cable channel had been disconnected for the off-season. Ruth’s line was busy. His father didn’t pick up. He left a message for both to call if they could. He left the cottage and went in search of lunch. The Avenue had a special on tilapia. He wondered about the state of the world when a seafood restaurant situated on the Atlantic Ocean had to resort to frozen fare from some aquaculture establishment in Alabama. Where were the rockfish, the croaker, the red snapper? He settled for a second breakfast.

Charlie called him in the afternoon. He sounded hesitant.

“You still there, Ike?”

“I’m here.” Ike felt a little guilty for snapping at Charlie the day before. He hadn’t changed his mind, but they had been through some things together and…“Where’s the ops director? Is Fugarelli going to show up and earn his salary or not?”

“Out sick today. But, listen, what’s on the agenda is simple enough. Just get those divers out over the plane tonight, extract the body and anything else you can find, and come in. We’ll take it from there. Okay?”

“One more day. That’s it, Charlie. Then either Tony Fugarelli shows, or you do, or somebody with important-looking paper in his pocket does, or the operation ends.”

“One more day may be all we need. Have you any thoughts for me? I could use something—anything.”

“I went through the photos this morning and…I couldn’t see anything except ships, freighters coming and going up and down the Bay. And a gazillion sailboats. Even in late September there are sailboats out on the Bay. Oh, and powerboats, yachts. Speaking of which, have you run the trace on the yacht and the Pontiac?”

“We have, but there’s not much to know. They were both leased by one of those corporate entities that bury their ownership in layers of holding companies, off-shore and European, and with absolute anonymity. We’ll keep looking.”

“While you’re at it, find out who owns the land adjacent to the duck blind and who did the dredging for them. I don’t know why, but I don’t like that whole operation. Something’s not right.”

“Any reason in particular?”

“None whatsoever. I’ve studied the satellite pictures ’til I’m blue in the face, and I can’t see a thing. The barge is there, the dredging ends, the barge is gone. The duck blind appears. No big deal.”

“But you don’t like it?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“I’ll trust your hunch and put someone on the property and the dredging. Meantime, rest up.”

“With my luck, it will pour out on the bay. I’ll get soaked again, and die of pneumonia.”

“You’re not that lucky, and if it does rain tonight, whoever they are that watch us won’t see you, or what you’re up to, out on the water. I’ll have a doctor on call, and a bottle of brandy put on board.”

***

Mary did not want a ring. “I will settle for a simple band. I had an engagement ring once before and it didn’t work.” Blake didn’t know if he should be relieved or offended. Diamonds are not, and never have been, cheap, a tribute to the diamond cartel that limits the number of carats on the market to keep the price up and the economies of some African nations afloat. Not having to come up with the cash on a vicar’s salary put her decision on the plus side of the equation, but there is something about a ring on your fiancée’s finger that was part of the whole experience. How would anyone know?

“That’s not the point, Blake. You sound like a rancher who wants to put a brand on one of his cows.”

“Oh, come on, Mary. That’s not fair. And you will never be mistaken for a cow. I think ranchers herd steer, or do you say steers? It must be like deer, don’t you think?” He said, and conceded, in his mind, that she might, in fact, be close to the truth. A ring did give the man a proprietary sense.

“How about we do this. I will buy you a ring instead,” she said.

“No, that’s…” He wasn’t sure what he objected to. Mary never struck him as a radical nonconformist before. Her reluctance confused him. But he was sure that he would not be interested in becoming the wearer of the engagement ring. “Let’s go to dinner and figure this out later.”

Mary smiled and agreed.

They wandered away from the jewelry store and made their way to a small restaurant off the food court. It boasted an Italian menu, but the food’s relationship to Italy was mostly a matter of semantics. It tasted fine, had an obvious acquaintance with oregano, garlic, and tomatoes but probably had a closer connection with a can bearing a picture of a mythic Italian chef on it.

“Tell me where you are with the Starkeys and their offspring,” she asked, between bites of her Caesar salad.

“I’m worried where this might lead. We have a tape of some kids from the school, including the older Starkey girl, on tape. Sam, the deputy with the computer skills, downloaded video of their latest gathering. Peachy is clearly featured, and so is her boy friend. We don’t have much else, I’m afraid. Except the drugs, of course.”

“You’re sure about the drugs?”

“Pretty sure, yeah.” Were they? The images on the tape were blurred and erratic. One could make a case that the behavior was no more frenetic than that of cheerleaders at a pep rally. If Frank raided the event Friday night, as they had tentatively planned, and they turned up nothing, there could be some serious explaining to do. Blake would not be exempt from a parental backlash either. “I don’t know, Mary, what’s your take?”

“Are you worried you won’t find the silver or drugs? I mean do you think the threat of angry parents is that important?”

“Well, if the cops go charging in there and there’s nothing except some kids acting out…”

“That should be a problem for the police. It should not be a problem for you.”

“How’s that?”

“Blake, the police need to worry about the niceties of the law, not you. They need probable cause or something. They need to feel sure about stolen goods, or drugs, or some other activity on the part of the kids that will justify their time and effort. The business needs to be certifiably illegal, and if not felonious, at least it should be a misdemeanor. If they simply break up a party, they may be able to explain it away as disturbing the peace or something, but they will also put themselves in a bad light and maybe be sued or harassed for false arrest. Is that what they call it?”

“But the Constitution allows any worship under the second amendment.”

“The Constitution is their problem, not yours. Your position is, or should be, Satanism is wrong, dangerous, and the parents of kids who are dabbling in it need to know about it. Remember, you’re the clergy guy, not the police. They have their priorities and you have yours. It’s your job to deal with the occult. The police can take care of the rest.”

“You’re right, of course. Still, if there isn’t some sort of criminality at that event on Friday, assuming we’re right about Friday and the black moon, we’ll be in hot water with somebody.”

“You’re worried about the bishop and the Starkeys, aren’t you? You shouldn’t be. Trust your judgment—trust God. After all, in the end, He’s the only one you need to answer to. You just do what you think is right.”

Of course, Mary hit it. “Tell you what. We’ll compromise.”

“On the police action? How?”

“No, on the rings. No engagement ring for you, but a nice wedding band with little diamonds set in it. One for you, one for me.”

“A double-ring ceremony, yes, that sounds about right.”

Chapter 37

The weather worsened as the day wore on. By nightfall, rainsqualls raced along the Delmarva Peninsula and up the Bay. Visibility on, the water dropped to a few hundred yards. The remnants of a waning moon disappeared behind scudding clouds. By the time Ike arrived at the marina, he felt a cold coming on, and he hadn’t even set foot out in the storm yet. The divers, SEALs, and crew waited for him aboard the patrol boat. Flat black paint made the craft functionally invisible. Only its running lights flickered in the downpour, and they would be extinguished as soon as they cleared the marina. He tightened his rain gear’s fastenings against the wind and climbed aboard. Bunky had settled himself in the stern and was in full teaching mode, describing to the boat’s crew how it would have been armed when it served as a Navy boat. He pointed to the now empty gun mounts, fore and aft, and explained the range, use, and accuracy of the twin fifty-caliber machine guns and other exotic armament that once graced them. The crew, all young enough to be his children, or perhaps grandchildren, listened politely. Ike unpacked his GPU, introduced himself to the captain, and sneezed. He really did have a cold. That realization did not improve his mood.

The captain, who looked to Ike to be about twelve years old, gestured toward the unit in Ike’s hand. “We have a global positioning unit on board, Mr. Schwartz.”

“I’m sure you do, and I’m sure it’s a sight better than mine. However, the coordinates we want are locked into this memory chip and Bunky, here, is used to working with this one.”

“I see. For my information, sir, who is Bunky?”

“He’s the guy who’s been lecturing you on the good old days of river patrol-boat command. He knows the Bay like the back of his hand, in the dark or the daytime, and he’s going to be your navigator on the way out. He will drive this craft while we’re over the site, and he will no doubt bore you to tears about the state of the government, the plight of Chesapeake Bay watermen, and the sex life of crabs. However, if you watch and listen, you will have an exciting night, and will, no doubt, add some useful seamanship tips to your skill set. But it will require a good deal of patience on your part.”

“No one said anything about giving the helm over to a civilian.”

“Son, you are probably not as familiar with the spook business as you might be. For your edification, this is a civilian undertaking. Your orders, if I understood them correctly, were to do what I ask of you. Is that your understanding, too?”

“Yes, sir, but—”

Ike waved him off. “Start your engines and put this bucket in motion. It’s cold, it’s wet, and I’m not in a particularly good mood, and certainly not in one ready to dispute the chain of command here.”

“Yes, sir.” The boat’s captain did not look pleased, but he had his orders, and they did say he should follow this man’s directives. He glanced at Bunky and shook his head.

“Captain,” he said to Bunky, “Will you step up here and chart our course?”

“Sure thing, sonny. You see the green light on that buoy in the gap, there? Well, keep that to starboard ’til I tell you otherwise. Then, you can open her up as soon as we clear it.”

The boat eased away from the pier and, its twin Detroit diesels throbbing, and made its way into the channel. Once clear of the marker, Bunky circled one finger in the air and the boat roared south.

Ike positioned himself out of the wind as best he could and huddled with the divers and the two navy SEALs. It would take at least fifteen minutes to reach the dive site. Enough time for him to fill in the gaps of their earlier briefing. Satisfied they knew what he wanted, Ike released them to unpack their gear and suit up. The SEALs took positions at the gun mounts. Ike knew they had weapons under their rain parkas. He prayed they would not be needed. In spite of the snuffling and sneezing that now occupied him, he started to appreciate the weather. It would effectively cover any noise they might make as well as keep other boaters off the water and ashore.

At Bunky’s direction, the young captain brought the boat to the approximate site and handed the helm over to him. “You want to drop anchor here?” he asked.

“No anchor. We might have to bug out, and I sure don’t want to cut your line.”

“How do you plan to hold this position? The divers will need a stationary platform.”

“Watch and learn, son, watch and learn. Okay, Mr. Policeman,” he shouted into the wind, “we’re ten yards, more or less, south of the plane. Tell them divers to go in and swim north by northwest for ten yards, then turn on their lights. They should be dead on it.”

The divers gathered their equipment and went over. By holding the boat south of the wreck, any glow the lights might show at the surface would be screened from anyone watching from the shore. It didn’t seem likely any sane person would try, but Ike recognized that in the scenario Charlie described, sanity did not play a major role. The divers retrieved the body and bagged it. They filled a basket with miscellaneous items found in the cockpit, shot some pictures of the torn fuselage, and retrieved Ike’s television camera. In less than two hours they were back on deck, the body stowed in an over-large ice chest brought for the occasion, the boat turned into the wind, and they were on their way back to the marina.

“That corpse was in really bad shape, Mr. Schwartz.”

“I’m not surprised. He’d been in the water nearly three months. Did you see anything interesting down there?”

“That plane did not have an accident, I can tell you for sure.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I’ve done some salvage for Uncle. I’ve seen what planes look like if they have an explosion on board. This plane was caved in at the break, not pushed out. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it took a shot.”

“Anything else?”

“His body…well, like I said, it wasn’t in good shape. Um…sort of coming apart, like. His ring and watch must have slipped off and were on the floor, along with a cell phone. They’re in the basket.” Ike opened the wire cage and removed the three items. “Say, is that an Academy ring?”

“Yeah, he was Navy.”

“Hey,” the diver called to the cadre from Little Creek, “he’s one of ours. Some bastard shot him down.”

“We don’t know that for a fact.”

“Maybe you don’t, sir, but I do. This ain’t the end of this drill.”

Bunky set a course to follow home, and handed over the wheel to the captain. “All yours, Skipper. When you see the channel marker remember, it’s red, right, returning.” The young man scowled but said nothing.

Ike wiped the phone down and pushed the power button. It didn’t work. No surprise there. He stuffed the items in an evidence bag and slipped it into his slicker pocket.

“This should be the end of it.” His words were carried away by the wind.