Read 2 - Secrets: Ike Schwartz Mystery 2 Online
Authors: Frederick Ramsay
Tags: #tpl, #Open Epub, #Mystery & Detective, #Police Procedural, #_rt_yes, #Fiction
2 - Secrets: Ike Schwartz Mystery 2 (28 page)
“Gloria Vandergrift. You two have a lot in common.”
“Who? Me and the Philly dame? Good for her. I wish her well. Vande…spelled with an ‘e’ or an ‘er’ in the middle?”
“An ‘er’. What makes you think I will let you walk over here and pull that trigger? I have at least one hundred pounds on you and weak as I am, I can still knock you silly, gun or no gun.”
“It’s like this,” she said and drained the last of the water from her bottle. “I’m going to shoot you from over here with this silencer I’m going to make. Then I am going to put the gun in your hand.” She stood and took careful aim.
The office suddenly blazed with light.
“That’s it. Put the gun down,” Ike Schwartz barked. One hand held his service .357 magnum less than a foot from Sylvia’s temple; the other still hovered over the light switch.
“What took you so long?” Blake rasped. “I’ve been asking her questions forever since she admitted killing Krueger.”
“Wanted to hear it all. Figured something like this would be my only chance, so I let you hang for a while. You were never in any danger.”
“The hell he wasn’t. How did you get in here?” Sylvia spat. “I locked the doors.”
“I have a key,” Ike said. “Everyone has a key. You are cooked, lawyer lady. Nice of you to spell it all out to Blake. He will testify to it in court.”
“It’s ‘he says, she says,’ and I can beat it.”
“And this young deputy who came in with me heard everything you said as well, didn’t you, Billy? Excuse me. This is Billy Sutherlin, sometimes referred to by folks from New Jersey, who don’t know any better, as the village idiot. He will back him up.”
“You were out there all the time?”
“Most of it.”
“That’s entrapment. None of this will be admissible.”
“Wrong again. You invited yourself over here.”
“Bullshit. I say Fisher called me and told me to come. He threatened me if I didn’t.”
Schwartz heaved a sigh. “Cuff her, and read her rights, Billy. You know, you were right about one thing, though. The bad guys always make a mistake. We know that you asked to come here, therefore, no entrapment. No, no.” He waved off her protest. “The phone lines have been tapped ever since Blake got the threatening phone call. Blake insisted it be a court-ordered tap, by the way. If you were closer to your wet-behind-the-ears son-in-law, you would have known that. It was the missing puzzle piece, you see. Then Blake called me and here we are.”
“You will never make this stick.”
“Oh, I will.”
“You said yourself, the etched print on the gun matched Grace’s. How are you going to explain that?”
“The fingerprint? You mean the one caused by electrolytes and fire? Well, I’m sorry about that. There never was any print. I made that bit up. Sounded good, didn’t it. But acid etched in the fire…? See, as good as Mrs. Franks looked for the murders, I never liked her for them. I worry about something that’s practically handed to me on a plate. Puzzle pieces. There was the key on Krueger’s ring. He was a meticulous man. He arranged all the keys with the cut sides facing the same way. Someone took one off the ring and then replaced it wrong way out. The question was—who and why. Certainly not Grace Franks. And then there’s Floyd. I have associates living in Floyd. They are a suspicious bunch—part of their history—and they tell me things. What ever made you decide to live there, I wonder.”
While Ike talked, Sylvia’s expression changed from overconfidence to uncertainty.
“You have a weak case, Sheriff, and I’ve got friends in places that can make it go away.”
“Yeah? Maybe so, but worst case, it’s my jurisdiction, don’t forget, and I have enough to hold you over for arraignment. We can make a case for attempted murder. Blake can positively ID you for his shooting. That gets you behind bars. Other charges may or may not stick. I don’t care. Do you want to know why I don’t care?”
Sylvia glared at him.
“See, once your pals in San Francisco find out you’ve been talking to the police and the FBI, you are as good as dead. They will find you and rub you out. And what can poor, dumb Sheriff Andy do about that?” Ike shook his head sadly. “You know what I think? I think you need to get yourself a really good lawyer who can cut you a quick plea bargain and maybe a deal for protected solitary. Then you just might live to see your grandchildren, assuming, of course, they’ll want to see you.”
Sylvia’s face turned ashen. Blake guessed she now realized her chances for survival were slim to none, even in prison.
“I sent a car over to pick up your husband. We have him as an accessory after the fact. My guess is, he’s smarter than you, and will give you up and then deal himself into the Witness Protection Program and rat out the rest. Don’t you just love it when all the pieces finally fit?”
“What if I deal first?”
“Sorry, murder is non-negotiable, and besides, it’s your husband who has the information the FBI wants, not you. No, it’s the slammer for you, lady. Take her out,” he said to Billy, who grinned and led her away reciting her Miranda rights.
“You know, for a dumb country cop and a Reverend from Philadelphia, we did a pretty good job of work tonight.”
“Reverend is not a noun. How many times do I have to tell you?”
“It’s a Commonwealth of mind, then.”
Blake laughed and then winced at the stabbing pain in his shoulder. “It’s been a long day, and nobody will ever accuse you of being dumb again, Ike, least of all me.”
Schwartz left humming the theme from
Rocky.
Blake lifted the phone and dialed. A sleepy Mary Miller picked up on the sixth ring.
“Hi,” he said. “I didn’t want to wake you but I wanted to apologize for being so rude tonight.”
“You don’t have to, Blake. You are not the kind of man who would deliberately hurt someone. I know that now. If you told me to leave, it must have been for a very good reason.”
“It was. And now the whole business is over. Mary?”
“Yes, Blake.”
“The other thing I said to you, I meant it.”
“Me too. G’night.”
Rose Garroway, in spite of her horrific typing and total lack of computer skills, had installed herself as secretary
pro tem
. She fussed over Blake and tried to make his recuperation as easy as possible. But he knew he needed to hire someone permanently, and soon.
“Big news, Rose,” he called around the door.
“What?”
“I’ll let you know in a minute. Can you get Philip Bournet on the phone?”
A moment later she shouted, “He’s on.”
Blake heard the footsteps on the stairs as the Wednesday Bible Study began to assemble in the outer office.
“You might as well use the speaker phone, Rose, since you were going to listen in anyway. It will be easier for the others, too.”
“Blake, I never….”
“Philip, I have some amazing news.”
“I heard, but I would never have guessed that Sylvia Parks could do such a thing. I thought the husband might be a little shady, you know, but never dreamed he was involved in organized crime—the Mafia and all that.”
“That’s not the news I had in mind.”
“There’s more?”
“Yes, but first, you can tell your charming Betsy she can stop worrying about her plans for Mary Miller. We have that under c
ontrol. The news, Philip, is I just got off the phone with Bishop Farnsworth. You remember the woman who caused me all the trouble in Philadelphia? Well, she got caught in a sting operation—went to the well once too often, I guess. At any rate, I have been exonerated and am now officially in good standing. Funny thing about honor and truth—no one would believe me when I said I was innocent, but when Gloria Vandergrift was splashed across four channels in a very badly reported and quite inaccurate story on the eleven o’clock news, everyone became a believer.”
“That’s wonderful news, Blake.”
“No, sorry, that’s just the background, so to speak. Here is the news—Farnsworth offered me the job of Dean of the Cathedral.”
“Well, that really does warrant congratulations. It is what you always wanted, Blake. You are only a very short step from a mitre cap and crosier. Shall I call you Bishop now or wait a year or two?”
“Not anytime soon. I turned him down. I’m not going. I want to stay here and be the vicar of Stonewall Jackson Memorial Episcopal Church. There is work to do here and it’s real work. That is, if it’s all right with you.”
“Of course it’s all right, but are you sure? You’re walking away from a big opportunity. This part of the world isn’t known for producing many bishops. Are you sure?”
“I am. But I don’t think I can get Stonewall Jackson to independent status in the time left, though.”
“I don’t care about that, Blake. I told you before, I don’t need a mission in Picketsville, but apparently God does and he wants you to be its vicar. Take all the time you need…and Blake?”
“Yes?”
“God bless you.”
Blake cradled the telephone and stared at the wall.
“I don’t believe I did that,” he said aloud, addressing a faded print of Archbishop Cranmer. “A year ago I would have given my right arm for what I just turned down.”
“Is that because you did not want it, or because you don’t have much of a right arm left to give at the moment?” Rose asked through the door.
“What do you think? Did I make the biggest mistake of my life, or what?”
“Well, me and the rest of the girls are divided on that.” He heard them murmuring in the background. “We are divided on the job thing, but unanimous on how happy we are you will stay here with us. Here’s one person who is beyond happy,” she added and pushed a tearful Mary Miller around the corner. Rose stood beside her and proffered a box of Kleenex.
“Here,” she said, “blow. She’s a little choked up right now, Blake—can’t talk just yet. Oops, add blushing to choked up.”
Mary managed one of her thousand-watt smiles and dabbed at her eyes.
“Let’s go, girls,” Rose ordered, “no Bible study this week either. You two—try to behave.”
***
“You should get this car washed,” Ruth said and kicked at a crumpled coffee cup near her foot.
“Guys on maintenance duty are supposed to do that,” Ike said.
“So, what’s the holdup?”
“It’s a very small operation—Billy to be precise. It may take a while now that he has acquired some stature in the community for collaring Ms. Parks.” He grinned. Some things never change.
“What’s funny?”
“You haven’t said anything about my scent.”
“Is that Hugo Boss?”
“I thought men were the only species that couldn’t tell one scent from another.”
“I’d know Old Spice.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“This
is
Old Spice.”
“Isn’t.”
“Male pheromones are all pretty much alike.”
“Give me a break, Schwartz. And what am I supposed to do with those spooks you put in my basement?”
“They are going to create a museum for you on the top floor. Selected pictures from the National Gallery will be brought in on a rotating basis. They will provide docents and a curator to run it. They will pay you a ridiculously high rent. They will solve more of your problems than you could ever have imagined. Learn to love them.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I never kid, and you’re right, it isn’t Old Spice.”
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