6 - The Eye of the Virgin: Ike Schwartz Mystery 6 (7 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Sam bounced into the office grinning like she’d been voted prom queen or perhaps cast to play Tigger in the school play. Ike hadn’t seen a smile on her face like that in months.

“Hey, there, Deputy Ryder,” Essie called from her post at the dispatch desk, “what’s up? You look like you won the lottery.”

“Better. I’m here to greet the FBI liaison officer assigned to the ’cide out at the clinic.”

“All that’s got you so bouncy? Lord, it must be the shade of J. Edgar himself that’s coming.”

“Again, better.”

“Oh, my, let me guess. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome, and I do mean dark, is coming to town. Hey, Ike, you hear that? Ryder’s Mr. Wonderful is going to be in town. I don’t reckon we’ll get much work out of her today.”

Sam leaned on the door frame of Ike’s office. “Karl called me this morning. He’s here for as long as it takes to get us up to speed. You think you could make that a couple of years?”

“That would be nice. How about we try to stretch a couple of days anyway. When did Karl say he’d arrive?”

Sam turned her wrist over and looked at her watch. “He’ll be here in an hour, unless there are problems on the Sixty-six or the Eighty-one.”

“Not likely this time of year,. So, see if you can manufacture a professional demeanor, turn on that battery of electronic machinery in your space, and start digging around. If I know you, you will find out who they’re going to surprise us with before your boyfriend gets here.”

“He’ll be disappointed if I do.”

“He’ll be disappointed if you don’t. By now he’s told them we are a good deal better at what we do than they give us credit for and they, that would be his team leader and the rest of the Quantico crowd, don’t believe him. They never do. The Bureau mavens always think the cops in the sticks are hopeless and hapless. We need to keep reminding them that more often than not, we make them look good, not the other way around.”

“Not Karl.”

“No, not Karl. So, give him something to report back.”

Billy Sutherlin slouched in and sat heavily at the desk he shared with the other shifts.

“Did you get the dishes in the machine before you came in?” Essie’s cornflower blue eyes locked on her husband like lasers. If she hadn’t also been beaming when she said it, Ike thought there might be trouble brewing.

“Done that and put the clothes away, Darlin’. How you, Ike?”

“Up and at ‘em. The CIA called. Won’t be here ‘til lunch time. If you want to head back home, it’s alright with me.”

Billy glanced at Essie out of the corner of his eye, turned to Ike and said,
sotto voce
, “No thanks. If I do I’ll end up doing chores all morning and I’ll tell you, I’m beat. Keep me here. Give me a job to do or something.”

“How about running up the street to the Shop ’n’ Save and bring back a box of mixed pastries—whatever you like.”

“I’m on it.”

“Oh, and when you get back, there’s a package wrapped in the trunk of my car. Bring it in here and log it in as evidence for the robbery attempt you covered.”

“Package?”

“It’s an icon. Be careful with it. It’s double-wrapped in plastic protective. No matter what, don’t touch the surface.”

“No touching the surface, right. Which first, evidence or eats?”

“Get the pastries. When Karl Hedrick arrives we’ll have a party. Essie,” Ike shouted across the room, “dig out those paper plates we have stowed away somewhere and the coffee mugs the county gave us and put them out. Oh, and make a fresh pot.”

“How come it’s always the woman has to do that?”

“Because it’s your job. If you were a man, God forbid, it would still be your job. Back in your home, you’re the boss—no offense, Billy—but here, the dispatcher, he or she, tends to coffee pot and related chores. Before you ask ‘how come?’ it’s because I said so.”

“Have to keep the boss happy.” Essie started pulling open drawers. “Well, git on out of here and find us some sweet rolls, Billy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ike pulled the two folders containing the details of the crimes in question toward him and flipped them open. He studied the photographs of the dead man. There was very little blood. The body had apparently been stripped and redressed, at least the shirt and jacket. The shooting had to have taken place elsewhere, probably close by. Why did the killers, he had to assume at least two, bring the body into the clinic? Did they think he might be still alive? He’d read about similar situations somewhere. One of a group of hunting buddies accidently shot. The others cleaned him up and dropped him off in an emergency room in the hope he hadn’t expired. They were very drunk, so their idiocy held a certain alcoholic logic. Perhaps this was another case of drunken denial.

The second folder he found more interesting. Charlie Garland had decided to come himself, as it turned out. He would like this puzzle. Old time spying, real cloak and dagger stuff. Ike wondered what
cloak and dagger
had to do with intrigue. He liked words and origins of expressions. Where or when, he wondered, did cloaks and daggers become associated with intelligence gathering? He never owned either a cloak or a dagger in his day; didn’t own a trench coat either, come to that.

“You sneaky so-and-so.” Essie stood in his door, hands on hips, a pose that made her belly seem like she’d swallowed a good-sized watermelon. “You weren’t going to say anything?”

Ike scratched his head. “About what?”

“I had a call from Ellen Capehart down at the Shop ’n’ Save
.
You went and got yourself engaged to the lucky Miz Harris, is what.”

“Oh, yes I intended to say something later. Lot happening today. What do you mean, lucky?”

“In case you didn’t know it, Ike, you have been the catch of the day, so to say. There’ll be some busted hearts in Picketsville today for sure.”

“Essie, you exaggerate. Nobody—”

“Sometimes, Ike, as smart as you are, you can be a real dope, with due respect, ’course. I know at least a dozen women would faint dead away if you so much as give them the time of day. And three of them is married.”

Sam rounded the corner with a piece of paper in her hand. “Ike, I think I have the name. It’s strange.”

“Don’t tell anyone. Put it in an envelope and seal it. After Karl gets here and tells us, we’ll open it. It’ll be like Karnack, and your answer was…tah dah.”

Essie grabbed Sam’s elbow. “Did you know Ike, here, is engaged?”

“Wow. To Dr. Harris?”

“Shoot, Sam, who else has he been seeing lately? Of course it’s her. I’m calling Billy. If he’s still at the bakery, I’ll get him to buy us a big old sheet cake or something.”

The door opened with a gust of wind and Karl Hedrick entered. “Cake? What’s the occasion?”

Sam raced across the room and wrapped her arms around Karl’s neck. “Ike’s going to marry Dr. Harris.”

Karl’s eyebrows shot up. “That so?”

Ike wagged his hand vaguely at Karl. “Hey, Karl, how’s the FBI treating you?”

“Fine, Ike. Congratulations. You the man. So you’re going to…that’s going to create some logistical problems for you, won’t it? I mean where will you live?”

Ike shook his head and shrugged. “There’ll be time to figure that out later. Questions you might have on your list someday, as well, I’m thinking. Sam, is that envelope sealed? Okay, Karl, tell us who our murder victim is.”

Chapter Fourteen

“Farouk Zaki.” Karl waited for a response. “What? No ‘I told you so?’ Sam, didn’t you find anything?”

Sam’s face fell. “That can’t be right. Farouk…?”

“Zaki, yes, that’s the guy’s name.”

Ike opened the envelope, removed the slip of paper on which Sam had written a name and handed it to Sam. “Read it.”

“Franco Sacci, like the movie guy only without the H. I don’t understand how that can be.” She turned to Karl, “You made that up. You knew what we would do and you made up another name. Whoever heard of a guy named Farouk? Except the Egyptian guy who…he’s from Egypt? ”

“I didn’t make it up, and yes, he’s Egyptian, we think, and yes again, that’s the name of the guy we’re looking at. Before you ask, the name is a very common one in that part of the world. Check out the Internet, or is that too obvious? Of course, you will check it out,” Karl sighed and rolled his eyes. “Anyway, you picked off his alias. Now,” he spun around and addressed Ike, “this has got to stop. It is a serious offense to hack into the FBI computers. It’s not only difficult to do but it is a federal crime. Ike, Sam could be in big trouble if she were caught.”

“I’m police, just like you,” Sam snapped, but looked worried nonetheless.

“You’re local and subject to federal statutes like any other citizen. If I were to return to the Big House and tell them you had discovered the name of the person I was sent to discuss with you, they would have a task force down here before you could say, ‘there goes my pension.’ You’ve got to stop this, Ike. Sam could be—”

“I hear you, Karl. Sam, stop it!”

Sam smiled. “Yes, sir, Ike, sir.”

“Okay, that’s that. Now tell us about Zaki or Sacci, or whoever he is.”

Karl closed his eyes and shook his head. “I mean it, Ike. I know you’re connected and can probably wiggle out of something like this, but Sam isn’t and you need to consider that.”

“Sam works for me, and as you know, or should remember, we are family. Nobody does anything here but everyone does it. You try to take down one of us, you take us all. Am I correct in assuming that your people up there in the rarified ether around the nation’s capitol are thinking they might have a security problem and have murmured in your ear to put us in our place?”

“Something like that, if I understand what ether means.”

“Here’s a bit of advice for you to take back with you, when you go. If the wonks in Quantico have a system that a rube police department out in the sticks like ours can penetrate, they have a bigger problem than trying to frighten the aforementioned rubes. Tell them they need to upgrade their software and tighten their security, not threaten police and any others who can bust in. And as a favor to them, because we do want to help, we will keep trying to punch in until they’ve managed to put a finger in all the holes in their dike.”

“I’m not sure I can do that.”

“Then tell them to call me and I will tell them. Now, about Farouk…that’s his real name?”

“Ike I’m…oh, never mind. Right, okay, Farouk Zaki, aka Franco Sacci. He’s on the watch list but there is nothing heavy in his file.”

“Then why is he on the list?”

“You know the watch list. It’s about the same size as the Manhattan telephone directory, practically. Apparently his name came up in an interview at Guantánamo. A name on a list of names. But considering the source, the decision was made to keep tabs on him.”

“He’s in the country using an assumed name and there’s nothing ‘heavy’ in his file? How does that work?”

“In the first place, there is no law in this country that requires you use your real or legal name. If there were, nine-tenths of Hollywood and 100 percent of the exotic dancers would be in the slammer. Secondly, he has a work visa issued to him in Italy by our consulate there. It’s real.”

“He’s on a watch list using an alias and the consulate issued a visa so he can enter the country? What’s wrong with this picture?”

“We are fair, if not terribly bright, when it comes to our borders. There was no reason to deny it. He was vouched for by a sponsor in this country who assured the authorities the work was real. What can I say?”

“What dingbat would sponsor a suspected terrorist to enter the country? Don’t they vet the sponsors?”

“They do. They did. The person is an art dealer of some sort and has a solid reputation. The only note in the file that might raise an eyebrow is the consul thought the connection between Zaki and the dealer was more than professional. That’s it.”

“Okay, I give up. This didn’t used to be the way we did things. So, what do we do with all this? The Bureau didn’t send you all the way down here to tell us that. A phone call from Francis what’s-his-name, Drake, would have sufficed.”

“Right. The Bureau, believe it or not, shares your concerns about the seeming laxity in this matter. We want to know if this is merely an example of episodic incompetence, or if something more complicated is involved. And secondly and probably more importantly, what was this guy doing in your part of the world if he worked in D.C.?”

“What do you need from us?”

“For starters, how about some of those goodies Essie has arranged on the tray, coffee, and maybe a slice of cake. You can run me through the scene and the ME’s report after that.”

“You realize this may take several days to clear up. Us rural cops are a bit slow, you know. Sam here thinks she might need some extra tuition, like night school, you could say, to get up to speed.”

“Slow study, that’s me. I think I may need hands-on teaching to figure this out.” Sam had the decency to blush.

“Hey,” Essie shouted, “as the only married woman in the room, I think you should tone down this here smutty talk.”

Sam threw a piece of sheet cake at her.

“We will be visited by a member of the CIA this afternoon, unofficially visited, just so you know. You might be interested in what he has to say.”

“Why is that?”

“Because, unless I miss my guess, the business he will confirm for us may eventually fall into your, that is, the bureau’s, lap at the end of the day. Now, Frank will fill you in on what we have learned about the Zaki person.”

Chapter Fifteen

Charlie Garland arrived before lunch. Ike assumed he’d timed it so that he could mooch a free meal and told him so.

“There has to be some benefit for losing oneself in the hinterlands. Nice place you have here, Ike.”

“Whether you get a free lunch depends entirely on whether or not you brought the things I asked for.”

“Ah, as to that, I did.” He patted his jacket pocket. “The lab guys wanted to know what I was up to and of course—”

“And, of course, you lied to them.”

“Of course? Oh, come on, Ike…”

“Yes,
of course
. And I am sure they were okay with that. Public relations people have that as their stock in trade, I’m told.”

“We do. I’m afraid it’s the company we keep. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your playmates?”

“Certainly.” Ike went around the room. Charlie lifted one eyebrow when Karl and the FBI came up. Ike gave him a look and shook his head. Since it appeared he might overlook her, Essie raised her hand.

“And Essie Sutherlin, née Falco, our dispatcher and resident mom-to-be.” Essie beamed. “Mr. Garland, did you know Ike is engaged?”

“What kind of spy do you think I am? Of course I did…are you, Ike? Wow. Congratulations. Sorry, I think ‘best wishes’ is the mannerly thing to say. It’s a good thing. We need to talk.”

“You’re not a spy, Charlie, thank you, and no, we don’t.”

“Excuse me, Ike,” Karl said, “but are we going to be enlightened in some fashion by the CIA’s PR flak, who, it seems, is not a spy? What’s up with that?”

“Looks can be deceiving, remember that when you go to bed tonight. Now, Charlie, it’s time I introduced you to a real Picketsville institution. We are having lunch at the Crossroads Diner. It is across the street.”

The staff groaned.

“Hey, it’s a celebration in honor of me, and if you want to eat on the department’s dime you will partake. Otherwise lunch is on your own.”

“Lucky for me I can’t leave my desk.” Essie said and retrieved a brown paper bag from a drawer and unwrapped her lunch.

“Can they make a salad?” Sam asked.

“They can. I don’t know if it is edible, however. It depends on how you feel about tomatoes that have no taste and ranch dressing that tastes very much like a ranch. My advice, Charlie, stick to the breakfast menu. Everyone does.”

“Why do I not feel a great sense of gustatory anticipation?”

“You shouldn’t complain. I’ve eaten at your house.”

“I’m hurt.”

“Call this the sheriff’s revenge.”

***

They returned an hour later, their serum cholesterol elevated by fifty or sixty points, and all of them close to succumbing to food coma.

“Coffee, Essie. A gallon or two or we will all collapse on the spot.”

“Don’t you want to know if any important messages came in while you were out?”

“No.”

“The mayor called.”

“I don’t consider communications from the mayor important.”

“I know. I took a message. He says congratulations and best wishes.”

“Right. The mayor must have attended the same finishing school as you, Charlie. Now, I want you to look at something and tell me what you see. Billy, bring in the piece of evidence I had you retrieve from my car.” Billy carried in the icon and Ike carefully removed the bubble wrap. He handed it to Charlie.

“What do you see?”

“Been a while, but this is…what?
The Virgin of Vladimir
?”

“Close. It is reversed out. The guy that owns it called it The
Virgin of Tenderness
. Now, hold flat at eye level and let the light glance off the surface.”

Charlie lifted the image and tilted it so that the daylight streaming in through the windows shone on its surface.

“What do you see now?”

“Well, well, look at that, will you? My goodness, so that’s why you wanted the…I haven’t seen this bit of spycraft in years.”

“I think I speak for the group,” Karl said. “We have sacrificed our bodies for you at the diner, and at the very least we deserve to be told what Mr. Garland sees before our arteries clog up completely or we all die of food poisoning.”

Charlie removed a pair of tweezers from his coat pocket and picked at one of the icon’s eyes. “There’s just the one. That’s interesting. You’d think if they went to all that trouble they’d have maxed this icon out.”

“Hello? Please, what are you talking about?”

“A moment, Karl. Lift it off, Charlie.”

Charlie picked some more and then held the tweezers aloft.
“
Voilà
.”

“What?” Billy and Karl leaned forward, Sam back. “A microdot?” she said.

“Precisely.”

“What’s a microdot doing on the picture?”

“Ah, that is the sixty-four-dollar question. What indeed, in this day and age of sophisticated encryption transmitted electronically, satellite communications, iridium phones, and even Twitter, for crying out loud, is an old fashioned microdot doing on an icon, and then, why would anyone put it there or want to?”

“We’ll have to look at it to find out why. It could be old but useful, you know, left over from the bad old days. Who knows?”

“You have the replacement I asked for?”

Charlie slid an envelope from his blazer pocket and handed it to Ike who held it up to the light. “Right. But this one is bigger and thicker. Usually they are about the size of the period you’d find in a large print book. Curious, wouldn’t you say?”

“I don’t know. I guess, if you say so.”

“Maybe it’s just old. Are you going to replace it?”

“I’m hoping we have a day or two before the Bozos who tried to steal this icon come back for another go. I’m having a copy made and I will put your little microdot on it and embed this homing device in the back. Then, we’re going to let them steal it. Since this comes under Homeland Security task-forcing—that is to say you two—who do I send the bill for the icon to, the Company or the Bureau?”

“Ah, this is domestic…outside our mandate. We can’t touch it, Ike.” Charlie swung his gaze to Karl.

“Hey, I’m not authorized to commit funds for—”

“Didn’t you learn anything when you were with us on temporary duty? Mercy. What’s the rule on spending money?”

Karl sighed. “It’s easier to seek forgiveness than permission.”

“You are training your people well, I can see,” Charlie said. “So, the bill goes to the Hoover Building. They’ll be thrilled. Now, there is one problem with your plan, Ike.”

“That is? Wait, don’t tell me. If they know, more or less, what’s supposed to be on the chip, they’ll figure out you’re on to them and disappear. And you want them collared, right?”

“That, and as I look at this bit of low-tech spycraft, that it is not quite what you, I should say, we assumed it must be. I think I need to take this home and find you a better substitute.”

“I’ll have to find a way to keep the baddies away from Dakis’ house. You okay with all this, Karl?”

Karl shrugged. Sam looked worried. Karl had been on the bureau’s carpet once already. She didn’t want him there again. “That’s not fair. Karl could get in trouble, and what if they come before the new icon is ready?”

“Then they will steal the real one with the same provisos. I hate to damage the thing but, we do what we have to do. Karl will be fine. If we have this thing figured correctly, he may even get a commendation. Right, Karl?”

Karl did not look convinced.