4 - Stranger Room: Ike Schwartz Mystery 4 by Frederick Ramsay

Author:Frederick Ramsay [Ramsay, Frederick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery & Detective, Police Procedural, Mystery, tpl, Open Epub, _rt_yes, Fiction
ISBN: 9781615951680
Google: 6jhBBeiELccC
Publisher: Poisoned Pen Press Inc
Published: 2011-05-27T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

The fax machine hummed to life and began spitting out sheets of paper. The cover sheet indicated thirty pages would be forthcoming. Sam glanced at the first, a letter written in elegant copperplate, to a Mr. F. Brian, from an acquaintance in Frederick, Maryland. The Walzak file, apparently. Sam skimmed the pages as they collected in the tray. Ancient folds and creases, and the fading occasioned by the passage of over a century and a half, made them difficult to read. She wished she could have seen the originals. It appeared the late Mr. Franklin Brian of Trenton, New Jersey had some very interesting things to say about some of Virginia’s more illustrious citizens, now long departed. Bolton, Virginia appeared in several later documents.

She collected the stack and retreated to her office where she spread them out on a countertop with the list of books Grotz had borrowed from the Passaic Public Library. She sorted them by date, and then cross referenced them to the books on the list. An hour passed. As she read, a frown creased her forehead. Later, it was replaced by a puzzled look, and that, finally, by one of comprehension. She scooped up documents, the book list, and headed for the college library.

***

Jonathan Lydell refused to speak to anyone other than the sheriff himself. Rita, who’d come on duty at four, wigwagged for Ike to pick up.

“Sheriff, I want to report a theft.” Lydell sounded distracted, worried.

“Mr. Lydell, you do not have to call me personally. The dispatcher will send a deputy to speak to you and take your statement.”

“Thank you, I’m sure that is the routine, however, you must understand this is a matter of some urgency and I do not wish to place myself in the hands of anyone less than the top man, so to speak.”

Ike guessed, Lydell had probably already called the State Police, and had been rebuffed by them. Now he had to deal with the locals, a breed with which he had little or no patience.

“Okay, tell me what was stolen and I will put someone on it immediately.”

“A weapon, a family heirloom, you might say, a very old firearm, to be exact. It has some sentimental value. It was given to my late brother by his opposite number in the British Army—Cairo, Field Marshall Montgomery, Rommel, El Alamein, military intelligence, and all that.”

“I see. By any chance, would the weapon in question be a Webley, .455 caliber?”

“Excuse me, but how did you know?”

“It, or one very much like it, turned up as part of our investigation. What can you tell me about the weapon?”

“Well, I just spoke of its origin. What else would you like to know?”

“When did you miss it?”

“Why, today, of course.”

“Today?”

“Yes, most certainly, today. I was searching for some documents that I had…misplaced and, well, in the excitement of Martha Marie’s accident and…” his voice broke.

“Yes, I see. You were searching for some papers. Could the pistol have been stolen earlier?”

Lydell sighed and collected himself.

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