The Bean Field Murder (2) Loren inquired about Paris, and eyed the prisoners. The appearance of the older, bandy-legged man was squalid. A grizzled Viking beard draped his barrel-chest. Its matching head of hair apparently had never been caressed by brush or comb. Swinging beneath a filthy t-shirt, a bloated, blubbery belly attested that he lived for his suds. The embarrassment of literally being caught with his pants down exacerbated his surliness. And, judging by its loud jeers, the crowd harbored no sympathy for him. Much younger, his companion was tall and athletic. A blond crew cut crested his Apollo features, and his storm sea eyes harbored concern. An Eisenhower jacket revealed that technical sergeant stripes recently had been removed. Tucked into worn combat boots, though now beltless, his faded fatigue pants remained steadfast. A vet in his late twenties, Loren guessed. "Hey, skull-face. My back hurts," The Beard bellowed. Fists bunched, Billy headed for him, but Loren's warning glance stopped him. Brandishing a clenched fist at The Beard, he blinked owlishly at Loren, and moved toward the pickup. Assuming an understanding tone, Loren informed the men that he wanted to make them more comfortable, but he needed answers first. What was the older man's name? A series of expletives blasted him. "Awwww, are you having a bad day?” Thompson sarcastically sympathized. "Your name, kid?" Loren asked Apollo. "I ain't with this bozo." Your name?" Silence. "Could be the killers," Loren mused. Apollo’s eyes widened, "I didn’t kill anyone!” "Shut up!" The Beard yelled. “Don’t tell me to shut up, blubber belly. I’m not going to get blamed for what they say you maybe did! I didn’t kill anyone!” Winking conspiratorially, Loren remanded them to Thompson's custody, and turned toward the crowd. "And, for Pete's sake, lieutenant, have that fat one pull up his pants! There're women watching! Charge him with indecent exposure, too!" A barrage of curses rewarded his drollness as he strolled toward Billy. ***** For the first time in their long acquaintance, the Big Man had castigated The Pinstriper. The Big Man had received a report that Rimfurt's two loonies had been arrested. That spelled trouble for the political machine, especially since Rimfurt assassins couldn't be trusted, and he was informed. “They’re a dangerous liability!” the Big Man had raged. "You’re not doing your job!” he raged at The Pinstriper, “Those two screwballs will connect Rimfurt to the old farmer, and Rimfurt will implicate you! Then the rest of us will be up a creek with no paddle! The Pinstriper tried to assure the Big Man that everything was under control. Nonetheless, he wouldn’t buy it. “You had better get those loonies before they get us! We’re paying you big bucks to handle these kinds of things for us. Earn your money!” the Big Guy had demanded, just before The Pinstriper attempted to reach Rimfurt’s home by phone. Only a constant ringing at the other end rewarded his efforts. Furious, he reluctantly dialed the Cayuga County Building, and was passed through to Rimfurt's office. An efficient female voice responded. Employing an alias, he stated, “This is Mr. Stemir. Supervisor Rimfurt, please." "Sorry; he's away." "Where can he be located? It's urgent!" "He didn't say, sir. "When is he returning?" "Soon, I expect. He's been gone three weeks." Cradling the phone, the Pinstriper lit a cigar, and cursed through the smoke. "The jerk's skipped!" He scowled venomously, and dialed again. He was leaving to locate and neutralized Rimfurt, he informed the Big Man. ***** The Beard was a troublemaker named Rus Decanner. Apollo was Anton Milnay, an Army vet cashiered for gross insubordination. Both were riggers, employed by a drilling outfit near Silver Creek, and both frequented The Drinking Well. The truck belonged to Decanner. It revealed a new oil pan gasket and its tires were recently mounted. Sitting in his office with Loren and Billy, County Prosecutor Calson Zacaro was reviewing the case against the two men. He frowned. "I can only prosecute them for assaulting Paris, and obstructing a police investigation. Sorry, guys." What about the truck?" Billy sounded disgusted. "Only suspicions. The gasket and tires are new. So what? I think they killed Sorell, but if we try them, they'll walk." Zacaro steepled his fingers. "Sorry. Assault and obstruction's the best I can do," he finished, tonelessly. Loren knew Zacaro was right. If the pair walked, they couldn't be tried again for killing Sorell, even with absolute proof. The lesser charges must suffice for now. He stood. “You’re right, Carlson. We'll get proof. Don't know how, but we will." Zacaro extended his hand and they parted. ***** Kenny Jarvin was a busy attorney with an accounting degree. He not only was the chief executive of his father's enormous accounting corporation, but he also held retainers from several of Cayuga County's large co-ops. This morning, however, as he waited for Loren in one of Frank's corner booths, other thoughts occupied his mind. Loren's ham on rye was ready, even before he entered and managed to wedge his extended beltline between the seat and the table. As usual, he grumbled to Frank about needing larger booths. "You can afford them; I eat here often enough." "That's why you don't fit." Loren mimicked a scowl. "What are you - a frustrated comedian? Let's see your fat gut get in here." Frank retreated, and Loren turned to Kenny grinning victoriously. He sobered when he noticed Kenny's furrowed brow. "Problems?" "A pretty serious one." Loren lowered his unbitten sandwich,. "After Sorell died, Rimfurt wanted his farm. Kept upping the offer to widow Sorell. She wouldn’t sell. She said he did the same to her husband before he was killed. Told him he wouldn't be responsible for what happened if he didn't sell. "Rimfurt's office informed me that he left town with his family three weeks ago, without notice. No one knows where he is." Loren attempted to absorb this. All county executive officers, including Loren, were obligated to give County Clerk Rita Biscard, at least a month's notice before an extended absence. They were required to inform her in writing on where they could be reached. "He's flipped," he exclaimed, "When did he say that to Sorell?" "Just before the killing. Another thing; a few days ago Mrs. Sorell received notice of foreclosure from the county for tax delinquency. Luckily, I located receipts proving the taxes were paid. Sorell's county records showed four years of tax delinquency. Rita can't understand it." "Would the records be hard to change?" "Not for someone with authorized access. The files are loose-leaf ledger pages in heavy binders. Each property has a separate posting page that registers 10 entries; two a year." Kenny's gave a startled gasp. "That's it! Somebody falsified Sorell's latest ledger!" He calmed himself. "Will you go with me to see Rita?" Taking a bite from his sandwich, Loren swallowed before answering. "I planned to observe Decanner and Milnay being arraigned today. But I'll go with you, if you'll ride to Rimfurt's with me, afterward." "Let's take Billy in case there’s trouble," Kenny suggested. Loren looked askance; nevertheless, he considered. Billy was assigned to head the detail that was escorting Decanner and Milnay to court. He then was scheduled to resume their interrogations. So far, claiming connections, Decanner was playing hard case. Milnay, though, seemed nervous. Loren felt that, if the correct emotional buttons were pushed, the cashiered vet would break. That would make the Sheriff's Department look good, especially if Decanner's claimed connections were identified. Loren wanted to be there should that happen. He decided Thompson would head the arraignment detail. The interrogations could wait for Billy's return. "Okay. Billy should be in on this." "Great! Lunch on me." As he passed the register, Loren pointed back to his sandwich. "See, Frank?" he gloated, “Ate only half. You should eat less, too." And, with a brusque salute, he left. ***** The fresh ink on Sorell's ledger page confirmed Kenny's suspicion. Rita explained that, beside her, two persons had keys to the glass enclosed registry - Rimfurt and the deputy clerk. But only she and Rimfurt had keys to the main entrance of the tax department. She unlocked both doors at the start of each workday, and relocked them at day's end. Six registry clerks were authorized to enter transactions in the ledgers. In addition, either Rita, or the deputy clerk, or both, remained in the department whenever the registry was unlocked. Rita was adamant in her affirmation that neither she nor her clerks were culpable. She promised to personally correct the error. "Has Rimfurt been in since Sorell's death?" asked Loren. Rita conferred with her deputy clerk. “No, not during the day,” she answered, “But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been here. He could’ve come in after we closed the office." Loren pocketed the counterfeit page for fingerprinting, and left with his friends. *** Hidden behind manicured hedges, Rimfurt's estate was accessed by a long, curving drive, rimmed by lesser hedges. "For a public servant, he sure likes privacy," Billy observed dryly. In the back seat, Kenny chuckled. He was wealthy, but owned nothing like this grandiose domain; a magnificent fieldstone mansion, with several lesser buildings, set in rolling acres of private park! A stream, bordered by flowering trees, rippled through it. Cascading lazily down a stony glacis into an enormous, pristine pond, it resumed its meanders after exiting from the other end. A series of rock gardens, terraced alongside a lace-work of winding, cobblestone paths, were mottled by the prismatic hues of myriad flowers. Adjacent to the pool stood a sprawling summerhouse with lawn furniture stored inside. Loren noticed that the floors to ceiling windows were cranked tight, while the door swung wide. Billy braked the car to rubberneck. "What's a County Supervisor paid, anyway?" Kenny leaned forward. "Not enough for . . ." A thundering muffler interrupted, succeeded by clashing gears. The thunder increased until, rounding a hedge, an ancient jalopy (still endeavoring to preserve its dignity as a red stake truck) shook itself onto the driveway. On its passenger side, a rusted, loose, running board waggled to a misfiring engine. Billy engaged the flashers, and the rattletrap coughed to a halt, its engine dying. Dented doors bragged in rainbow lettering that it belonged to "Guido's Artistic Landscaping." A giant with an olive face descended, his head shielded by a Panama, well ventilated by use. His ebony eyes evidenced concern, brightening when they noticed Kenny. "Mr. Jarvini!" "Hello, Guido. "You know each other?" asked Loren. "This is Guido Tonini. He does all our landscaping. Don't let the truck fool you; he's the best in his field!" A snaggletooth smile lifted Tonini's cheeks. Loren indicated his badge. "Why are you here, Guido?" Tonini replied that he handled all the Rimfurt landscaping. He'd been commissioned to complete a special project while the family was away. He'd expected them back by now and had come for his money. "Body no boddy home!" "So you work here a lot," Loren observed. Tonini's sweeping gesture embraced the skyline, climaxing with a finger poking at his expanded chest. "Alla my work." Asked if he'd seen anyone around since Rimfurt left, Tonini shook his head. "Bod see lossa trueble! Wassa goin fer da policea." "What happened, Guido?" asked Kenny. Tonini motioned for them to follow. The ornate front door of the house was demolished. The four doors to the garage yawned wide. On its concrete approach a new Olds 98 and a late model Lincoln convertible each had a breached side window. Glass shards strewed their interiors and their trunk lids had been pried open. Inside, the mansion was chaotic. The contents of all the drawers, closets and cupboards were strewn. Rimfurt's desk and safe had been emptied. The contents of his file folders papered the rug of his den, mixed with mounds of books dumped from shelves. Back outside, Loren asked, "Okay to search your truck?" Tonini appeared stunned by what he'd just seen; still, he managed a nod, but all Billy found were tools. The boneshaker resurrected with a roar, gagging Kenny and the lawmen in the billowing smoke from its tailpipe. Tonini engaged the transmission with metallic grinding that set their teeth on edge. Then, trailing smoke and coughing fumes, it joggled away. When he could hear himself think, Loren noted, "Looks like someone's after Jules. He's running!" "Then why hire Guido?" asked Kenny. "To make it seem like he's coming back. But I'll bet he emptied his bank accounts." The radio was awakened by an urgent plea from Tadber. "Unit one! Return! Priority code! Unit one! Return! Priority code!" Loren picked up and heard, "Sheriff! Return, priority code! Decanner's been killed by a sniper!" ***** Rimfurt had indeed emptied his enormous bank accounts. He also converted all liquid assets to cash. Thinking to ward off suspicion, he had engaged Tonini, saying he would pay him on his return, but he wasn't planning to return. With his family, he had driven to Camden, New Jersey and taken a hotel suite. In the morning, Brenda found she'd spent the night with a bundle of cash. Her husband had disappeared! ***** The morning of his planned search of Rimfurt's property, the Pinstripper been warned off by a howling, off-key rendition of "Oh, Solo Mio" blaring through the hedges. The frustrated baritone had consumed valuable time, and the search had been fruitless. Then his sources reported that the State Police had received a Teletype from the Camden, New Jersey police. Rimfurt's wife had reported him missing. His Cadillac was in the Greyhound lot, where he may have boarded a bus for New York City. The Pinstriper had just landed there. He was in a limo, heading for the Hilton. And he wasn't happy. He sighed. Why hadn't his shooter completed the contract to eliminate those two morons Rimfurt hired? The whole ball of yarn was beginning to unwind. It was up to him to roll it back up. Entering the Hilton lobby, the Pinstriper made several phone calls, feeding Rimfurt's description to the grapevine. In less than an hour, it was being digested by an underworld whose myriad eyes and ears Rimfurt would find impossible to escape. The Pinstriper waited. ***** Decanner was taken out with a single shot by a sniper with a 30-caliber Army carbine. A professional shooter had fired from maximum range, reasoned Loren. Such a killer wasn't apt to leave clues. After an investigation confirmed this, his digestive acids seared his throat and red-hot intestinal pains plagued him. Yet, Milnay was a redeeming factor. Convinced that his freedom meant his death, he confessed. He and Decanner had been hired by Rimfurt to bully Sorell into selling, but the old guy wouldn't scare, threatening, instead, to call the sheriff. Going to the truck, Decanner returned with an auger, and crushed the back of Sorrel's skull. "Then the freak ran him over with the tractor," Milnay sobbed, "How could I stop him?" Roxby Prison became his home for the rest of his life. ***** Alone at Frank's, Loren sat staring at the fizz in his Seltzer water. He downed a lot of it lately to relieve his stomach. He didn't notice Paris until he spoke. "You okay, sir?" "Just tired, thanks." A vague gesture invited Paris to sit. "Can't sir. Mrs. Baymark asked me to bring you this." Loren took the envelope and Paris left. 8/19/48, 11:13 A.M. Teletype Dispatch. To: High Sheriff Loren Kregs, Cayuga County. From: Lt. Peter Curelli. Ref: Your requested info, Jules Rimfurt. Mrs. Rimfurt reported husband missing 8/13/48, 10:17 A.M. Since family strangers in Camden, search time-limit waived. Rimfurt's 48 Caddy located Greyhound lot. Ticket agent reported Rimfurt boarded bus bound NYC. Caddy claimed by Mrs. Rimfurt. End. Loren grimaced. The dispatch only confirmed Brenda's answers to his questions, after she and the kids had sulked back to Collins. When informed of the charges against her husband, she registered a shock so profound that Loren had sent for Doc. Loren’s satisfaction in having apprehended Sorell's killers was tempered by the fact that the real perpetrators still were free. Not only Rimfurt, but his bosses, too. They deserved to be with Decanner! He mulled over the dispatch. Oh, well; since Rimfurt was out of reach, he'd call his friend, FBI Agent Euler, in Washington. Maybe he'd help. ***** His gastric problems notwithstanding, Loren was seated before a heaping plateful of roast pork, stuffing, lemon rice, fried pan bread, and gravy - his favorite meal. His fork returned to the plate at the demanding summons of the phone. Ignoring Verony's advice to let the blasted thing ring, he heard Euler's monotone on the other end. "Hello, Sheriff Kregs? Hope it's not an inconvenient time." Loren assured him it wasn't. "I put feelers out on your request. This thing is huge! Goes to the very top of your state, plus two others. Something about natural gas deposits. Old ones are petering out, and I understand that powerful interests want to gain a private monopoly on all reserves. The members will become billionaires. They want Rimfurt killed because he knows too much." Loren almost dropped the receiver! When he regained his voice, he said, “This is way beyond my jurisdiction!" "Just between us, the President has ordered us to step in. I'll be top-dogging an investigation. My man in New York City tracked down Rimfurt. Rimfurt told him he knows he'll be killed if he doesn't come in. But he'll surrender only to you. Will you go to New York?" Somewhat cautiously, Loren agreed. "Good. I'll arrange it and get back to you." ***** Rimfurt talked, pushing the first domino by fingering Deputy Governor Joseph Lisogen, alias Mr. Stemir - The Pinstriper. Lisogen spewed his guts about party chairman, Ross Wourtrer - the Big Man. Wourtrer, in turn, implicated Governor Keserton. Hoping to gain leniency, Keserton gave names, thus toppling the remaining dominos. When those so named scurried to follow suite, the entire state administration collapsed, along with its political machine. Rimfurt testified that, while gobbling up properties rich in gas, his bosses discovered old utility company maps that indicated Sorell's land held one of the state's richest deposits. They ordered him to get it, so he hired Decanner and Milnay to pressure the old farmer. Instead, they killed him. No deals were needed. With almost every cog squealing, the case against the machine was foolproof. Before long, Milnay and Rimfurt were put in isolation to protect them from a large company of newly arrived prisoners. Exercising his emergency powers, the President appointed a caretaker administration over the state until the next election. It was granted sweeping powers to root out the corrupt vestiges still remaining from the former administration. Distilled through a screening process and pressed through a sieve left them sanitized and leanly efficient. After the State Police were pressed through a similar sieve, the acting governor contacted Loren. The President had been impressed by his long participation in the unusual case; the toppling of the corrupt administration was due to his efforts. Washington was recommending that Loren head the reformed State Police. Positively flattered and about to blurt out an instant acceptance, Loren reigned in his ego. Finally, he declined. "Please thank the President for me, but I decline. Please tell him that I'm just a county sheriff, who was only keeping a promise to a little old lady." -30- © Josprel (Joseph Perrello)
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