1 - Artscape: Ike Schwartz Mystery 1 Read Online Free PDF Page A

please, it’s a real problem and not as simple as you seem to think.”
    “Sheriff, the whole idea of carrying identification, of proving you are, or are not, who you pretend to be, is hateful. I will not contribute to some kind of a fascist police state. If your merchants can’t tell who’s a townie and who isn’t, then you issue IDs to the townies—the ones without them are mine.”
    “Dr. Harris, I hoped we could come to some simple solution that would not produce a…” Ike paused, drew a breath, and plunged on.
    “I understand that you do issue cards to your students so that they can access the books in your libraries. I assume you have a problem with books and access—I don’t know. But since you don’t seem to have any objection to issuing some form of ID, it seemed reasonable to me to suggest its scope be expanded. In every school in the country, every governmental agency, business, everywhere, people are issued IDs.”
    “Nonsense, Sheriff. In the first place, the cards you refer to are to allow our computer to keep inventory in the library. It has nothing to do with thefts or lack of trust. Second, what every other institution does to its employees, students, and whomever, is of no interest to me. This is an institution of higher education. We try to teach independence, free thinking, and a healthy skepticism for the lemming-like behavior that characterizes our society as a whole.”
    “Oh, I’m mistaken. I was led to believe that computers were going to be used to manage card access door locks on your buildings, dormitory rooms and—”
    “You understood wrong.”
    “I see. Look, Dr. Harris, I’ve come on a bad day. Why don’t I just arrange to talk about this with you some other time?”
    “There is nothing more to talk about, Sheriff, now or any other time. In the future, you will discuss these matters with my chief of security, Captain Parker, not me. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some phone calls to make.”
    Ruth Harris picked up the phone, swiveled around so that her back was to Ike.
    “Millie, I can’t make this idiot phone work. Can you…what? Oh sorry…well, as soon as you can.”
    ***
    Loyal Parker waited in the outer office. He greeted Ike with a smirk.
    “How are they hanging, Ikey?”
    Ike ignored him and retraced his steps down the long corridor to the main entrance. He waved to Millie Tompkins at the reception desk. Millie had been enthroned at that desk for longer than anyone could remember. She had mastered the art of knitting the cables on the old-fashioned PBX into spaghetti. Now she was trying to master her third phone system. She squinted at the manual in front of her through half glasses, perched on the end of her nose. The headset wrapped around her like a fallen halo.
    “Here it is. I can get you your New Jersey number now,” she said into the microphone. She waggled her fingers and smiled a goodbye at Ike.
    He let himself out through the double doors into the sun and headed to his car. Once in its privacy, motor running, and air-conditioner on full, he allowed himself two good minutes of uninterrupted profanity.
    ***
    Loyal Parker stood across the desk from Ruth Harris at the closest approximation of attention he could manage. He was not ex-military, so he did not manage very well, more like a Klingon than a Marine. There was an air of insolence about his manner that always irritated Ruth. Cops were, she decided, all alike—good, bad, successful, or, like this one, failed—they were all alike.
    “Captain Parker,” she began, without looking at him, “the board has voted to remove the Dillon Collection from the Art Storage Compound in three weeks. I must tell you, with the collection gone, we can no longer justify retaining our large security staff. By Monday, I want you to provide me with the names of everyone in your department and rank order them as to effectiveness, one through whatever number there are. I will dismiss them in reverse order. I do not