Heinz Noonan, the “Bearded Holmes” of the Sandersonville Police Department, was working on a public relations statement for the Sandersonville Commissioner of Homeland Security which was to be delivered to the Sandersonville Citizens Committee for Outer Banks Security that afternoon.
The problem?
Both the Sandersonville Commissioner for Homeland Security and Sandersonville Citizens Committee were faux crusaders in search of an imaginary foe.
Why?
The primary deterrent for any cabal of evil doers from the Middle East eyeing the Outer Banks was the Atlantic Ocean. It was a long swim from the Arab world and the nearest airport which could handle international flights was three hours away. By car.
Secondarily, there was no targets of opportunity for the revolutionary miscreants. The miniature targets that did exist were few and far between and the nearest military base was up the coast and inland. Further, holding the Outer Banks hostage by any means would have been greeted with great joy. The residents would look at the blockade of travelers from the islands as a blessing during the off-season and, during the tourist season, it would mean the trapped travelers would be stuck on the islands and spending more days – and money – locally. But, in the case of the Commissioner and Committee, the coals of cabalism had to be stirred occasionally and today it was Noonan’s turn with the poker.
All was going swimmingly until Harriet, the office manager and duchess of common sense, came into his office waving an edict. Noonan knew it was a directive and, for that matter, an Imperial Commandment because he could see the oversized, embossed emblem of the Commissioner’s office on the most expensive cloth paper that could be purchased on the Outer Banks. Harriet was holding it with just the tips of the thumb and index finger of her right hand as it were an odious object.
Which it was.
“This just came down,” she said waggling the sheet of paper as she looked up to the ceiling tiles, and through them, to the Throne Room of the Commissioner on the Third Floor, “from his lordship. He wants you to shake a leg,” she chuckled, “and start on this hush-hush project subito. Subito being Italian for immediately.”
Noonan looked at the edict over the top of the statement he had been writing. Then, to Harriet, he said, “You have the paperwork; you do the shaking of the leg subito.”
“I,” Harriet said as she sank into the empty chair next to Noonan’s desk, “am simply a pawn in the game of life.”
“That’s from BLAZING SADDLES.” Noonan pointed to the mandate which Harriet had let flutter to his desktop. “What dastardly deed am I to investigate that is associated with a nonexistent cabal seeking to destroy the American way of life?”
“Thieves,” Harriet said in a low, evil voice. “They are everywhere. In this case, in Welk, North Dakota.”
That took Noonan aback. “North Dakota?”
“Jawohl mein herr. The Welk Commissioner of Homeland Security wants our Commissioner of Homeland Security to order you to investigate an unusual theft.”
“Uh huh,” Noonan said as he reached for the edit. “And what exactly has been stolen?”
“Thirty used manikins from the city landfill.”
Noonan turned his head sideways as he looked at Harriet quizzically. “I did not know it was a crime to steal from a landfill. As a matter of fact, I’m betting cities would love to have people steal from their landfill.”
“Who knows, oh ‘Bearded Holmes?’” She handed Noonan a sticky note. “Your super-secret contact in Welk, North Dakota, is one Captain Valerie Zong of the North Dakota State Troopers.” She leaned toward Noonan and whispered, “And, of course, this is very hush-hush.” Then she made the Vulcan hand sign. “May the force be with you.”
As she left Noonan’s office, Noonan shouted, “The sign is from STARTREK and the saying is from STARWARS!”
“Either way,” she said over her shoulder, “but if it’s a lone star, you’re in Texas.”
* * *
Captain Valerie Zong stumbled over herself with apologies when Noonan was finally able to reach her. She was on patrol and the connection on the electronic Beelzebub was poor – not that Noonan had expected better.
“First off, Captain…”
“Heinz. Until there’s a crime, I’m just Heinz.”
“Fine with me. I’m not sure there’s a crime here. First off, let me apologize for getting you involved. Something odd happened and our local Commissioner of Homeland Security saw publicity. That started the ball rolling.”
“No reason to apologize,” Noonan said as he opened a notebook to a blank page. “Same here. Let’s see if we can solve this quickly so we can both get on to more important things.”
Zong relaxed. “I hear you. Here’s what I know. Welk was a boomtown for a while, back in the oil boom days, and expanded. Then the price of oil went down, and the community contracted. A lot of businesses went bust and that left a mall, in this case, empty. To make a long story short, the area had – and has – a homeless problem. Now the locals are converting the abandoned mall into a homeless shelter. Former boutique by restaurant by knickknack store, contractors are in the process of removing the walls, counters and residue of the old stores and putting in barrack rooms for bunkbeds, upgrading the restrooms, and expanding the restaurants into cafeterias for the homeless. There were a number of clothing boutiques in the mall with manikins. The abandoned manikins were collected and taken to the Welk Landfill with other junk and dumped.”
“Seems reasonable,” Noonan muttered around the pen in his mouth he was chewing.
“Par for the course. Then, at the landfill, the manikins disappeared.”
Noonan was puzzled. “How’d anyone know the manikins had disappeared?”
“Odd, you know. Security cameras caught a truck entering the landfill at night. It’s not a secure landfill.”
“No surprise there,” Noonan chuckled.
“The cameras caught the truck coming in and leaving with the manikins in the back of the pickup.”
Noonan tapped the page in his notebook with the pen. “In Welk, or rather, North Dakota, is it legal to steal garbage from a city landfill?”
There was chuckling on the other end of the electronic ether. “If there is, there shouldn’t be.”
Now Noonan chuckled. “I agree. How did your commissioner get involved?”
“She’s always involved. Always looking for publicity for more money for her office. The theft of the manikins, if you want to call it a theft, was a joke around town. There was just one clue to the theft on the surveillance cameras, the truck did not have a license plate, but you could see marks on the window where a new vehicle sticker should be. Do you know what I mean?”
“You mean, what a dealer puts in the window of a new vehicle until the actual license plates arrive?”
“Yup.”
“So, it was a brand-new truck.”
“Yup. There are only a few automotive dealers in Welk but none of them had sold a truck that matched the one that picked up the manikins.”
Noonan squinted. “So, it came from out of town.”
“Had to. On a lark, we called around and got a dozen leads from auto sales in Minot. One rang a bell, so to speak. It had been purchased by one of the companies involved in transforming the mall into a homeless shelter. We found six trucks at the mall that matched the description, all company trucks, but we could not find the one that had picked up the manikins.”
Noonan rolled his eyes. “No surprise there. Let me guess, no one admitted to being a driver or a passenger or a participant in the midnight enterprise.”
“Yup again. But what attracted the commissioner was that one of the companies doing the remodel is a subsidiary of a subsidiary of an investment company in Abu Dhabi. That meant Arabs and my commissioner has a sore spot for anyone or any company with ties to the Middle East.”
“I understand,” Noonan said as he let his gaze rise to the ceiling in his office, then through the overhead tiles to the Throne Room of the Sandersonville Commissioner of Homeland Security on the Third Floor.
“So now, suddenly,” Zong lamented, “we have a cabal of conspirators in Welk with ties to terrorists in the Middle East.”
“I could see that coming,” Noonan grimaced. “Let me guess, your commissioner knew my commissioner and the rest is a phone call.”
“Correct. You have a reputation for solving the unsolvable.”
Noonan sighed, “I’ve been lucky. Do you have a pen and paper? I have some questions for you.”
“Let me pull over. I’m on patrol right now.” She stalled for a few moments and then said, “OK, I’m stopped. What are your questions?”
“Here goes. How large was Welk before the crash, how big is it now, how many contractors are on the mall job, how many banks are in town, who is actually doing the work on the mall renovations, how many out-of-towners are in town during the day just to do the work on the mall, how many homeless are there in Welk, who is actually paying for the renovations, who will be paying for the homeless, who will be providing service to the homeless after the renovations are complete and is there anything unusual about this particular project?”
“And you want these answers when?”
“When I call back in a few days. Will this number be good when you are not on patrol?”
“I am required to be available on this number 24/7 by order of my commissioner.”
Noonan shook his head slowly, “Boy, do I hear you. I’ll be in touch.”
* * *
Whenever Noonan had a loo-loo call, he went to his two tried-and-true sources of information: local history and newspapers. He found nothing on a city in North Dakota named Welk, but he did find references to an oil path boom community by that name. The community had been named Welk after Lawrence Welk, a well-known North Dakota band leader and television star. His show, the LAWRENCE WELK SHOW lasted from 1951 to 1982, a staggering length of time considering celebrity popularity in those days lasted, at best a few years. It started with the Big Band sound and, as American musical tastes changed, so did the LAWERENCE WELK SHOW. Noonan had watched the LAWERENCE WELK SHOW when he visited his grandparents on weekends and remembered some of the standouts including Stan Freberg, a comedian of the era whose name still brought a smile to Noonan’s face. Reading up on Lawrence Welk, Noonan was surprised to learn the musician had an accent because he had not learned to speak English until he was 20. He had grown up dirt poor on a homestead in North Dakota. His parents were immigrants from what was now Ukraine. He was the sixth of eight children and spent his first year on the North Dakota homestead in a home that was a wagon covered with sod for its roof. He left school during the fourth grade to work on the farm. He was truly the American success story, from rags to riches, lived to the ripe old age of 89 and died in 1992.
Welk, the community, appeared as one of those entrepreneurial enterprises which exploded from the soil of North Dakota when the price of oil skyrocketed. It lasted about a decade and then, when the price of oil collapsed, the community went ghost.
But it didn’t die.
The big spenders left but the structures did not. Rather, the urban areas remained. While the oil fields were scattered to the north and east of Minot, the support businesses were on the outskirts of the city. When the oil fields went bust, the structures went into bankruptcy and were bought for a song by long-term residents and businesses in Minot. It was a field day for people with money, but, then again, when is it ever NOT a field day for people with money?
Over the years, as the economy continued to falter, the Welk community began to deteriorate. But this time the residents did not leave. Rather, they couldn’t. They were homeless and, because Welk was away from downtown Minot, it was an ideal place to house the homeless. That was the way it had started. As the economy worsened, the number of homeless increased. Now, according to Zong, Welk was going to be Homeless Central.
When it came to the theft of manikins, there was not a lot on the internet. Mankins, also spelled mannequins, were historically – and still are – a mainstay of the clothing industry. Originally made of wickerwork and wire, into the 20th Century they became full-bodied, so to speak, courtesy of cardboard and eventually plastic. He did find some amusing stories of manikins, one being a search of a river for bodies when someone reported seeing corpses in a local river. The police arrived with an emergency vehicle and found the ‘body parts’ to be from a number of manikins floating in the waterway.
Noonan found a few stories on the theft of garbage. There were more than a few quick clips on dumpster diving and identity theft from garbage, but by and large, legally, garbage is not ownerless. It is owned by the individual who puts the garbage can out on the sidewalk until the municipality or city picks it up. Then it becomes the property of that civic entity. There was not a lot of profit in garbage – the reason it is called garbage – and even the alleged recycling businesses were not money-making institutions.
So why steal manikins, which had no value, from a landfill which houses garbage deposits of no value and run the risk of being fined for stealing city property? But then again, mused Noonan, what would the civil penalty be for stealing something of no value?
When Noonan got Captain Zong back on the electronic tool of Satan, he had a few more questions.
“You’ve solved the Matter of the Missing Manikins?” She laughed.
“Very alliterative, I like it. No, but I do have some more questions.”
“Go for it.”
Noonan looked at the page in his notebook on Welk and manikins. “First, the homeless. I’m guessing the homeless are from all parts of Minot, correct?”
“Tough question,” Zong sighed. “The homeless, as in the people, do not have a solid definition. At least not financially. By that I mean the people being picked up and called homeless could be Natives, veterans, unemployed from Minot, transients, people traveling who ran out of money, or the mentally ill from wherever. The word homeless only means something for two fiscal reasons. Sorry to be technical.”
“Go ahead,” Noonan said as he scribbled in his notebook.
“First fiscal reason, it’s not who the homeless are, it’s who picks them up. That is, who pays for the pickups. Depending on the circumstance and location, a homeless person could be picked up by the North Dakota State Troopers if there is a crime involved. But if the alleged crime was in Minot, the city police would make the pickup. If no crime is involved, say the individual is just drunk or acting crazy, any number of community patrols would make the pickup. There are a few Native shelters and some veterans’ shelters and there are some mental health facilities which will allow walk-ins. Then there are several youth facilities, some are open for voluntary admission and others are court-ordered. The initial cost of homelessness is born by the agency or department or nonprofit or charity that picks the folks up off the street.”
“Are the feds involved?”
“If the homeless are on the military base or federal property, yes. But, in most cases, the feds turn the homeless over to the community patrols or state troopers.”
“What was the second fiscal reason you were talking about?”
“It’s who pays for the homeless once they are in a shelter. Once the homeless are in the shelter, who pays for which homeless individual depends on the homeless individual. Then the housing is paid for by municipal, state or federal funds, Native groups, foundation moneys, charities or other sources of income. Which entity gets charged depends on who the homeless person is – if he or she can be identified. It gets very complicated very quickly, financially speaking – and we haven’t even started to talk about any damage committed by homeless on the street.”
“I see,” Noonan said as he scribbled in his notebook. “Quite complicated. Now, the answers to my questions.”
“Got ‘em but I don’t know what good the answers will do for you. Welk is not a city, so I do not have any good population statistics. According to State of North Dakota records, the oil industry in the state employs about 24,000 workers and they are supported by another 35,000 in jobs and support industries. Minot is the fourth-largest city in the state but if you add in the air base, it’s third. I’d say half of the oil workers in the state are in the Minot area so Welk with the support businesses might have been about 15,000. Today it’s one-third of that.”
“That’s shrinkage,” Noonan exclaimed.
“Boom and bust, the economic history of North Dakota. When the money is here, it’s boom time. When the resource goes away, a bust.”
“Go on.”
“Let’s see. Depending on what you mean by contractors, there are six that are large and probably another ten or 15 which are subcontractors. And this does not include day and casual labor. The workers come in waves, so to speak. The cement company spreads concrete. When the concrete dries, the cement company goes away. Then construction workers come in and build on the foundation that was just laid. I’m not in the construction business so I do not know the processes. But there are always workers on site. Then there are the service people. As the homeless come in, they must be fed, clothed, and housed and there are medical people and counselors on site. A lot of people, day and night.”
Noonan scribbled her answer. “Banks in Welk?”
“Three but they are small. No robberies recently if that’s what you wanted to know.”
“I did.”
Noonan could hear paper rustle and Zong continued. “Let’s see. The actual number of people doing work on the shelter, about 40, again, depending on the stage of the project. Most people in Welk are in towners now that the oil industry has gone bust in the area. Total homeless is going up but the latest numbers have the homeless at over 400 but that is area-wide. A few over 200 of them are on the books in the Welk homeless center with more arriving every day. I told you who is paying for the shelter and who is providing money for the operation. As far as I know, as to your last question, there is nothing different or unusual about the Welk homeless operation that I know of.”
Noonan thought for a moment and then asked, “Of the contractors on the job, are any going to be providing service after the shelter is built?’
“A few. The largest companies are construction oriented so they will be gone when their work is done. Others, like kitchen contractors, barrack room construction, heating and ventilation, and electrical workers will be there and on-call for quite a while. It is a large project, particularly for a community as small as Welk.”
Noonan looked over his notes. “Regarding the truck that was picked up on the security camera at the landfill, is that company going to be staying on after construction is completed?”
“In a way, yes. It is part of the beehive of contractors that are transforming the abandoned boutiques into rooms, dormitories, shower rooms, rest rooms and the like.”
A gong went off in the deepest recess of Noonan’s cerebral cortex.
* * *
A week later Noonan was having another amiable day. It was refreshing because the Sandersonville Commissioner of Homeland Security was at a press conference up the beach and Noonan’s wife was in a bridge tournament down the beach. Either way, or, in his case, both ways, he did not have to worry about his day being interrupted by demands for an inane investigation by the former or a list of groceries to be picked up on his way home from the latter. It was therefore, going to be a fine and dandy nine-to-five.
Then Harriet came into his office with a photograph and an envelope.
“It’s from Welk, North Dakota,” she said as she dropped into the empty chair beside his desk. “Photograph and note.”
Noonan yawned. “Interesting. What does the note say?”
Harriet waved a sheet of paper. “From the North Dakota State Trooper’s office. From Valerie Zong. I took the loo-loo message for you, what, a week ago. Remember?”
“It’s hard to forget,” Noonan said with a smile. “What’s the note say?”
“The usual. Thanks for the help, I know you cannot accept gratuities for your work, but I thought you might want this photograph.”
“Good for her. I take it this is the photograph?” Noonan tapped on the only photograph on his desk.
“N-n-n-o-o-o. I found it in a pawn shop.”
“V-e-e-r-r-y funny.” Noonan looked at the photo which showed an empty bed with a folded blanket on an upper bunk in what appeared to be a dorm room. “So peaceful.”
“Right,” Harriet stated sarcastically. “Now, tell momma about the loo-loo resolution. The Commissioner is up the beach claiming all kinds of credit, but I’d like to hear it from you.”
“Not much. Just a lucky guess.”
“R-i-g-h-t. Tell me the lucky guess. I know someone stole 30 manikins from a landfill. So, fill me in, so to speak.”
“Not much,” Noonan said as he stretched. Then he pointed at the photograph. “My guess was the manikins would be used in some kind of scam, possibly be put in beds in a homeless shelter. That would increase the count which would increase the billing.”
Harriet shook her head in the affirmative. “Seems logical to me. More people mean more dollars for someone. But wouldn’t the authorities catch on quickly that there was some Hanky Panky? I mean, the homeless may be faceless but they all must be logged in with a name and some probably have Medicare.”
Noonan stretched. “I agree. My guess was the manikins were left in place but the billing for the supposed bodies was jiggled around in the books. The scammers probably created a backlog of names or generated them out of the blue. Or used names of homeless people they knew were on the street but had left town. I imagine many of the mentally ill homeless give false names. You’d have to take on good faith that the homeless who do not have some form of ID are who they say they are. When that happens, there is no way to prove that Joe Smith is Joe Smith. So reputable homeless operations simply register the indigent as Joe Smith because they have no other choice. The folks in Welk might have made up 30 Joe Smiths and billed them as living persons. I mean, one week the manikin would be billed as a living person to the State of North Dakota, and the next week to the City of Minot. Then the following week to the military base or a Native association or a nonprofit. In chaos there is profit.”
Noonan pointed to the photograph and continued. “I’m sure there were occasional walkthroughs by regulatory folks to count noses. The manikins would be counted as people who were asleep. The perps probably put some kind of stench in the rooms with the manikins to keep the nose-counters from investigating too closely. Or staying in the room too long. Like in this room. Two bunkbeds, four homeless. The auditors probably just opened the door, were hit by the smell, saw what appeared to be a bodies on all beds covered with a blanket and listed the manikins as real people.”
“Thirty manikins. Is that a lot for the homeless shelter?”
“I don’t know. Zong said there were more than 200 in the shelter. Thirty is within the margin of error for bookkeeping. Thirty manikins mean 30 scams per day. That’s about 10,000 billing days for some agency. It’s small potatoes in the overall picture, but to a small company, it is big bucks.”
“Not anymore.” Harriet tapped the photograph.
“I agree,” Noonan replied. “My bet is the instant the contractor knew the jig was up, the manikins disappeared.”
Harriet shook her head. “No manikins, no proof of fraud.”
“’Fraid so. My guess didn’t solve a crime. Might have stopped one.”
Harriet waggled an index finger. “But it did give two Commissioners of Homeland Security the opportunity to crow about stopping fraud.” Then she chuckled. “And ask for more money for their offices.”
“Law and order is a tough business, Harriet. Did you hear about the men who robbed a bank with the arms of a manikin?”
“Really?”
“They were armed and dangerous.”
