Code 61

by Donald Harstad

  “Yeah.”

  “I think so, too,” I said. “I wouldn't be at all surprised if the lab found a quantity of Coumadin in Edie's tissue samples.”

  Another container, this time an old 250ml Erlen meyer flask, graduated, held a large number of coated, pink pills with the inscription “Mellaril 200.” No idea on that one.

  The last pill jar was a deep red, also appeared to be antique, with silver scrollwork and a silver stopper. Eighteen blue, diamond-shaped pills, with a brand name on one side and the inscription “VGR50.”

  “Anybody know what this is?” I held one out in my hand.

  “Hang on to it, Houseman,” said Hester, with a grin. “You may need it sooner than you think.”

  I bit, I admit it. From her comment, I sort of assumed it might have something to do with Alzheimer's, or something like that. “Memory stimulant?”

  “Probably, in your case, that would be all it is,” she said, laughing. “It's Viagra, Houseman.”

  “Oh.” I put it back. “Hey, I'm sorta proud I didn't know what it was.”

  “That's the memory part,” she said.

  We were all aware of the fact that most of the seized pills appeared to be prescription drugs. We were also aware that we'd not found any prescription bottles of any sort.

  Pending the results of the toxicology exam, all meds were photographed in place, and seized.

  Chris did the back stair, the one Borman had been guarding, with great diligence. Hester followed him down, after I took photos. The steps were pretty clean. Not only in the evidentiary sense; they gave every indication that they were cleaned and vacuumed regularly. No cobwebs. No dust. Just shiny hardwood and clean pastel green plaster. Nothing, until the second step from the bottom. Chris went on point, came back up for his stuff, and after a few minutes, we shut off the lights.

  Green luminescence shone on the bottom two steps. In wide swaths, with a discernible swirling pattern.

  Chris looked up the stairs at our three faces peering down at him. “Looks to me like it's a blood response, not detergent. We'll see, and I wouldn't be surprised if there was a mixture of both. But for now, I'd be inclined to say somebody wiped up some blood here. And not too long ago.”

  The rest of the steps were clean. Period. According to Chris, that was far from typical.

  “I'd be inclined to think there should be more blood-staining around here. Drips. Spills. Seepage. Something.”

  But there wasn't.

  We photographed the stairs by using a time exposure, darkening the entire third floor, and using a slow pass with a flashlight across the walls of the stairwell, first one side, then the other. That way, the luminescence would show up, and we'd also be able to show the scene. Without the dim light of the flashlight, we'd only get the green on fflm, without any clue as to where it was located. That was the theory, anyway. Just to be safe, we also outlined the areas where the wipe marks were, and took shots of them in good light.

  We all sat around for a few minutes, completing our inventory of seized items, finishing up the sketched diagram of the third floor, and making sure we had everything.

  “We done?” asked Hester.

  Well, as far as we were concerned, we were. Others, it seemed, had different ideas.

  SEVENTEEN

  Monday, October 9, 2000

  01:47

  I guess I hadn't fully comprehended the extent of the isolation of the third floor from the rest of the Mansion. As we descended the stairs, we gradually became aware that there was quite a bit of activity around the place. The closer we got to the ground floor, the more my suspicions were confirmed.

  We got to the bottom of the stairs, and saw the press people gathered outside the front door. The scene was brilliantly lit. Shit. They had TV cameras and everything. I identified Iowa TV units from Cedar Rapids and Dubuque and one from La Crosse, Wisconsin.

  Our call for reinforcements had gotten a little more attention than I'd hoped.

  Lamar was, well, eager to see us.

  “Somebody told these assholes we were hunting for a vampire up here,” he said, the tense being past accusative. “Who did that?”

  I started to say that I didn't know, when he continued.

  “They want to know who and how many he's killed, where the vampire is, who the vampire is…. ” He looked me square in the eye. “Any suggestions?”

  “I suppose,” said Hester, “that means he hasn't been caught yet?”

  “Hell, no, he hasn't been caught,” said Lamar, with considerable disgust. “They can't even find a good track, and the useless dog got away from his trainer.” He shook his head. “Goddamned animal started to track Borman at first. You know that? Worthless…. ”

  There had just been too many people around, I guess.

  “I got the plane up from Cedar Rapids PD, with their FLIR, and all they can see is cops, deer, and that useless fuckin' dog wanderin' around.” Lamar gestured toward the woods. “We used spotlights from the Conception County helicopter. All the way to the river. Then the FLIR, when it got here. Nothin', nothin' at all.” I thought he was going to spit. “Then this goddamned rain on top of it…. ”

  It was raining, not hard, but one of those drizzly, persistent rains that can go on for days. A cold, damp night, peculiar to October and November.

  “The rain affect the FLIR much?” I asked.

  “I guess,” he said. “It tends to even out the temperatures, if somebody's gonna hide in the woods, so they tell me.” He shrugged. “Just makes it harder, is all.”

  FLIR is a Forward Looking Infra Red device. It can see a heat differential of less than half a degree Fahrenheit. Any mammal would show up, and clearly enough that you could spot the antlers on a buck deer from about five hundred feet up. The beauty is, the target has no idea you're looking at it. You can hide under things, of course. Behind things, inside things. But if even your legs were uncovered, it would have you. But the rain, like Lamar said, would make it less effective.

  “Where could he go?” I was thinking out loud, more or less.

  “I hope,” said Lamar, “that you didn't come all the way downstairs just to ask that.”

  Lamar hates the press. It isn't always so obvious, but he really does. He's also very nervous around them, and will do almost anything to avoid having to talk with them. The fact that the so-called vampire's victim was his niece just compounded the problem past all reason.

  “You give a statement yet?” asked Hester.

  “Nope. Nothin' to say, I guess.”

  “Let's give a joint statement,” she said. “You and I can write it up real quick, and I'll go with you and both our offices can issue it.”

  He nodded, and the two of them went into the main dining room, and sat at the long, beautiful table. The setting was quite a contrast to the turmoil both inside and outside the Mansion.

  There was a familiar voice at the door.

  “Hey, Houseman, kin we have your picture, or you gonna feed all of us?” Harry.

  As it turned out, Harry had been in Milwaukee most of the day, talking with the pathology team that had done the autopsy on Randy Baumhagen. The death had been the result of the blow to the head with one of those ubiquitous “blunt instruments.” Probably about three to four inches wide, probably fairly heavy. The throat injury was, as we had been told in the preliminary report, the result of the use of a sharp object, but not a blade.

  All well and good. But Harry had been busier than that. He'd talked with people about William Chester.

  “He ain't got a sister, Carl, and he never fuckin' had one. Dead or not.”

  “Really?”

  “He was livin' with some gal, over around Walworth, who died in a car wreck. That's it. He lied.”

  “What do you think? We dump him?”

  “I dunno. Everything else checks out so far. I dunno.” Harry looked around the interior of the Mansion, taking it in for the first time. “Nice fuckin' place.”

  “We like it,” I said.


  “So, the press people tell me that you found our boy?”

  I explained that he'd more or less found us. I gave Harry all the details.

  “Warning shots?”

  “Yeah.” I sighed.

  “Kids these days,” said Harry. “They just think too much.” He looked around some more. “So, you think he was up there all the time, then?”

  “Yeah. Zonked, maybe. Enough pills up there to keep you out for a while.” I motioned him over to the stair, near the inglenook. “Hear anything?”

  He tried. “Nope.”

  “Quiet, isn't it?” I gestured around me. “I mean, even with all the commotion outside.”

  “Well, yeah, now that you mention it.”

  “I'll tell you, Harry, this is the quietest house I've ever been in in my life. You could make a lot of noise one or two rooms away, and never be heard. Not to mention up a floor or two.”

  “It's all the insulation in the interior walls, I betcha,” he offered. “These old places are like that.”

  “I think so, too,” I said.

  “So, where ya think he's got to?”

  “Beats me. Lots of area to hide in out in those woods. Lots.” I raised an eyebrow. “Maybe we got lucky, though.”

  “How's that?”

  “Maybe he's a good swimmer, and made it to the Wisconsin side.”

  While Harry paid his respects to Lamar and Hester, I called the office to find out whether or not the Freiberg cops had been able to find Kevin Stemmer. Turned out they had, in a local bar called The River Bank. Strike one suspect.

  The news conference was remarkable. Hester and Lamar stood together on the front steps, starkly lit by the TV reporters and their lights, and with their breath visible against the shadows of the house, gave a prepared statement. Actually, Lamar introduced them both, and then let Hester do the statement, but it was obviously and effectively a joint release. The rest of us watched intently from the corner of the porch. We were safely off camera, and had a view from the left rear quarter, where we could just see their brightly lit faces.

  “This is an ongoing investigation into a possible homicide,” said Hester. “I emphasize 'possible.' Since it is ongoing, there is very little we're able to release to you at this time. The deceased is one Edith Younger, of Rural Route, Freiberg. An autopsy has been performed by the medical examiner's office, and the results are expected to be formally submitted at the conclusion of all the routine laboratory testing.”

  It was a nice release. They'd done a nice job. Predictably, as soon as she'd finished the last sentence, the assembled reporters all started asking the vampire question. Hester held up her hand. “There has been a rumor started that there is somehow an involvement of a so-called vampire in this case.” She drew a deep breath. “Vampires are mythical creatures. Period.” She produced a great, open, honest smile. “Any suspect or suspects in this case would be human beings,” she said, in a calm, clear voice, “and would be treated as such. You can count on that.”

  “So, who are you looking for with all these people?” the Dubuque TV reporter asked.

  I found myself just as curious about her answer as the media.

  “We have a possible suspect, who may be in this vicinity. We are checking to see if our information is correct.”

  Cool. I almost clapped.

  “Is it true that this suspect has been shot?” I peered into the group, but with the TV lights and the light rain, I couldn't see who was talking.

  “Nobody has been shot,” said Hester. Too true.

  “We were told that a person had been shot, and had fled into the woods.” I moved a step or two to my right, and looked hard into the assembled media people. It appeared as if the La Crosse TV reporter was the one doing the talking. As my eyes moved over the group of media people, I recognized William Chester standing near the La Crosse SUV. I suspected I'd identified their source, although where he had gotten his information was beyond me.

  “No one was shot and then fled into the woods,” she said.

  She tried to forestall further questions by saying, “The law expressly does not allow the release of more information at this time. The sole reason we chose to respond to the first question was to put an unfounded and kind of silly rumor to rest. We are allowed to do that under departmental procedure.” The smile again. “We're encouraged to do that, in fact.”

  There was a barrage of questions, many containing the “V” word. One actually asked if the vampire had drained the blood from the victim.

  “I'm really sorry, but I can't say more at this time. We'll keep you posted on the critical steps in the case. Thank you.” She and Lamar turned, and began to walk back into the house.

  Hester should have gotten some flowers for her performance.

  “Is the dead girl any relation to you, Sheriff?”

  Lamar stopped, and stood for a second, with his back to the cameras. We had a good view of his face, and it was absolutely stony. He turned.

  “Edith Younger was my niece,” he said. “That's why I'm not personally involved in this investigation.”

  He turned, and ignored the hubbub behind him. Then, he did something I'd never seen him do before. As they headed into the Mansion, he held the door for Hester.

  About fifteen minutes later, we had all the arrangements made to secure the house pending the return of the owner, and the search warrant team was going to head in for the night. The area searchers were still out there, but it was beginning to look like our quarry had given us the slip.

  “We'll keep at it all night,” said Lamar. “And do a daylight search, too. He's gotta be somewhere.”

  “Hey, Lamar,” said Hester. “You puttin' everybody on double time and a half?”

  “No,” he said gruffly. “They're all just workin' a shift.”

  “Not since midnight,” said Hester. “Happy Columbus Day!”

  Lamar looked at her. “Well, shit.”

  Columbus Day be damned, Lamar decided to leave three officers in the woods, with orders to search until 9 A.M. They'd be relieved, and the next trio would search until four o'clock.

  “I'm not sure he's gone far,” said Lamar. “Somethin's not right.”

  It was hard to fault that reasoning. Besides, we'd had a little bit of luck come our way. When you do an application for a search warrant, you have to describe the property to be searched with exceptional accuracy. According to the Platt maps, the area surrounding the Mansion was owned by the State of Iowa, as part of the adjacent wildlife refuge along the Mississippi. The demarcation between the Hunley property and the state land was the woods, naturally enough. That meant that we were searching on state land. There was no permission required from the Hunley people in order for us to tramp through the woods all day and night.

  Before we left, Hester and I decided that we'd better get an interview in with Hunley and Ostransky fairly early tomorrow, and see just what they could tell us about Peel, vampires, and the kinky stuff on the third floor.

  We pulled right past the reporters, who were caught, as usual, completely flat-footed. We were headed down the drive before any of them had a good chance to get a photo.

  Just as we reached the end of the lane, and were stopping before entering the main road, I saw some blue out of the corner of my eye. I slammed on the brakes, just about causing the lab van to rear-end me. I opened my door, took off my seat belt, and started into the overgrown area on the right.

  “You see him? Have you found him?” came from Chris.

  “What? Oh, no, no, but you better come, too. We forgot something.” What I'd forgotten, and what had bothered me while we were still up on the third floor, was sitting just off the driveway. The garbage. In the big, blue container. Of course.

  We made an executive decision, seeing as how all the contents of the big steel box were in several black garbage bags. Just take the bags, list them on an amendment to the inventory sheet before we left the property, take a copy back to the house, and just haul the bags d
own to the sheriff's department, and lock them in the evidence room, and go through them tomorrow. Anything we didn't seize, we could just haul back. And, since it was my bright idea, I got to cram all five bags into the backseat of my car.

  The ride home was uneventful, but a little smelly.

  I was less than popular at the office when I put five bags of garbage in the evidence room, and locked the door.

  “That shit's gonna stink up the whole office,” said Deputy Kline, who'd been with the department long enough to know what he was talking about. “I'm gonna have to go out and drive around, for Christ's sake.”

  “Imagine that.” I dropped my notes on my desk, and fumbled for the key.

  “You find the guy you're lookin' for?” he asked. He'd been assigned as the general duty deputy for the night, and was the only one not up at the Mansion. He was actually in the office because it was centrally located, and it made more sense for the only one on duty to be there than anywhere else.

  “Nope,” I said, inserting the key and opening my drawer. I shoved my notes in, took my undeveloped film from my pocket, and put that in there, too. “I'm beginning to think he got away,” I said. “Although it must have taken some talent.”

  “For sure,” said Kline. “You got an army up there.”

  “Yeah,” I said, very tired. “That we do.”

  I walked out to Dispatch, and left a hurried note for Borman that we were going to start about 09:00, maybe as late as 10:00, and that he could meet me at the office when I got there.

  When I handed the note to Winifred Bollman, the duty dispatcher, she looked up and said, “Jeez, Carl, you look wiped out.”

  On that note, I called it a night.

  EIGHTEEN

  Monday, October 9, 2000 (Columbus Day)

  08:39

  I woke up about 08:02, to a ringing phone. I answered it, sleepily.