Code 61

by Donald Harstad

  Hester was apparently thinking the same thing. “Car crash, especially fatal, is a lot harder to fake than a drowning,” she said.

  “True.”

  “The word 'true,' all by itself,” she said, “is absolutely no encouragement at all. Means you're humoring me.”

  “True.”

  Harry chuckled. “You're right, though, Hester. Odds are way against it.”

  Car crashes really are a lot harder to fake. One of the reasons is that there's just such an enormous amount of data regarding wrecks that had been compiled over the last fifty years. That, coupled with the intense interest of insurance companies and courts regarding claimed damages, has produced entire fields of study that are related to car crashes. Every fatality is thoroughly studied, measured, photographed, analyzed, and subjected to reconstructive procedures that virtually ensure any foul play will stand out like a red flag. A good tiaffic investigator can tell you precisely what happened. Precisely. And if there are any inconsistencies, you'll hear about it.

  Murder via car wreck is easy to accomplish, don't get me wrong. It's just virtually impossible to make it look accidental. Physics is physics.

  “I wonder, though,” I said absently.

  “What?” asked Harry, lowering his menu.

  “Oh, I dunno. Just thinking. If you wanted to do somebody, it would be a lot easier to make a drowning look like an accident. Just for instance.”

  “True.” That was from Hester.

  I looked over at her. “You're right. No help at all.”

  “Hey. I told you.” She looked out the window, toward the lake. “A little too much to drink, splash, gurgle. Nothing weird, just drowned.”

  “Well, yeah. Bad swimmer … better if a nonswimmer. And, most of the time, people are murdered for mundane reasons like rage, for instance, or jealousy. Things like that. By people they know.” I looked expectantly at Hester.

  “Jealousy is good,” she said. “Would lead to a more cold-blooded approach than the heat of anger. Just for example, you know? More of the 'gee look at the neat fish … splash … oops' kind of thing.” She pursed her lips. “Jessica ain't gettin' no younger, Pilgrim,” she said, sounding quite remarkably like John Wayne.

  “True.”

  That earned me a withering glance.

  “Really, when you find somebody who seems to be just surrounded by, oh, certain events,” she said, avoiding the word murder in deference to a passing waitress, “there's just every indication that they may have something to do with causing those events. Like, if the drowning victim was messing with our vampire.” She half giggled. “Count boy-toy.”

  I didn't say “true.” Harry did.

  She drummed her fingers on the table. “Got to stop this speculation, Houseman. It's making it too easy to feel like there's some real evidence, here.”

  “Sure makes the time pass, though,” I said.

  She pulled her cell phone out and dialed.

  “Can you get us copies of the investigations we just talked about? Both the car wreck and the drowning? Great. Great. Oh, and when did that drowning occur? Really? Well, that is interesting. Thanks.”

  She disconnected, looking very pleased. “The drowning was in the summer of ninety-seven,” she said. “Hawkins thinks late July or early August.”

  The hamburgers were great.

  It had been a satisfying day, altogether. And the tour of the interior of the Hunley place was coming up in less than an hour and a half. I was anticipating being impressed.

  Hester got another phone call, and handed it to me. “I'm beginning to feel like your answering service, Houseman.”

  It was my oiffce. They were down to two full-time deputies, because of that damned flu. Lamar had said that, if at all possible, I was to return to the county immediately. He had also said that with Hester and Harry in Lake Geneva, I should be able to do that. He was, of course, right.

  I bid farewell to Hester, Harry, and Lake Geneva at 6:14 P.M., and headed back to Nation County. I hated to leave, but my two cohorts assured me that they would keep me posted on any developments. Damn. I think I was as disappointed to miss the visit to the Hunley estate as I was to miss the interview itself.

  I drove right into rain, but it was an uneventful trip, until I was contacted by radio near Dodgeville. Our Mutual Aid frequency was the same as Wisconsin's WISPERN, which stood for Wisconsin Police Emergency Radio Network. They always have had better acronyms. Anyway, I was instructed to go directly to the sheriff's department in Dodgeville. There was a moment's confusion on the radio, because Dodgeville was the county seat of Iowa County, Wisconsin. They were calling me Iowa Car, which was a bit of a kick.

  There was a deputy waiting for me. “We have a number for you to call,” she said. “I guess it's pretty urgent.” She ushered me into a private oiffce.

  My first thought was that something had happened to either Sue or our daughter, Jane. I needn't have worried. The number she handed me was for Hester's cell phone.

  “Gorse,” answered Hester.

  “Houseman here. How was the big house?”

  “Great, but later, right now you should know that they've located Jessica's silver 2000 Mercedes Benz SUV. It's been abandoned, in a place called Capron, Illinois.” “Where's that from Nation County?” I asked. I'd never heard of the place.

  “Well, just a sec,” she said, and I could hear paper rustling. Her map. “Okay, it's southwest of Lake Geneva, and northeast of Rockford. About thirty road miles from here.”

  “So, he's not headed toward Nation County?”

  “Don't bet on it,” she said. “The car was abandoned at a used car lot, and the owner is checking right now on whether or not he's missing a car. There's also a good chance he's headed home to Moline. Jessica apparently told him we were here, asking questions.”

  “Oh.”

  “There's absolutely no doubt that he had it. Jessica told us that she'd 'left the keys in the car' and he took it.”

  “That's cute,” I said. “Nice dodge.”

  “Shit, Houseman, her local attorney was there. She's hell on wheels, and she has just about every base in the world covered. She denies knowing how Peale got to Lake Geneva. We didn't reveal Tatiana to her, just asked how he'd gotten her car, and led into it.” Hester sounded disgusted. “We got to her twice, though. I think she's finally getting really worried. And her aunt seemed to be a bit pissed off at her by the time we were done.”

  “Cool.”

  “Tell you what we'll do,” she said. “You continue on, and if we get a make on a missing car from that lot in Capron, we'll have them tell you by radio. Just so you know as soon as possible.”

  “Right. Hey, Hester?”

  “Yes?”

  “If you do the brunch again tomorrow, could you bring me a doggy bag?”

  I was about twenty miles east of the Mississippi and Nation County when Wisconsin State Radio contacted me again. They gave me a simple message. I was to be looking for a blue '96 Honda four-door. It had no plates, naturally, since it was stolen off a sales lot. The keys, according to the dispatcher, had been under the floor mat. No direction of travel was given, for the obvious reason that nobody knew one. I just had to assume he was headed our way.

  I checked in with Dispatch in Nation County at 22:44 hours. The dispatcher, Norma, the new one, said I was to contact Borman via radio immediately. I did, and he asked me to meet him at the foot of the Mansion driveway.

  The rain was steady as I got out of the car. Not hard, just one of those long, drawn-out rains that come in October, putting the last nail in summer's ciffin, and giving us our first taste of the cold that was to come in the next few months. It was about forty degrees, or so, but felt much colder. I hurried across the soaked gravel road to Borman's squad car, carrying my green rubber raincoat. It's impossible to put the things on in a car, and by the time I would have gotten it on, I knew I'd already be in Borman's squad. I was startled when Sally just about knocked me over when she opened the front
passenger door.

  “You get in front, you'll never fit behind the cage,” she said, and scurried past me to open the back door and squeeze in to the backseat. She left the back door open a crack, so she could get out without having somebody open it from the outside. There are no door handles on the inside of the back doors in a squad car. Makes it harder for prisoners to escape.

  I dropped into the front passenger seat, knocking my left knee against the damned radio console, which was angled away for the driver, and encroached on the passenger's leg room. I shut the door.

  “Shit weather,” I said. “What's up?”

  “What are we doing here?” asked Borman. “We can't see crap, nobody has come in or out for the last four hours, and I've been up since six this morning.”

  I was beginning to think the kid was taking a course in how to irritate a superior.

  “Well, for starters, your friend 'Slasher' Peale left Lake Geneva shortly before I did. There's a good chance he's headed this way.”

  Silence.

  “Then, there's the information we got that says he's really, really pissed at some of the folks in the house, up there.” I shivered. “Got any coffee?”

  He fished a thermos out of the space between the armrest and the steel safety plate of the plastic cage. “Here.”

  “Thanks. I've been up since seven, myself.” I unscrewed the top, and Sally reached her hand through the sliding section of the cage, and handed me a Styrofoam cup out of the backseat. I poured the steaming coffee gingerly, sat the cup on the dash, and screwed the thermos cap back in place. “Who else we got available tonight?”

  “Ten is the late car. He's on at midnight. That's it. Other than him, it's just me. And Sally.”

  “Damn,” I said. “That means we stay here all night.”

  “What?”

  “Yep. All night.” I turned in the seat. “How about you, kid?” I asked Sally. “When you gotta be back at work?”

  “Day off tomorrow,” she said.

  “Okay,” I said, taking a sip of coffee from the cup. “Old coffee,” I said. I sniffed. “What's that smell?”

  “Smell?” asked Sally.

  “Yeah, that weird smell.”

  “I don't smell anything,” she said.

  “You better tell him,” said Borman. He was smiling.

  Sally took a deep breath. “It's garlic.”

  “What?”

  “You know, like you put on bread. Garlic.” She reached down to her utility belt, undid the little nylon pouch that we kept exam gloves in, and produced a small plastic bag with a small garlic medallion in it.

  “You're kidding.”

  “Houseman, you can never be too safe,” she said, replacing the bag. “Take it from me.”

  I sighed. “Okay, mother. Just keep it sealed up, okay?”

  “You bet.” She looked down, replacing the bag. “Want to see my ciuciffx?”

  I laughed. “No. Honest to God … ”

  “No different than a ballistic vest,” she said. “Insurance is insurance.”

  That reminded me of the matters at hand. “Now, can I ask you guys a question?” I looked at them both.

  “Sure,” said Borman.

  “What are you doing down here?”

  “Watching the place. Just like Lamar said.”

  I sighed, mostly for effect. “No. When you're all the way down here, all you can see is the road. You aren't supposed to be watching the road. You're supposed to be watching the house.”

  “We tried that,” he said. “Kevin came out and told us to get out of the driveway. He's got that right, it's private property.”

  “The woods up there aren't private property, they belong to the state.”

  “But there's no road into the woods.” He sounded exasperated.

  “What kind of rain gear you got in here?” I asked.

  “Hooded raincoat, like yours. Gortex overalls. Boots. But I'm not hiking up into those woods in the rain.”

  I made an effort to sound thoroughly disgusted. I think it worked. “No, you're not. Our suspect is probably in a blue '96 Honda four-door, no plates. I have no idea whether or not he's armed, so assume he is. Got that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, I'm going to put my rain gear on, go into the woods, to where I can see the house. You stay down here, and keep alert. I'll call on my walkie if I see anything, and you do the same.” I started to open the door.

  “Wait,” said Sally. “We've got the night-vision scope with us.”

  Our department had purchased some Russian Army surplus night vision gear in 1998. Right out of a commercial catalogue. It was inexpensive, and adequate, except the battery didn't last more than four hours. We had one battery, and it took a good four hours to recharge. The recharger, naturally, was in the oiffce.

  “I'll take it,” I said. “How much time you got left on the battery?”

  “A good three hours.” Sally sounded apologetic. “We used 'em for a few minutes after we got here.”

  I would have done the same thing, but didn't say so. Instead, “I'll only use 'em when I think I need to.”

  “I really think we need two in the woods, and one down here,” she said. “Much safer down here. Can I go?”

  “You got rain gear?” She had guts.

  “I'll make something work,” she said. “Go get your stuff on.”

  I had a pair of waterproof winter boots in my trunk, along with my rain coveralls and a shelter half. Since it was impossible to dress in the car, by the time I got the stuff on I was wet all over.

  I sloshed back over to Borman's car. Sally, being only about five feet tall, had been able to get most of his gear on while she sat in his car, so she was comparatively dry. She'd rolled up his coveralls, and looked totally lost in his hooded raincoat.

  “How do I do my gun?” she asked.

  “Keep it all under the coat, and when we get set up up there, unzip the bottom of the coat so you can reach the holster.”

  “Got it.”

  “You gonna be all right down here?” I asked Borman.

  “Yes.” He was the irritated one now.

  “I dunno just how long we're going to be up there,” I said, “but at least until three A.M. Don't go to sleep, and keep your car locked. You really don't want that bastard getting your car.”

  The odds on that were very slim, but I figured it'd help him stay awake.

  Sally and I sat on the right side of the hood of Borman's car, as he crept up the drive with only his parking lights on. That way, we could be deposited without any sound of closing doors.

  A minute later, she and I were standing in the cold rain, watching the receding red glow of Borman's brake lights as he backed down the drive.

  “Hope nobody sees that,” said Sally.

  “Not likely,” I said. There were a lot of lights on in the house. Nobody looking our way from a lighted room would be able to see anything. “Let's go this way.”

  I led us to the left of the gate pillars, following the shoulder-high wall. As long as the house was lit, it was going to be easy to find the wall. Our landmark.

  We went about twenty yards, to where the wall blended into the slope, and the line of trees became the demarcation between the Hunley property and the State of Iowa. It was easier to see than I had anticipated, because the house was so brightly lit. I ducked down and signaled Sally to follow me under a couple of big spruce trees. It was fairly dry under there, and it kept us out of the wind.

  I knelt down, and opened the big plastic case that contained the night vision scope.

  “This isn't so bad,” she whispered.

  “No, better than I thought.” I fumbled a bit, got it by the big handle, and felt for the switch. I peered into the eyepiece, and was in a very brightly lit world of green hues. I swept the area, quickly. We were about fifty yards from the house, on the southwest corner. I could see pretty clearly to the opposite tree line behind the house, although the lights on the lower floor tended to overp
ower the scope. I looked to my right, back the way we had come. Clear. To my left, I could see about fifteen feet before the trees and undergrowth blocked the view. Behind us, it was even thicker. Good cover. I hit the zoom button, and everything got twice as big. Cool. That was a handy feature, but it was a two-edged sword. If you zoomed, your field of view was so small; you'd miss a lot of stuff. The secret was to use the zoom feature only when necessary.

  I shut the night scope off, and put it back in the box, careful not to engage any latches that might make noise.

  “Comfortable?” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Good. Now let me tell you this … ” and I explained the elevator shaft to the mine to her.

  “You mean,” she said, after I was done, “Peale could just pop up any time?”

  “Yeah, sorta.”

  “Jesus Christ, Houseman.”

  “Don't get too worried. Just check around once in a while, that's all.”

  “Just where is this elevator shaft?”

  “Well, now that's a good question.” I grinned in the dark. “Somewhere to our right, I think, and a lot closer to the bluff.”

  “You think?” she hissed.

  “It's in with some of the old Kommune foundations. Not sure just where.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “Don't know why you're worried,” I said. “You've got the garlic.” I got a discreet kick for that one.

  For the next twenty-five minutes, nothing changed except the occasional occupant moving from room to room in the house. I found we could recognize them, sometimes, if they lingered in front of a window. I saw Huck, and Melissa, for sure. Otherwise, it was just cold and damp, with constant dripping as the rain filtered down through the trees.

  Sally seemed to devote most of her time to looking toward our right.

  Then lights started going off in the house. The parlor and dining room lights went first, then most of the lights in the kitchen. I could see Kevin at one point, very clearly, in the glazed main door. He just stood and stared out the door for a while, then disappeared from view.