“What?”
“Nothing. Sorry. You stay right here, and we'll take a look around.”
We did a pretty good search of the roof area. With our lights, we could see most of the way to either end of the block, and look through some of the lower trees on the bluff. Nothing in sight.
“What's your name?” I asked our victim.
“Alicia Meyer.”
“Mine's Carl Houseman. Is there a particular reason you came up here? I mean, as opposed to going down the stairs or staying in your apartment until we arrived? Did this guy get in?”
“I think so. Then I thought he was waiting for me down there,” she said, pointing toward the edge of the roof.
“Reasonable,” I replied. “Any idea who 'he' is?”
“No.”
There was sort of a pregnant pause. Obviously, we were going to have to go back down. Look as I might, there was absolutely no sign of any stair leading down into any of the buildings. It was going to have to be the ladder again.
The trip down was easier. For her protection, Alicia traveled between Byng and me. Also for her protection, I went first. I felt it was better to look silly as I crawled backward to the ladder than to fall on her. I kept my eyes fixed on her bare feet as we came down. The rungs of the iron ladder were octagonal, and I kept thinking about how much that must hurt anybody without shoes. I must have distracted myself just enough, because my right foot striking the deck jarred me.
I went into her apartment first, then her, then Byng. We looked the place over very well. Nobody but us folks.
“Now,” I said, “what's going on?”
“I saw this guy,” said Alicia. “At the window. I know I saw him. Right there,” she said, and pointed a trembling finger toward her bedroom window.
I looked at the window, then at Byng. He shrugged. The window she had pointed to was the one adjacent to her kitchen window, and about ten feet from the rail of the platform outside. I knew; I'd just been there.
“That window, Alicia?” I asked. “You sure?”
“Yes, that window.” She glared at me, brushing a strand of brown hair aside so she could see me better. “I know what I saw. I know. He couldn't be there, because there's nothing to stand on. I know that. But that's what I saw.” Her exasperation was pretty evident. That was normal. She couldn't figure out what she had seen, either, and that was making it damnably difficult to explain it to us.
I was thinking reflection in the window glass at that point, and glanced around the room. The TV was off.
“You didn't have the TV on at the time, did you?” I tried to sound friendly and reassuring. Not accusative.
“No.”
“Okay. Huh. Well, okay, look. Just tell me exactly what you saw, and show me just exactly where you were when you saw it.” I thought that was being reasonable.
She took a deep breath. “All right.” With that, she stood, and walked over to the mirror. “I was standing right here,” she said. “Like this.” She demonstrated by turning her back to the mirror and looking over her shoulder at her reflection. “I turned my head like this,” she said, and looked over toward Byng and me. And also right at the window in question. “That's when I saw his face in the window.” She gave a very genuine shudder. Whatever else, I was certain that she believed she was telling the truth.
I walked over to her, and asked her to move a little, so I could stand in her place. I bent my knees, as I'm about six-four, and she was about five-eight, and tried to get my eye level on the same plane as hers. I looked toward the window. Clear view. No obstructions. And no reflections.
“These are the lights that were on?”
“No, the ceiling light was out.”
I motioned to Byng. “Get the ceiling light?” He did. Still no reflections. I straightened up. “You recognize him?”
“No.” She said it hesitantly. Either she was thinking really hard, or she found it difficult to lie.
“Can you describe him?” I asked.
“He was white,” she said.
That struck me as a bit odd. Nation County's population, while becoming a bit more diverse, was still about 99 percent white. It was unusual to have a witness describe anybody as “white.” It was just assumed.
“White?”
“Really white,” she said, and her voice trembled a bit. “Like clown white. You know, like paint or makeup.”
“Ah.”
“But not paint or makeup. I don't think. I don't know. If it was makeup it was really good. And black hair, or really dark brown, I think. Close to his head, kinda like it was wet or oily. It looked black, like his shirt or whatever it was… ”
“Good.” Always encourage your witness. “Anything else?”
She paused. “Yeah. He had these teeth.”
“Teeth?”
“Yeah,” she said, and sat down abruptly on the edge of her bed. “God, those teeth.”
“Like, what? Big teeth? Crooked teeth? Missing teeth? Anything… ”
“Yeah. Long, sharp. Really sharp teeth, you know?” She looked up at me earnestly. “Long, pointy teeth.”
I tilted my head. “I'm not sure what you mean.”
“Like a snake. Long, pointy teeth like a snake or something.” She actually shuddered. “I know what I saw. Just like a snake.”
It took me a second. “You mean fangs?”
“Yeah. That's it. Fangs. Two of 'em.”
“His front teeth were fangs?” It's rare, after more than twenty years at this, to find yourself asking a question that's never even occurred to you before.
She thought. Visibly. “No, not his front teeth. I could see those because he smiled, like. Not a smile, but like a smile. The ones kind of beside the front ones. You know.”
“Sure. Upper teeth?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. Okay, then, why don't you start at the beginning, for me.” My legs were still feeling a little unsteady, and I sat down at her vanity.
It turned out that she'd been in front of the mirror examining a new tattoo she'd gotten the day before. She didn't say of what, or exactly where. We didn't ask. She'd been topless, at first, and then with various tops that she'd be wearing. Just trying to get some idea what parts of the tattoo certain items of clothing would reveal. She thought she detected a movement out of the corner of her eye. She looked up, and there he was. Looking in the window, and just grinning or smiling. Revealing fangs.
It would have startled the hell out of anybody. Alicia just froze. No scream or anything. She said he disappeared after a few seconds, and it took her a few more seconds to get up the courage to turn away from the window and call 911 from her bedside phone. She apparently answered the first few questions posed by Sally, and then thought he might come back through the window, so put the phone on the cradle and ran to the bathroom and locked the door. A short time later, she thought she heard him at the front door of her apartment, so she fled to her kitchen door and tried to hear what he was doing. She then thought she heard him enter the living room door, so she fled into the hall. Afraid to go down the hall and past her living room door, she went out the back. She was just starting down the rear stair when she thought she heard something in the shadows at the bottom. Up she went, climbing the ladder so fast she didn't realize her feet were bruising until after she'd reached the top. She hadn't seen him again. She hadn't really looked too hard, either.
As we put the sequence together, it became pretty obvious that it had been Byng at her living room door.
He'd announced himself and knocked, but since she was in the bathroom, she only heard sounds. He hesitated, then tried the door, and it was unlocked. He'd just entered when she got into the hallway. Or so we figured. I think both Alicia and Byng were a little embarrassed.
“He say anything?” asked Byng. “When you saw him at the window?”
“Yeah. He did. He kind of mouthed something, but I'm not sure what. Not for sure.” She shuddered. “Jesus, this just creeps me, you know?”
&
nbsp; “So you sort of read his lips?” Byng raised his eyebrows. “Kind of?”
“Yeah, sort of. Look, I can't say for sure, and this sounds so dumb. But, well, I thought he said something like 'Can I come in?' or something like that.” Alicia looked at each of us. “It just sounds so dumb.”
“That's what you think he said?” I asked. “Something along those lines?”
“Well, I guess I was pretty sure then,” she replied. “I remember saying 'No!' once or twice. I answered him, you know, so he must have said something. Right?”
“Must have. Hey, did he look like he was dangling from a rope or anything?” I had to ask, because I could think of absolutely no other way for anyone to get up there without a ladder.
“No. I couldn't see his arms or hands. Just his face.”
“And you didn't recognize him?”
“No.”
“Did he,” I suggested, “remind you of anybody?”
She thought. “I don't know. Really. It's one of those things, you know? The more you think about it, the more he might. But I don't think that would be accurate.”
I had Byng take most of the rest of the information. After all, it was a Freiberg case, and I was just assisting. While he did, I stepped back out on that godforsaken little platform, and looked at the back for possible handholds. Four big bolts, which were common in these old buildings, protruded from the wall. They were several feet apart, in a straight line across the back, at about eight to ten feet from the ground. They probably ran under the flooring of the second story, and were simply reinforcement. No rings, no hooks, and, anyway, they were well below the windowsill. A couple of hollows where the red brick had decayed and flaked away. A few cracks where the mortar had crumbled out. But nothing else. And my original estimate had been about right. It was a good ten feet from the edge of the platform rail to the window where she'd seen the suspect.
I reentered her apartment. “Do you have somewhere you could go for tonight?”
“Yes. I guess.”
“We can either take you there, or follow you. I'd really suggest you go there, just so you can sleep.
” “You believe me?”
“Got to. I just can't figure out how he got where you saw him.”
“Do you think one of those rock climbers,” she asked, “could do it? You know, like the guys on TV who go right up a wall?”
“Possible. I don't do that sort of thing,” I said, grinning, “as you can probably tell. Do you know anybody who does?”
She shook her head. “But I'm a cocktail waitress on the boat. I'll ask around.”
By “the boat” she meant the gaming boat moored just down the street. It was called the General Beauregard. “Good. If you find anybody, tell Officer Byng, here, and we can bring him out back and see what he thinks.”
She nodded.
“Just check out his teeth first,” I said.
I went with Byng to take Alicia to a girlfriend's house. Not so much because she was an attractive female and he really should have a chaperone, but because it allowed me to leave the apartment by the front stairs. That mission accomplished, Byng took me back to where I'd left my car. We both got out, and looked over the area behind the stores. There was absolutely nothing that we could say was out of the ordinary in any way. Just some trash cans, a little housekeeping debris, bottled gas canisters, and the like. Nothing else at all, and no sign of a ladder.
“You look like you're bleedin' to death,” he said.
“What?”
“The rust from the ladder. It's all over you.”
I shined my light on my hands. Sure enough, they were orangeish red with rust. So was the front of my uniform shirt.
“Cute,” I said. I glanced at Byng, already aware that he'd climbed the same ladder, and I hadn't noticed anything reddish about him. I have a way of soaking up all the dirt and stains for everybody else.
“You must have rubbed your forehead, too. And your nose.”
I got a squirt bottle of Windex and a roll of paper toweling from the trunk of my squad car, and did my face and hands. The uniform would have to be washed.
“Think we have much of a case, Carl?”
I shrugged. “Not as it stands right now. You know who she described, don't you?”
“Yeah,” he snorted. “Fuckin' Bela Lugosi.”
I chuckled. Close enough. “The important part is that she didn't say that. Just described it.”
“So?”
“So she didn't have a name for the suspect she described. That's more credible, in a way. You ever know her to do any dope? Something along the lines of acid?”
“Never heard about her,” he said, “but I'll check. Think she's seein' things?”
“Don't know. Be kind of quiet about checking up on her. I really think maybe she saw something. I just don't think it was Dracula.”
He chuckled. “Me, too. Maybe a blackbird or an owl or something… We got a few young folks who like to dress all in black, and they're a little pale.” He snorted again. “Problem is, they can't fly.”
“Yeah.”
“That fang business is weird, you know?”
“Just a pair of novelty teeth, I guess. He can put 'em in or take 'em out whenever he wants to. If we develop a suspect, shake him down right away. He'll be carrying his teeth in his pocket.”
We had walked along the conduit, and I'd been staying about three steps back from the edge.
“Have a problem with heights?” asked Byng conversationally.
“Sometimes,” I said.
He shined his light up the back walls of the buildings, to that door into emptiness I'd observed before.
“Bet you'd just hate to open that one,” he said.
I looked up, just to oblige. I stared at the peeling white paint of the door.
“What?”
“Byng, I'd swear to God that door was covered with black weatherproofing when I got here. I looked at it… ”
We checked. There was no material on the ground anywhere near the door. There was nothing in the nearly dry conduit. There was no wind.
“Guess you're mistaken, Carl.”
“Yeah.” But I didn't think so. “Think we can get into that building tonight?”
“I suppose. Why?”
“I'd like to see if that door opens.”
We drove around the block, parked, I grabbed my camera, and we just walked in the front door, went up two flights of steps, and were on the third floor. Security in a rural Iowa town isn't too tight. The third floor was gutted, totally unused, and covered with birdlime, rat droppings, and accumulated debris. Dusty? Oh, my. Perfect medium for the footprints we could see leading to and from that damned door. I took photos, with Byng holding my little tape measure as a scale. Then we went to the door. I had Byng do it, but it opened easily. There were two ringbolts, brand new, attached to the outer door frame. They'd been painted black, and bright silver shown through where something had rubbed the paint off.
“Rope?”
“I'd bet on it,” I said. I didn't know enough about climbing to be able to guess whether the rope would be a safety feature, or would actually be used to help our suspect traverse the flat wall between the victim's window and this door. Or both. “It must have been useful.”
“Yeah.”
“He must have just about reached this door when I came into the alleyway,” I said. “He just froze in the frame. And when I went up the back stairs, I wasn't more than twenty feet from him.”
“Me, too,” said Byng. “When we went up the ladder.”
“Good thing we came fast,” I said. “I wonder how close he was to her when she came out the back door. Ten feet or less?”
“Probably.”
I got a spooky feeling when I said, “And I'll bet you she didn't hear a noise down below. I'll bet what she heard was him, and she just naturally assumed it was down at ground level.”
Byng leaned way out the opened door. “Boy, Carl, there ain't much place to grab hold of o
n that wall. It'd be a mean climb, even with a rope, I think. Well, though, like she said, those crazy rock climbers can find handholds all over the place.” He shone his flashlight out the door, toward Alicia's apartment.
“Hey, Carl?”
“What?”
“I think there's rings in the window frame above Alicia's apartment, too.”
“Can I take your word for that?”
“Sure.” He chuckled. “He really musta shit his pants when we came up.”
“Yeah. Or laughed his ass off watching me go up that ladder.”
Examination of the floor revealed that the suspect had paced back and forth between the boarded windows at the front and rear of the building. The boards had been pried, and then replaced, so they could be moved aside fairly easily. He was looking at or for something. Maybe us, as we looked for him.
I shined my flashlight up into the rafters.
“Whatcha lookin' for, Carl?”
“Him.”
“Oh.”
We were on the way down the stairs when Byng thought of something else.
“This is gonna sound dumb, Carl, but Alicia's boyfriend had his car keyed by somebody last night. Parked on Main Street, pretty near her apartment door. Scratch on the sidewalk side, bumper to bumper, and deep. He's gonna have to have it repainted.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah. You think maybe somebody's watchin' her? Doesn't like her boyfriend going up to her apartment… ”
Interesting. I couldn't resist. “Maybe he didn't key it. Maybe he fanged it instead?”
We both chuckled. “Any idea who it was?”
Byng shook his head. “He said to me, he said, 'I think I know who it was, but I don't want to say until I'm sure.' That's what he said. I asked him twice, but he wouldn't tell me. Said he'd get back to me.”
“Okay. Well, if you see him, you might suggest this dude with the teeth as a possible suspect. After Alicia tells him about tonight, he might be willing to talk.”
As we left, Byng summed it up. “Son of a bitch,” he said. “I hate these cases that go nowhere.”
I wish he'd been right.
TWO
Friday, October 6, 2000
12:25
Code 61 ch-4 Page 2
