by Jeff Rice
The unsuspecting officer said, “OK. Hold your position until more units get here.” Meanwhile the chopper pilots had somehow lost their fix on the suspect and were hovering placidly overhead radioing that the suspect had to still be in that one-block area. Ground units moved in to seal off Franklin.
Over the radios and walkie-talkies the order went out to start a house by house advance from Franklin and Bracken toward Wengert, through backyards and over fences. Sticking to the shadows, Skorzeny held his position while the noise of the advancing officers started to awaken the neighborhood residents and lights begin to flick on in homes along the three streets. Skorzeny, still wearing the fallen cop’s helmet and carrying his shotgun, started to slowly walk back toward the abandoned patrol car on Eleventh Street. He had almost reached it when his “partner” called out, “Where the hell are you going?”
He didn’t answer. He threw the helmet aside and leaped for the car, throwing the shotgun across the front seat and slamming the door. The other officer started back toward Eleventh at a dogtrot as the heavy Mercury cruiser roared off down the street. By the time he reached the corner, Skorzeny had turned left on Oakey and right again on Maryland Parkway and was racing toward the County Line at Sahara Avenue.
The men in the helicopter, still trying to figure out who was doing what down below, were still hovering over Wengert as Skorzeny roared across Sahara, turned down LaCanada and drove to Vegas Valley where he simply disappeared.
In all, the entire episode from the first reported contact until Skorzeny disappeared down Maryland Parkway took just twenty minutes.
The chopper circled the area in ever-widening circles while the hapless police officers milled around below giving and receiving conflicting orders. One of them tripped on a bulky object near a tree on the north side of Wengert that turned out to be the body of a rookie officer named Gordon Campbell, twenty-three. He had a broken neck and was quite dead.
One more victim for the killer. And another memorial picture for the Police Headquarters wall.
CHAPTER 17
TUESDAY, MAY 26–WEDNESDAY MAY 27
MIDNIGHT
Skorzeny, appropriately enough, had last been sighted at around midnight when he stole the patrol car. I had gotten this whole episode second hand by listening to the radio reports and filling two notebooks full of shorthand scribbles. I knew a de-briefing would be coming so I slipped into an adjoining office and got a line to the Daily News. Vincenzo had gone home but someone had caught Meyer before he could leave and told him there was a lot of noise on the PD squawk box. He’d sat there scribbling furiously and sent for the one remaining copyboy to get hold of Cairncross at home and have him call the office.
Cairncross did so about five minutes later and around the time Skorzeny fell in the pool at 1313 Fifth Place he told Meyer to keep on it and that I must still be down at the sheriff’s office. He said he was personally coming down to oversee the replating of the front page, and he cursed a blue streak that there were no photographs available. Meyer reminded him it was his order that sent them home at 10:00 P.M. They had just left barely twenty minutes before–the first one that is, a straggler named Lighter who had been fooling around with some shorts for a Sunday feature.
Smith was unavailable. So was Temcek. When I got hold of Meyer I gave him what information I had and told him I was sticking around to hear how the “brains” were going to explain what I had already mentally titled “Butcher’s Folly.” I swore to myself I’d put together a book on this if they killed my story another time and I guess this is the result.
After fifteen minutes, all the units were called in and others who were available were ordered to replace them on patrol. Every available officer who’d taken part in the operation was summoned to the sheriff’s office for a debriefing session. There were so many coming in with their clipboards that they held the meeting on the second floor in the county commission chambers. While the voices became more and more heated, I sat there smugly taking notes. I didn’t open my mouth once. And when it was all over (about 2:45 A.M.) I stood up and very quietly asked: “Now, does anybody want to listen to my ‘crazy ideas’? Are you ready to learn how to stop this unstoppable man?”
They looked at me through slitted eyes as if I was an Eichmann or a Bormann suddenly sprung up in their midst to remind them of their collective guilt and incompetence. Some of them had been following the chase. Some (Paine among them), I learned later, had glanced through my report and were mentally braced for what I had to say. The sheriff kicked off his cowboy boots and slumped back in the plush swivel chair to the right of the commission chairman’s seat.
“Why the hell not? C’mon boys, let’s hear what our ‘monster expert’ has to say. Maybe if he finally gets it off his chest he’ll let us all get back to work. Enlighten us, Kolchak. What do you know that we don’t know? You’ve got your chance. Go ahead.”
I was feeling good. I had them at last. “Have you got an opaque projector around here?”
One of the deputies nodded and pointed to the rear of the room.
“OK, set it up please.”
I approached the podium and switched on the microphone. “Sit down and take a load off your feet, gentlemen. This is going to take a while and when I’m through either you’ll lock me up and throw away the key or you’ll finally agree that I’m making some sense and you’ll try things my way.”
I inserted the first page of my report into the projector.
“Pay close attention now. There’ll be a quiz next period.” And I went into my spiel. They read every page while I used a little light-gun pointer to indicate the more important passages. There were a few grunts of disapproval but at the end of nearly an hour, after emphasizing the material on vampires, I knew I at least had them as long as I could keep talking. Right now they were glad to stop thinking even for a short while on how miserably the night had gone.
“Now,” I concluded the lecture grandly, “are you ready for some recommendations on how to stop this man the next time he strikes?”
“Why not?” Lane drawled again. “We’ve sat all through this. And, I think we’ve got to admit that tonight’s operation was not exactly a shining hour in police history.” He looked meaningfully at Butcher who burped and lit his twentieth cigarette of the evening. It occurred to me that lung cancer might finish him before the facts could ever be made public. And that would be a real pity.
I started in again. “Some of you may have read the report I left with Chief Butcher and Sheriff Lane. Now you’ve all had a chance to read it closely. And, as you’ve seen, according to legend, there are certain ways of dealing with vampires that are considered ‘traditional’ and effective. I am going to recommend these methods be used.
“But first I would like it understood that you will have to regard this man Skorzeny as a real vampire…”
Butcher started to interrupt but Lane cut him off.
“Go on, Kolchak.”
I felt great! I was on top of the situation at last.
“OK. First, every man on field duty must be armed with the following items: a cross blessed by a Catholic priest, another one similarly blessed to be worn around each officer’s neck, a small unbreakable vial of Holy Water from any Catholic church–an aluminum cigar tube will do…”
“What the hell is this junk?” Butcher putting in his two cents’ worth as usual.
Paine, too, who had been silent up till now, had to get into the act. “Oh, let him finish and then we can all go home. Tomorrow morning I’m going to call Jake Herman and have this creep fired.”
I shot him a look. “To continue: every man should also be armed with a wooden stake–a good hardwood, one that won’t shatter or splinter. It should be at least two inches thick at the butt end and taper to a nice sharp point. Also a broad-headed mallet. The kind of hammer used in bodyshops, the rubber-headed kind is good. Something handy enough to be carried around by hand. Not a sledge.”
“You aren’t suggesting by any chance
that we pound a stake through his heart, are you?” Lane asked with a chuckle.
“That is exactly what I’m suggesting.”
“That would be premeditated murder, Mr. Kolchak. Highly illegal.”
Paine spoke up. “If we can catch him, Kolchak, we want to bring him to trial.” Political coin for the D.A.
“What makes you think you’ll ever take him alive?” I asked.
There was no answer.
“Well, any of you people have any better ideas?”
Again, silence.
God, I was feeling powerful.
“Look at what happened last night. You people surrounded him. Slugged him. Pistol-whipped him. Half-drowned him. Shot him all to hell. And what happened? Nothing. Aren’t you finally getting the message? He doesn’t feel pain and bullets don’t stop him. Neither does buckshot.” I also reminded them that he was supposed to be seventy years old. “He’s pretty spry for an old codger that should be on Medicare, isn’t he?”
Butcher spoke up again. “You’re tellin’ us we’ve got to go on a vampire hunt like in the movies?”
“You’re catching on, Chief.”
“I’m not just going to have you fired,” said Paine, “I’m going to have you committed.”
“Even if we went along with this crazy idea of yours, we’d be the laughing stock of the entire country if it ever got out,” said Butcher.
Lane spoke up. “Take it easy, Paul. We’ve kept the worst of this quiet so far. We can keep it quiet a little while longer. Just where are you headed with this idea of yours, Kolchak?”
“Look, Sheriff… your people have all the necessary gear to track this character. Sooner or later you’re going to get a break and find out where he’s hiding. Stake out the place and catch him off guard–in the daytime–it’s got to be in the daytime. Oh, one other thing. Bring hatchets. Every man should have one of these two.”
“Why?”
“So you can cut off his head after you kill him.”
Lane just stared at me for a full thirty seconds. “By Christ, you are serious, aren’t you?”
“You bet your sweet ass, I’m serious. Now, have you any better suggestions?”
“I didn’t know you were so bloodthirsty, Kolchak.”
I didn’t answer. Frankly, I didn’t know I was that bloodthirsty myself. I guess I was really caught up in my own oratory. Why not? If it can happen to politicians and actors who begin to believe their own press notices, why not to journalists?
“As soon as the hardware stores open, your people can start gathering your materials. There’s a furniture finishing shop over on Western, in the 1300 block. The man that runs it will shape the stakes for you with no questions asked. And do it fast for cash in advance. I don’t think Skorzeny will make any move during the daytime. If you can be ready by nightfall, all you have to do is wait until he makes his appearance and then track him back to where he lives. Then you just surround the place and keep hidden. As soon as it’s daybreak you move in and… finish the job.”
“You really think he’s scared of sunlight?”
“Just play it that way.”
“Is there anything else you’d like us to do, Kolchak?” Sheriff Lane asked a bit impatiently.
“First, I want him off my back, “ I said, pointing to Paine. “Second, I want the exclusive rights to the story, free from censorship as soon as the press blackout is lifted, which should be as soon as you’ve nailed him. It’ll be as big or bigger than if they captured the Loch Ness monster.”
They didn’t look too happy about that suggestion either.
“Hell, you’ll all be heroes and the publicity alone will be worth a million bucks. It’ll do you more good in the campaign than all that law and order stuff you people’ve been handing out.”
“Don’t get carried away with this scheme of yours, Kolchak,” Lane answered. “We haven’t agreed yet. You know we haven’t the slightest idea where your monster is hiding.”
“Oh, I have infinite faith in your prowess, in your powers of deduction. Come on you people. Make up your minds. You have nothing to lose. No risk. Unless you don’t believe your own eyes. Unless you’ve forgotten that one of your own men, Officer Williams, is dead because of Skorzeny. You know I’m on the right track.
“We’ve got to talk this over, Larry!” Lane shouted at the deputy nearest the hall entrance. “Escort Mr. Kolchak outside and see that he stays put until we call you.”
I was outside by the stairway for about twenty minutes and could hear the angry voices inside arguing back and forth. Finally the doors opened and it was Bernie who ushered me in. Lane was standing in front of his chair.
“We have had a long talk, Kolchak. None of us believe this man is a vampire. You’ve presented a lot of well-documented material on legends but that’s all they are… legends. However, because we cannot seem to come up with anything better in the way of a plan, we are going to go along with your suggestions to this extent: we will get the stakes, hammers, Holy Water and the rest of that stuff and see that every man on duty by tomorrow night has these things. And we’ll go along with your ideas on trapping him. However, we will still operate using standard police procedure, and if we can take him alive we will do it.”
“You won’t be able to take him alive and you might as well accept that fact now. Otherwise, you’re going to get more of your men killed.”
“I’m not through, Kolchak. Why don’t you learn to keep your mouth shut? You’ve been bucking us for almost three weeks trying to get us to listen to you. Now you’ve got us going along with you, at least in principle.
“Now, we’re going to try it your way… one time. And on the following conditions.”
“Conditions?”
“Oh, yes, Kolchak. You’re not the only who can make demands. We’re in a position to accept or reject your suggestions. You can’t do the same with ours. Do you agree?”
I thought about that one and nodded my assent.
“All right. We accept your suggestions. And your conditions. Now here are our conditions.
“First, you say nothing about tonight except that we shot and missed and Skorzeny got away. You stop making waves until this is all over.
“Second, you check with us before you write another word or talk about this matter to anyone else. We know what a loose mouth you have. And we know who you’ve talked to. They will hear from us presently.”
I should have paid closer attention to that one.
“Finally, if it turns out, for some reason I don’t see right now, as much as I’d like to, that you are wrong and this idea doesn’t work, you pack up and leave this town within forty-eight hours. And you do not return. Ever. Officially, persona non grata.
“Now, have we got a deal?”
I couldn’t see why he went to the trouble. He’d already muzzled me with the press, clamped the lid down on the whole media. As for talking to people, why the people I’d talked to couldn’t possibly give Lane and his friends any real trouble. Bernie? Nurse Staley? Dr. Helms? The kids from the university? And the bit about leaving town. Hell, he could have me locked up or run out of town any time he chose. I didn’t figure I was losing anything by agreeing to his demands. After all, he was agreeing to mine and that’s more than I ever expected.
“OK, you’ve got a deal.”
“Not one word to anyone.”
“OK.”
“Oh, one other thing. I want you up in my office by 10:00 A.M. tomorrow. Since this is your idea, I want you right where I can get my hands on you in case it fizzles. When and if we nail this guy, you’re going to be right there and see it for yourself. Then you can’t complain about us lying to you. And, you’ll get that as an exclusive privilege. The other newsmen won’t be in on it at all.”
It was all breaking my way. It was good. I would be with them like glue right up to the last minute. But it was too good. Too goddamn neat. But I couldn’t see it then. I was too cocksure. I was too pleased with my unexpected success.
/> I grabbed a quick bite in the Sahara’s coffee shop and then fell into bed, setting the alarm for 8:30 A.M. I smoked the last cigar and can remember now the feeling of pleasure, the stupid euphoria I had during those last few hours. I felt better than I had in years. If I’d had any real brains that night I’d have been packing my bags.
CHAPTER 18
WEDNESDAY, MAY 27, 1970
When I got up I wasn’t feeling so damn cocky. I was feeling more like a used bar rag. But after I’d shaved and dressed and poured a half-pot of bad coffee into me I felt sufficiently fit to greet the coming day. I checked with the office by phone just before nine and told them I’d be going directly to the combined forces headquarters at the sheriff’s office. They already had my copy which I’d dropped off only a few hours before, en route to the Sahara. There was nothing more to add.
I made a couple of stops along the way. First, I went to see my friend Bill at his workshop on Western, where he was refinishing a harpsichord for some hotel owner’s wife. He gave me an odd look and handed me a nicely finished wooden stake from a pile near his lathe. I joined him in one cup of coffee and made distracted small talk, then left when the conversation petered out, and headed downtown.
My second stop was St. Luke’s, a small Catholic Church just a stone’s throw from the courthouse. It is one of ten Catholic churches in Las Vegas, a small, unpretentious, wood-frame structure left over from Vegas’ early days, and cannot compete for glamour with the likes of St. Anne’s, a great, pretentious, concrete tub, listed demurely on page 103 of the phone book’s yellow pages as “The Show Place of Show Town.”
