Eleven Days (33 page)

“Mike, he’s in back.”

“Let me talk to him.

“We get that Travis dude yet?”

“Nope.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Hal called about half an hour ago. They haven’t been able to find him. They don’t think he’s been tipped off or anything, just not there. Landlady says that he usually comes home about two or three days out of ten. They’re waiting.”

“They do the search of his place yet?”

“Didn’t say.”

“Anything else going?”

“Not much … I had to put Betty in the juvenile cell, and transferred Rachel into the cell with Elizabeth Mills.”

“Why?”

“Old Liz kept screaming at Betty. Apparently knows her. And Betty just happened to tell Liz about what happened, and how she was involved. I was really afraid that Liz would try to harm her.”

“Shit, I didn’t think she’d tell.”

“Well, she did.”

“Wonderful.”

“Yeah. Oh well, there’s nothing else going on. At least, as far as I know.”

“Okay,” I said, “tell Jane I’ll be out at 20:00.”

I hung up the phone. “Damn.”

“What?” asked Sue.

“They haven’t got him yet.”

“Who?”

Of course, I hadn’t managed to tell her about the events of the morning. It’s easy to miss connections on a weird schedule.

Now, just how much do I say …

“We have a suspect we’re trying to find. Should have him later tonight.”

“Will you have to get him?”

“No, not me. He’s a little out of my jurisdiction.”

“Well, that’s good. Here, give me a hand with these, will you?”

I set the table while she finished the salad. That’s always been about the extent of my kitchen expertise—setting the table.

I ate, relaxed with a cup of coffee for a few minutes, showered, shaved, and put all that clumsy gear back on. I fell into my patrol car at about five to eight.

I started the engine, tested the top lights, the spotlight, the outside speaker, made sure the little red light on the rechargeable flashlight came on, indicating it was charging, turned on the police radio and checked it by hitting the transmit button on my portable. All set. I recorded my start mileage, the weather, time, and car number on my daily log. Put on my seat belt, cinching it down. Checked the fuel level—about half a tank—made a mental note to get gas before I left Maitland.

“Comm, three.”

“Three, go.”

“10–41, mileage …”

Another enchanting evening in northeast Iowa was about to begin.

I made a quick stop at the hospital, to see Mom, who was getting better and about to be released in the next day or so, and then went to the office.

I met Mike, who was about to leave for a theft call. Two hydraulic cylinders from a farm, farmer last saw them about two months ago, not pressing. He and I went back into the office.

I told him I wanted to call Helen in and tear off her fingernails for lying to me. And brain her husband. He agreed, but thought I should clear it with DCI first. I
agreed, but reluctantly. Then we talked about my getting thumped by a pastor—he thought it was really funny.

I had noticed a couple of extra cars in the lot and asked him about them. It turned out that we still had two reserve officers at the jail, all night, and that they’d be there until we had Travis in custody.

Mike left to check the hot leads on the missing cylinders, and I stopped at dispatch to talk to Jane for a second and let her know approximately where I intended to go.

“Just south?”

“Yeah, Mike’s call is north. I really don’t have anything to do that’s special. I’ll just be south at first. Then I don’t know.”

I stopped in the kitchen and talked to the two reserves for a few seconds. They had coffee going and a card game. They were two of my favorites, Harvey Jeffries and Kendall Harp. They both had to go to work in the morning and planned to alternate naps on a cot. I’d never known just how they managed, let alone why. But since they had fresh coffee, I knew I’d be back a little sooner than normal. Maybe I could pick up some rolls or something. Maybe I could have Dan do it.

I went back to my car. A light mist was falling, and I hoped it didn’t freeze. Spring hadn’t sprung.

There had been no news from Dubuque. That was my real reason for working south for the first part of my shift. I wanted to be in a position to intercept the DCI people on their way back to Maitland, if they got him. I was pretty anxious to find out what they had discovered.

I went out to the county maintenance shop to get gas and called Dan to meet with me.

I put in 12.3 gallons, hung up the pump, and recorded the amount in my log, with mileage. Dan drove up just then, so I put off going 10–8 for a few minutes, to talk with him about the homicides and see if there was anything going on in Maitland. We sat with our cars side by side for about ten minutes, while I explained why Betty
Rothberg was in jail and why Mark Rothberg was at home. He’d heard about Betty, but nobody had told him exactly why.

Dan went to Rothberg’s church occasionally, whenever the pressure from his wife reached a level where it was easier to attend than not. He had been there today for the funeral.

“Quite a sermon. I saw Ed there, and I thought something might be up. Pastor Rothberg talked about Satan, and the fact that he was alive and well, and in Maitland. No details, but he sure was disturbed.”

“He was, was he? And at a funeral?”

“Oh, yeah. Said that Satan had entered his life more than once and that it had been a terrible struggle, but that he had finally thrown him out for good.”

“I’m pleased for him.”

“Yeah. Most of the people thought he’d had an affair, or had been hitting the bottle.”

“Figures.”

“Don’t it, though. The mourners were a little surprised.”

I just shook my head.

“You heard that we found the guy who tried to break my skull, didn’t you?”

“No! Who is it?”

“Rothberg.”

“Pastor Rothberg?”

“Yep.”

He started to laugh.

“Dan …” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck you.”

He laughed even harder. “Maybe if you’d gone to church …” He couldn’t finish. He made a cross with his fingers, holding them up in front of himself. “Don’t hit me, I’m a Christian,” and laughed even harder.

“Well, I gotta go …”

“Watch out for rabid clergymen …”

“Yeah …” I remembered. “Oh, Dan?”

“Yeah?”

“Want to pick up some rolls at the bakery in a while? Meet at the office for coffee?”

“Sure thing.”

I pulled my car away and picked up the mike.

“Comm, three.”

No answer. Probably a bathroom break. Dan pulled in front of me at the entrance to the shop and signed his cross again. He went north, toward the big industrial park near the Maitland city limits. I turned south, onto the main highway.

“Comm, three.”

I had to call in my gas. If it wasn’t logged, the books wouldn’t balance at the end of the month.

Still no answer. Damn it, Jane. Well, maybe she was on the phone.

I turned at an intersection and was heading toward Maitland when I called again. I was getting a little testy.

“Maitland comm, car three!”

No answer.

“Twenty-five, three? You copy this signal?”

“10–4, three. You’re 10–2 here.”

Okay, Jane. I tried her on info, a separate channel into com. only.

No answer.

By now it had been a good six or seven minutes since I had first tried to call in my fuel. I had heard no traffic from the comm center at all during that period. None.

I spun the car around and hit the top lights.

“Twenty-five, three, go to the comm center.”

I got a scratchy response I couldn’t decipher. Great, he was out on door checks, on his portable. With the hills, he wouldn’t hear me clearly until I was back in Maitland.

I stepped it up and hit the siren. I blew the stop sign at the intersection and worked it up to around 110. I was
gonna feel real dumb if Jane was talking to the card players. I turned off the siren before my next call, just in case she had been doing that.

“Comm, three!”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I was just about in Maitland by then, and Dan heard me. He also heard the roaring of the airflow around the car and through the partially opened window. He knew I was moving.

“Three, what you got?”

“Get to the comm center, 10–33!”

I hit the siren again as I entered Maitland, hurtling up the street toward the comm center. I went right by Dan, who was running to his car. I was still doing about 90, and the posted limit was 25. Blew around an old pickup, who dived into the parking lot at the supermarket. We’d hear about that one.

I shut off the siren as I pulled into the lot, and jumped out of the car, leaving it running with the top lights on. I always locked it, and I did so this time. I pulled my revolver out as I hit the steps. I pushed the buzzer for admittance. No answer. I fumbled for my key, realized it was on the set in the car, and ran back for it. Hit the steps again at a dead run, just as Dan was pulling into the lot.

I unlocked the door and stuck my head around the corner. Nothing seemed disturbed. All the proper lights were on. In dispatch, in the hall. But it was dead quiet.

I heard Dan on the steps and held my left hand up, pointing my revolver ahead of me as I slowly approached the dispatch center. Jane was pretty tall, and I could usually see her head from the doorway, behind the console.

Nothing.

With Dan right behind me, I entered the dispatch center. He went left and pointed his gun toward the kitchen, while I rounded the console to the right.

Jane was slumped over the console desk. There was
blood on the log sheet and the notepaper. A little bit of tissue extruded from the left side of her head.

“Jane!”

No response.

“Watch out, Dan! She’s been shot!”

“Shit!”
he hissed, but he never looked my way, keeping his gun pointed toward the kitchen.

I tried for a pulse on Jane’s neck, couldn’t get one.

I picked up the phone, cradled it on my shoulder while I dialed with my left hand, keeping my revolver in my right.

“Maitland Hospital?”

“Get an ambulance to the sheriffs office, this is extremely 10–33! Right fucking now!”

I hung up and keyed the mike on ops.

“All cars, 10–33 at the comm center. Possible 10–32. We need 10–78!”

I backed away from the console and heard cars start to acknowledge.

I joined Dan. “Okay, let’s take the kitchen first. Watch the door to the left, that goes to the cells. I’ll go for the kitchen,
you watch that door
.”

We went through the little hallway, and Dan peeled off, facing the door to the cells. I continued into the kitchen.

Harvey was slumped over the table, the cards scattered onto the floor. Kendall was lying on the floor, on the opposite side of the table, his revolver in his hand. They’d both been shot in the head. I guessed Harvey first, as he was facing the open back door. Small holes. Probably a .22.1 was getting so tense I thought I’d break the grip on my gun.

I backed up, looking around to see Dan staring at me. His gun was still pointed at the cell access door.

“Got ’em both. Back door is open. Don’t know if he’s left or not.”

“Okay.”

“Now we check the cells. You ready?”

“Yeah, I guess …”

“Don’t guess, goddammit—you ready or not?”

“Ready.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

I reached forward, turned the knob, and gave the door a little push. It opened freely, nearly all the way. I found myself looking into the women’s cell. I saw a pair of legs, up to nearly the hips, on the floor in front of the cell door. I could hear a quiet whimpering, but I didn’t know where from.

I had to go through a thick archway, with hallway going both directions. I stuck my head around to the right, toward the men’s cells and bull pen. I could see part of the bull pen area, but saw nobody. I checked left, looking back toward dispatch. Nothing. I kept my revolver in front of me and slowly went toward the men’s area. As I went past the juvenile cell, where Betty was supposed to be, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked in, and she was lying on the floor, making swimming motions, trying to hide under her bunk. I could see the lower half of her, and she appeared to be all right.

I motioned to Dan.

“She’s okay. Let’s go on.”

We went all the way down the hall to the men’s cell. I could see the floor of the bull pen when I was about five feet away. There was a body in an orange jail suit on the floor to the right, another one just beyond it. I couldn’t tell who they were, but one looked like Mills. I went around to the left, where I could see into the cells. Orange-clad body in the third cell. Motionless, like the others. We had two prisoners in addition to Traer and Mills—a twenty-five-year-old for drunk driving and a fifty-year-old for bad checks. I needed one more.

“There should be one more, Dan.”

I continued down to the end of the bull pen. The last
area I could look into was the shower. I couldn’t see anything.

“Anybody here?”

Silence.

“It’s the good guys, is anybody here?”

There was a metallic thud against the wall near the shower.

“If you’re alive, tell me, for Christ’s sake.”

“Is that you, Houseman?”

“Yes. Who is it?”

“Traer.”

“Where is he, Traer?”

“I don’t know!”

I had seen that the bull pen door was padlocked in two places, just the way it should be.

“Stay in there. You should be safe there for a while until we get more people here.”

There was a muffled sound, which I took to be an acknowledgment.

“Okay, Dan, back out and let’s do the rest of the area. He might still be here.”

“Right.”

We moved cautiously out of the cellblock area, Dan now in the lead. We got to the hall, and I began to feel safe. Whoever it was, and I was assuming it was Travis, was not likely to be anywhere around. I was just about ready to tell Dan to step on it when I heard a popping sound, and Dan’s legs buckled instantly, spilling him on the floor. As he went down, I saw a man standing in front of me.