Code 61 (16 page)

I got home at 03:36. Sue had left a note telling me that there was some chow mein in the refrigerator. I put it in the microwave, and discovered while eating it that I should have left it in at least a minute longer. The edges were cold, the center a bit cooler. Too tired to wait any longer, I ate it anyway, with a slice of bread.

ELEVEN

Sunday, October 8, 2000
08:12

I walked in the office door with a full four hours' sleep, and went directly to Dispatch. Borman was already there, looking fresh and ready to go. Ah, youth.

“Morning,” he said.

“You look fresh. Get enough sleep?”

“You betcha. More than enough.” He looked awfully happy, and well he should have. This was an opportunity for him to be one up on just about the whole department, on a big case. The pecking order in most cop shops depends a lot on who's been deemed to have a “need to know” and who hasn't. Ours was no different.

“Get anything for us?” I asked Sally.

“Some, but not a lot,” she said. She got up from her seat at the main console, and Elaine Boyce slid into her chair. Sally scooped up a bunch of papers and notes, and the three of us went to the kitchen, Borman in the lead.

The jail kitchen is right next to our dispatch center. It's our home away from home. We contract with a nursing home to provide meals for our prisoners, so the kitchen is pretty much ours to use as we need. It's just about ten yards of countertop and cabinets, with a stove, sink, refrigerator, coffeepot, and a long church basement–type table, with collapsible chrome legs, and a worn linoleum top, straight from 1950. Surrounded by steel folding chairs, with “NCSD” in black stencil on their backs. Nation County Sheriff's Department.

Sally sat and began spreading out her papers. “Get me a cup of coffee?”

“Sure.” I glanced inquiringly at Borman, and he nodded. I went to the full pot, and poured three cups.

“Make that four?” Hester's voice.

“You bet. Still take milk?”

“No, just black,” she said. “Morning, Sally.”

“Hi, Hester. I don't have much.”

“Right,” said Hester, referring to all the paper.

I sat three cups around the table, and pulled up a chair. “So … ”

“First off,” said Sally, “don't forget to call Harry over in Conception County, Carl. He called at 07:12, and says he really wants to talk to you.” She handed me that note. “Now, how about a fast background on the younger set at the Mansion? They were easy, since we know all of 'em.”

“Go for it,” I said, raising my coffee cup.

“First one is Toby Gottschalk. Son of Robert and Gwen, raised on a farm about five miles out of Freiberg. We have one beer ticket on him at age sixteen. Two moving violations, both for failure to have control at property damage accidents. Nothing major at all.”

“Go on,” said Hester.

“The next one,” said Sally, “is Melissa Corey. A bit different. She has a juvenile record I can't access, but I seem to remember that it was over simple possession, wasn't it, Carl?”

It rang a bell. “Oh, shit, sure I remember,” I said, kind of embarrassed. “She and her older sister had some weed up in their room and their mother called us, didn't she?”

“You got it,” said Sally. “Her mom is divorced, two times, maybe three, with a last name of Warrington, and Melissa's sister has a last name of Burgess, after the mom's first husband.”

“Anything else on her?” asked Hester.

“Not much. Went to school at the U of Iowa, according to Betty.” Betty was another dispatcher. “Betty also says that Melissa's a whole lot brighter than her mom.”

“Okay. Good,” I said.

“Kevin Stemmer has nothing but two moving violations, both for speeding, both under ten mph over the limit.” Sally smiled. “Mike gave him both tickets, and says that he tried to talk his way out of both of them. Took one to court, and lost his ass. Otherwise, nada. No sense of adventure.”

“Or smart enough not to get caught,” said Hester.

“True,” said Sally. “Now for Holly Finn, or Huck. I was in on an arrest involving her; they had me for a matron. I think you were on vacation, Carl. Back in '97?”

“I dunno,” I said. “I know I took vacation that year … I think.”

Sally laughed. “Trust me. Anyway, it was for assault.”

“No shit?” I was truly surprised.

“Yeah. Remember Quentin Pascoe, the guy who sexually abused that four-year-old here in Maitland?”

“Yeah,” I said. There was no way I'd ever forget Quentin Pascoe.

“Well, when he was out on bond, he must have said some lowlife thing in the Fast & Easy one night. Our girl Huck was in there, heard him, went over to the bar, and knocked him on his ass.”

“I never heard that,” I said. “Good for her. You guys busted her, huh?”

“We sort of had to,” said Sally. “She got him with a chair.”

“Even better,” I said. “Intelligent people tend to use tools.” My estimation of Huck went up several notches.

“Other than that, she went to school at U of Wisconsin, Madison. Was a music teacher for a year, I'm told. Then quit, and went on the boat.”

“Probably more money,” said Hester.

“Hanna Prien,” said Sally, “has absolutely no record whatsoever. Born, raised, and remains in Freiberg. Betty says that she was a bright kid, but no gumption at all. She went to school with Betty's daughter for a while.”

“Anything more?” asked Hester, gesturing at the stack of paper in front of Sally.

“Oh, sure. First, we contacted Jessica Hunley at her residence in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. She left about 6:45, and expects to be at her house here at about ten.” Sally looked at us, with a grin. “She was 'absolutely horrified.' I like that.”

“Okay … ” I took a sip of coffee. “Did she already know?”

“Yep. Still 'absolutely horrified,' though.”

“Nice to know,” said Hester.

“So, while I was at it, I got her DL,” said our favorite dispatcher. She pulled a sheet from the pile, with perfs on the sides, right off the teletype. “She's forty-three, five feet nine, green eyes, a hundred twenty-nine pounds, gives an address in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, and owns two cars.”

“Okay.” I reached out and took the DL sheet.

“Wanna know what kinds of cars? Please say yes. Please?”

How could I refuse? “Sure,” I said.

“One: a silver 2000 Mercedes Benz ML55 AM6 SUV.” She looked up. “Those run over fifty grand.”

“Wow.” I guessed there really was such a thing as a wealthy dance instructor.

“Two,” continued Sally, savoring the moment, “a silver 2000 BMW Z8. Convertible, no less.”

“How much?” I had to ask.

“Well,” she said, “my sister looked it up on the net, and she says that they go for about a hundred twenty-five thousand.”

Impressive.

“This is a dance instructor?” asked Hester.

“Yep. That's what everybody says,” said Borman.

“I quit dance lessons when I was thirteen,” said Hester. “Mother always said it was a mistake.” She reached over and took the vehicle sheets from Sally. “There's got to be more to this woman than teaching dancing.”

I agreed.

“Whatever else she does,” said Sally, “she's got a clean record. TRACIS, NCIC, Wisconsin, and Iowa indicate no criminal history. Not even a traffic ticket.”

“Wow,” said Hester. “Not bad.”

I looked up.

“I mean, no traffic tickets. Wisconsin drivers are terrible.”

Sally and I smiled. “I'd be careful, too,” I said, “if I drove cars like that.” I looked across the table. “Anything else on her?”

“Nope,” said Sally, “which brings us to our Daniel Peel.”

I perked up right away.

“You told us last night,” said Sally, addressing Hester, “that Toby said he was about thirty or so, white, male, and in pretty good shape?”

“Yep.”

“Well,” said Sally, “I ran an Iowa check. Nobody, and Iowa files go three years either side of a possible date of birth. So I did an alphabetical. There was a … umm … let's see. Oh, here,” she said. “We have a Dabney, a DaMar, two Darwins, four Davids, a Dawane, a DaVere, and a DaBurl under Peel.” She sat back. “Everything but Daffy. None of these even close to thirty. Youngest is forty-three.”

“Yeah…. ” There was bound to be more.

“So,” she smirked, “just on the off chance you didn't spell it right, I did a sound-alike pass, and got it spelled Peel, Pele, Peal, Pfeil, Pale … lots, let me tell you.” She shrugged. “So I did a fifty-state check, with a date of birth of 06/30/1970, and got nobody that matched.” She looked disgusted. “NCIC will check one year either side of a DOB, but you need the month and the day right. That means that we'd have to run the name three hundred and sixty-five times, and we'd only get a two year spread even if we did.”

Great.

“So, I called Gray Eyes, and explained part of this to her. Murder suspect.” She held up her hand, to forestall complaints. “I certainly didn't mention the 'V' word. Don't worry.”

“Gray Eyes” was a dispatcher buddy of Sally's who once worked for the California Highway Patrol. The two of them had met at an APCO meeting, and Gray Eyes happened to be, in Sally's estimation, just about the greatest dispatcher ever. She'd been hired away from the CHP, and was now working for NCIC in Washington. They'd kept in touch. Obviously.

She looked up. “She expanded the search, because she's allowed to actually
program
a search. By making him between twenty-five and fifty. DOB between 1950 and 1975. We got one dude in North Dakota, who was forty-seven, and two in Montana, for shit's sake, one twenty-five and one fifty exactly.”

“That's it?”

“Oh, no, not really. In California, there were two hundred eighty-seven, actually, and four hundred sixty-two in New York.” She indicated the papers. “Total of nearly nineteen hundred in the U.S., so far, and the Illinois, Texas, Louisiana, Florida, and Arizona computers are down for routine maintenance, and can't be accessed for an expanded search at this time, and we haven't done all the ages yet.” She took a breath.

Oh.

“So,” said Hester, “what did their criminal histories say?”

Sally didn't even look up. She did raise her wrist and put up one finger, though.

“Then,” she continued, “I sort of exceeded my authority a little, and used our Deputy Houseman's name and ID, and started looking for vampires.”

“You did?” I was aghast. Not that she'd actually done it, but that she'd said so in front of Borman and Hester.

“Yep. Well, not vampires, really. But cases where there was a conspicuous blood involvement.” She looked up. “Relax. Hester and I talked about it last night,” she grinned. “After you'd gone night-night. I don't get all the credit.”

“We used your LEIN ID,” said Hester, “because mine would attract too much attention.”

“So, who am I, Carl the Obscure?”

No response.

A conspiracy. Well, so what? I know when I'm outclassed. LEIN, by the way, stands for Law Enforcement Intelligence Network. Certain officers in Iowa have been certified to operate within that system, and we all have an alphanumeric ID. The programmer in Des Moines wouldn't think much of my ID, but Hester's would signal a DCI interest.

Sally pushed a LEIN Records Search Request form over to me. “Sign here,” she said. “Just to cover my ass.”

I did. “And … ” I was really curious.

“Well,” Sally said, “I guess there really
are
people out there who believe they're vampires. And they get caught, when the victims either die or complain, or the neighbors do.”

She pushed over a list. “These are crimes in Iowa and Wisconsin and Minnesota involving the 'ingestion of blood from unwilling victims.' Or so they say.”

I thought the “unwilling” qualifier was interesting.

There were eighteen incidents listed, along with the investigating agency, and date of ffling. The oldest was 1993. The most recent was July 2000. I pushed the list over to Hester. Sally had underlined the '93 case in red. The investigating agency was listed as Walworth County, Wisconsin. Sally had also made the notation “is co. where lk. gen. located.”

“The county where Lake Geneva is located?” said Hester. “Really?” She passed the sheet to Borman, politely.

Sally was very pleased. “You betcha.”

“Then I guess we better talk with 'em…. ”

Sally pushed another sheet of paper toward me. The phone number of the Walworth County Sheriff's Department was on it, along with the headquarters number of the Wisconsin Bureau of Criminal Apprehension.

“Then … ” she said, not missing a beat, “you'd better return the call of the county attorney. He called about thirty minutes ago, wanting to know how it went last night.”

I winced. I'd forgotten about him.

“And call Lamar before you go up.”

“Any word,” asked Hester, “from the guys up there?”

“About every thirty minutes all night long,” said Sally. “They finished the search of their assigned rooms in less than an hour. Bored out of their minds the rest of the night.”