“Hey, Houseman, kin we have your picture, or you gonna feed all of us?” Harry.
As it turned out, Harry had been in Milwaukee most of the day, talking with the pathology team that had done the autopsy on Randy Baumhagen. The death had been the result of the blow to the head with one of those ubiquitous “blunt instruments.” Probably about three to four inches wide, probably fairly heavy. The throat injury was, as we had been told in the preliminary report, the result of the use of a sharp object, but not a blade.
All well and good. But Harry had been busier than that. He'd talked with people about William Chester.
“He ain't got a sister, Carl, and he never fuckin' had one. Dead or not.”
“Really?”
“He was livin' with some gal, over around Walworth, who died in a car wreck. That's it. He lied.”
“What do you think? We dump him?”
“I dunno. Everything else checks out so far. I dunno.” Harry looked around the interior of the Mansion, taking it in for the first time. “Nice fuckin' place.”
“We like it,” I said.
“So, the press people tell me that you found our boy?”
I explained that he'd more or less found us. I gave Harry all the details.
“Warning shots?”
“Yeah.” I sighed.
“Kids these days,” said Harry. “They just think too much.” He looked around some more. “So, you think he was up there all the time, then?”
“Yeah. Zonked, maybe. Enough pills up there to keep you out for a while.” I motioned him over to the stair, near the inglenook. “Hear anything?”
He tried. “Nope.”
“Quiet, isn't it?” I gestured around me. “I mean, even with all the commotion outside.”
“Well, yeah, now that you mention it.”
“I'll tell you, Harry, this is the quietest house I've ever been in in my life. You could make a lot of noise one or two rooms away, and never be heard. Not to mention up a floor or two.”
“It's all the insulation in the interior walls, I betcha,” he offered. “These old places are like that.”
“I think so, too,” I said.
“So, where ya think he's got to?”
“Beats me. Lots of area to hide in out in those woods. Lots.” I raised an eyebrow. “Maybe we got lucky, though.”
“How's that?”
“Maybe he's a good swimmer, and made it to the Wisconsin side.”
While Harry paid his respects to Lamar and Hester, I called the office to find out whether or not the Freiberg cops had been able to find Kevin Stemmer. Turned out they had, in a local bar called The River Bank. Strike one suspect.
The news conference was remarkable. Hester and Lamar stood together on the front steps, starkly lit by the TV reporters and their lights, and with their breath visible against the shadows of the house, gave a prepared statement. Actually, Lamar introduced them both, and then let Hester do the statement, but it was obviously and effectively a joint release. The rest of us watched intently from the corner of the porch. We were safely off camera, and had a view from the left rear quarter, where we could just see their brightly lit faces.
“This is an ongoing investigation into a possible homicide,” said Hester. “I emphasize 'possible.' Since it is ongoing, there is very little we're able to release to you at this time. The deceased is one Edith Younger, of Rural Route, Freiberg. An autopsy has been performed by the medical examiner's office, and the results are expected to be formally submitted at the conclusion of all the routine laboratory testing.”
It was a nice release. They'd done a nice job. Predictably, as soon as she'd finished the last sentence, the assembled reporters all started asking the vampire question. Hester held up her hand. “There has been a rumor started that there is somehow an involvement of a so-called vampire in this case.” She drew a deep breath. “Vampires are mythical creatures. Period.” She produced a great, open, honest smile. “Any suspect or suspects in this case would be human beings,” she said, in a calm, clear voice, “and would be treated as such. You can count on that.”
“So, who are you looking for with all these people?” the Dubuque TV reporter asked.
I found myself just as curious about her answer as the media.
“We have a possible suspect, who may be in this vicinity. We are checking to see if our information is correct.”
Cool. I almost clapped.
“Is it true that this suspect has been shot?” I peered into the group, but with the TV lights and the light rain, I couldn't see who was talking.
“Nobody has been shot,” said Hester. Too true.
“We were told that a person had been shot, and had fled into the woods.” I moved a step or two to my right, and looked hard into the assembled media people. It appeared as if the La Crosse TV reporter was the one doing the talking. As my eyes moved over the group of media people, I recognized William Chester standing near the La Crosse SUV. I suspected I'd identified their source, although where he had gotten his information was beyond me.
“No one was shot and then fled into the woods,” she said.
She tried to forestall further questions by saying, “The law expressly does not allow the release of more information at this time. The sole reason we chose to respond to the first question was to put an unfounded and kind of silly rumor to rest. We are allowed to do that under departmental procedure.” The smile again. “We're encouraged to do that, in fact.”
There was a barrage of questions, many containing the “V” word. One actually asked if the vampire had drained the blood from the victim.
“I'm really sorry, but I can't say more at this time. We'll keep you posted on the critical steps in the case. Thank you.” She and Lamar turned, and began to walk back into the house.
Hester should have gotten some flowers for her performance.
“Is the dead girl any relation to you, Sheriff?”
Lamar stopped, and stood for a second, with his back to the cameras. We had a good view of his face, and it was absolutely stony. He turned.
“Edith Younger was my niece,” he said. “That's why I'm not personally involved in this investigation.”
He turned, and ignored the hubbub behind him. Then, he did something I'd never seen him do before. As they headed into the Mansion, he held the door for Hester.
About fifteen minutes later, we had all the arrangements made to secure the house pending the return of the owner, and the search warrant team was going to head in for the night. The area searchers were still out there, but it was beginning to look like our quarry had given us the slip.
“We'll keep at it all night,” said Lamar. “And do a daylight search, too. He's gotta be somewhere.”
“Hey, Lamar,” said Hester. “You puttin' everybody on double time and a half?”
“No,” he said gruffly. “They're all just workin' a shift.”
“Not since midnight,” said Hester. “Happy Columbus Day!”
Lamar looked at her. “Well, shit.”
Columbus Day be damned, Lamar decided to leave three officers in the woods, with orders to search until 9 A.M. They'd be relieved, and the next trio would search until four o'clock.
“I'm not sure he's gone far,” said Lamar. “Somethin's not right.”
It was hard to fault that reasoning. Besides, we'd had a little bit of luck come our way. When you do an application for a search warrant, you have to describe the property to be searched with exceptional accuracy. According to the Platt maps, the area surrounding the Mansion was owned by the State of Iowa, as part of the adjacent wildlife refuge along the Mississippi. The demarcation between the Hunley property and the state land was the woods, naturally enough. That meant that we were searching on state land. There was no permission required from the Hunley people in order for us to tramp through the woods all day and night.
Before we left, Hester and I decided that we'd better get an interview in with Hunley and Ostransky fairly early tomorrow, and see just what they could tell us about Peel, vampires, and the kinky stuff on the third floor.