We pulled right past the reporters, who were caught, as usual, completely flat-footed. We were headed down the drive before any of them had a good chance to get a photo.
Just as we reached the end of the lane, and were stopping before entering the main road, I saw some blue out of the corner of my eye. I slammed on the brakes, just about causing the lab van to rear-end me. I opened my door, took off my seat belt, and started into the overgrown area on the right.
“You see him? Have you found him?” came from Chris.
“What? Oh, no, no, but you better come, too. We forgot something.” What I'd forgotten, and what had bothered me while we were still up on the third floor, was sitting just off the driveway. The garbage. In the big, blue container. Of course.
We made an executive decision, seeing as how all the contents of the big steel box were in several black garbage bags. Just take the bags, list them on an amendment to the inventory sheet before we left the property, take a copy back to the house, and just haul the bags down to the sheriff's department, and lock them in the evidence room, and go through them tomorrow. Anything we didn't seize, we could just haul back. And, since it was my bright idea, I got to cram all five bags into the backseat of my car.
The ride home was uneventful, but a little smelly.
I was less than popular at the office when I put five bags of garbage in the evidence room, and locked the door.
“That shit's gonna stink up the whole office,” said Deputy Kline, who'd been with the department long enough to know what he was talking about. “I'm gonna have to go out and drive around, for Christ's sake.”
“Imagine that.” I dropped my notes on my desk, and fumbled for the key.
“You find the guy you're lookin' for?” he asked. He'd been assigned as the general duty deputy for the night, and was the only one not up at the Mansion. He was actually in the office because it was centrally located, and it made more sense for the only one on duty to be there than anywhere else.
“Nope,” I said, inserting the key and opening my drawer. I shoved my notes in, took my undeveloped film from my pocket, and put that in there, too. “I'm beginning to think he got away,” I said. “Although it must have taken some talent.”
“For sure,” said Kline. “You got an army up there.”
“Yeah,” I said, very tired. “That we do.”
I walked out to Dispatch, and left a hurried note for Borman that we were going to start about 09:00, maybe as late as 10:00, and that he could meet me at the office when I got there.
When I handed the note to Winifred Bollman, the duty dispatcher, she looked up and said, “Jeez, Carl, you look wiped out.”
On that note, I called it a night.
EIGHTEEN
Monday, October 9, 2000 (Columbus Day)
08:39
I woke up about 08:02, to a ringing phone. I answered it, sleepily.
“Yeah?”
There was about a one second pause, then, “Hello, my name is General Norman Schwartzkopf, and I'm calling you on behalf of… ”
I hung up. Iowa was predicted to be a close contest in the upcoming presidential elections, and we were getting a lot of automated phone calls. I turned over, thinking I could get another thirty minutes of sleep. I lay there thinking about that extra sleep for thirteen minutes.
I rolled out at 08:15, and drank my first cup of coffee in relative peace. Always a good way to begin a day. I'd just missed Sue. Education did not wait for Columbus and his day. I called the office as I poured my second cup.
“Houseman? We thought you'd be up here by now.” Sally.
“Mmm? Who's 'we'?”
“Hester and me.” She giggled. “Really, we thought you older folks needed less rest.”
“Thanks, brat. So, anything happening?”
“I'd better let Hester take that one,” she said, and I found myself on hold. We'd installed hold music about a year earlier. The only good, reliable station we got was a country amp; western FM outfit that played music all day long. Unfortunately, they had an amateur portion during their broadcast day that began at 08:00 and lasted until 10:45.
“Carl?” Hester's voice interrupted some unfortunate young man's rendition of “Sixteen Tons.” It was sort of too bad, because I'd never really heard somebody so close to being a tenor sing it before.
“What's up?”
“You can forget our interview this morning.”
“What?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Ms. Hunley was called away on urgent business.”
“You're kidding?” Damn.
“Nope. Her 'awnt,' ” she said in a pretty good imitation of a downstairs maid, “with whom she resides, was suddenly taken ill.”
“I'll bet. And she of the iridescent hair went, too?”
“Oh, yeah. Tatiana had to go with. It's a two-or three-hour drive, you know.” She sounded a little aggravated. “At least, that's what Attorney Junkel said when I called. He said they left really early this morning.”
“Right.” Well, shit. “Gone to Lake Geneva, then?”
“You bet. Located on the other side of America's Dairy Land.”
Eastern Wisconsin put them out of our reach, at least for a while. “Well,” I said, trying to make the best of it, “we can always let you beat up Toby.”
She laughed at that.
It occurred to me that, while she might be out of our reach, Jessica Hunley was now within the grasp of one Investigator Harry Ullman, Conception County's best. A silver lining, maybe.
I'd pretty much decided to spend Columbus Day playing catch-up with the case, anyway. That originally had meant interviewing Jessica Hunley and Tatiana Ostransky, the five remaining residents of the Mansion, and then sorting through all the garbage I'd dumped into the evidence room last night. Since Jessica and Tatiana were gone, I thought I might as well go straight to the garbage, to see just what we had, and then get to the five sometime in the early afternoon. Very early if the garbage search didn't pan out.
The phone rang again. “Hello?”
The familiar pause, and then “My name is Senator Tom Harkin, and… ”
Click.
I always stayed on just long enough to hear who the recording was. It was becoming a big thing at the post office, kidding each other about what important recording had called. It had kind of a baseball trading-card aspect. “Hey, I got two Colin Powells, but no Jimmy Carters.” “Really? I got a Jimmy and a call from Tipper. Beat that!”
I got to the office at 09:09, where I met Borman, who was standing at the counter and talking with Sally in Dispatch.
“Ready to get going?” I asked him.
“Not really.” He was acting kind of funny, not looking right at me, and obviously pretending to fiddle with some papers on a clipboard.
“There a problem?” I really hated to ask.
He didn't say a word. Sally broke the awkward little silence with “He's been suspended for a day.”
Well, damn. It had to be the warning shots from last night. “With or without pay?” was the first thing I asked. It was important, but not for the money. Without, and he only had one more screwup and Lamar would fire him. With, and he'd be able to erase it with good performance over the next three months.
“With.” He was honest-to-God petulant. Twenty-five years old, and pouting.
“Well, that's good,” I said. “Why don't you just go home, and come back in tomorrow like you had a day off?” He'd gotten off pretty easy, I thought, because warning shots were prohibited by department policy.
“He wants to ask you something first,” said Sally.
I looked at her. Her tone of voice told me she was at least half on his side, for some reason.
“Well, go ahead,” I said, remembering in the nick of time not to say “Shoot.”
“You had to tell Lamar, I suppose,” he said. “Didn't you?”
Honest. That's what he said.
“You shouldn't even have to ask that,” I replied. “Of course I did. I was present, I was senior officer, and it was my responsibility and duty to do so. You know that.”