Silence.
I glanced at his feet. Tennis shoes. Good so far. “Hold up your foot,” I said. He looked at me strangely, but did. The same pattern that I'd seen in the alley.
“Get up to your knees,” I said, “turn around so that you face the steps, and put your hands over your head.”
He did, still not speaking.
I put my gun in its holster, and pulled my handcuffs out of my back pocket. I took his left hand by the wrist, snapping the handcuff on, and pulled it down and to his rear. I grabbed his other hand, and brought it close enough to the other to slip a cuff on that one, too. I put one hand on his arm, and pulled him to his feet.
“You're under arrest, like she said,” I told him.
He spoke for the first time. “For what?”
The universal answer to my statement. “Burglary,” I said.
He then inserted his foot into his mouth. “I didn't steal anything,” he said.
I turned him around. “You have the right to remain silent… ”
“It must have been the old hag,” he said, swallowing his foot with that one. His attorney would probably call that a “statement against interest.” But old Toby apparently felt compelled to speak, no matter what. That's a fine trait in a suspect.
We took Toby directly to my car, past the astonished Huck and Melissa, and put him in the backseat.
“Watch your head, Toby,” I said, and shut the door. Hester motioned toward the porch. The four remaining residents were all standing on the porch, looking down on us.
“And then,” said Hester, sotto voce, “there were four.” She motioned me up toward the front of the car, and well out of Toby's possible hearing. “I don't know how to ask this,” she said, “so I might as well come right to the point. Are you sure we had a burglary? I was thinking about that when I confronted Toby in the kitchen just now. Doesn't the code say you have to unlawfully enter a premises, with 'the intent to commit a felony, theft, or assault'? For a burglary… ”
“Hmm.” She was right in her quote, of course. It was felony, theft, or assault. The question being, was mutilating a corpse a felony? “Well, we may have just made a very strong trespassing arrest,” I said. “Very strong.”
“I mean,” she said, “sticking a stake in a corpse damned well should be a felony, but I don't know if it is.”
“It may not even be illegal,” I said. “It may never have been considered in Iowa before this.” I don't mind being near the leading edge, but I dearly hate breaking new ground. But, realistically, how many times could it have come up in Iowa before today? I knew it was illegal to exhume, but poor Edie wasn't even buried yet.
“This could be another very long day,” I said.
“Where are you taking him?” came a loud voice from the porch. It may have been Melissa, but by the time I looked, I couldn't tell.
“Jail,” I said, as loudly. Just to be polite.
“Tell him,” said Kevin, “that we'll call his attorney.”
Hardly necessary, at that point. Veiled threat?
“Will do,” I called back, got into the car, buckled up while Hester leaned back and buckled Toby in, and we were off.
I picked up the mike. “Comm, Three.”
“Three, go.”
“PBX One, advise him we have a suspect in custody, and are ten-seventy-six the jail.” I'd told Lamar I'd let him know right away.
“Ten-four, Three. He's called twice, and will have your assistant go with the seventy-nine to the location.”
Now, that might have sounded kind of cryptic to the normal person, but anybody with any savvy now knew that a coroner or medical examiner was going to a scene, that the boss had called twice, and that my assistant was being called out. I had to admit, though, that even I was thrown by the last bit. I didn't have an assistant.
“Uhh, Comm, Three?”
“Three?”
“Ah, who's my assistant this week?” As soon as I said it, I knew she had meant Borman.
“Eight.”
Borman, all right. Well, we'd see if this examination of a mutilated corpse would get his act on track.
“Ten-four, Comm.”
Toby was quiet for about the first quarter mile, and I was starting to get worried. As it turned out, I shouldn't have been concerned. His tendency to talk overcame all caution.
“It had to be done,” he said.
“Toby,” said Hester, “let's not discuss it. You've been advised of your rights, and we'd feel a lot better if you waited until you had an attorney present.”
That was partially true. Sure, we'd like Toby to rattle on, but we had the old problem that, even if he said he waived his rights to the attorney, we could lose a suppression hearing later. If that happened, everything he said, and everything we'd found out based on that, could be ruled inadmissible. It happened just often enough to make us very leery about questions without attorneys there. I mean, we knew we'd be right, but that sometimes did very little good in court. There, it came down to the briefing and arguing abilities of two attorneys. We would have nothing at all to say about that. This was, well, safer, I guess.
It was also pretty damned prudent, because the more I searched my memory, the more convinced I became that there was no statute on the Iowa books about mutilating corpses.
Toby, thwarted in his first attempt to enlighten us, switched to philosophy.
“It doesn't make any difference, anyway,” he said. He fidgeted.
I glanced at Hester, who was half turned in the front seat, to keep an eye on Toby since we had no cage in an unmarked car, gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Keep quiet, Carl.
I did, and so did she. That bothered Toby, who began to tap his feet against the back of her seat.
“Well, it doesn't, does it? Make any difference. I can't make any difference. You can't make any difference.” He couldn't quit.
Hester and I, being in the process of making a difference in Toby's life, said nothing.
“Oh, fuck you two.”
I grinned. I just couldn't help it. The tapping of his feet got more intense.
“What's so funny, cop?” He did try. He sort of had to, I guess.
Hester said, pointedly to me, “Well, most of the leaves are off the trees, now, aren't they.”
“Yep,” I answered. “Sure are. Ought to slow the tourist trade a little.”
“Ought to slow the tourist trade,” said Toby, mockingly.
“Especially,” said Hester, “if it rains again tomorrow like they say it will.”
“Are you fuckers stupid or what?” Toby was getting a bit angry, which is not what we wanted. Without a cage, we'd have to stop and restrain him if he started thrashing about in the rear, and he could get hurt. So could we, but it was a lot less likely.
“Nope,” I said. “Not stupid, Toby, just not particularly interested. That's all.”
“Just not particularly interested,” came the mocking reply. “I staked the bitch, and you tell me you're not interested? Bullshit you're not interested!”
I glanced at Hester. “Just irrepressible, isn't he?” But I was also beginning to think he was a little high.
She smiled. She held out her personal tape recorder, down low in the seat, where Toby couldn't see it.
“We said we'd prefer not to hear about that, Toby,” said Hester, “until your attorney can be present.”
“Attorneys,” proclaimed Toby, “don't know shit.” His voice was lowering, though. He just wanted to talk, and didn't care to whom. The foot tapping ceased.
“Most don't,” I agreed, grinning in the knowledge that his attorney would likely hear this tape, “but you might get lucky and get a smart one.”
He seemed to think that over for several seconds.
“I doubt it.” He sounded a little sullen. “Hey, I'm not mad at you guys,” said Toby. “Really.”
“We know that, Toby,” I said. “Never thought you were.” Big mood and attitude swing there. Toby was on something. No doubt.
“I been under a lot of pressure,” he said.
“Things do have a way of piling up on somebody,” said Hester.