Code 61 (27 page)

“Sure,” I said. I was becoming fascinated, watching Kevin try to stare Hester down. I reached across the coffee table, and tapped him on the knee. He flinched, and looked at me.

“In all sincerity, I think you're not quite understanding what's going on here. Someone has been killed, and we're trying to get to the bottom of it. Someone you knew pretty well. Possibly while you were here. That's pretty weighty stuff.” I leaned back. “This isn't a game.”

“I'm not playing games,” said Kevin.

“Then it strikes me, Kevin,” said Hester, “that you're being very nonchalant about the death of someone who lived in the same house with you.”

“I'm sorry to have upset you,” said Kevin blandly.

“We're not upset,” I said, making some notes on my pad, “so much as we're curious about a lack of reaction.”

“I,” he announced, “happen to be a Nihilist.” Although his facial expression didn't change, he sneered with his voice. “That's N-I-H-I-L-I-S-T, Deputy,” he said, watching me write. “It means that I believe that there's no purpose in existence.”

“I know,” I said, not looking up. “We used to say it was a predictable result of an egocentric confronting reality.” I looked up, with the most pleasant expression I could muster. “Sittin' round the doughnut shop, we talk about that sorta thing a lot.”

Before he could answer, I said, “Look, you guys are the ones we have to talk to, because you're the ones who might have some information. There really isn't anybody else. We can keep this on a fairly friendly basis, if we work at it. But you do have information we need. You may not know what you have,” I said, “but there could well be things you've noticed and don't realize they're significant.” That was pretty standard, and I wasn't so sure that they didn't know what they had, but it did serve the purpose of giving them an out, if they suddenly wanted to “remember” something. Or, in the particular case of Kevin, gracefully retract a lie.

“Edie,” said Kevin, “is the one who knew, if anybody did. Too bad she's not available.”

He said it straight, but he meant it sarcastically.

“Edie's been talking quite a bit to the pathologist,” I said.

Just as I said it, Toby came through the dining room door, his jaw dropped, and he said, “What?”

“Hi, Toby,” said Hester. “Have a seat.”

“Oh, yeah. Right, right.”

He looked really fresh, and it looked like they'd been telling the truth about his being in the shower when we'd arrived.

“We're just discussing what we all know about Mr. Peel,” said Hester.

“Oh,” said Toby. “Not much,” and he looked meaningfully around the room, “do we?” It was hard to tell if it was a question, or a really broad hint.

“Well,” I said, “we know what he looks like. We know his name.” I figured it was time to jump in with both feet. “You told us he was a vampire…. So, where does that leave you?”

For a few seconds it got so quiet you not only could have heard a pin drop, I swear you could have heard it whistle as it fell.

Melissa broke the silence by speaking for the first time. “He is,” she said. Straight up, matter-of-fact, with no inflection. “We all know that, too.”

She'd said, “He is,” without hesitation. Nobody else qualified it by saying “He thinks he is.” Just the silence of agreement and acceptance.

“Why do you think,” she said, still with no emotion, “we call this Renfield House?” “Wasn't that the vampire's slave in
Dracula
?” asked Hester. “Renffeld?”

Melissa nodded. “Of course.”

I still didn't quite realize what I was dealing with. “You're saying that he is a vampire. You don't really believe that, do you? Don't you mean that he
believes
that he's a vampire?”

“No,” said Melissa. “He is a vampire. That's all there is to it.” I glanced around the room. There sure didn't seem to be any visible dissent.

“Now, really,” I said. “Come on. This isn't Transylvania. Hell, it's not even Los Angeles. There's no such thing as vampires.”

She shrugged. “You're entitled to your beliefs. So are we.” She gave me a secretive little smile. “We know. That's enough for us.”

I don't know that I was exactly surprised that somebody other than Toby would be capable of being conned into seriously believing in vampires, so much as I was just beginning to appreciate the ramifications for our case.

“Okay,” I said, slowly. I pretended to write some notes, then looked up. “Okay, so, then, if he is, why stick around?”

I half expected Toby to be the first to speak up, but it turned out to be Melissa.

“We aren't afraid of him,” she said. “We learn from him. You have to try to imagine the knowledge of a man who has been here so long.” As she spoke, she became flushed. “The strength. The power. The confidence.”

“And the wealth,” added Toby again. “Do you have any idea what compounded interest can amount to in three hundred years? But, like Melissa says, it's the power. Nobody fucks with him, believe me.”

“But he possibly killed Edie,” I said. “Remember that.”

“There's a downside to everything,” said Kevin, cynically. “Of course we don't agree with you, but if you say he killed her, then we have no choice but to believe you.”

“Mind sharing how you think she died?” I asked.

“I have no opinion.”

“Do any of you happen to know one”—I pronounced it slowly, as though this might be the first time I'd heard the name—“Alicia Meyer?”

“I do,” said Huck. “She works on the boat.”

“Yeah, so do I,” said Melissa.

“And, how long has this Peel been interested in her?” I was out on a limb, but it was just a short one.

“What?” I'd evidently caught at least Melissa by surprise.

“You know,” I said conversationally, “interested enough to show up outside her second-floor window, all duded up with the teeth and all, and asking if he could come in?”

“I have no idea,” said Melissa, making a damned fine recovery. “That's his business. Like they say, 'All I know is what I read in the papers.' So, you want to hang that Peeping Tom incident on Dan, too?”

“I believe it was him that night, behind her apartment. But, if you know how serious he is about her, I'd really like to know.”

“Why?” asked Huck. Perfect.

“Because Alicia's boyfriend is dead,” I said. “One Randy Baumhagen. I assume you read about him in the papers, too.”

“That was in Wisconsin, wasn't it?” asked Melissa.

“But, yes. In the
Conception County Sentinel
, in fact. Why does that have anything to do with us? He just drowned.”

“Well, let's say that's up for grabs. Did any of you know him?”

“I did,” said Huck. “I talked to him in a bar once or twice.”

“Was he with Alicia when you talked to him?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“And did Peel ever meet Alicia or Randy?”

“I asked her up here last month. He met her then,” she said.

“Why,” asked Hester, “did you bring her up here?”

“To see the place,” said Huck. There was something about her voice. Confusion?

“Not specifically to meet him, then?”

“Not specifically to meet anybody. To see the house.”

“But you knew he was here at the time?” Hester didn't sound at all like she was pressing Huck, but she was. By now she'd elicited the fact that Peel had been here “last month,” and at the same time as Alicia.

“Oh, well … sure. I guess.”

Hester has a sense of just where to find the jugular, so to speak. “Now, be kind of careful, here,” she said, “because you aren't the only person we've talked with.” She let that sink in for about a beat. “Now, are you sure you didn't bring her here because of him? Maybe even because he”—and she paused, again—“requested it?”

Huck shot a glance at Melissa. It was quite a tell, for a professional dealer.

The honor of capping the screwup belonged to Melissa. “I never said anything,” she said, her voice up about an octave. “Not even before you came home. Just ask Toby!”

Good old Toby, the only one who had been in a real position to spill his guts, let her dangle. “Hey, I wasn't with you and Deputy Houseman when you two were out in the yard. Who knows what you told him then?” He was a little smarter than I'd given him credit for.

“Well, you little prick,” said Melissa, with commendable accuracy.

“I really hate to change the subject,” said Huck, “but we all do have to be at Edie's wake, and if we don't get going now … ”

We'd gotten our wedge driven into the group. Not exactly where, nor in the manner, we'd expected, but it was in place. Good enough for government work, as they say. Hester and I excused ourselves after making an appointment to talk with Huck after the wake. We weren't really expecting to get much from her, but we wanted to deprive the group of who we considered its strength right after the wake. Emotions would be high, and without the moderating efforts of Huck, the cracks could become much wider. We had high hopes, even though they would have a chance to regroup on the way to the wake. I thought they were rattled enough to stay that way.

TWENTY

Monday, October 9, 2000
16:45

When we got to the funeral home, there wasn't much of a crowd, except for five or six media folks hanging about outside. They at least had enough good sense not to go in. I brushed the spatters of mud off my pants as best I could, and made sure I'd scraped all the leaf particles from my shoes. I did notice that Hester didn't seem to have suffered any negative effects on her clothes from the climb up the ravine. I was, as usual, amazed by that. Inside we found Lamar and his wife, along with Edie's mother and a couple of Lamar's relatives I'd never met before. Embarrassingly, I couldn't remember Edie's mother's name. I had just about decided on directly asking her, no matter how stupid it might make me sound, when Lamar came over. He thanked us for coming, and led us immediately over to his sister.

“June, this is Carl Houseman, I think you know him? And Agent Hester Gorse, of the DCI.”

“Hello, June,” I said.

“Hello,” said June.

I recognized her, but barely. She seemed to have aged a lot more than I would have anticipated in the five or six years since I'd met her the first time.

“I'm sorry about Edie,” I said.

“Don't feel sorry for her,” she said. “Feel sorry for Shanna, her kid she left in the lurch. But thanks for comin'.” She gestured to a small table with a lace cloth, where somebody had placed four photos of Edie. One was a framed graduation picture, color, taken with her in a maroon cap and gown. The other three were taped to a piece of black construction paper. One of Edie with her mother in a swing when she was about six, I'd guess. Another one of Edie in her graduation robes, and one with Edie and her daughter, Shanna. Cute little kid. It was kind of a pathetic photo memorial, though.

While Hester said the obligatory things, Lamar and I approached the coffin, hardly making any sound at all on the soft carpet. Edie's body looked just like what it was, a dead woman in her mid-twenties. She was clad in a nice knit beige dress, with a white scarf concealing the wound in her neck. Her hair was a lot lighter than it had seemed when she was in the tub, and for a second I thought she might have a wig. Nope. Washed, dried, and nicely combed.
Too young to be there
, I thought. I took a breath and spoke to Lamar.

“They did a nice job,” I said softly. Having been at her autopsy, I could hardly believe they'd managed to put her back together as well as they had.

“Yep.”

Cops tend to be connoisseurs of that sort of thing. Especially when we've viewed the deceased at a crime scene, and know what the mortician has accomplished. Lamar knew; he'd been there often enough.

When I turned around, I saw several more people had entered the main room. Three young women, well dressed in dark colors. They were all in slacks and sweaters, and obviously together for mutual assistance. They looked to be about the same age as Edie, and seemed pretty sophisticated.

“Who are they?” I muttered to Lamar. One thing cops will do is check out who comes to the funerals of murder victims. Sometimes it can be very instructive.

“Classmates, I think,” he said. “High school.”

“Ah.” I had purposely “forgotten” to sign the sympathy book at the entrance. This would allow me to go back to sign it later, and check out the names. Cop thing. I made a mental note to check for three women's names in a group.

Lamar and I sort of wandered over to the leather chairs that lined one wall, and stood there, looking somber and wishing we were somewhere else. Hester joined us, and that was a real highlight. Ought to give you some idea.

A few moments later, accompanied by a flash as some intrepid reporter took a photo through the open door, the crew from the Mansion came in. All were in black or a combination of black and dark colors, gray or maroon. Kevin, Huck, and Melissa wore black leather knee-length coats. Toby just had a black leather vest over his maroon turtleneck, and Hanna was carrying a dark green suede jacket. Very presentable, I thought, and the dark colors were certainly appropriate. Granted, they looked rather pale, and the women wore very dark lipstick. So what.

Well, apparently Edie's mother felt otherwise. Even in the muted space of the funeral home, I heard her say something about “the freaks.” Several heads turned toward the five, who were signing the sympathy book. They'd obviously heard, but were choosing not to notice.

Lamar left Hester and me, and went to his sister, to make sure there wasn't a scene. When the five got to them, Lamar set the example, shaking their hands and thanking them for coming. This left his sister with little real choice, although she certainly didn't shake hands.

The five proceeded toward the casket, and stood in a group, and held hands for what seemed a long minute. As they turned, Hanna's hands went to her eyes, and she started to weave. Huck and Melissa escorted her to a chair, while Kevin and Toby came over to Hester and me.

“She all right?” I asked as they passed.

“Fine,” said Toby. “She's fine. So, we're 'freaks,' I hear.”

“Let it ride,” I said.

They continued toward the three girls who had come in together, and who Lamar had identified as Edie's former classmates. Kevin and Toby seemed to be introducing themselves, and making small talk. Good.

Huck approached Hester, and quietly asked if she knew where they might get some aspirin or Tylenol for Hanna. Hester took her to find the funeral director.

So far, not too unusual a wake.

Old Knockle came in, looking distinguished in his uniform. I was impressed. He'd had to take Chester to Maitland, get the bond, and get back here in pretty short time. Since I was now by myself, and he was, too, I waited for him to do the obligatory stop at Lamar, the mother, and then the casket. When his counterclockwise tour brought him to me, I suggested we go to one of the adjoining rooms, where they had coffee and cookies set out.

“Second reason I came, Carl.”

He and I secured two chairs within easy striking distance of the cookies, and started what I assumed would be a fairly bland, time-killing conversation. It did start that way, and I found myself telling him how impressed I was with the Mansion.

As it turned out, he'd helped restore it years ago, and his late uncle had been caretaker for the last members of the original family who had lived there.

“When did they move out?” Bland. Just curious.

“In the late ffities.”

“What did the original owner do, do you know?”

“He was into grain shipping, and mining, and lumber,” he said. “They were into just about anything in this area that could make 'em rich.”

“Worked,” I said.

“Indeed it did,” said Knockle.

“You know, I always wondered why they put it there in the first place.”

Knockle settled in, and I began to suspect I'd bitten off more than I'd intended. “The original owner, a man named Givens, wanted privacy. That old German Kommune had drilled way down, and got a well going before they went belly up. So he had a well ready made. It was close to the mine he owned, just south of there. That silica outfit.”

I nodded. “Didn't they use that to cast fine gears or something?” “For fine glass, originally,” he said. “Sand's got the consistency of grainy flour, produced a fine glass.”

“Ah.”

“The gear casting came later. Fine grain again, didn't have to machine them much after they were cast.”

“Oh.”

“Old man Givens was really a penny-pincher in some ways, though. Used to visit that mine every day, to check things. Then right across to the old steamboat dock, where they loaded his grain. That ain't there no more, 'course. Took that out about 1930. Mine's closed, went out back in the late sixties.”

“Yeah.”

He kept on. It was my fault. I knew Old Knockle talked a lot.

“Old man Givens got so tired of making that trip down to the valley and then over to the river, he had 'em put in some sort of cable car when they was ffxin' up the railroad about 1890 or so. So he could just go straight on down. His wife used to use it, too, to go to Chicago. For culture. Yep, the train stopped right there, if the flag at the stop was up. Had their very own car on the siding. Named the stop Givens' Switch, just for them. Really rich.” He chuckled. “Called the cable car Givens' Railroad, up here in Freiberg.”

That got my attention. I leaned well forward. “What happened to the cable car?”

“I don't truly know,” he said. “I seem to remember hearin' that they'd replaced it with something, but if I ever heard what, I forgot it by now. There's nothin' there now, I can tell you that. We were all over that hillside yesterday.” He smiled, and got up to get another cookie. “Don't get yourself all excited, Carl. Want another cookie?”

“Sure.” While he got them, I was thinking that, while the cable car might not be there, there surely had to have been a path down the bluff at that point. Had to be. Maybe trees had grown over it, but leveled ground could enable a faster passage….

He sat back down and handed me my cookie. “You know, did you see those big bolts in the wall, upstairs on the second floor?”

“What? Uh, no, no I didn't.”

“You know,” he said, “that big old house was built in two parts. Halves. The north side was built first. They added a matching south side some ten years after the north side was ffnished. Secured the two halves together with big railroad shafts and bolts. Just like the courthouse in Maitland.”

I'd seen the bolts in the courthouse. “Oh, yeah, the big bolts.”

“The ones in the house are covered by big lizards.” He thought a second. “No, dragons.”

“Gargoyles?”

“Yeah. That's it.”

Now he had me going. “How did you know they were bolts, then? Was that common?”

“Coulda been, but I seen some of the blueprints for the house, at the historical society.”

“Oh.” Blueprints. “Here in Freiberg?”

“Oh, no, nope. Not here. Over in Lake Geneva, in Wisconsin, where the family moved. When they had too much money to spend here,” he said with a grin. “It's all donated to their historical society over there.”

“In Wisconsin … that makes sense,” I said. It did. It also made sense that it was out of my jurisdiction and I wanted to see it. “When did you see that?”

“The blueprints? Oh,” he said, “maybe ten, fifteen years back, I think. When Emma and I went in to Madison for her mother's funeral. Maybe twelve?” He nodded vigorously. “Twelve. Yep, twelve. We took a swing down to the lake afterward, you know. Might as well get some use out of the mileage, see.”

“Absolutely.” Luck smiles sometimes.

“I see that the crew from the Mansion came,” he said.

“Yep.”

“You think they're weird, Carl?”

“No weirder than anybody else.”

“Some of 'em seem nice. But I don't know why they dress like that. Just to make people look?”

“Making a statement. Nothing else.”

“I think they do it just to aggravate people.” He stared across the room to where Toby and Kevin were still talking to the girls. “The darkhaired kid with the thing through his nose, see him? That's what I mean.”

“Pretty harmless, I think. Really. Remember, not too long ago, burning the campus down? The sixties and seventies?”

“Yeah.”

“Which you rather have? That, or these kids?” I suppressed a smile. “Or, back in your day, the agitators who wanted to go against the King?”

He looked at me squarely. “You ain't too big for me to whip.”

I almost missed what he said, because my eye had settled on the figure of William Chester, standing near the coffin. I drew Knockle's attention to him.

“What's he doing here?”

Old Knockle stared for a second. “Oh. Uh, well, I know what you said, but he had the bond money right with him, and since I had to bring him back up this way, and I was comin' right here anyway, I thought it'd be okay if I left him in the car.” He cleared his throat. “Looks like he got out.”

“That it does.”

“I'm really sorry, Carl. He said he'd stay in the car.”

“I just bet he did.” I didn't want to draw too much attention to Chester, but for two cents I would have just walked up and knocked the idiot over the head.

After taking some of the sting out for Knockle by getting him another cookie, I went looking for Hester. I saw her two rooms away, but before I could get to her, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Byng, in uniform. He looked very concerned.

“Carl, you got a second?” he asked in a low voice.

“Sure.”

He motioned me toward the hall, and I followed.

“I got a call from Harry,” he said. “They got a missing persons report on Alicia Meyer. She's been having a real rough time over her boyfriend and all, a'course. She was at a friend's house over in Conception County last night. They went out to eat at Gourmet Georges'. She went to the john, never came back. Guess her friends spent most of the night lookin' for her. Can't find her. She's just disappeared.”

“What time, any idea?”

“Not sure, but it had to be before one A.M. That's when Gourmet Georges' closes for the night.”

“So, like what? Somebody snatched her right out of the women's room?” That was spooky.

“Oh, no. No, I forgot. Her car was gone, too. Like she just drove off.”