“Borman will be okay.”
“You sure?” asked Lamar. “He's takin' those social worker classes… ”
“Yeah, that's okay,” I said. “He needs the experience, and he's already halfway familiar with the case.”
“You got him, then. Did I tell you that Doc Zimmer's doing the workup?”
“Okay. That's good.” Dr. Henry Zimmer, a local MD. Acting as a Deputy County Medical Examiner, being closest physician to the scene. At this point, we didn't require a forensic pathologist; we needed someone to pronounce Edie dead. We couldn't do that, and it was considered bad manners to just drop an obviously deceased at the nearest ER.
“And DCI, maybe?” Lamar asked.
DCI was the Iowa Division of Criminal Investigation. As a state agency, if we called for one of their agents, if we needed a forensic pathologist, he'd be charged to them. Along with the crime scene processing team, if needed. Tempting. But the state was busy, too, and we always hate to call DCI unless we really need them.
“Probably not yet, Lamar,” I said. As I looked at him, though, I began to realize that this had been more of an order than a question. “Although, if this were to be a murder… ”
“They really hate to get called in late,” finished Lamar.
We looked at each other.
“It's always best to be sure,” I said.
“True.”
We were both silent in our thoughts for a moment.
“Lamar, tell me the truth. Would you feel better if we called DCI?”
“Yep.”
I reached out and patted him on the shoulder. I'd never done that, but it seemed the right thing to do at the time. “Let's go make the call.” I certainly didn't want to leave him alone with the body.
As we were about halfway through the bedroom, Lamar said, “Hey, Carl?”
I stopped, and turned toward him. “Yeah?” I thought he'd found something.
“Get Hester. Request her by name, okay?” He paused, embarrassed. “I mean, I know Edie's dead… but I'd just like a female DCI agent on this one.”
“Sure.”
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a rolled newspaper. He handed it to me. “You might want to check out the article here, when you get a chance.”
“Okay.”
“I'm glad you're gonna get Hester.”
He meant Hester Gorse, Special Agent, Iowa DCI. Hester and our department went back a long way. She was one of the very best, without a doubt. And what he was trying to say was that he didn't feel too comfortable with male officers examining Edie's body, or going through her personal effects. He'd have to go with me, of course, but Hester would ease his mind just by her presence. The problem was, DCI almost never sent a specific agent on request. They had a rotational assignment procedure, generally based on agent availability, but also designed in part to provide a wide base of experience for their general crim agents. It also served to prevent any hint of collusion between the local requesting department and any specific DCI agent, defense attorneys occasionally being known to grasp at straws. We'd just have to see.
Borman directed me to the phone downstairs. I quietly told him to stick with Lamar. He nodded.
“Oh, and consider yourself assigned to the case until further notice. Authority Lamar.”
“Oh! Uh, thanks, Carl.”
“Think nothing of it. You need the experience. I need the help.”
The first DCI agent I talked with at the Cedar Falls district office wasn't sure, but thought Hester was at home. He gave me the home phone number of his boss, Alan Hummel. Lamar and I had known Al for nearly twenty years. I explained the situation, in some detail, emphasizing Lamar's relationship with the deceased, and the condition of the body.
“Boy, Carl. That's a shame. But you do need an agent because of the suspicious nature of the thing, right?”
“Yes.” Like I'd say differently.
“But you say it's a suicide?”
Well, that was what I'd said, standing in the hall of the huge house, and not being too sure just who was able to hear me. “This isn't a secure line.”
“Got it.” He paused. “Look, as far as I'm concerned, you've got Hester. I'll have State Radio give her a call. If she's not at home, they'll page her. I'll instruct them to contact your office as soon as they get an ETA.”
“Thanks, Al.” “And, Carl, be sure to tell Lamar he has my sympathy.”
As I hung up, I saw Toby, the young man from the front steps, standing in the room across the hall. He was staring at me.
“I hope that was a local call,” he said.
“Pardon me?”
“I said, I hope that was a local call,” he replied.
I've always found that, when dealing with someone who's trying to win the Junior Dickhead award, it's most rewarding to play things irritatingly straight, but vague.
“No, it was long distance,” I said, smiling. “Sorry to dash your hopes.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, but I held up my hand and dialed the sheriff's office.
“Hey, can you spring some more people for me up here… maybe two, if you can? Three or four'd be good. I've got folks moving around up here, and I have better things to do than control foot traffic.” The dispatcher said she'd try. “And,” I said, “Hester should be on her way up pretty soon.” Just a way to inform and alert the dispatcher that things might get really busy in a while.
Done with that, I put the phone back on the receiver. Toby resumed our conversation as if I'd never made the second call.
“Who pays for it, then?”
Again, I smiled. He was really trying to get some attention. “Is the phone in your name, Toby?”
“No.”
“Whose name is it in, then? Do you know?” The last question surprised him a bit, I saw. Unexpected turn, when he'd thought some sort of confrontation was coming.
“Jessica Hunley.” The way he said it, I got the impression that I was supposed to know who Ms. Hunley was. I didn't, but I'd find out. I was also going to find out why Toby was here, if it wasn't his phone. Guest? Resident? Patron? But it could wait.
“Then, can I rely on you to tell Ms. Hunley that I used a credit card?”
“Well, yes. Yes. I'll do that.”
“Excellent,” I said, heading for the stairs. “Don't go too far, Toby. I'll get to you pretty soon, now.” I went up a couple of stairs. “Oh, Toby… thanks.”
“For what?”
“For getting the message to Ms. Hunley for me.”
“Sure.” He sounded just a little uncertain, but not ready to concede anything. Good for him. I knew he'd be a witness of some sort, to whatever it was we really had here. Not that I'm cynical, but it's never too soon to start working on a witness.
I stopped on the landing, and looked at the newspaper Lamar had handed me. It was today's copy of the Freiberg Tribune and Dispatch. All six pages of it. On the front page, lower left, was a headline: “Dracula Visiting Freiberg?” The article was about our window-peeking incident from two days ago. No names. But it quoted a “young lady” as describing the window peeker as having “enormous fangs” and “just hanging in space outside my second- floor window.” The article was mostly tongue in cheek, naturally, but the damage was done. Shit. Just what I needed to muddle a case. I could almost hear what Harry was going to say about this.
I put the paper in my back pocket, and continued up the stairs. I wanted a cigarette again.
When I got to the top, I motioned Borman over. “Go sit on that Toby kid downstairs, will you? I don't want him wandering off. Get his full name, address, all that shit, and see if he'll do a voluntary statement.”
“Sure.”
