away from that house tonight.”
We called Magistrate Benson, who sleepily agreed to release Toby on his own recognizance. The night shift could let him out, and give him a ride to Freiberg. I walked back to the cells, and told Toby. He did seem pleased.
Before I left, Sally was given the assignment of coming up with everything possible concerning both Peel and Hunley. She was scheduled to start her dispatch shift at 04:00. She'd assured us that the vampire-induced adrenaline rush was guaranteed to keep her alert through the rest of the night.
I got home at 03:36. Sue had left a note telling me that there was some chow mein in the refrigerator. I put it in the microwave, and discovered while eating it that I should have left it in at least a minute longer. The edges were cold, the center a bit cooler. Too tired to wait any longer, I ate it anyway, with a slice of bread.
ELEVEN
Sunday, October 8, 2000
08:12
I walked in the office door with a full four hours' sleep, and went directly to Dispatch. Borman was already there, looking fresh and ready to go. Ah, youth.
“Morning,” he said.
“You look fresh. Get enough sleep?”
“You betcha. More than enough.” He looked awfully happy, and well he should have. This was an opportunity for him to be one up on just about the whole department, on a big case. The pecking order in most cop shops depends a lot on who's been deemed to have a “need to know” and who hasn't. Ours was no different.
“Get anything for us?” I asked Sally.
“Some, but not a lot,” she said. She got up from her seat at the main console, and Elaine Boyce slid into her chair. Sally scooped up a bunch of papers and notes, and the three of us went to the kitchen, Borman in the lead.
The jail kitchen is right next to our dispatch center. It's our home away from home. We contract with a nursing home to provide meals for our prisoners, so the kitchen is pretty much ours to use as we need. It's just about ten yards of countertop and cabinets, with a stove, sink, refrigerator, coffeepot, and a long church basement-type table, with collapsible chrome legs, and a worn linoleum top, straight from 1950. Surrounded by steel folding chairs, with “NCSD” in black stencil on their backs. Nation County Sheriff's Department.
Sally sat and began spreading out her papers. “Get me a cup of coffee?”
“Sure.” I glanced inquiringly at Borman, and he nodded. I went to the full pot, and poured three cups.
“Make that four?” Hester's voice.
“You bet. Still take milk?”
“No, just black,” she said. “Morning, Sally.”
“Hi, Hester. I don't have much.”
“Right,” said Hester, referring to all the paper.
I sat three cups around the table, and pulled up a chair. “So… ”
“First off,” said Sally, “don't forget to call Harry over in Conception County, Carl. He called at 07:12, and says he really wants to talk to you.” She handed me that note. “Now, how about a fast background on the younger set at the Mansion? They were easy, since we know all of 'em.”
“Go for it,” I said, raising my coffee cup.
“First one is Toby Gottschalk. Son of Robert and Gwen, raised on a farm about five miles out of Freiberg. We have one beer ticket on him at age sixteen. Two moving violations, both for failure to have control at property damage accidents. Nothing major at all.”
“Go on,” said Hester.
“The next one,” said Sally, “is Melissa Corey. A bit different. She has a juvenile record I can't access, but I seem to remember that it was over simple possession, wasn't it, Carl?”
It rang a bell. “Oh, shit, sure I remember,” I said, kind of embarrassed. “She and her older sister had some weed up in their room and their mother called us, didn't she?”
“You got it,” said Sally. “Her mom is divorced, two times, maybe three, with a last name of Warrington, and Melissa's sister has a last name of Burgess, after the mom's first husband.”
“Anything else on her?” asked Hester.
“Not much. Went to school at the U of Iowa, according to Betty.” Betty was another dispatcher. “Betty also says that Melissa's a whole lot brighter than her mom.”
“Okay. Good,” I said.
“Kevin Stemmer has nothing but two moving violations, both for speeding, both under ten mph over the limit.” Sally smiled. “Mike gave him both tickets, and says that he tried to talk his way out of both of them. Took one to court, and lost his ass. Otherwise, nada. No sense of adventure.”
“Or smart enough not to get caught,” said Hester.
“True,” said Sally. “Now for Holly Finn, or Huck. I was in on an arrest involving her; they had me for a matron. I think you were on vacation, Carl. Back in '97?”
“I dunno,” I said. “I know I took vacation that year… I think.”
Sally laughed. “Trust me. Anyway, it was for assault.”
“No shit?” I was truly surprised.
“Yeah. Remember Quentin Pascoe, the guy who sexually abused that four-year-old here in Maitland?”
“Yeah,” I said. There was no way I'd ever forget Quentin Pascoe.
“Well, when he was out on bond, he must have said some lowlife thing in the Fast amp; Easy one night. Our girl Huck was in there, heard him, went over to the bar, and knocked him on his ass.”
“I never heard that,” I said. “Good for her. You guys busted her, huh?”
“We sort of had to,” said Sally. “She got him with a chair.”
“Even better,” I said. “Intelligent people tend to use tools.” My estimation of Huck went up several notches.
“Other than that, she went to school at U of Wisconsin, Madison. Was a music teacher for a year, I'm told. Then quit, and went on the boat.”
“Probably more money,” said Hester.
“Hanna Prien,” said Sally, “has absolutely no record whatsoever. Born, raised, and remains in Freiberg. Betty says that she was a bright kid, but no gumption at all. She went to school with Betty's daughter for a while.”
“Anything more?” asked Hester, gesturing at the stack of paper in front of Sally.
“Oh, sure. First, we contacted Jessica Hunley at her residence in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. She left about 6:45, and expects to be at her house here at about ten.” Sally looked at us, with a grin. “She was 'absolutely horrified.' I like that.”
“Okay… ” I took a sip of coffee. “Did she already know?”
“Yep. Still 'absolutely horrified,' though.”
“Nice to know,” said Hester.
“So, while I was at it, I got her DL,” said our favorite dispatcher. She pulled a sheet from the pile, with perfs on the sides, right off the teletype. “She's forty-three, five feet nine, green eyes, a hundred twenty-nine pounds, gives an address in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, and owns two cars.”
“Okay.” I reached out and took the DL sheet.
“Wanna know what kinds of cars? Please say yes. Please?”
How could I refuse? “Sure,” I said.
“One: a silver 2000 Mercedes Benz ML55 AM6 SUV.” She looked up. “Those run over fifty grand.”
“Wow.” I guessed there really was such a thing as a wealthy dance instructor.
“Two,” continued Sally, savoring the moment, “a silver 2000 BMW Z8. Convertible, no less.”
“How much?” I had to ask.
“Well,” she said, “my sister looked it up on the net, and she says that they go for about a hundred twenty-five
