that tape number ten, identically marked, was in the camera.
The tapes and camera were seized, due to the high probability that we might just have tapes depicting either the real Daniel Peel, or the man who had fled down the stairs and sliced Borman's vest, or… well, both, if they were either the same man or two different people. Along with others, presumably Edie chief among them. Because Edie was likely to be on them, I truly was not looking forward to viewing those tapes.
The third item was what we used to call “pay dirt.” It was in the center, lower drawer under the huge bed. A knife, and an unusual one at that, wrapped in a cloth with dark, reddish stains that appeared to be blood.
The knife was really strange-looking. I suppose it was nearly sixteen inches overall, with a blade some eight to nine inches long. The handle was slightly curved downward, ebony, and with a silver metal butt cap that was shaped like an eagle's head. The beak on that bird looked very sharp. The blade itself was the really weird part. It was about three inches wide, tapering sharply to a very fine, slightly up-curved point. It was a double-bladed knife, so the blade looked as if it had had about a quarter-inch slot just ground out all along its length, making two blades, effectively. The inside edges of both halves had been sharpened, too. Four cutting surfaces for the price of two, so to speak. The thing that really struck me about the knife, though, was that slot between the blades. I vividly remembered the lump of muscle protruding from Edie's neck wound. With this knife, it would have been easy to snag muscle in the slot, and if there was any twisting, to effectively pull muscle and other tissues right back out of the wound.
“This could be it,” I said.
“Sure is big enough,” said Grothler.
“You mean the split in the blade?” said Hester, to me. “Snagging tissue?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “It looks like that'd do it.” It would explain the number of cuts inside the wound as well. Not so many thrusts, but twice the cutting surface.
“Could well be,” said Hester, reaching for an evidence bag.
We also found some fairly benign sorts of things that might have a bearing on the case. One was an antique crystal candy dish, with a silver lid, containing a number of small white pills. They seemed to have cartoon characters pressed into them. I saw Woody Woodpecker, for sure.
Hester looked carefully at the container, and chuckled. “Ecstasy. Possibly from Holland.” She pointed to the elaborate initial etched into the silver lid. It was an “E,” very much embellished. It, too, was seized as evidence.
There was another bottle, green glass with a brass top, and mounted in a brass tube with legs. Antique, too, I thought. It contained a number of dark green pills, smallish, with a horizontal break line and the numeral 6. Curving across the top was a word, which I could only make out with the help of my reading glasses. “Coumadin.” We all knew that was a blood thinner, but weren't sure just how many different conditions would require its prescription. It was also an anticoagulant. Hester and I exchanged glances over that one, and she nodded.
“Yeah.”
“I think so, too,” I said. “I wouldn't be at all surprised if the lab found a quantity of Coumadin in Edie's tissue samples.”
Another container, this time an old 250ml Erlen meyer flask, graduated, held a large number of coated, pink pills with the inscription “Mellaril 200.” No idea on that one.
The last pill jar was a deep red, also appeared to be antique, with silver scrollwork and a silver stopper. Eighteen blue, diamond-shaped pills, with a brand name on one side and the inscription “VGR50.”
“Anybody know what this is?” I held one out in my hand.
“Hang on to it, Houseman,” said Hester, with a grin. “You may need it sooner than you think.”
I bit, I admit it. From her comment, I sort of assumed it might have something to do with Alzheimer's, or something like that. “Memory stimulant?”
“Probably, in your case, that would be all it is,” she said, laughing. “It's Viagra, Houseman.”
“Oh.” I put it back. “Hey, I'm sorta proud I didn't know what it was.”
“That's the memory part,” she said.
We were all aware of the fact that most of the seized pills appeared to be prescription drugs. We were also aware that we'd not found any prescription bottles of any sort.
Pending the results of the toxicology exam, all meds were photographed in place, and seized.
Chris did the back stair, the one Borman had been guarding, with great diligence. Hester followed him down, after I took photos. The steps were pretty clean. Not only in the evidentiary sense; they gave every indication that they were cleaned and vacuumed regularly. No cobwebs. No dust. Just shiny hardwood and clean pastel green plaster. Nothing, until the second step from the bottom. Chris went on point, came back up for his stuff, and after a few minutes, we shut off the lights.
Green luminescence shone on the bottom two steps. In wide swaths, with a discernible swirling pattern.
Chris looked up the stairs at our three faces peering down at him. “Looks to me like it's a blood response, not detergent. We'll see, and I wouldn't be surprised if there was a mixture of both. But for now, I'd be inclined to say somebody wiped up some blood here. And not too long ago.”
The rest of the steps were clean. Period. According to Chris, that was far from typical.
“I'd be inclined to think there should be more blood-staining around here. Drips. Spills. Seepage. Something.”
But there wasn't.
We photographed the stairs by using a time exposure, darkening the entire third floor, and using a slow pass with a flashlight across the walls of the stairwell, first one side, then the other. That way, the luminescence would show up, and we'd also be able to show the scene. Without the dim light of the flashlight, we'd only get the green on fflm, without any clue as to where it was located. That was the theory, anyway. Just to be safe, we also outlined the areas where the wipe marks were, and took shots of them in good light.
We all sat around for a few minutes, completing our inventory of seized items, finishing up the sketched diagram of the third floor, and making sure we had everything.
“We done?” asked Hester.
Well, as far as we were concerned, we were. Others, it seemed, had different ideas.
SEVENTEEN
Monday, October 9, 2000
01:47
I guess I hadn't fully comprehended the extent of the isolation of the third floor from the rest of the Mansion. As we descended the stairs, we gradually became aware that there was quite a bit of activity around the place. The closer we got to the ground floor, the more my suspicions were confirmed.
We got to the bottom of the stairs, and saw the press people gathered outside the front door. The scene was brilliantly lit. Shit. They had TV cameras and everything. I identified Iowa TV units from Cedar Rapids and Dubuque and one from La Crosse, Wisconsin.
Our call for reinforcements had gotten a little more attention than I'd hoped.
Lamar was, well, eager to see us.
“Somebody told these assholes we were hunting for a vampire up here,” he said, the tense being past accusative. “Who did that?”
I started to say that I didn't know, when he continued.
“They want to know who and how many he's killed, where the vampire is, who the vampire is… ” He looked me square in the eye. “Any suggestions?”
“I suppose,” said Hester, “that means he hasn't been caught yet?”
“Hell, no, he hasn't been caught,” said Lamar, with considerable disgust. “They can't even find a good track, and the useless dog got away from his trainer.” He shook his head. “Goddamned animal started to track Borman at first. You know that? Worthless… ”
There had just been too many people around, I guess.
