“I got the plane up from Cedar Rapids PD, with their FLIR, and all they can see is cops, deer, and that useless fuckin' dog wanderin' around.” Lamar gestured toward the woods. “We used spotlights from the Conception County helicopter. All the way to the river. Then the FLIR, when it got here. Nothin', nothin' at all.” I thought he was going to spit. “Then this goddamned rain on top of it… ”
It was raining, not hard, but one of those drizzly, persistent rains that can go on for days. A cold, damp night, peculiar to October and November.
“The rain affect the FLIR much?” I asked.
“I guess,” he said. “It tends to even out the temperatures, if somebody's gonna hide in the woods, so they tell me.” He shrugged. “Just makes it harder, is all.”
FLIR is a Forward Looking Infra Red device. It can see a heat differential of less than half a degree Fahrenheit. Any mammal would show up, and clearly enough that you could spot the antlers on a buck deer from about five hundred feet up. The beauty is, the target has no idea you're looking at it. You can hide under things, of course. Behind things, inside things. But if even your legs were uncovered, it would have you. But the rain, like Lamar said, would make it less effective.
“Where could he go?” I was thinking out loud, more or less.
“I hope,” said Lamar, “that you didn't come all the way downstairs just to ask that.”
Lamar hates the press. It isn't always so obvious, but he really does. He's also very nervous around them, and will do almost anything to avoid having to talk with them. The fact that the so-called vampire's victim was his niece just compounded the problem past all reason.
“You give a statement yet?” asked Hester.
“Nope. Nothin' to say, I guess.”
“Let's give a joint statement,” she said. “You and I can write it up real quick, and I'll go with you and both our offices can issue it.”
He nodded, and the two of them went into the main dining room, and sat at the long, beautiful table. The setting was quite a contrast to the turmoil both inside and outside the Mansion.
There was a familiar voice at the door.
“Hey, Houseman, kin we have your picture, or you gonna feed all of us?” Harry.
As it turned out, Harry had been in Milwaukee most of the day, talking with the pathology team that had done the autopsy on Randy Baumhagen. The death had been the result of the blow to the head with one of those ubiquitous “blunt instruments.” Probably about three to four inches wide, probably fairly heavy. The throat injury was, as we had been told in the preliminary report, the result of the use of a sharp object, but not a blade.
All well and good. But Harry had been busier than that. He'd talked with people about William Chester.
“He ain't got a sister, Carl, and he never fuckin' had one. Dead or not.”
“Really?”
“He was livin' with some gal, over around Walworth, who died in a car wreck. That's it. He lied.”
“What do you think? We dump him?”
“I dunno. Everything else checks out so far. I dunno.” Harry looked around the interior of the Mansion, taking it in for the first time. “Nice fuckin' place.”
“We like it,” I said.
“So, the press people tell me that you found our boy?”
I explained that he'd more or less found us. I gave Harry all the details.
“Warning shots?”
“Yeah.” I sighed.
“Kids these days,” said Harry. “They just think too much.” He looked around some more. “So, you think he was up there all the time, then?”
“Yeah. Zonked, maybe. Enough pills up there to keep you out for a while.” I motioned him over to the stair, near the inglenook. “Hear anything?”
He tried. “Nope.”
“Quiet, isn't it?” I gestured around me. “I mean, even with all the commotion outside.”
“Well, yeah, now that you mention it.”
“I'll tell you, Harry, this is the quietest house I've ever been in in my life. You could make a lot of noise one or two rooms away, and never be heard. Not to mention up a floor or two.”
“It's all the insulation in the interior walls, I betcha,” he offered. “These old places are like that.”
“I think so, too,” I said.
“So, where ya think he's got to?”
“Beats me. Lots of area to hide in out in those woods. Lots.” I raised an eyebrow. “Maybe we got lucky, though.”
“How's that?”
“Maybe he's a good swimmer, and made it to the Wisconsin side.”
While Harry paid his respects to Lamar and Hester, I called the office to find out whether or not the Freiberg cops had been able to find Kevin Stemmer. Turned out they had, in a local bar called The River Bank. Strike one suspect.
The news conference was remarkable. Hester and Lamar stood together on the front steps, starkly lit by the TV reporters and their lights, and with their breath visible against the shadows of the house, gave a prepared statement. Actually, Lamar introduced them both, and then let Hester do the statement, but it was obviously and effectively a joint release. The rest of us watched intently from the corner of the porch. We were safely off camera, and had a view from the left rear quarter, where we could just see their brightly lit faces.
“This is an ongoing investigation into a possible homicide,” said Hester. “I emphasize 'possible.' Since it is ongoing, there is very little we're able to release to you at this time. The deceased is one Edith Younger, of Rural Route, Freiberg. An autopsy has been performed by the medical examiner's office, and the results are expected to be formally submitted at the conclusion of all the routine laboratory testing.”
It was a nice release. They'd done a nice job. Predictably, as soon as she'd finished the last sentence, the assembled reporters all started asking the vampire question. Hester held up her hand. “There has been a rumor started that there is somehow an involvement of a so-called vampire in this case.” She drew a deep breath. “Vampires are mythical creatures. Period.” She produced a great, open, honest smile. “Any suspect or suspects in this case would be human beings,” she said, in a calm, clear voice, “and would be treated as such. You can count on that.”
“So, who are you looking for with all these people?” the Dubuque TV reporter asked.
I found myself just as curious about her answer as the media.
“We have a possible suspect, who may be in this vicinity. We are checking to see if our information is correct.”
Cool. I almost clapped.
“Is it true that this suspect has been shot?” I peered into the group, but with the TV lights and the light rain, I couldn't see who was talking.
“Nobody has been shot,” said Hester. Too true.
“We were told that a person had been shot, and had fled into the woods.” I moved a step or two to my right, and looked hard into the assembled media people. It appeared as if the La Crosse TV reporter was the one doing the talking. As my eyes moved over the group of media people, I recognized William Chester standing near the La Crosse SUV. I suspected I'd identified their source, although where he had gotten his information was beyond me.
“No one was shot and then fled into the woods,” she said.
She tried to forestall further questions by saying, “The law expressly does not allow the release of more information at this time. The sole reason we chose to respond to the first question was to put an unfounded and kind of silly rumor to rest. We are allowed to do that under departmental procedure.” The smile again. “We're encouraged to do that, in fact.”
There was a barrage of questions, many containing the “V” word. One actually asked if the vampire had drained the blood from the victim.
“I'm really sorry, but I can't say more at this time. We'll keep you posted on the critical steps in the case. Thank you.” She and Lamar turned, and began to walk back into the house.
