death in no time.”
We were all quiet for several seconds, as Hester and I brought our notes up to date.
“A moment ago,” said Hester, “you said something about Melissa and believing Dan was a vampire, something like 'she does now,' or something close to that.”
“Well, yeah,” said Huck. “Sure. I mean, for one thing, we all know one of you shot him and it sure doesn't seem to have affected him. What else could we think?”
“What?” I asked.
“The young cop dude, you know. He shot him, and it didn't affect him at all.”
“The younger officer didn't hit him,” I said, rather embarrassed.
“Oh, sure. Yeah. You bet, but we looked for the holes, see, and there wasn't a mark in that doorway or in the little wall or anywhere, all right?” She looked disgusted. “We aren't stupid, you know.”
It was the first sign of anger I'd seen in her, and it struck me that, what with time passing and all the talking about things being like a catharsis, her post-grief euphoria was wearing off.
“I don't think you're stupid, Huck. Not at all.” That was certainly true, and I think she detected that. “He fired a warning shot,” I said. “Two of 'em.”
“Bullshit,” she said. “Sorry, but I mean, even I know you aren't supposed to do that.”
“True,” I said. “True enough.” I looked at Hester. “See? Even civilians know that.” I turned back to Huck. “Well, Deputy Borman just didn't seem able to remember that, though. And he isn't around today, as you might have noticed. He got a one-day suspension for that little error.”
She considered what I'd said, but didn't say a word.
“I'll prove it to you,” I said. I picked up the phone, and dialed Dispatch, and pressed the speaker button. One of the new dispatchers, Gwen, answered.
“Yo ho! Donut shop!” They could tell it was on an intercom line. I hoped.
“Yeah, it's Houseman. Sally out there?”
“One sec… ” she said, and then, obviously calling to the kitchen, “Sally, intercom!”
We waited a few seconds, with the constant crackling of the sixteen radio channels being picked up in the background lending an air of authenticity, if any were required. They almost never used the hold button on the intercom line.
“Yeah, whaddya want, Houseman!” That was Sally's voice, as she walked toward the phone. I could tell Huck recognized the voice. “You need the criminal history on this Peale dude?” This as she picked up the phone. “It just came back, give me a minute.”
“No, no, I'll come out and get that,” I said quickly. “No, hey, you're on speakerphone back here, and I want you to just say what happened to Borman, and why he's not here today.”
There was a pregnant pause. “Uh, you sure you want me to do that?”
“I'm sure.”
“Umm, well, okay. Well, as far as I know, Borman fired two warning shots, and you got all over his ass, and he got suspended today.”
“And where did that happen?”
“Up at the Mansion, when the guy slashed his chest when he came out of that door.”
I looked at Huck, who nodded, and gave me a “thumbs up.”
“Thanks, Sally.”
“Anytime I can help refresh your failing memory. If you're coming out here soon, we got fresh coffee.”
“Cool. Thanks.” I cut the connection. “There.”
“Ah,” said Huck. “Thank you. I'll tell the rest. They might not believe me, but I'll let 'em know. Thanks.”
“No problem. Tell 'em not to spread that around, though. It's confidential information. Personnel records.” It had been a toss-up, but it seemed to me the benefits outweighed the liabilities.
“Sure.”
“I'm going to go out and get that coffee,” I said. “You guys want some?” Two affirmative answers later, I was on my way to the kitchen.
While I was in the kitchen, I mulled over the young people who lived up at the Mansion. Huck, in particular. It was such a damned shame that bright people could lead such shitty lives, but there it was. We saw it all the time. Maybe their lives turned to crap because they were bright, bright enough to notice. They all seemed to have these perfectly reasonable expectations that just never got realized. They seemed to spend a lot of their lives trying to adjust to that. The upside was that they usually made it in spite of it all. The downside was that what emerged was so irrevocably affected, you'd never know what could have been. Well, not really all of them, I thought. Just enough to make it a really crummy thing.
As I listened to the coffee pot gurgling, I thought about Toby developing away from the comic relief role I'd unconsciously assigned him, and turning into a dedicated ferret with a head full of shit. At some point, we were going to have to get his attention.
And Borman. I don't know why, but the fact that his dumb mistake had inadvertently compounded the effort by Peale to be thought of as a “real” vampire made me angry all over again.
The pot gasped and wheezed, ffnished. I poured the cups, and searched the kitchen for a tray. Being unable to locate anything of the sort, I carefully placed the three steaming cups on the breadboard. It looked a little bare, so I put a half dozen little pink packets of nonsugar sweetener on it, and four or five napkins. An afterthought made me stop and pour a cup for Sally.
As I passed through Dispatch, I saw a stack of paperback books partially concealed by a monitor screen and a weather radio box. I peered at the titles. Darkness on the Ice by Lois Tilton, and both Interview with the Vampire and The Vampire Lestat by Anne Rice.
“Doing a little research?”
“Thanks for the coffee, Houseman,” she said as she handed me the criminal history on Peale. “Research is everything. You should read these.” She also told me that there were two people there to pick up Huck.
“Which two?”
“Melissa and Kevin,” she said.
“Okay.” I motioned toward her books. “Library?”
“You bet.”
I stopped to read the criminal history on our vampire, before taking the coffee back to my office. It was interesting. First of all, he had apparently used an alias for the two offenses with which he had been charged. His real name was listed, too, along with his SSN and his FBI number. Convicted felon, twice, in two different states. Therefore, a first offender in each. Somebody hadn't done their homework and checked him out thoroughly in the second case.
I double-checked the secondaries, just to make sure. Yep. Same height, eye color, same finger print code. Just different names used upon arrest. Shifty, but not very thoughtful of him. A really dedicated criminal could maintain a false identity for a long time. Of course, most of them weren't delusional like he was, either.
The first case was from North Dakota. He'd been arrested for contributing to the delinquency of minors in 1989. That was all there was on the initial entry, but Sally had contacted the agency in North Dakota, and had obtained some details. This is what she handed me:
SUBJECT KNOWN AS F/N DANIEL L/N POOL CHARGED WITH ELEVEN COUNTS CONTRIBUTING TO DELINQUENCY OF MI NOR BY SEXUAL MISCONDUCT. ENTERED PLEA AGREEMENT OF GUILTY TO ONE COUNT. ORIGINAL INVESTIGATION INDI CATES SUBJECT POOL INDUCED JUVENILE FEMALES TO IN FLICT WOUNDS UPON SELVES, AND SUBJECT POOL INGESTED BLOOD OF THOSE FEMALES. DUE TO WOUNDS BEING SELF INFLICTED NO CHARGE AVAILABLE. SEXUAL MISCONDUCT CHARGE AROSE FROM ORIGINAL INVESTIGATION. POOL IDENTITY ESTABLISHED AS ALIAS. TRUE NAME SUSPECT: LN/ PEALE; FN/DANIEL; MN/GORDON DOB: 04/10/65.
The second entry was from Walworth County, Wisconsin, in 1993, and was remarkably similar, with two exceptions: He'd used the alias of Daniel Gordon, which was hardly a stroke of originality, and likewise used a false date of birth of 10/04/65; and he'd gotten a two-year suspended sentence this time. There was a teletype from the originating agency, which merely said that the original charge involved something they referred to as “consensual ingestion of small amounts of blood,” and that he had pled guilty to one count of assault by injury to an unnamed minor. The guilty plea figured. If the state tries you, they tend to give you a bit of time in the slammer to make up
