Code 61 - Donald Harstad [110]
It was a school day, so I kept it under seventy all the way up, but I did turn on my red lights. Didn't encounter a single school bus. Figured.
I went out of the car on the radio at 08:18, at the Freiberg Funeral Home.
The first person I met was Mrs. Marteen, the director's wife, who was very pale and fluttering around like some sort of demented butterfly. All she said was “This way, this way,” as she ushered me into the back.
The funeral director and Byng were standing back by the vault where they would keep a body when it wasn't being viewed. The door was pretty big, in order to permit the easy passage of the coffins.
“What happened?” It's the best question.
“It's awful,” said the director. “Terrible. Just terrible.”
Byng said, “Broke into the vault, here, Carl, and I found a place out back where it looks like they might have come in through an unlocked window. No breaks, though.”
“Okay. What's missing?” I had an incredible feeling of dread that somebody had taken Edie's body.
“Nothing as far as we can tell,” he said. “But you better see this.”
We entered the well-lit, cool vault, and I could see that Edie's coffin was opened. I came around the right side, and looked down at her.
“Aw, shit,” I said.
“Yeah. Me, too.”
There was a crude wooden stake protruding from the center of her chest.
TWENTY-FOUR
Tuesday, October 10, 2000
08:35
“Where's your phone?” I asked the director.
He led me back toward the main part of the building. “What's wrong with this world today?” he asked.
“Lots,” I said.
“Don't let anybody touch anything,” I said to Byng. “After I make a call, I'm going to get my camera, and then take a bunch of photos. Stay around.” The last thing I wanted was to have an esthetically offended funeral director pull the stake out. As I dialed, it occurred to me that we had about three or four hours before the funeral.
“Sheriff's Department,” said Sally.
“It's me, Houseman. Get Hester up here, and don't let Lamar know anything about my being here until I can talk to him personally. Call Doc Z., tell him we're going to have a question. Then get Dr. Peters, the forensics man, on the phone and ask if he can call me up here. Tell him it's very urgent.”
“Right. What's going on?”
“Not over the phone,” I said. Then it came to me that mothers, even estranged ones, might want to pay a visit on the deceased before the funeral. “Hang on a second.” I put my hand over the receiver and raised my voice so the funeral director or his wife could hear, wherever they had chosen to be to give me privacy on the phone. “Mr. Marteen? Could you come here a sec?” He appeared almost instantly. He hadn't been too far, probably within earshot. “Can you tell me if any relatives will be here much before the funeral starts?”
“Many times they are. I don't know about this one.”
“And what time is the funeral?”
“Eleven. And the luncheon is at St. Elmer's, as well.” Habit.
“Thanks.” I talked back into the phone. “Look, you better have Lamar give me a call up here right away.”
“Okay.”
“We gotta move really fast on this one,” I said. “Later.”
I hung the phone up. “We might have to delay the funeral a bit,” I said to Mr. Marteen. “Maybe not. Will you come here and see if you think we can close the lid with that damned thing still in her?”
“How will I explain that?”
It was a fair question. “Just tell them it's at the request of the family,” I said. “After all, everybody got a chance to see her yesterday at the wake.”
“It's the family I was referring to,” he said dryly.
“You mean her mother?”
“Yes. How on earth can I tell her that she can't see her daughter one last time?”
I didn't really think that was going to be a problem, but you never know what a relative will do.
“You have a blanket? A nice one?”
“Yes.”
“Can't you tell her that it's part of the process, you know, to sort of cover her up? Just expose the face for the