Code 61 - Donald Harstad [115]
“This could be another very long day,” I said.
“Where are you taking him?” came a loud voice from the porch. It may have been Melissa, but by the time I looked, I couldn't tell.
“Jail,” I said, as loudly. Just to be polite.
“Tell him,” said Kevin, “that we'll call his attorney.”
Hardly necessary, at that point. Veiled threat?
“Will do,” I called back, got into the car, buckled up while Hester leaned back and buckled Toby in, and we were off.
I picked up the mike. “Comm, Three.”
“Three, go.”
“PBX One, advise him we have a suspect in custody, and are ten-seventy-six the jail.” I'd told Lamar I'd let him know right away.
“Ten-four, Three. He's called twice, and will have your assistant go with the seventy-nine to the location.”
Now, that might have sounded kind of cryptic to the normal person, but anybody with any savvy now knew that a coroner or medical examiner was going to a scene, that the boss had called twice, and that my assistant was being called out. I had to admit, though, that even I was thrown by the last bit. I didn't have an assistant.
“Uhh, Comm, Three?”
“Three?”
“Ah, who's my assistant this week?” As soon as I said it, I knew she had meant Borman.
“Eight.”
Borman, all right. Well, we'd see if this examination of a mutilated corpse would get his act on track.
“Ten-four, Comm.”
Toby was quiet for about the first quarter mile, and I was starting to get worried. As it turned out, I shouldn't have been concerned. His tendency to talk overcame all caution.
“It had to be done,” he said.
“Toby,” said Hester, “let's not discuss it. You've been advised of your rights, and we'd feel a lot better if you waited until you had an attorney present.”
That was partially true. Sure, we'd like Toby to rattle on, but we had the old problem that, even if he said he waived his rights to the attorney, we could lose a suppression hearing later. If that happened, everything he said, and everything we'd found out based on that, could be ruled inadmissible. It happened just often enough to make us very leery about questions without attorneys there. I mean, we knew we'd be right, but that sometimes did very little good in court. There, it came down to the briefing and arguing abilities of two attorneys. We would have nothing at all to say about that. This was, well, safer, I guess.
It was also pretty damned prudent, because the more I searched my memory, the more convinced I became that there was no statute on the Iowa books about mutilating corpses.
Toby, thwarted in his first attempt to enlighten us, switched to philosophy.
“It doesn't make any difference, anyway,” he said. He fidgeted.
I glanced at Hester, who was half turned in the front seat, to keep an eye on Toby since we had no cage in an unmarked car, gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Keep quiet, Carl.
I did, and so did she. That bothered Toby, who began to tap his feet against the back of her seat.
“Well, it doesn't, does it? Make any difference. I can't make any difference. You can't make any difference.” He couldn't quit.
Hester and I, being in the process of making a difference in Toby's life, said nothing.
“Oh, fuck you two.”
I grinned. I just couldn't help it. The tapping of his feet got more intense.
“What's so funny, cop?” He did try. He sort of had to, I guess.
Hester said, pointedly to me, “Well, most of the leaves are off the trees, now, aren't they.”
“Yep,” I answered. “Sure are. Ought to slow the tourist trade a little.”
“Ought to slow the tourist trade,” said Toby, mockingly.
“Especially,” said Hester, “if it rains again tomorrow like they say it will.”
“Are you fuckers stupid or what?” Toby was getting a bit angry, which is not what we wanted. Without a cage, we'd have to stop and restrain him if he started thrashing about in the rear, and he could get hurt. So could we, but it was a lot less likely.
“Nope,