Code 61 - Donald Harstad [129]
“This is going on our credit card, isn't it?”
“I'm afraid so.” I looked up from the screen. “You know the county.”
“We will get reimbursed?”
“Oh, sure. Within six months.”
She sighed. “You want help packing?”
“Well, I'm trying to remember where the small overnight bag is…. ” I settled on a motel that had no stars at all in its rating, in Fontana. I checked my map. On Lake Geneva, the western end. Maybe three to four miles from the town of Lake Geneva, itself. Good enough. It not only had no rating stars, it had no internet capability, either. I had to make a long distance call, and just give my card info over the phone. The clerk was pretty disinterested. With a room rate of thirty-four dollars a night, I suppose interest was a bit too much to ask.
I went upstairs, and Sue had my bag out, and already laid out underwear, socks, and sweatpants for me to lounge in.
“Hester sees you in these, I'll sleep better for knowing she fled laughing,” she said. But it did bother her a bit.
“There's no reason to worry.”
“I know that. But I just … well, it's a little uncomfortable. You know?”
I squeezed her shoulders. “Yeah, but don't let it be. Strictly professional.” She looked up, and I kissed her. “Besides,” I said, “Harry's rooming with me.”
“Now I'm really worried,” she said. “Go get your shaving gear, while I pick out a couple of shirts.”
I made a quick call to Lamar, and told him that we were leaving.
“Okay, Carl. I already called the office. Nobody will call you, on the phone or the radio. You're officially on a stakeout in a confidential location.”
“Thanks.”
“Don't even check out with Dispatch on the radio, and just keep track of your mileage and meals.”
“Okay, Pop. I'll call you when I get back, if not before, if we find out anything. Sue's got the phone number of my motel, and the Walworth County Sheriff's Department in Elkhorn, Wisconsin, will know where we are all the time. Got a pencil handy?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, their ORI is WI0650000, in case you want to teletype them for any reason.” ORI is an abbreviation for Origin, and is the teletype address of any particular law enforcement agency. The numbers are usually carried over into the call sign of the particular department, and in this case, the radio call number of their sheriff would probably be 65-1. All their county cars would begin with sixty-five.
“Okay, they're sixty-five with the zeroes. Okay. Good. Let me know right away … about anything I should know about.”
“Don't worry, Lamar. How's your sister taking things?”
“Just like I thought she would,” he said, disgustedly. “Now she wants to sue the funeral home.”
Fifteen minutes and a flurry of packing later, Hester knocked on the back door.
“Hester, nice to see you,” said Sue. “Come on in.”
“Sorry to have to borrow your husband for a day or two,” said Hester, “but I'm afraid it's necessary.”
“Just watch what he eats,” said Sue. “Or, as long as you can stand it, anyway. I don't envy you going with both Carl and Harry together.”
“It's scary, isn't it?” said Hester. “I'll submit a written report on Carl's diet.”
“You be careful, too,” said Sue. “All of you, be careful.”
I hugged her. “Be back before you know it,” I said.
Hester's car was running in the driveway. As she got in, she said, “Harry's waiting for us just across the river.”
“Okay,” I answered. “When we get where we're headed, I have reservations for me and Harry at a motel in Fontana.”
“Fine. I'm in a place called the Geneva Inn. In Lake Geneva, on the other side of the lake.”
“Okay!” I hoped she had a nice place.
I got in, buckled up, checked everything to make sure it was either working or turned off, and backed out of the garage. I could see Sue, waving, from the back door. I honked my horn, and waved back.
We three took our separate cars on Highway 18 to Madison, then I 90 SE to Janesville, where we stopped for a bite to eat. It was 23:40. We only had about another hour to go.
We pulled in to a McDonald's, which seemed to be the only place open, although they were mopping the floors as we entered.