Code 61 - Donald Harstad [53]
“Or smart enough not to get caught,” said Hester.
“True,” said Sally. “Now for Holly Finn, or Huck. I was in on an arrest involving her; they had me for a matron. I think you were on vacation, Carl. Back in '97?”
“I dunno,” I said. “I know I took vacation that year … I think.”
Sally laughed. “Trust me. Anyway, it was for assault.”
“No shit?” I was truly surprised.
“Yeah. Remember Quentin Pascoe, the guy who sexually abused that four-year-old here in Maitland?”
“Yeah,” I said. There was no way I'd ever forget Quentin Pascoe.
“Well, when he was out on bond, he must have said some lowlife thing in the Fast & Easy one night. Our girl Huck was in there, heard him, went over to the bar, and knocked him on his ass.”
“I never heard that,” I said. “Good for her. You guys busted her, huh?”
“We sort of had to,” said Sally. “She got him with a chair.”
“Even better,” I said. “Intelligent people tend to use tools.” My estimation of Huck went up several notches.
“Other than that, she went to school at U of Wisconsin, Madison. Was a music teacher for a year, I'm told. Then quit, and went on the boat.”
“Probably more money,” said Hester.
“Hanna Prien,” said Sally, “has absolutely no record whatsoever. Born, raised, and remains in Freiberg. Betty says that she was a bright kid, but no gumption at all. She went to school with Betty's daughter for a while.”
“Anything more?” asked Hester, gesturing at the stack of paper in front of Sally.
“Oh, sure. First, we contacted Jessica Hunley at her residence in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. She left about 6:45, and expects to be at her house here at about ten.” Sally looked at us, with a grin. “She was 'absolutely horrified.' I like that.”
“Okay … ” I took a sip of coffee. “Did she already know?”
“Yep. Still 'absolutely horrified,' though.”
“Nice to know,” said Hester.
“So, while I was at it, I got her DL,” said our favorite dispatcher. She pulled a sheet from the pile, with perfs on the sides, right off the teletype. “She's forty-three, five feet nine, green eyes, a hundred twenty-nine pounds, gives an address in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, and owns two cars.”
“Okay.” I reached out and took the DL sheet.
“Wanna know what kinds of cars? Please say yes. Please?”
How could I refuse? “Sure,” I said.
“One: a silver 2000 Mercedes Benz ML55 AM6 SUV.” She looked up. “Those run over fifty grand.”
“Wow.” I guessed there really was such a thing as a wealthy dance instructor.
“Two,” continued Sally, savoring the moment, “a silver 2000 BMW Z8. Convertible, no less.”
“How much?” I had to ask.
“Well,” she said, “my sister looked it up on the net, and she says that they go for about a hundred twenty-five thousand.”
Impressive.
“This is a dance instructor?” asked Hester.
“Yep. That's what everybody says,” said Borman.
“I quit dance lessons when I was thirteen,” said Hester. “Mother always said it was a mistake.” She reached over and took the vehicle sheets from Sally. “There's got to be more to this woman than teaching dancing.”
I agreed.
“Whatever else she does,” said Sally, “she's got a clean record. TRACIS, NCIC, Wisconsin, and Iowa indicate no criminal history. Not even a traffic ticket.”
“Wow,” said Hester. “Not bad.”
I looked up.
“I mean, no traffic tickets. Wisconsin drivers are terrible.”
Sally and I smiled. “I'd be careful, too,” I said, “if I drove cars like that.” I looked across the table. “Anything else on her?”
“Nope,” said Sally, “which brings us to our Daniel Peel.”
I perked up right away.
“You told us last night,” said Sally, addressing Hester, “that Toby said he was about thirty or so, white, male, and in pretty good shape?”
“Yep.”
“Well,” said Sally, “I ran an Iowa check. Nobody, and Iowa files go three years either side of a possible date of birth. So I did an alphabetical. There was a … umm … let's see. Oh, here,” she said. “We have a Dabney, a DaMar, two Darwins, four Davids, a Dawane, a DaVere, and a DaBurl under Peel.” She sat back. “Everything but Daffy. None of these even close to