Code 61 - Donald Harstad [56]
We arrived at the Mansion at 09:38, let the two officers who had spent the night go home, and logged ourselves in. It was to be a daunting task, as there were six rooms on the second floor, seven on the main floor, and an unknown number on the third. Not to mention the basement.
Chris Barnes was waiting for us. He was the best blood-spatter pattern analyzer in the Midwest, at least as far as we were concerned. He was also easy to work with, and eager to explain any aspect of his art.
We started in the basement. It was enormous, with vaulted ceilings and seven separate and distinct chambers. The pillars were brick, with a concrete floor, concrete walls, and plastered ceilings. It was just about the cleanest basement I'd ever seen, with just a little debris in the fruit cellar, and some empty bags of salts near the water conditioner. But even those bags were neatly folded and stacked.
The oil furnace was quite large, converted from a coal burner, complete with a big boiler and very complex piping. One of the techs started there, checking for any traces of burned materials. Borman stayed with him, to assist in recording, preserving, or photographing any evidence that was discovered.
A lab tech named Grothler and I drew the main floor by default, as Hester, Chris Barnes, and the chief lab technician were going to do the second floor. Hester had started out as a laboratory technician years ago, and since we felt the most likely area where we'd locate trace (as in blood) evidence was the second floor, the most experienced people got that job.
I hadn't been there more than a minute, it seemed, when the phone rang. It was Harry.
“You can run, Houseman, but you can't hide. How about meeting with us right now?”
“Sure, Harry. Where?”
“My office. Quieter.”
I told Hester, and she decided to remain with the search team. I got in my car, and headed over to Conception County. It was clouding up, I noticed, as I crossed the mile long bridge spans to the Wisconsin side. Cooler, too. Rain wasn't too far off. And there, I thought to myself, go the beautiful leaves.
It really was quiet in Harry's office. I mentioned it as I sat down.
“I told everybody to get the fuck out onto the streets,” said Harry.
I looked at William Chester. “Harry has great administrative skills,” I said.
He nodded, but didn't answer.
“Carl,” rumbled Harry, “you wanna tell Mr. Chester here what you told me?”
“Might as well. But, first, Mr. Chester, you have to understand something. I'm going to ask you to sign a form, promising not to reveal anything that's discussed here. Under severe penalty.” With that, I opened my attaché case and withdrew one of our standard forms. I passed it over to him. “Please read that carefully.”
He took it from me, and glanced at it. “I've signed these before,” he said. He pulled a pen from his shirt pocket, and signed it with a flourish. “I'll just need a copy…. ”
“No problem,” said Harry. “Machine's in the next room. I'll be right back.”
I looked at our vampire hunter. Or, rather, tracker. “Okay, this is what's happened since we last talked…. ”
Five minutes later, I was through.
“I see,” said Chester. “So, then. Are you willing to concede that you're dealing with a vampire, now?”
“Not even for a second.” I wanted him to be very clear about that. “What I'm dealing with is quite possibly some poor deluded bastard who believes he's a vampire. Nothing more. Because I know vampires really don't exist.”
“As you say,” he said.
I hate it when people do that. “So, what I want from you is this. I want to know how somebody who might think he's a vampire thinks a 'real' vampire behaves. How he's going to act. To convince himself and maybe some others that he's for real.”
“In exchange for which?” asked Chester.
“In exchange for access to some, but not all, of our information. Access to all I can think of that might deal with the vampire stuff, but not with the core case data.”
“Unless I need it?”
“Let me put it this way … If I think we need you to testify as