Code 61 - Donald Harstad [73]
Pending the results of the toxicology exam, all meds were photographed in place, and seized.
Chris did the back stair, the one Borman had been guarding, with great diligence. Hester followed him down, after I took photos. The steps were pretty clean. Not only in the evidentiary sense; they gave every indication that they were cleaned and vacuumed regularly. No cobwebs. No dust. Just shiny hardwood and clean pastel green plaster. Nothing, until the second step from the bottom. Chris went on point, came back up for his stuff, and after a few minutes, we shut off the lights.
Green luminescence shone on the bottom two steps. In wide swaths, with a discernible swirling pattern.
Chris looked up the stairs at our three faces peering down at him. “Looks to me like it's a blood response, not detergent. We'll see, and I wouldn't be surprised if there was a mixture of both. But for now, I'd be inclined to say somebody wiped up some blood here. And not too long ago.”
The rest of the steps were clean. Period. According to Chris, that was far from typical.
“I'd be inclined to think there should be more blood-staining around here. Drips. Spills. Seepage. Something.”
But there wasn't.
We photographed the stairs by using a time exposure, darkening the entire third floor, and using a slow pass with a flashlight across the walls of the stairwell, first one side, then the other. That way, the luminescence would show up, and we'd also be able to show the scene. Without the dim light of the flashlight, we'd only get the green on fflm, without any clue as to where it was located. That was the theory, anyway. Just to be safe, we also outlined the areas where the wipe marks were, and took shots of them in good light.
We all sat around for a few minutes, completing our inventory of seized items, finishing up the sketched diagram of the third floor, and making sure we had everything.
“We done?” asked Hester.
Well, as far as we were concerned, we were. Others, it seemed, had different ideas.
SEVENTEEN
Monday, October 9, 2000
01:47
I guess I hadn't fully comprehended the extent of the isolation of the third floor from the rest of the Mansion. As we descended the stairs, we gradually became aware that there was quite a bit of activity around the place. The closer we got to the ground floor, the more my suspicions were confirmed.
We got to the bottom of the stairs, and saw the press people gathered outside the front door. The scene was brilliantly lit. Shit. They had TV cameras and everything. I identified Iowa TV units from Cedar Rapids and Dubuque and one from La Crosse, Wisconsin.
Our call for reinforcements had gotten a little more attention than I'd hoped.
Lamar was, well, eager to see us.
“Somebody told these assholes we were hunting for a vampire up here,” he said, the tense being past accusative. “Who did that?”
I started to say that I didn't know, when he continued.
“They want to know who and how many he's killed, where the vampire is, who the vampire is…. ” He looked me square in the eye. “Any suggestions?”
“I suppose,” said Hester, “that means he hasn't been caught yet?”
“Hell, no, he hasn't been caught,” said Lamar, with considerable disgust. “They can't even find a good track, and the useless dog got away from his trainer.” He shook his head. “Goddamned animal started to track Borman at first. You know that? Worthless…. ”
There had just been too many people around, I guess.
“I got the plane up from Cedar Rapids PD, with their FLIR, and all they can see is cops, deer, and that useless fuckin' dog wanderin' around.” Lamar gestured toward the woods. “We used spotlights from the Conception County helicopter. All the way to the river. Then the FLIR, when it got here. Nothin', nothin' at all.” I thought he was going to spit. “Then this goddamned rain on top of it…. ”
It was raining, not hard, but one of those drizzly, persistent rains that can go on for days. A cold, damp night, peculiar to October and November.
“The rain affect the FLIR much?” I asked.
“I guess,” he said.