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,” I said. “Not stupid, Toby, just not particularly interested. That's all.”
“Just not particularly interested,” came the mocking reply. “I staked the bitch, and you tell me you're not interested? Bullshit you're not interested!”
I glanced at Hester. “Just irrepressible, isn't he?” But I was also beginning to think he was a little high.
She smiled. She held out her personal tape recorder, down low in the seat, where Toby couldn't see it.
“We said we'd prefer not to hear about that, Toby,” said Hester, “until your attorney can be present.”
“Attorneys,” proclaimed Toby, “don't know shit.” His voice was lowering, though. He just wanted to talk, and didn't care to whom. The foot tapping ceased.
“Most don't,” I agreed, grinning in the knowledge that his attorney would likely hear this tape, “but you might get lucky and get a smart one.”
He seemed to think that over for several seconds.
“I doubt it.” He sounded a little sullen. “Hey, I'm not mad at you guys,” said Toby. “Really.”
“We know that, Toby,” I said. “Never thought you were.” Big mood and attitude swing there. Toby was on something. No doubt.
“I been under a lot of pressure,” he said.
“Things do have a way of piling up on somebody,” said Hester.
“You got that shit right,” said Toby. “What do you do, if somebody who's gotta be obeyed tells you to do something, right? What do you do?” His voice was becoming agitated again. “I'll tell what you do,” he said. There was a pause, and then he said, in a more moderate tone, “You fuckin' do it, because you fuckin' better do it, you know?”
“Depends on who it is,” I said, “but we all have to get in line once in a while.”
“When it's Dan Peale, you do,” he said.
I was glad we'd just gotten onto a paved road, otherwise I might have gone in the ditch. You don't get a gift like that every day.
TWENTY-FIVE
Tuesday, October 10, 2000
11:55
The first thing I'd done when we got to the jail was start the call to the county attorney. Now that we had Toby in our clutches, and in a talkative state, I wanted to keep him as long as I could.
The first conversation with our county attorney had been very brief.
“I'm sorry, he's with a client now,” said his secretary.
“Tell him, Darlene, that this is really important. Really. I need to talk with him in five minutes or less. Something's happened that he's gotta know about.”
In about ten minutes, he called back.
“What's so important, Carl?”
“We need some fast research,” I said. “I've got to know what to charge somebody with who broke into a funeral home, and drove a stake through the chest of a corpse.”
There was a pause. “You're kidding?”
“Nope. I've got the dude in custody, but I gotta have a good charge, and quick.”
“You've gotta be kidding?”
“No, Mike, I'm not.”
“What's wrong with burglary? Just plain burglary, Carl.”
I reached behind me, and pulled one of the volumes of the 1999 Code of Iowa off the shelf. “Got your code handy?” I asked. I was going to have to work with him on this, and I really resented the time.
“Sure.”
“Okay, under 713.1 … the burglary statute … got it?”
“Yes.”
I read it to him. The pertinent part was “Any person, having the intent to commit a felony, assault or theft therein … ”
“So?” he said.
“Well, he didn't steal anything, and since you can't assault the dead, he has to have intended to commit a felony, right?”
“Yes. Sure.”
“Well, is it a felony to mutilate a corpse? We gotta know, Mike.”
“I'm sure it is,” he said, and I could hear pages flipping in the background.
“Here it is,” he said. “Chapter 709.18. Abuse of a corpse. Right here.”
I flipped my pages. It said, “A person commits abuse of a human corpse if the person knowingly and intentionally engages in a sex act, as defined in section 702.17, with a human corpse. Abuse of a human corpse is a class D felony.”
We were both silent, as we read it. “It wasn't exactly a sex act, Mike.”
Naturally, he had us bot
h turn to 702.17, which defined sex acts. They all included the word “genitalia.” No go, and I told him so.
I could tell he was getting worried, too. Just about everything else regarding dead human bodies had to do with licensing funeral directors, medical examiners, and the paperwork required when one came into possession of a corpse. It was too bad Edie hadn't been buried, because if she had, and she'd been exhumed by the suspect, it would have been an aggravated misdemeanor. But, of course, she wasn't in the ground yet.
“Wait, Carl…. Just a second…. ”
“Mike, the only statute that covers it is the trespass section.”
“Wait, let's check 716, criminal mischief…. ”
We did. Criminal mischief required damage to “tangible property.”
“I don't think a corpse is 'tangible property,' I'm afraid, Carl. I'll look, though.”
I had to agree with that. “Yeah, when was the last time you saw a price tag on a corpse?” I flipped the page. “Yep. Right. So, look at 716, trespass. That fits.”
It did, too. Under 716.7.2(a). Very specific. “Entering upon or in property without the express permission of the owner, lessee, or person in lawful possession with the intent to commit a public offense, to use, remove therefrom, alter, damage, harass, or place thereon or therein anything animate or inanimate … ”
That covered it. Edie was definitely “inanimate,” all right. And she'd been both “altered” and “damaged.” By something that had been “placed” there by hammering it into her chest. Unfortunately, trespass was a simple misdemeanor. That meant a hundred-dollar fine, maximum. Burglary charges required a felony.
That's when Mike, bless him, finally earned his keep. Sort of.
“Wait a minute, Carl, wait a minute…. look under the 'hate crime' provision, down in 716.8. See, it says that if there's the intent to commit a hate crime, the penalty goes up to a serious misdemeanor.”
Wow. A whole five-hundred-dollar fine. Still two steps away from a felony, but we'd made some progress, at least.
“Hate crime?”
“Well, won't the relatives be offended, on, well religious grounds, Carl?”
I gotta admit that would never have occurred to me.
I would have just been very, very angry, religion aside.
“So, what do I hold him on, then?”
“Uh, well, a serious misdemeanor, I guess,” he said, “at least for now.”
At least for now. What did he think, that Toby was going to commit some more serious crime while he was in jail? A serious misdemeanor would keep him just long enough to do the paperwork, if we were lucky.
“It's gonna have to do,” I said. And if the bond were typically reduced to ten percent of the fine, he was going to walk on a fifty-dollar deposit. Great.
I got back to Hester, who was baby-sitting Toby in my office. No real point in beginning the process that would book him into jail, at least not if he was still talking, and there wasn't a really good reason to distract him with a lot of jail-related questions.
“How we comin' for an attorney for him?” I asked.
“Attorney Junkel called,” said Hester. “He's on his way down. Wanted to know what he was being charged with.”
“And?”
“I told him the charges were still being determined.” She looked at Toby, who was listening closely. “He told Toby not to talk about the case with us until he got here.”
Expected, as any good attorney would say that. Toby, unfortunately, simply had to talk, and about anything that came into his head, I guess. Talk, talk, talk. And bouncing his feet. Still handcuffed, he looked pretty disheveled, because his hair was falling down over one eye, and he couldn't reach out and push it back. Consequently, he kept tossing his head, to clear his field of vision. I was thinking in terms of crystal meth or ecstasy. I didn't want to ask him, though, because it might lead to a charge, which his attorney would use to discount what he'd said.
“Nothing can be done, anyway,” said Toby.
When you deal with someone who is wired like that, you talk to them. If you don't at least provide some input from an outside source, they get angry, and sometimes violent. It's not difficult to talk with them, though, because they will chat about virtually anything you toss their way.
“I'm not so certain about that,” I said. “Frequently … ”
I'd started him off on another tangent, and he interrupted.
“A lot you know. There's this physics thing called the Uncertainty Principle, you know, and it says that nobody can know anything for certain. Ever. Nope, they can't, and it's been scientifically proven, too.”
My, he was wired. “You mean Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle,” I asked, offhandedly as I was wondering what to do when Attorney Junkel arrived.
“Ooooh, you can read,” he said.
“I think Uncle Werner was referring to subatomic particles that can be influenced by the impact of a photon,” I said. “Not whether or not your bank account balanced.”
“Uncle? He was your uncle?” There was wonder in his voice. It was apparently easier for him to believe I was related to the famous physicist than for him to believe I had read anything concerning the man. Helped along, no doubt, by the fact he was stoned.
“Figure of speech, Toby,” I said. “Just a figure of speech.” I kept a straight face, but it wasn't easy.
“My bank account never balances,” he pronounced with great dignity, “because I don't have one.” He began to giggle. “But I had one once, and I couldn't keep it balanced on the end of my nose to save my ass!” He broke himself up with that one.
While our captive entertained himself, I told Hester about my conversation with the county attorney.
“I figured as much,” she said. “Shit.”
“Oooh, lady,” came from Toby. “The 'S' word.”
“Go balance your checkbook, Toby,” she said. That got him laughing quietly to himself, and he left us alone for the moment.
“Do we want the county attorney here for Junkel? On the off chance that he might let us interview Toby in his presence?”
She shook her head. “Not at this point.”
Toby started to sing in a thin voice, using what he evidently thought was an English accent.
“D'ye ken Dan Peale with his teeth so white?
He sleeps in the day and comes out at night,
His unearthly powers give the mortals a fright
Till he goes back to his coffin in the morning.”
Hester and I looked at each other. He sang it again, in a quavering voice, keeping time with his foot.
“D'ye ken Dan Peale with his teeth so white?
He sleeps in the day and comes out at night,
His unearthly powers give the mortals a fright
Till he goes back to his coffin in the morning.”
He stopped, and looked at us. “He's gonna kill me, 'cause I failed him twice, and you don't get a third chance. Not from old Dan Peale.” His eyes darted about the room. “In the crypt, he told me to kill her, and I couldn't. He told me to keep her dead, and I couldn't do it right. He's going to kill me now, 'cause I failed him.” He spoke in a calm, steady voice. “Plonk, plonk, plonk,” he said. Just like that first night in the woods.
“He was born in 1604 in London fucking England, and he never, never dies.”
It was creepy.
I glanced at Hester, and mouthed “Crypt?”
She nodded.
“It's all right, Toby. Don't worry,” said Hester. “Wait till your attorney gets here. Quietly.” Her tape was obviously still running.
“Not my attorney. Their attorney,” he said, suddenly getting petulant on us. “He'll save me, all right, but he'll just be saving me for them.” He looked beseechingly at Hester. “Don't let 'em kill me, lady. Please?”
“Now you're putting me on,” I said. “Just wait for Mr. Junkel.”
“Don't I wish I was.”
“Yeah. Hey, why'd you run on us the other night? Just
curious, no charge or anything.” I really was interested in why, and there wasn't anything that an attorney could glom onto with that question.
He tittered. “Well, I forgot to lock the fuckin' door, didn't I?”
“Yeah, you're just not fast enough,” I said. “But why'd you run?”
He positively giggled. “Toby wins,” he got out. “Yes!”
I tried another tack. “And who's this 'they' you keep referring to?” I tried to keep it matter-of-fact, but there was a tinge of anticipation in my voice, I'm afraid. It was a justifiable question, though, even in the light of Miranda. Our knowing who was going to “kill” Toby was in his own interest.
He regarded me for a moment, suddenly quite calm. Sober, in a way.
“Vampires all over the world,” he said. “That's who 'they' are.”
He was lying again.
“I mean the 'they' you were just talking about,” I said. “The ones represented by Junkel.” And we all knew who at least one of those clients would be. I really expected him to say “Jessica Hunley.” Of course, that would have been a truthful statement, and I should have known better.
“Corporate America,” he said, looking me right in the eye.
“Can't help you unless you play it straight,” I said. Hoping against hope that he'd tell.
He suddenly cocked his head, squinted, and then began to breathe more rapidly. The dope again.
“You're the one,” he said, to me. “You're the reason. I heard you say that Edie was telling on us. You said so. So I had to make sure she stayed dead.”
I was taken aback for a second, both by the accusation and the sudden mood swing, until I remembered that I had said something about Edie, and speaking to us. Holy shit. I'd meant at the autopsy.
Before I could say anything, he said, “I fucked that up, too. You're supposed to stake 'em through the heart, then cut off their head, then burn 'em. That's what you gotta do, and I … ” Tears, now. Big ones. “I couldn't do that.” He got blubbery. “I luh, luh, loved Edie!”
While he cried, Hester looked questioningly at me.
“I said something about Edie's dead body giving us information at autopsy, the other day, and I remember the look on his face.” I spoke very softly. “Well, at least I do now, for sure. He looked kind of shocked. Now I know why, I guess.” I looked at Toby, who was pretty self-involved at the moment. “Where do you suppose the 'crypt' is? The basement?”
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