“So you busted him?”
“For attempted murder and burglary. It was really strange, okay? I mean, we were having to do so many reports about shots being fired, not to mention somebody actually getting shot . . . we didn’t get to examining the store’s security tapes for three days. When we finally did, we were lookin’ for what he was actually doing in there. Found a young female employee standing back by the manager’s office. She was waiting for him. We were sure of it. I mean the store was closed, had been for hours.”
“Oh. But you got him for it?”
“Not for being a vampire. We thought about giving that a shot, but the prosecutor said we couldn’t get it to fly, and we’d just blow the investigation. The vampire just did seventy-two hours in the hospital, believe it or not. Under very close guard. Then jail, then in front of a judge, then to Security Mental Health down here in Iowa City, for his pre-placement evaluation.” He laughed. “That was a hoot! Anyway, then the Feds sort of got him on loan, all legally, and he’s the one now down at CDC in Atlanta.”
“What did his attorney have to say about that?”
“Nothing. Court-appointed. Justified, since he or it wouldn’t cough up any information regarding his finances. That would have given up his name, and he didn’t want to do that. His choice. The exam upon admission to Security Mental Health, so they can tell what institution to put him in? Well, that showed he or it wasn’t quite human, one way or another. Something extra or missing in his DNA, ya know? That’s a tough one, because we can only charge humans, okay? Everything else in the law we just turn over to animal control.” He said that with a grin. “So, anyway. We took the matter to the AG, and they took it to a judge who has a kind of confidential court. Just like the federal judges, you know? The ones who hear select terrorism cases? Like that.”
“You might need to show me a transcript of that.”
“In my briefcase, backseat. Go ahead.”
“You brought it with you?”
“It’s one of the things I would need, if I was in your position. To convince me.” He turned, and they crossed the Iowa River. “It wasn’t easy getting that out of the files,” he said, as she opened his briefcase. “Don’t lose it.”
“Yeah, right.” She began to read, and he pulled into a restaurant parking lot. She looked up. “Mondo’s? He lives here?”
“Oh, hell, no. I’m hungry, and thought we could sit in the lot while you read the file, and then go in and get something. Love their Italian sausage sandwiches. We’ve got time.”
He shut the car off, and rolled down the windows. The rain had made everything smell fresh and clean, and he liked the sound of the cars as they went by on the Coralville Strip, splashing through the puddles.
She finished the transcript in about fifteen minutes, and returned it to his briefcase.
“Redacted a lot, didn’t they?”
“You mean those black lines? Yeah. Just names and places, though.”
“I noticed the prisoner being referred to as John Doe 6822. No name?”
“Not that he’d give. We’re sure he had, well, identities. Giving them up, that might just enable us to trace activities. So he didn’t. I never said they were stupid.” He opened his car door. “Hungry?”
There weren’t many in the grill at that hour, and they got an isolated table.
“It mentions one that was killed,” she said. “The transcript.”
“Yeah. Missouri.”
“No details, though. How do you kill one?”
George chuckled. “They’re pretty straightforward down in Missouri. Blew his head off, if I remember right. Shotgun.”
“Ah.” She scanned the menu. “I’ll have whatever you’re having,” she said. “Gotta hit the restroom.”
During the meal, he asked her if there had been anything she remembered from the Claire Bennington case that, now that she knew who or what had killed her, might have been important but previously overlooked.
“Numph,” she said, her mouth full of sandwich.
“DCI labs handled the processing?”
“Most of it.”
He nodded, and cut off another section of sandwich. “You believing this, yet?”
She chewed silently, swallowed, and then said, “Beginning to.”
“Wanna see where it lives?”
“You bet. Ah, but can we keep calling it ‘he’? Easier to get my mind around, okay?”
“Sure. Whatever you want. I call it ‘he’ most of the time, myself. But they’re a lot easier to deal with if you call ’em ‘it.’ Easier to comprehend, after a while. But ‘he’ it is.”
Back in the car, she tried to lighten it up a bit. “Is there gonna be a test over this?”
“Strictly pass-fail.”
“How will I know?”
“Been thinkin’ about that,” he said, backing out of the parking place. “Not up to me alone, but I tell ya what. If I tell you I’m recommending to Ben and Norma that you be added to the task force, then you can figure you’re in.”
As they went back over the Iowa River and approached the old state capitol building up on its hill, he said, “Ever been to the Museum of Natural History, up over there?”
“Macbride?”
“Yep.”
“Only once. Unusual place. That where he lives?”
“Nope. Just making conversation.” He turned left, went straight past the Memorial Union, and into the parking ramp on the right. He took the automated ticket, and found a place fairly close to the exit. “Let’s walk from here. Just for a few minutes. We got a little time to kill, yet.”
She wanted to ask just what he was waiting for, but didn’t.
Everything near the campus of the University of Iowa seems to be uphill. George announced that, due to his advancing years, they would walk more slowly than the students, who seemed to fly up the hills with little or no effort. As effortlessly as Louise, he noticed, whose long legs seemed to prefer a faster pace. As they went up, he asked her what she’d want to be when she grew up.
“Never really intend to,” she said, smiling. “Call me later.”
He smiled back. “But when and if you do?”
“Well, back in high school, I wanted to be Indiana Jones,” she said.
“Really?”
“Yep. Hat and whip and all. No S&M crap. Just wanted to be Indy.”
“Cool.”
“Majored in history, looking for a minor in archeology. Changed to English, because it was easier and, well you know. If you’re majoring in history, you only have two choices . . . make it or teach it.”
“So they say.” They were nearing the top of the hill. The stopped at the top, ostensibly to let George get his bearings, but really to let him catch his breath. “So you’re an English major, huh?”
“No. Got interested in people again, so I changed my major to sociology. That was crap. So I got back to history, and stayed there. Kind of hiding where classes were cool until I could graduate and get on with things.”
George was beginning to like her.
“How in hell did you get into cop work?”
“Paid better than being a high school teacher,” she said. “At least this way, somebody gives you some shit, they only do it once.”
“Got that right.” They had crossed Market Street to their left, and walked a short bit on Capitol Street when he stopped. “This is a place you should be aware of.”
“What?”
“It, or he, spends a bit of time here, late at night.”
“This is the chemistry building,” she announced patiently.
“Yep. Was called Chem Dent in my day. Dentistry was here then, too. But this is the place.”
“There’s just no freakin’ way. It’s classrooms and labs.”
“Oh, there’s a reason. There’s . . . okay, you gotta stop staring at it. Let’s walk a bit farther. He’s likely not in there now, anyway. Trust me, we don’t want to corner him in there without a TAC team.”
They began walking north.
“Okay, look,” she said. “You expect me to believe that he lures freshmen girls to the chemistry building in the middle of the night, seduces them, transfers venomlike stuff as an STD thing, and then makes them his, what? Slaves? In the fuckin’ chem building? You ever smell that place?”