Rachel rarely swears. The fact that she'd done so meant that she wasn't feeling quite as calm as she looked. Not that I blamed her.
"So then I went inside," she said, "turned on the outside light and got my phone out. I called 911 and reported the attack, then realized that I probably should have called 666 instead. So I did."
"Never hurts to cover all the bases," I said, then turned to Karl. "Keep Rachel company for a few minutes, will you? I wanna check out our perp."
"Sure," Karl said, stepping forward. "Hey, Rachel. How's the witch business?"
"Not bad, Karl. How the vampire business?"
"It kinda sucks, but that's not always a bad thing."
I left those two to trade bad puns and went over to the human statue.
If this was a museum, the exhibit could be titled "Cat Burglar – Early Twenty-first Century". Or maybe the guy had Googled "Commando", then clicked on "Illustrations" and copied the results – to the letter.
His wiry build was right for the role, anyway. He looked flexible and strong, but without a lot of bulging muscles. Rachel's attacker seemed to be around thirty, and that was all I could tell about him, apart from the outfit.
He was dressed completely in black – pullover sweater, gloves, jeans, and shoes. I'd have to check later, but I was betting he wore black socks, too. To top it off, he even had the black stocking cap pulled down low over his ears. Put some black camo paint on his face – the one part of the look he'd passed up – and this role-playing asshole would be all ready for a raid on some Nazi ammo dump. He was perfect.
His posture now looked like what you get when you hit Pause on your DVD player. His feet were well apart, one in front of the other, as if he'd been moving fast when the magic hit him. His right arm was extended, fist clenched. He was holding something white in his clenched hand, so I stepped close for a look and saw what appeared to be a folded handkerchief. Then I stepped closer, and took a whiff. Chloroform.
Old school all the way. Jesus.
He was being guarded, if that's the word, by the other uniform, whose name was Perrotta. I'd seen him around before. He had smart-looking brown eyes, and the thick mustache that covered his upper lip was within department regulations, but only by a millimeter or so. I nodded to him and said, "Have you advised the prisoner of his MirandaStoker rights, yet?"
Perrotta shook his head. "No way for him to show that he understood 'em, Sarge, the way he is now. Don't want some shyster lawyer gettin' him off later on a technicality."
"Good thinking," I said. "We'll Stokerize him ourselves, once he's thawed out. You frisk him?"
"Sure, Sarge. He had this on him."
Perrotta produced an evidence bag – which is just a plastic sandwich bag with "Evidence" stamped on it – and handed it to me.
It took me a second to realize what I was looking at. "Christ, it's a fucking blackjack," I said. "I haven't seen one of those in years." I handed the bag back to him. "Anything else of interest?"
"Just the usual – wallet, keys, handkerchief, pocket change. I left it all in place."
"Did you check the wallet for ID?"
"Yeah, I did – and get this: there was nothing."
"No ID, you mean?"
"I mean no nothing," Perrotta said. "Only thing in the wallet was cash. No drivers license, no registration, no credit cards, not even a fucking library card."
"How much cash was he carrying?"
"Exactly $440."
"You mentioned keys," I said.
"Just a set of car keys, left front pocket."
I reached into the guy's pocket and pulled out a key ring. No helpful bauble dangled from it – I'd been kinda hoping for a plastic tab that said Witch Burners Club, with an address and phone number. But my luck never runs that good. All I got were two Ford keys on a plain metal ring.
I handed the keys to Perrotta.
"Once Detective Renfer and I have secured the suspect, I want you and your partner to check every Ford vehicle parked on this block, until you find the one that the keys fit."
"OK, Sarge."
"You shouldn't have to look real hard – he's got to be parked close by. You don't go carrying a limp body any distance around this neighborhood, even at night."
"Maybe the scumbag had an accomplice," Perrotta said.
"One who drove off when Rachel zapped this guy? Yeah, could be. But we gotta look for the car, anyway."
"Yeah, I know. What do you want us to do, assuming we find it?"
"First thing, check it over, including the trunk. I wanna know if this dude was carrying a can of gasoline and maybe some rope. Stuff like that."
Perrotta nodded. "Sounds like you like this guy for the witch burnings."
"Yeah, and I'll like him even better for it if there's rope and gas in his back seat." I handed him my card. "If you turn up something, I want you to call me – ASAP."
"Sure, will do."
"Then have the vehicle towed to the impound lot. Tell whoever's on duty that the vehicle is not to be released to anybody without my specific authorization."
"Got it, Sarge."
"Be sure to get a receipt from the impound lot. Leave it, with the keys, in my mailbox at the house. If you didn't find the car, then just leave the keys. There's no big hurry about that last part," I said. "I won't get to the car until tomorrow." I looked at the frozen figure next to me. "I'm gonna spend the rest of tonight having a nice chat with Chuck Norris, here."
I went over to where Rachel and Karl were quietly talking. "Rachel, did you happen to notice if some vehicle, maybe one parked nearby, took off in a hurry once you took care of that guy?"
Rachel bit her lip for a few seconds, then shook her head. "I don't remember anything Stan – but I have to admit I was kind of distracted for a while there."
"OK, just thought I'd ask. Now, you wanna thaw this jerk out for me? We're taking him down to the station house, and it's gonna be tough getting him in the car if he can't bend."