"Sure, Stan. The sooner you take this garbage off my porch, the better."
She stood facing the still figure. "Tell me when you're ready."
Karl and I positioned ourselves on either side of the still figure. "OK," I said. "Go ahead."
She pointed her index finger at the frozen man and said what sounded like "Keslungi pasha notro!" – then she dropped her hand abruptly, with a slicing motion.
A second later, the guy lunged for her, but Karl and I were ready for him. We each grabbed a wrist and twisted his arms up behind his back. We had handcuffs on him before he fully knew what was happening.
"What? Hey, let go of me! Where'd you come from? Let me go, dammit!"
He was struggling to get free now, but it was a waste of time and energy. Karl held his arm on one side, and I had a tight grip on the other. With my free hand, I showed him my badge. "Police officers," I said. "You're under arrest for trespassing, attempted abduction, attempted assault, and a bunch of other stuff we'll think of later. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. If you are a supernatural being, you have the right–"
Our commando prisoner gave a nasty laugh. "Supernatural being?" he said. "Are you fucking kidding me? Do I look like one of those subhuman scum to you?"
I shook him hard enough to get his attention. "Shut up until I finish. If you are a supernatural being, you have the right to have someone of your own kind present during questioning, in addition to an attorney. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?"
"Yeah, sure, I understand. I want a fucking lawyer!"
"You can call one after you're booked," I said. "Let's go."
He didn't fight us as we got him down the steps and over to our car, then put him in back. I glanced over my shoulder towards the porch and saw that one of the uniforms had resumed taking Rachel's statement while the other one bagged the chloroform-soaked rag the suspect had dropped when he unfroze. A few seconds later, we were on our way to the station house.
The commando didn't say anything en route. There was a time when I might have tried to draw him out. Once he's been Stokerized, anything he says in the car is admissible, although we're not supposed to interrogate him without his lawyer. Back in the day, I might've said to my partner, a little louder than necessary, "Boy, that witch sure looked scared, didn't she?" If the suspect wanted to offer his opinion, who were we to stop him?
But not with a vampire riding up front. If the DA tried to introduce as evidence something commando boy said in the car, his lawyer would claim that Karl had used Influence to get him talking – and how could we prove otherwise?
Back in 1975, the Supreme Court ruled in Barlow v. Maine that information obtained under Influence was inadmissible in any trial, criminal or civil. The DA won't even allow Karl in the room when a suspect is being interrogated, even if the perp's lawyer is present.
I've been learning that there are some advantages to having a vampire partner, but getting information from suspects under arrest isn't one of them.
Of course, that doesn't apply when we want to know something from a guy – or creature – who wasn't under arrest. I hoped Karl would get better at using Influence soon. It would come in handy when talking to informants who we thought might be holding out on us.
At the station house we brought our commando prisoner upstairs, where we turned him over to the booking sergeant. Tonight that was Ron Beck, who's been booking suspects longer than anyone can remember. Some say he once fingerprinted Jesse James, but I don't believe it. Everybody knows Jesse never got this far north. Ron's got thick white hair and a potato nose whose color suggests some experience with alcoholic beverages.
We brought the suspect over to Ron's desk and took the handcuffs off. If commando boy tried anything cute, there were plenty of cops in the room to stop him.
"Have somebody bring him upstairs when he's processed, will you, Ron?"
"Absolutely, Stan," he said. He took our prisoner firmly by the arm and led him off to be fingerprinted.
In the squad room, Karl and I briefed McGuire about the attack on Rachel and the guy who had tried it. I was describing what the perp had been wearing when my phone started playing music. I glanced at it and said, "I'd better take this, boss."
McGuire nodded, so I answered the call.
"This is Markowski."
"Sarge, this is Officer Tom Perrotta from the crime scene earlier tonight."
"Right, Perrotta. What've you got?"
"You pegged it right, Sarge. Three houses down from Rachel's place, other side of the street, we hit the jackpot with an Econoline van. You want the tag number, all that?"
"No, I want to know what you found inside it."
"It was just like you said. In the back of the van he had a five-gallon can of gas, full, and a couple coils of nylon rope. Oh, and a Bible."
I asked, "Which version?" Catholics still stick with the Latin Vulgate edition, while Protestants use the King James. It might give us a clue as to which side of the Christian fence our perp called home.
"Version? Hell, beats me, Sarge. I don't know there was more than one."
"It's all right, forget it – you and your partner did good. Now get that van over to Impound, will you?"
"Already called the tow truck – they're on the way. I'll leave the keys and paperwork in your box, like you said."
"That's great, Perrotta. Thanks."
I closed the phone and said, "The uniforms found the guy's ride – Econoline van parked across the street from Rachel's. Wanna guess what was inside?"
"From the way you're smiling," McGuire said, "I figure it was something along the lines of gasoline and some rope."
"Fuckin' A," Karl said.