The record check revealed a number of complaints that ranged from Peeping Toms disturbing the man's peace to a bloody nose at the hand of one neighbor. “A real pain-in-the-ass crazy, what we call in the department an asshole's asshole, if you'll pardon my language, Dr. Coran.”
“ What was the nature of his last complaint?”
“ Claimed his neighbor had body parts in his house, that his neighbor was a murderer.”
“ Checks?”
“ Visual turned up negative.”
“ Search of the interior?”
“ None warranted by the visiting officers.”
“ How often they visit this location. Sergeant?”
“ Three times since January!”
“ Never searched the location?” She thought of the awful Jeffrey Dahmer case in Milwaukee, almost two years before.
“ Lady, the complainant was arrested.”
“ On what charge?”
“ Exposing himself to a female officer, ma'am… ahh. Doctor.”
She inwardly moaned before hanging up.
# # #
Otto Boutine and Joe Brewer kept tripping over one name, a salesman at Balue-Stork whose route had taken him to every key location in the investigation of the Tort 9 killings, Matthew Matisak. But there were holes in the records, some showing visits of only once over a seven-month period which the personnel lady could not account for. She said they would have to talk to Matisak's immediate supervisor, a man named Sarafian.
It was past eleven, and Sarafian had to be disturbed at home and escorted in by police sent to his home to pick him up. The entire Lowenthal affair had turned the company into something of a morgue, no one wishing to be sucked into the investigation. The entire time the FBI men were thrashing through the records they requested, the Balue-Stork public relations man, a V.P. and a board member had assembled to quell the disturbances as best they could, but Otto Boutine was having none of it.
When Sarafian was brought in in an overcoat covering his pajamas, the man was outraged, shouting that he was prepared to sue the bastards responsible.
Otto Boutine interrupted him and faced him down, saying, “I'm the bastard you'll be suing, then. I'm Inspector Otto Boutine, FBI Division Chief.”
Sarafian was visibly taken aback. “Well… FBI. Has to do with that poor bastard Lowenthal, then.”
“ Yes, it does. But we'd also like to talk to you about a man named Matisak.”
Sarafian's eyes, a distant, dark brown, shone with a shimmery, water-and-light quality that indicated to the experienced FBI men that they had struck a chord. “Can you explain why some of his travel records and expense reports are missing from his file?”
“ Backlog, maybe. We're always short of capable filing clerks. Get the worst in here from a service, and things are lost. But why're you interested in Matisak? I thought you people decided Lowenthal was the… the murderer?”
“ What can you tell us about Matisak?”
Sarafian's shoulders raised. “Strange bird, personality-wise. Doesn't associate, but he's a good man in the field. Has some physical problems that he works hard to overcome.”
“ Handicapped?”
“ No, wouldn't call it that.”
“ What, then?”
He went to a nearby wall and pulled down a photo of a group. “The sales force.”
Otto picked him out of ten men immediately. Matisak fit the profile, both in age and appearance, his features scarred by some childhood disease or porphyria. “Do you know if he is on any medication?”
“ I've seen him popping pills, sure.”
“ What sort?”
“ Couldn't say. Got it from a doctor in Indianapolis. One of our clients. The man complained that Matisak kept after him for freebies.”
“ We'll need the man's name.”
“ Grubber. Dr. Stanley Grubber.”
“ Where can he be reached?” pressed Brewer.
“ St. Luke's Hospital.”
Brewer gritted his teeth. “Sonofabitch,” he muttered.
“ What?” asked Sarafian.
“ Never mind, Sarafian. Just get us an address on Matisak, now! And you,” said Boutine, pointing to the personnel woman, “get St. Luke's in Indianapolis on the phone and get a number for this guy Grubber pronto!”
An incoming telephone call was for Brewer. He took it at a far desk, covering the mouthpiece with his hand. In a comer, he began asking questions of the caller.
“ When? When did the call come in? Did she say anything else? Christ. All right. What?”
“ What's going on, Joe?” Boutine asked his friend.
Joe Brewer stared at Otto, their eyes meeting.
“ What the fuck is it, Joe?”
“ He's… According to Dr. Coran, someone called her tonight at the crime lab, and she believes it was our killer.”
“ Matisak?”
“ Maybe. Maybe just a crank call.”
“ Give me that phone.”
Boutine hurriedly dialed the number for the crime lab, but he found that Jessica had left hours before.
He quickly dialed for the Lincolnshire Inn, getting a wrong number, cursing and asking for operator assistance. When he got through, he found no one answering Jessica's number.
“ Christ, Joe, if anything's happened to her-”Now, don't go jumping to conclusions, Otto. We've just got to go methodical here. Get Matisak's address and-” Otto rushed at Sarafian, who held up a card with Matisak's address on it. “I'm on my way out there, Joe. You coming?”
“ Damned right, but what about a warrant?”
“ Fuck the warrant. We have cause, provocation-the records showing his usual route, the fact some have been pilfered, to cover his tracks, his association with Lowenthal, Sarafian's eyes.”
“ Sarafian's eyes won't help us in a court of law.”
“ And no goddamned warrant is going to help Jess if this bastard has her.”
They raced from the squat factory building of Balue-Stork with Sarafian and the others staring after them, Sarafian saying, “I always knew that Matisak was weird, but I never in a million years-”
“ That's what you said about Lowenthal!” shouted Sarafian's boss. “This could destroy us in the medical community, damn! Damn! Sarafian, pack your belongings!”?
TWENTY-SEVEN
Jessica debated her options before leaving the relative safety of the Lincolnshire Inn for the address given her by Hillary Gamble. She knew he could just as well be an idiot, a fool, a member of the fringe element just out to get someone-anyone-to pay him a bit of attention. He may have guessed at the importance of medical supplies used by the killer, or he may have read about it in connection with the Lowenthal affair. With Lowenthal's death, the gag order on the information about the vampire killings had become too relaxed. Hell, if Brewer in Chicago could learn about Boutine and her in Virginia, anything was possible.
Still, she didn't want to meet Gamble alone, so she telephoned for Captain Lyle Kaseem, who, like her, had not felt entirely comfortable accepting Lowenthal as the vampire killer they had been stalking.
Kaseem was immediately interested in what she had to say. He was also closer to the address and said that he would meet her there.
“ Fine, but hold for me. No sense in either of us stepping into a trap, Captain. Will you inform Forsythe? Will he accompany you?”
“ Negative. He's left for D.C. already.”
“ All right. I'll get a cab and meet you at the destination.”
“ Will do.”
It was reassuring to talk to Kaseem, and for once his military bearing seemed to bolster her confidence in him.
“ And Captain-” Yes?”
“ I suggest you arm yourself.”
“ I'll see you at Gamble's place. We'll see what he's got to show us, and if there's any merit to it, we'll call in the marines if necessary.”
“ A SWAT team at the very least.”
“ Tell me again what this man sounded like, the one who claimed to be the killer. Did he have a European sound, an accent at all?”