Code 61

FOURTEEN

Sunday, October 8, 2000

17:50

By 17:00, we decided we were ready to proceed to the third floor. Hester and I approached Jessica Hunley with two questions.

“First,” I said, still in my friendly mode, “now that your attorneys are present, I'm going to ask again if you have a key to the third floor.”

Junkel answered. “Yes, she does, but that doesn't imply that she either gives permission for its use, nor if she does allow its use, that she willingly acquiesces to this search.” He looked at Hester. “Who's this?”

Hester said, “Hester Gorse. Special Agent, Iowa Division of Criminal Investigation.” She produced her badge, and showed it to Jessica first.

“With the mobil crime lab, then,” said Koch.

“No. I'm a general crim agent.” She replaced her badge in her pocket.

“He,” said Junkel, meaning me, “told us he was in charge.”

“He is,” said Hester. “We assist departments with primary jurisdiction.”

“So,” I said, “may we use the key for the third floor? To limit damage.”

“Yes,” said Koch.

“Now, then,” I said, again directly to Jessica Hunley, “what sort of things are up there? I'm asking to see, I guess, if it's a fully furnished floor, or partially, with empty rooms.”

“Don't answer that,” said Junkel.

“Then we have to assume the worst, as far as the length of time it will take to search it. Okay.” I turned to Hester. “Then we better feed the crew before we go up.”

“Right,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye. “There's no other choice. We have to assume it'll be a long one.”

“Want me to go get the food?” offered Borman.

“Nope. We'll order out.” I looked at Hester. “It can be delivered to the reserves outside, since nobody else is allowed in. They can bring it in to us.”

“It's already after five,” said Jessica.

“We'll go for supper,” said Junkel, in that special, accommodating way attorneys have with wealthy clients. “We'll be back in about an hour and a half or so.” He, Jessica, Tatiana, and Koch, in that order, headed for the door.

Payback time.

“Stop right there,” I said. With authority, the way we were taught to do verbal crowd control at the Academy. It almost always works, and it certainly did this time.

I had their full attention. “If you choose to leave, you will not be allowed back in. You will leave the key to the third floor when you go.”

“I don't think so,” said Junkel.

“And,” I said, “you will undergo a personal search before you leave. As expressly permitted under case law.” I stared at him. “You should know that.”

Both attorneys knew I was absolutely correct regarding the search. Although it was originally an outgrowth of drug cases, where individuals were present when the door was broken down and would try to leave with the contraband on their persons, it also had application here. We were looking for trace evidence, including such things as rags or sponges that could have been used to wipe up bloodstains. They could also be concealed about the person, and removed from the scene. Well, maybe not under Tatiana's leather outfit. But the four of them would have to be searched when they left.

Playing the good cop/bad cop at the same time, I said, “But if you like, we will have our officers transport food in for you.”

Jessica Hunley had had just about enough. “Thank you. We accept your offer. Now, can we just hurry all this up?” Junkel started to say something, but she just glanced at him and he closed his mouth.

We all ate in the parlor, with introductions all around for the lab crew and Chris Barnes. Chris introduced himself as a crime scene reconstruction specialist. That got the two attorneys talking between themselves. Good.

It was a strange sort of meal. We had four large pizzas, and cans of Coke and Diet Coke. They had full dinners, including salads and desserts, with bottled water.

I sat beside Hester and we started dividing up a pizza.

“Hey, Houseman, isn't this bad for your cholesterol?”

“Mumpbfh.” That was sort of a “so what?,” but with my mouth full of hot pizza it came out a little garbled.

“I thought so,” said Hester.

I swallowed, took a swig of pop, motioned her to lean closer to me, and whispered, “There's something bothering me… ”

“Mushrooms?”

“Nope. No, I have this feeling that we've forgotten to do something.” She looked at me. “Well… that I've forgotten to do something, I guess.”

“You've got your inventory sheet?”

“Yep.” I took another bite of pizza.

“Just cross-check yours with the application, and see what doesn't fit. That might do it.” She picked up a slice, and started it toward her mouth.

“Wonder where I put that?” I said absently. She stopped in mid-bite, and put her hand over her mouth. “What?”

I grinned. “Just kidding.”

By the time we got to head up to the third floor, it was completely dark outside. I checked my watch, and logged us at the locked main door at 18:51. As often as she looked at her watch, I could probably have just asked Jessica.

There were two ways up to the third floor. Simply following the main stairs up from the second floor, and unlocking the door at the third-floor landing reached the primary entrance. The second path was from the main floor, at the back of the house, via what was originally the servants' stair. Jessica, intending the servants' stair to be used as a private entrance to her apartment on the third, had hired carpenters to seal the door on the second floor. There were, according to her, locks both on the entry door on the main floor, and on the third-floor stair door as well.

Hester, Chris, and I conferred for a moment. We all felt that the main entrance to the third would be the place to start, as it was the most likely for Edie to have used. After all, like I said, “If you want to sneak off to be alone, why traipse all the way down to the first, and then back up to the third, when you just have to walk out of your door and go up one flight?”

We three agreed, as well, that if she had been killed on the third, it would have made much more sense to transport her body down one flight than take the old servants' stair. Unfortunately, the trace bloodstains indicated in the hall outside Edie's door didn't provide a clue to direction.

“Hey, Hester, you guys ever find Edie's keys?”

“Not yet,” she said.

Just before we went up, I made a decision that I never would have considered if there hadn't been two very picky attorneys still in the house. I stationed Borman at the main-floor servants' door that opened on the back stairs leading up to the third. I just didn't trust those two as far as I could throw them, and lacking that delightful opportunity, I didn't know how far that was.

So I just stuck Borman there.

“Nobody gets up, right?” he confirmed.

“Right,” I said. “Nobody but us even gets to open the door. They can't even have a chance to claim some sort of irregularity.” I looked around, to make certain we weren't overheard. “And no way they can open the door and listen to what we say upstairs, either.” I grinned.

He and I both checked the lock. Tight.

“You can verify that it's locked?” I asked, wiping the fingerprint dust from my hands. The knob had already been processed for latent prints.

He tested the door. “Yep.” He looked disappointed. “Can't a reserve do this?” He had kind of a point.

“Nope. In court, we don't want anybody making an issue out of reserve versus deputy sheriff.” I shrugged. “Just best that way, and one less thing to worry about.”

“Okay. Yeah, I agree, I can see that.”

“Look,” I said, “when the next shift of reserves gets up here, we'll open the door from the top, and start down it. Then, we can have a reserve here, and you can come on up.”

He brightened. “Okay.”

As the rest of us approached the third-floor stair via the more conventional front way, we passed down the long second-floor hall. The leucomalachite green that was sprinkled on the suspicious stains on the carpet in front of Edie's room had been covered by two transparent plastic covers that looked as though they had been liberated from the kitchen. The stuff under them gave off a ghostly green luminescence. It was completely dark outside by now, and the hall was lit by converted gas lamps by the door of each of the six rooms. They looked to be about twenty-five-watt bulbs. Dark enough for the bioluminescent chemical to glow. We stepped carefully over the stains, and continued toward the stair.

The door had a dead-bolt lock, similar to the one on the servants' stair down on the first floor. It certainly looked solid. The lab crew had dusted the whole door and frame for latent prints. Nothing. That didn't surprise me. There hardly ever were any prints on surfaces that required hand movement. Like doorknobs. And if you were to place your hand on a door frame for any reason, chances were you'd move the hand as you removed it. Smears, or less. Latent prints, at least good ones, are very rare.

I inserted Jessica Hunley's precious key, and opened the door. There was a light switch just inside, and I turned it on. I stepped back, and let Chris Barnes go first. If there was any trace evidence on those stairs, we didn't want to disturb it, we wanted to keep it. As he shined his light on the polished wood steps, looking for stains or traces thereof, Grothler ran a drop cord from a wall socket in the nearest bedroom, and connected it to a little hand vac. New bag attached, and he was ready to go. After Barnes got up about five steps, but hadn't actually stepped on the stair yet, he backed off and Grothler vacuumed carefully up to the last step Chris had been able to see well. Then they went through the entire process again, with the next set of four or five steps. If you're one of the people who aren't directly involved, it seems to take forever.

It happened as Grothler was vacuuming the second set. With the whine of the vacuum in the staircase, it was pretty difficult to hear much of anything, but Hester grabbed his arm and said, loudly and distinctly, “Quiet!”

As he looked up at her from the depths of concentration, and obviously without quite comprehending, she reached out and snapped off the switch of his vacuum.

“I heard something… ” said Hester, and she reached back and put her hand on her gun.

We all heard what came next. There was the slamming sound of wood on wood, loud, and then the muted thunder of somebody running down stairs. A muffled thud followed, felt as much as heard. Simultaneously, there was a yell from Borman that sounded as if it was coming from the floor above us. Up the back stairwell, I thought. It was funneling his voice, and we were hearing noises that originated below coming from above…

Borman hollered, “Stop!”

Then we heard two shots.