Eleven Days (8 page)

“Comm, three?” Softly, because I didn’t want my voice to carry into the field.

“Three? Your signal is breaking, try again.”

“Tell five to come west of the house, and he’ll see my car. I’m out in a field to the left.”

“Three, try again?”

Shit. I stood up, unclipped the walkie-talkie from my belt, and held it up over my head, increasing the antenna height.

“Comm, you copy?”

“10–4, three.”

“Okay, comm, tell—” Something hit my left shoulder, very hard, from the rear. Pushed me forward, I lost my footing, and went down on my right side.

Again, this time in the middle of my back and on my left arm. I tried to roll to my left, away from the blows, but was up against a frozen furrow ridge and couldn’t get over it. I tried to get to my feet. Again, on the back, and down again, this time on my hands and knees. Again, on the right side of my head, and I was out of it altogether. Aware, but unable to get arms and legs coordinated enough to get back up. Or to scratch my nose, for that
matter. I was dimly aware of heavy breathing and then the sound of somebody running away to the left.

I shook my head. No pain. Numb in the head and shoulder. It must have taken three or four seconds to stand, and that was a mistake. Dizzy, nausea. I knelt down, steadying myself with my right hand. Slowly blossoming lights, in pretty shades of red and blue. Okay, Carl, deep breaths. Slowly.

A few seconds later, I stood up again. Slowly. Not so bad this time. I looked for my car, and it didn’t seem to be where I had left it. Disoriented, Carl. I reached for my mike, on my shoulder, and couldn’t find it. Okay, dummy, it fell off. Follow the cord. No cord. Right, I had been holding it up in the air. My flashlight was still in my pocket, so I shined it around for a second and saw the walkie-talkie lying a few feet from me. I picked it up, saw the pretty lights again, and reached for the mike. Almost cut my hand, as the plastic casing had been shattered. I had to fumble with the attachment, disconnect the mike, and use the side switch to talk. Finally got that done.

“Five, three?”

“Three, go ahead!” Loud, and with some anxiety. Good, I appreciate anxiety about me.

“Yeah, five. Whoever it was got me with a club or something. He went west, on foot.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. You see my car yet?”

“10–4, I’ll be right there.”

“Okay.” Dizzy again, not as good as I thought.

Apparently five still thought I was in my car. I could see his car parked behind mine, and his voice was anxious again.

“Three, where are you?
”

I pointed my flashlight at him. “Over here.”

I started moving toward the road. “Five, he went west.”

“10–4.”

I became aware that my car had the road blocked. Five had come in from the east. My car was locked. Good move.

I got to the fence, and Mike helped me over.

“Jesus Christ, what happened to you?”

“Got blindsided. With something.”

“Let’s stop the bleeding.”

Bleeding?
My head. “Yeah, let’s get it stopped.”

We went to his car, and he popped the trunk, removing his first-aid kit.

“Five, comm?” Sally’s voice, and she sounded very worried. My first thought was that something else had happened.

Mike answered. “I found him, comm. He’s hurt, but I think he’ll be okay.”

“10–4, and twenty-five is almost there now.”

Twenty-five? He couldn’t be, it was eight miles.

“How could he get here so fast?”

Mike put a compress on the side of my head and lifted my hand up to keep it in place. “Fast? Shit, you’ve been out of contact for five minutes, at least.”

Five minutes. Hummmm. “Head must be softer than I thought.”

“Yeah.”

“Twenty-five is coming from the east, too, isn’t he?”

“Yep.” Mike began winding some gauze around my head, freeing my right hand.

“We better get my car moved.”

“Too late now. Whoever hit you’s been gone for a good five minutes.”

“Shit.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, but I think it was the suspect.”

“If it was, you’re lucky you’re not dead.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“We better get you to the hospital. Want an ambulance?”

“No. Give me a minute, and a cigarette, and I’ll drive in.”

Dan got there about that time. I had just lit a smoke, and he came over and looked pretty wide-eyed.

“God, you’re a mess.”

“Thanks.”

“Shit, he got you a good one in the head.”

“Thanks, doc. I thought it was my foot.”

“No shit, really. Don’t you just hate the way those head wounds bleed?” Directed at Mike.

“You’re a lot of help.”

“Who did it?”

I just looked at him. “My assailant, dumb-ass.”

The drive into the hospital was uneventful, except that Dan, behind me, had headlights that were slightly out of adjustment. They made my head ache.

At the hospital, I was checked over by a nurse in the emergency room. She decided I should see a doctor. Earned her keep, I guess. My good friend Dr. Henry Zimmer was on call. At 3:30
A.M
. I wondered just how long the friendship would last.

Doc Z arrived in good time and decided I needed stitches in my head. Also X rays of head and upper torso. I had to take off my uniform jacket and saw how much blood was on it for the first time. Trashed one shirt, too. Blood had soaked through. The jacket was also torn on the left shoulder, where he had hit the mike. Damn.

My bulletproof vest was okay, and Doc Z was of the opinion that it might have saved me from a back injury. I was, too.

My right shoulder was really sore by now, but the X rays showed no breaks. Same on the left. I hadn’t been aware of it, but my shoulder must have caught a part of
the blow to the head. Henry was also of the opinion that, had that not been the case, I might have sustained a severe head injury. Again, I had to agree.

Lamar, who had been called by Sally when it had become apparent that I was dead, arrived at the hospital just as I was being stitched up.

He barged into the ER, looking worried and pissed off at the same time.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“What the hell happened?”

I told him.

“And you stood up, and he hit you?”

“Yeah, I must have been almost on top of him when I knelt down in the field. Just didn’t see him. He must have thought it was time to go when I stood up, and he heard me talking to another car. Figured we’d get him, I guess.”

“Yeah. You able to get a good look at him?”

“No. Nothing at all, except I think he’s about my height or so, but I’m not even sure about that. Runs like a deer … Not very patriotic, either.” I couldn’t resist.

“What?”

“The way I was standing when he hit me the first time—looked just like the Statue of Liberty.”

Lamar grinned. So did Henry.

“Well,” said Lamar, “from now on, at least for a while, we’ll send two of you out to check those places.”

“Okay by me.”

Henry dropped the bomb. “Carl, it won’t be you for a while. You get three or four days off.”

I gave him a look.

“You have a mild concussion. With your history of two skull fractures and three concussions, we aren’t going to take any chances. Are we?”

Silence from both me and Lamar.

“Good, I’m going to let you go home, unless you want to stay here. But no bright lights, and no exertion for a
while. And if you become nauseated again, get right back up here. Understand?”

“Yes.”

Lamar and I left and went to the office. I told him about possibly identifying the unknown body, and he seemed pleased. I had to do my report on the incident before I went home. Took about an hour. I was very surprised to note, from the radio logs, that I had been out of it for six minutes. Even longer than Mike had guessed.

Sally looked very concerned. It’s hard on a dispatcher to have something happen to a cop and not to be able to do anything about it. She really thought I had been killed. Good dispatchers always assume the worst. At least I think that would have been the worst.

Before I left the office, Mike called in. He and the boss had just been to the Herkaman house. Crucifix there, too. He had gone out with Lamar, implementing our new two-man policy. Hester, who was staying at the only motel in town, was to be notified at 07:00.

I got home and had a little trouble backing the patrol car into the garage. Shoulder hurt, and my eyes kept changing focus when I looked back over my shoulder, focusing on the wire squares of the restraining cage. Weird, as the garage looked like it would jump toward me four or five feet each time.

I put my jacket into the tub, to soak, and trashed the shirt. I made a sandwich and drank a Pepsi. Then snuck upstairs, trying to be quiet and to get to bed without waking Sue. Didn’t work, as I stumbled against the chest of drawers.

“You might as well turn on the light,” came the sleepy voice from the bed.

“Okay, but before I do, you might want to know I have a bandage on my head, and it’s not serious.”

I turned on the light.

“My God.”

“It’s not serious. Just a couple of stitches.”

“What happened?”

I told her.

“What did he hit you with?”

“I don’t know. A board, or a handle, or something. Something hard, I know that,” and I grinned.

“I’m surprised you’re home on time.”

“Hey, Henry says I get a couple of days off …”

“You won’t take them.”

“Yes, I will. This time.”

“Sure.”

“You want to know how many stitches?”

“No. I’m having a hard time handling this. I don’t like your work, and I don’t like what happens to you.”

“Hey, it doesn’t happen very often. If it did, I’d quit.”

“I don’t think you would. I think you like it.”

And, with that, she turned over and appeared to sleep.

Like it? Hardly. She really wanted me to be in another, more dignified line of work. Where people didn’t beat on me, and where I associated with a little better clientele. Well, in a way, I did, too. But the job was interesting most of the time, and hardly ever routine. I liked my work. Something I never thought I had to apologize for.

Phone rang at 08:45. You can’t come to work, no reason not to call you. It was Hester, apologetic, but she wanted to come by to talk to me.

I put the coffeepot on, took off the bandage, as it was giving me a headache, and washed my hair. Shaved. Tried everything I could to wake up. After the second cup of coffee, I was getting mad at Hester for being late. If they’re going to bother you, at least be on time.

She arrived about 09:30. Bearing gifts in the form of a thick envelope of developed photographs of the Herkaman crime scene, and my photos of the McGuire scene. With a note from Lamar, wondering if I could label them while I was off.

“I think I can get these done in the next day or so.”

“Good. How’s your head?”

“Still there.”

“I’d like to talk to you about last night.”

“Want a cup of coffee?”

We spent about an hour going over the events of the early morning hours, with her taping everything. I had already said it all in my report, and she seemed disappointed that we were uncovering nothing new in the interview.

By the time we were finished, I was beginning to wake up.

“Autopsy reports back yet?”

“Oh, yeah, they were relayed up this morning. Got ’em in the car.”

They were quite interesting.

In the first place, the times of death placed the sequence as follows:

1. William Sirken at approximately 10:30
P.M
.

2. Francis McGuire at approximately midnight.

3. Unknown (possibly Peggy Keller) at about 1:00
A.M
.

4. Phyllis Herkaman at about 5:00
A.M
.

The causes of death were equally interesting.

1. William Sirken, hemorrhaged, due to severing of the inferior vesicle artery and the anterior trunk of the right common iliac artery, caused by an apparent stab wound.

2. Francis McGuire, death by asphyxiation, larynx crushed and hyoid broken.

3. Unknown (possibly Peggy Keller), death by asphyxiation due to ligature around her neck.

4. Phyllis Herkaman, hemorrhaged to death, due to puncture of the left common iliac artery and vein, the superior mesenteric artery, the abdominal aorta, and the inferior vena cava.

McGuire was the only surprise.

Removal of McGuire’s hand apparently occurred postmortem and explained the lack of blood, at least to an
extent. The knife in the chest was also an apparent afterthought.

The murders occurred over a six-to-seven-hour time span. Great. Somebody was really freaked out, because to sustain a murderous frame of mind for that long was really unusual.

“Well,” said Hester, “what do you think?”

“I don’t know.”

“Me either. Somebody sure was mad, though.”

“Yeah. Or extremely dedicated.”

“I’ll go with dope.”

“Well, it’s either that or crazy.”

“Or both.”

“Or more than one person. Each with an assigned victim or two.”

She thought about that one. “You think it’s a cult, then?”

“No, not really. But it does seem like a lot for one man to do. Or woman, I guess.”

“A team effort,” she said, “would make it easier. Somebody will crack.”

“Yeah. Sooner or later.”

“Unless it’s a cult, where there’s no guilt involved to work on their minds.”

“You know,” I said, “one thing bothers me …”

“You mean ‘one more’?”

“Okay. The lists I came up with? There’s nobody there I can associate with any of the victims. Nobody.”

We talked long enough to consume a second pot of coffee, and she left to have lunch with Lamar, Theo, and Hal. Theo and Hal were still plugging away at interviews. Hester, by the way, was pretty sure that the unknown woman was Peggy Keller, but we were going to have to wait for dental records to make sure. I was pretty sure, too.