Evil Dark (25 page)

  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."

  "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.

  "You both win the prize, gentlemen," I said, "although the real winner is the DA."

  We'd all been worried that the commando would only be charged with what had actually gone down at Rachel's tonight. We had him on trespassing – which is a misdemeanor – attempted assault, and attempted abduction. And if that was the whole indictment, the bastard might well make bail.

  But since rope and gasoline had been used in both witch burnings, finding it in Mister Commando's van meant the DA could charge him with two counts of abduction and murder, along with the stuff involving Rachel. And since a case could be made that he was motivated to burn the women because they were witches, a trio of civil rights violations might be involved, too – although that's a Federal rap.

  Which means that at arraignment, the district attorney's office could ask the judge either for a remand into custody, or for bail so high that the fucking Rockefellers couldn't pay it. And there was a real good chance that any judge would go along.

  The last thing I wanted to see was the commando released on bond. He'd disappear faster than a politician's ethics – and be just as hard to recover.

  The three of us were grinning at each other when a uniformed officer came into the squad room, looked around until he spotted me, then headed toward McGuire's office.

  "Excuse me, Lieutenant," he said to McGuire, then turned to me. "Sergeant, your John Doe is in interrogation room 2."

  I looked at him. "My
what
? John Doe?"

  "That's what he is, Sarge. Guy refused to give his name. And since he didn't have any ID on him…" The officer shrugged. "He's John Doe."

  "Jeez," Karl said. "I would have at least expected name, rank, and serial number."

  I stood up. "Well, guess I'll go talk to him. If I can figure out what movie he's got playing in his head, maybe I can tweak the ending a bit."

  Karl said, "I'll get started on the arrest report while you're doing that. Don't want him to get sprung because of a paperwork error."

  "Let me know how your conversation goes," McGuire said.

  "Hell," I said. "You'll probably be able to hear the screams from here."

  "His or yours?" Karl asked.

 

The interrogation room is about eight feet square, with acoustic tiles on the walls and ceiling. The purpose of the tiles is to block out distractions from outside, but if a suspect wants to think the point is to muffle screams, that's not usually a bad thing.

  Carmela Aquilina followed me into the room, closing the door firmly behind her. Procedure says at least two cops have to be in there with a suspect. Unlike a lot of procedures, that one makes a certain amount of sense. One-on-one, it was just possible that a suspect could overpower the detective and grab his gun. Then all kinds of bad shit would follow.

  Since Karl wasn't permitted in the room, I'd asked Aquilina to back me up. Part of that decision stemmed from the fact that she was available, although I knew that a couple of other detectives from the squad were also in the building someplace. But my other reason for asking her was based on her gender. We didn't yet know what scabs on his psyche our commando was trying to scratch with his witchburning, but I thought hatred of women might come into it somewhere. If so, having an attractive female cop present might get under his skin, with interesting results.

  The commando was seated at the big square table, so Aquilina and I took chairs opposite him. "You and I have already met," I said, "although I didn't get the chance to introduce myself. I'm Detective Sergeant Markowski." I made a nod to my left. "This is Detective Aquilina. And you are…?"