By Donald Harstad
CODE sixty one: continue radio silence. a person will be listening.Investigating the plain suicide of a colleague’s niece, Iowa Deputy Sheriff Carl Houseman is startled to discover a gaggle that transforms the darkish fantasies of vampire legend into grisly fact: they ritualistically drink small quantities of 1 another’s blood. As Carl is drawn deeper into this unnerving international, it turns into transparent that the lifeless lady can have been the sufferer of a twenty-first-century Dracula.The best suspect, Dan Peale, is a sinister presence in the group--a guy a few say beverages blood and not, ever dies. It’s an outlandish, heinous thought, yet then suspicions are reinforced via rumors of a card-carrying vampire hunter who's additionally pursuing Peale. All too quickly, Houseman unearths himself scrambling to trace a vampire--before he kills back.
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Came Sue's voice from the other side of the bed. ” “I'm going to try to go back to sleep … ” I stood, pulled a dark gray polo shirt over my head, and slid my clip-on holster into my belt, on my right hip. I walked over to Sue, bent down, and gave her a kiss. ” “You, too,” she said, nearly asleep again already. I grabbed my gun, my walkie-talkie, and my ID case; billfold and car keys from their drawer downstairs in the dining room, and was in my unmarked patrol car and reporting in to the dispatch center at 07:49.
The rest of the time, you pretty much know who did the dirty deed, but showing how is the problem. In rare instances, a case will develop both ways at the same time. That was what this one did. ONE Thursday, October 5, 2000 23:33 I guess I could say it started for us on Thursday, October 5, 2000. I can say that now. I sure couldn't at the time. It was exactly 23:33 hours, and I was just leaving the scene of a minor fender bender, and was en route home when the communications center called. ” came crackling over the radio, from the familiar voice of my favorite dispatcher, Sally Wells.
I paused, setting the directions in my mind. It was the great big house on the bluff overlooking the Mississippi. It was usually known as “the Mansion,” although some of the local kids called it the Dropout Dorm, because of the people who lived there. ” I hoped she got it, because I didn't want anybody to know precisely where I was headed. I didn't know if the dispatcher, the ambulance crew, or Borman had specifically referred to the Mansion, but I wasn't going to. If somebody with a scanner had missed the initial traffic, I wasn't going to help them out now.