Code 61 by Donald Harstad
By Donald Harstad
CODE sixty one: continue radio silence. anyone should 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 girl could have been the sufferer of a twenty-first-century Dracula.The top 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 conception, yet then suspicions are reinforced by way of rumors of a card-carrying vampire hunter who's additionally pursuing Peale. All too quickly, Houseman reveals himself scrambling to trace a vampire--before he kills back.
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Of course. I gritted my teeth. Just as well. I really wanted to be on that roof. Anywhere but that ladder. I went up two more steps, my eyes cleared the roof edge. I leaned forward and stepped and found myself on hands and knees on the roof. I crawled about three feet, just to get away from the edge, and then got to my feet. I could see a light-colored figure half crouched behind a skylight. “Deputy Sheriff,” I said. ” came the reply. I heard Byng on the roof behind me. ” I asked, moving toward her.
Most of the time, you have more than enough evidence to show how the offense was committed, but really have to work to identify who did it. 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.
Byng, I'd swear to God that door was covered with black weatherproofing when I got here. I looked at it…. ” We checked. There was no material on the ground anywhere near the door. There was nothing in the nearly dry conduit. There was no wind. ” But I didn't think so. ” “I suppose. ” We drove around the block, parked, I grabbed my camera, and we just walked in the front door, went up two flights of steps, and were on the third floor. Security in a rural Iowa town isn't too tight. The third floor was gutted, totally unused, and covered with birdlime, rat droppings, and accumulated debris.