Free Code 61 by Donald Harstad

Dickhead award, it's most rewarding to play things irritatingly straight, but vague.
    “No, it was long distance,” I said, smiling. “Sorry to dash your hopes.”
    He looked like he wanted to say more, but I held up my hand and dialed the sheriff's office.
    “Hey, can you spring some more people for me up here … maybe two, if you can? Three or four'd be good. I've got folks moving around up here, and I have better things to do than control foot traffic.” The dispatcher said she'd try. “And,” I said, “Hester should be on her way up pretty soon.” Just a way to inform and alert the dispatcher that things might get really busy in a while.
    Done with that, I put the phone back on the receiver. Toby resumed our conversation as if I'd never made the second call.
    “Who pays for it, then?”
    Again, I smiled. He was really trying to get some attention. “Is the phone in your name, Toby?”
    “No.”
    “Whose name is it in, then? Do you know?” The last question surprised him a bit, I saw. Unexpected turn, when he'd thought some sort of confrontation was coming.
    “Jessica Hunley.” The way he said it, I got the impression that I was supposed to know who Ms. Hunley was. I didn't, but I'd find out. I was also going to find out why Toby was here, if it wasn't his phone. Guest? Resident? Patron? But it could wait.
    “Then, can I rely on you to tell Ms. Hunley that I used a credit card?”
    “Well, yes. Yes. I'll do that.”
    “Excellent,” I said, heading for the stairs. “Don't go too far, Toby. I'll get to you pretty soon, now.” I went up a couple of stairs. “Oh, Toby … thanks.”
    “For what?”
    “For getting the message to Ms. Hunley for me.”
    “Sure.” He sounded just a little uncertain, but not ready to concede anything. Good for him. I knew he'd be a witness of some sort, to whatever it was we really had here. Not that I'm cynical, but it's never too soon to start working on a witness.

    I stopped on the landing, and looked at the newspaper Lamar had handed me. It was today's copy of the Freiberg Tribune and Dispatch. All six pages of it. On the front page, lower left, was a headline: “Dracula Visiting Freiberg?” The article was about our window-peeking incident from two days ago. No names. But it quoted a “young lady” as describing the window peeker as having “enormous fangs” and “just hanging in space outside my second-floor window.” The article was mostly tongue in cheek, naturally, but the damage was done. Shit. Just what I needed to muddle a case. I could almost hear what Harry was going to say about this.
    I put the paper in my back pocket, and continued up the stairs. I wanted a cigarette again.
    When I got to the top, I motioned Borman over. “Go sit on that Toby kid downstairs, will you? I don't want him wandering off. Get his full name, address, all that shit, and see if he'll do a voluntary statement.”
    “Sure.”
    “Don't interrogate him, though. Not yet. No specific questions about what's happening here today. Just background data on Edie, and her,” I said, indicating Hanna, who was still on the bench in the hall. For the first time I became aware that she was in pajama pants and a sweatshirt, with incongruous six-eyed work boots on her feet, unlaced. She did get up in a hurry , I thought. And hasn't been inclined to go back to her room to dress. I noted that because it made what I'd heard quite believable.
    “Okay,” he said.
    “Be firm, but nice.”
    “Okay, Dad.”
    “Do we know for sure what his connection is here? He said he lived here. That true?”
    Borman nodded. “He's one of the residents here, as far as I know. Long-term house-sitters, as far as I can tell. I found that out from the lady EMT who's talking to Hanna. There are about six of 'em, I guess.”
    That was why the locals called it the Dropout Dorm. Not school dropouts. It was sort of a matter of pride in Nation County's four high schools that we'd had precisely two dropouts in the