COLD CASE - Chapter 1

"I don't normally do out-of-town jobs," I said warily. Which was true. Chicago is my home. I know it better than anywhere else in the world. When I take a case elsewhere, I'm not at my best.

The woman sitting across from me was past middle-aged, but you could tell that once upon a time she'd been a head-turning looker. From the way she talked, she struck me as intelligent, but not terribly well-educated. She was well-dressed, but something about that seemed off. I had the impression that for most of her life she'd been accustomed to clothes that were considerably less expensive than what she now wearing.

"I want you for this case, Mr. Dresden," my prospective client said firmly.

"Mrs. Winfield," I said, "a cold case investigation takes a lot of time because you pretty much have to reinvestigate everything. That's expensive. And that kind of investigation usually doesn't turn up anything new. I'm trying to give you a fair warning. You might end up spending a lot of money and get nothing much in return."

"I have money, Mr. Dresden. What I don't have is answers - or time. I have a local private investigator working on the case. He's competent, but it's become obvious to me that he simply can't deal with the stranger aspects of the case."

"And you think I can?" I asked.

My prospective client smiled tightly. "A friend here in Chicago once hired you. She told me that you see what others refuse to see. She says you worked a miracle for her."

She paused.

"And I need a miracle," she added as an edge of desperation crept into her voice. "My sister died a long time ago, but the story of how she died never made a lot of sense. My parents died not knowing the truth, but pretty sure that important people were lying to us. I want you to find the truth, Mr. Dresden. I want to know what happened to Mary."

The next day, I dropped Mister and Mouse off with Murphy. Then I boarded a train heading to Las Vegas.

A guy met me at the Las Vegas train station. Mrs. Winfield had set that up.

"You must be Dresden." The man talking to me was maybe in his fifties and built like a fireplug - short, thick, and solid-looking. He was wearing a less-than-expensive suit and his iron-gray hair was cut short. Nothing about his face stood out except for a pair of brown eyes that were sharp and didn't look like they missed much. At the moment they were checking out my black duster, staff, and the glove on my left hand. He looked less than impressed.

Everything about him radiated ex-cop.

"That's me," I said.

He didn't offer to shake my hand. "My name's Flint," he said stiffly. "Mrs. Winfield wants us to talk. I did some work on the Skorzeny case for her."

That was the reason for the attitude. Mrs. Winfield told me she didn't have a problem with the work Flint had done for her. She just needed someone with a different perspective - a really different perspective - to take over the case. But Flint didn't understand that and was obviously offended at the suggestion that he hadn't done his job.

And now he had to clue-in his replacement.

"Flint," I said with a nod of my head as I awkwardly shifted the big sports bag I was carrying on my back. The hand not holding my staff was carrying a small cylindrical case of the kind you might use to carry an expensive hat.

"I've got the case file in my car. Mrs. Winfield said I should transfer it to you."

"Great. You got some time to talk about the case before I call a cab?"

Flint hesitated. Then he nodded his head.

There was a bar just down the street. In addition to the usual stuff, they had a decent range of small-brewery beers. I ordered a local stout that turned out to be pretty good. Flint had a scotch on the rocks.

An over-full filebox was on the table. It was Flint's files for his investigation into the Skorzeny case.

"Mrs. Winfield said you wanted a paper printout," Flint said. "Here it is."

"Yeah, thanks. Hey, Flint, I want you to know that the boss told me she thought you did good work. She hired me because I'm specialist."

"Quite the specialist," Flint said shortly. "I looked you up."

Then he paused and gave me a long, hard, look. "It's none of my business how a man market's his services. And Mrs. Winfield is a pretty sharp lady who can take care of herself. And it turns out that you actually have a decent rep in Chicago. But just remember this, Dresden, I have the phone number for the bunco squad on speed dial."

Ah. Flint had seen the word "Wizard" listed as my profession and immediately decided that I was a phony. That's not an unusual reaction. Not only was his professional pride stung, but now he was worried that I was working a con on Mrs. Winfield. That was a reasonable reaction on his part, but that didn't mean I had to like it.

"I charge a thousand up front and seventy-five a day, plus expenses," I replied very flatly. "That's a pretty normal rate in Chicago. When this is over, you can check with Mrs. Winfield and ask what I charged her. And if you think something's wrong with my bill, go ahead and call the cops."

"I'll do that," Flint said without hesitation, but something in him seemed to relax.

I tapped the top of the file box with my gloved hand. "Want to give me the executive summary?"

This time, Flint did hesitate. But then his sense of professionalism overcame his resentment.

"Mrs. Winfield is right. Something stinks about this case. As near as I can tell, Skorzeny was a serious nutjob who liked to play vampire. I'm talking a fangs-in-the-neck sort of vampire. Back when he was killing people here in Las Vegas, somebody decided to keep that part of the story quiet - probably because they figured that would be bad for business."

Then a look of frustration crept over Flint's face.

"Whoever did the coverup did a pretty good job. They even made most of the official records and news media reports vanish. Since the case happened over forty years ago, everyone involved is either elderly, deceased, or no longer in town. The old folks don't remember much, or they told me stories that were just plain crazy."

"What kind of crazy stories?" I asked idly as I pulled a folder out of the file box and flipped it open. Then I took my glove off so I could better handle the paperwork. Flint hastily looked away from the sight of my badly cooked left hand. Yeah, that was petty payback on my part for Flint's suspicions, but I didn't have any particular regrets.

Flint shook his head. "You'd be suprised how many people actually buy into the idea that Skorzeny was a real, honest-to-God, vampire. I think that might explain why the bodies of his victims were burned without the permission of the families. Somebody decided to not take any chances."

"Really?" I asked, trying hard to keep any sarcasm out of my voice.

"Really. And after all this time witnesses are still scared to talk about it. You have to get them where nobody can hear and then press kind of hard before they'll say what they think."

"Got any idea who's behind the cover-up?"

"The Mob was big in those days, Dresden. I figure they put pressure on the state and city government to keep the weirder parts of the Skorzeny case quiet. On top of that, some people apparently bought into Skorzeny's Count Dracula bullshit and over-reacted. Once it was all over, some important and supposedly respectable folks found themselves in an awkward position. They'd both kissed the Mob's ass and taken seriously - at least for a while - the idea that Skorzeny was a real vampire. Of course they wanted it all buried and forgotten."

"Any idea who those 'important and supposedly respectable folks' might be?"

"I don't know for sure, but three guys stand out. The County Sheriff at the time, a man from the DA's office, and a police captain. They were the people running the manhunt for Skorzeny."

"Were you able to talk to any of them?"

Flint smiled coldly at me. "Here's where a strange case gets even stranger, Dresden. All three of those men were gone within a few years after the Skorzeny case. Two dead. One missing and never seen again."

I thought that over for a few seconds before asking another question. "Any suggestions where to start on the case?"

Flint fought down the urge to tell me to figure it out for myself and my respect for him went up a notch. "I didn't get around to interviewing a lot of the surviving key witnesses before Mrs. Winfield called me off. You might want to check on the fellow who was the County Coroner at the time. And there was the lady that Skorzeny held prisoner for a while. She's still around. You'll find all of the pertinent information in a file labeled 'Leads'."