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Zusatztext “The same spellbinding detail that Harstad fans ate with relish in Carl’s debut shocker, Eleven Days --yummy.” -- Kirkus Reviews “Downright chilling...a terrific read.” -- Booklist (starred review) “Another engrossing entry in one of the best new police procedural series.” --Publishers Weekly (starred review) Informationen zum Autor Donald Harstad is a 26-year veteran of the Clayton County Sheriff's Department in northeastern Iowa, and the author of the acclaimed novels Eleven Days and Known Dead. A former deputy sheriff, he lives with his wife, Mary, in Elkader, Iowa. Klappentext CODE 61: maintain radio silence. someone may be listening. Investigating the apparent suicide of a colleague's niece, Iowa Deputy Sheriff Carl Houseman is startled to uncover a group that transforms the dark fantasies of vampire legend into grisly reality: they ritualistically drink small amounts of one another's blood. As Carl is drawn deeper into this unnerving world, it becomes clear that the dead woman may have been the victim of a twenty-first-century Dracula. The prime suspect, Dan Peale, is a sinister presence within the group--a man some say drinks blood and never, ever dies. It's an outlandish, heinous theory, but then suspicions are bolstered by rumors of a card-carrying vampire hunter who is also pursuing Peale. All too soon, Houseman finds himself scrambling to track a vampire--before he kills again. Chapter 1 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. "Comm, Three?" came crackling over the radio, from the familiar voice of my favorite dispatcher, Sally Wells. I picked up my mike, suspicious already. "This is Three. Go ahead." "Three, we have a 911 intruder call, 606 Main, Freiberg. Female subject needs immediate assistance. Freiberg officer has been dispatched and is requesting backup." I sighed audibly. "Ten-four, Comm." I took stock of my current location. "I'll be ten-seventy-six to the scene from about seven miles out on County Four Victor Six." "Three, ten-seventy-six. Three, not sure if this is completely ten-thirty-three, but you might be aware that the female subject indicated that there was a man trying to come in her window." I reached down and turned on my red and blue top lights. "Three is en route. Can she ID the suspect?" "Contact was broken by the caller, Three. Auto callback rings through, no answer. Female subject was very excited, but described the intruder as a white male with . . ." She paused, and I thought I had detected barely suppressed humor in her voice. "Ah, continuing, Three. Suspect described as white male with teeth." "Teeth, Comm?" "Ten-four, Three. Teeth." "Ah, okay, ten-four. Still en route. Advise when the Freiberg car goes ten-twenty-three at the scene." Teeth? "Ten-four, Three. Will advise." Teeth? I distinctly remember thinking that I wasn't going to hear the end of that one for a while. At least it wasn't a gun or a knife. I really hate knives. Our usual shortage of deputies available for duty had been aggravated by an early appearance of the flu in the last two weeks, so from a total of nine, we were down to five or four effectives, depending on who called in sick next, and when the next officer came back. As senior officer, I still had to pull twelve-hour shifts, but my exalted status meant that I got first choice of which shift I would work. I'd chosen noon to midnight. It was a combination of the shift that was the most fun, and the one where you could get the most actual work done.
