by James Andrus
Mazzetti nodded, then caught up to the blond man and said, “Excuse me.”
The man turned. He was about five seven and built with thick shoulders and biceps that taxed his button-down shirt. “May I help you?”
“Are you a teacher in this department?”
“I am.”
“My name is Tony Mazzetti,” he said as he reached back and pulled his badge and ID from his rear pocket. He’d done it so many times he had it timed to coincide with his saying, “From the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office.”
The man stared at them and said, “What’s this about?”
Mazzetti thought his tone was a little odd and paused before saying, “I couldn’t find anyone in the office down the hall.”
The man nodded and said, “We’re a little shorthanded and everyone has a class right now. Is there something I could help you with?”
“Not really anything specific. We identified a student as the victim in a homicide.”
“Oh dear Lord.”
“Tawny Wallace. Did you happen to know her?”
He thought about it, then slowly shook his head. “No, not off the top of my head. I only teach part time. This semester I have two classes, so I don’t see everyone on a regular basis.”
“Who would?”
“Professor Sporano is the head of the department. He practically lives here.”
Mazzetti nodded as he wrote down the name. He liked seeing an Italian in charge. It seemed like that was the only way to keep things running smoothly down here in the South. Then he asked, “What do you teach?”
“I mostly run labs for biology and teach classes on natural and earth sciences.”
Before he could ask anything relevant to the case, a bell rang and the classes let out. Crowds of young people and a surprising number of older ones flowed into the main hallway.
The man said, “Sorry, I have to go now.”
Mazzetti said, “I understand.” Then he looked at the man. “What happened to your eye?”
“Basketball.”
“Rough game.” It was a black eye turning to yellow.
“Especially here. The students don’t cut me any slack.” He smiled and turned toward his office.
Mazzetti called out. “I just need your name for my notes.”
“Dremmel. William Dremmel.”
Eighteen
John Stallings sat at his barren desk staring at his notes. He’d talked to four pharmaceutical drug pushers since noon. Three were converted crack dealers, and one, a little creep named Peep Morans, had dealt Vicodin to Maria when she had fallen off the wagon. None of them had any great leads but knew to keep their eyes open. Peep Morans had a series of hiding spots he used to spy on women, and Stallings had figured out where three of them were. When the pervert ran from him earlier in the day he didn’t bother to chase him. Instead he drove to the hiding spot in the direction the dealer had run. The skeevy dealer had provided a few more names and areas where dealers pushed prescription drugs. That’s how big cases tended to flow. One lead pointed a detective to three more until finally you had a break in the case. It could be tedious, but it was necessary, and in a case like this, where women were being killed, no one wanted to overlook a lead no matter how insignificant. Morans had mentioned a dealer named “Ernie” who hung out with the runaway population a lot and might have some info for Stallings. Ernie was now high on his list of priorities.
The squad bay was empty, as other detectives had their own leads and assignments. He heard someone come in through the back door and a moment later saw Patty Levine giggling at something Tony Mazzetti said. Patty giggling was not a sound Stallings was used to, and the fact that she found something that ass said funny was downright unnerving.
Both the detectives stopped midstride, like a cheating couple caught in public, when they noticed Stallings.
Mazzetti put on a politician’s smile. “Stall, turn up anything?”
He just shook his head.
Patty looked from Mazzetti to Stallings and said, “I have to get my stuff together for tomorrow.”
“Whaddya got tomorrow?” asked Stallings.
“Talking to a geologist at UF about the decorative sand found on the bodies.”
Mazzetti said, “You look beat, Stall. You should go home and get some rest. We’ll keep plugging away here.”
Suddenly, as if by Mazzetti’s suggestion, he did feel the weight of exhaustion wash over him. He’d been on a wide swing of emotions since yesterday morning, and maybe a little time with Charlie would put things in perspective. He just nodded and closed up his notepad, then walked right out of the Land That Time Forgot without a good-bye to anyone.
Fifteen minutes later he was still sitting in his car trying to get himself in the right frame of mind to go home. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to see them; he didn’t want them to see him wound up in his job. Disconnected. That’s how his father was even when he was sober. Drunk, he was too connected. Regardless, Stallings had made a commitment not to show up at the house when his mind was still on work. Too many cops did that and ended up with fucked-up families and kids who spent more time in rehab than they did in school.
So he sat, with the engine idling, trying to figure out what had upset him so much. Initially he had thought it was his meeting with Peep Morans and the memories the parasite brought up for Stallings. The day he’d found Maria, passed out on the bathroom floor, and her admission on the way to the hospital of her serious habit. She mentioned a man named Peep from Union Street, and that night Stallings did a little off-the-books law enforcement. It wouldn’t be the first time he failed to report crimes related to his wife. She needed protecting, and he was prepared to do it. That night, when he had the pusher from downtown cornered, he came as close as he ever had to killing someone out of anger. And it was because he had let his emotions and frustration carry him away. He hoped he knew a little more about himself now.
As he sat in the car he saw his friend Rick Ellis lumbering across the lot in his uniform. His gut was swaying as he walked, but he was still capable of inspiring respect just by his sheer size.
Stalling lowered the window and waved to the big sergeant, who turned his bulk like a giant cruise ship, easing toward Stallings’s car.
“Hey, Stall, you guys holding up all right?”
“It’s tiring. Big cases, big problems.”
“That’s why I like road patrol. No cases, no problems. And mine don’t lead the news. The goddamn TV reporters are all over this one. Times like this I bet you wish you were just a flunky firefighter.”
Stallings smiled and nodded. “The thought has crossed my mind now and then.”
Ellis said, “What are you guys working on specifically?”
“Mazzetti was out at the community college today. We identified the first victim and she was a student there.”
“No shit. Did he turn up anything?”
“Few friends, no real leads.”
“What’re you working on?”
“I’m checking in the homeless and runaway communities to see if anyone has noticed anything.”
“Seems like that’s a smart assignment. Those folks wouldn’t talk to most cops.”
“They’re not saying much to me either.”
“Something will break soon enough. I’m glad the bosses were smart enough to bring you in on something like this.”
This is the kind of conversation Stallings needed right now. Just chatting with an old friend who had positive things to say.
After a few more minutes of conversation about the details of the Bag Man case they said their good-byes.
Feeling pretty good now, Stallings started to put the car in gear when he saw something that threw his whole mood off track; Mazzetti and Patty walked out the side door together and the body language said they weren’t going out on a lead.
This was troubling.
It was dark out when William Dremmel parked his tan minivan about three blocks from the restaurant where yo
ung Stacey Hines worked. He could just see the restaurant’s back door and had pulled a distributor wire on Stacey’s beat-up Escort. In his simple but ingenious plan, he’d offer her a ride, explaining that he had a mechanic friend who would look at it tomorrow for free. That would work with a waitress who had just lost a roommate and was probably facing money troubles.
His idea to appear more appealing by showing off Lori still probably worked with Stacey, but it had unintended consequences. While driving her back to work, Lori laid a barrage of questions on him about his interest in Stacey. Lori was smart and immediately picked up on the fact that Dremmel was interested in the cute waitress. Of course she had no idea what kind of interest he had, but she saw the sparks.
What had confounded him was that he’d completely missed the fact that Lori might hold those kinds of feelings. If she was jealous, then she must view him as more than a friend. Now he’d have to watch how he acted around her at work.
His research was the most important thing. He’d come too far to let a personal relationship throw him off track. He focused all of his energy on Stacey now. Any time now she’d walk through the back door, find her car wouldn’t crank, and he would start his van and ease into the situation that would move his research ahead and satisfy his obsession with the young woman. He knew all there was to know about her from his research. No medical treatment since she’d been in Florida. That may have been because she was still on her parent’s insurance and she didn’t want them to be able to track her down.
This was the right time. He couldn’t risk the roommate telling her parents where she lived when she got back to Ohio. He could picture Stacey’s father racing down and forcing his twenty-one-year-old daughter to return to the Midwest.
He froze when the back door did open a few inches. He started the van and turned the wheel so he could glide out onto the street, checking the mirrors to make sure the road was clear. The door opened enough for him to see Stacey’s profile as she turned back and spoke to someone inside the kitchen.
His heart raced as a surge of excitement coursed through his body. An erection blossomed and his hands trembled with anticipation. He loved this feeling almost as much as the actual lab work where he could hold the girls and watch their bodies show the effects of the different drugs. Drugs that he had administered. No one else held that kind of power. No one else went as far in research. He wanted to pound the wheel to let off the building pressure.
Stacey stepped out of the door onto the low landing in front of her car.
William Dremmel pulled from the curb and started down the street toward his prize.
Patty Levine gazed up at Tony Mazzetti’s dark, beautiful eyes. This was not the guy other people saw. Leaning against the wall next to her condo’s front door, he had a boyish smile as they played the timeless game of who’s going to say good-bye first. Normally the game, or any cute little ritual like it, would’ve made Patty sick to her stomach, but she so rarely had the chance to participate herself, she allowed the indulgence.
They had grabbed a quick dinner and did talk about the case. No cop could work on a case like this without letting it invade every part of his or her life. But unlike TV cops, real ones had lives off camera and couldn’t work twenty-four hours a day. Especially Patty, who even now could feel the pain in her knee and back shoot up through her from standing in hard shoes all day. A couple of Percocets would knock it out.
She had declined alcohol at dinner as Mazzetti drank two glasses of moderately expensive pinot noir. She knew it gave him the impression that she was a health fanatic, but in reality she worried about how alcohol would interact with all the prescriptions she took, so she hadn’t had a drink in more than six years. It added to her perception as an ex-jock around the Sheriff’s Office.
Tony Mazzetti was no athletic slouch himself. He’d spent a lot of time in the gym, and it showed with his wide shoulders and the biceps she couldn’t fit both hands around.
They danced around the good-bye to their impromptu date. She’d promised herself never to let the stress of a case push her too close to a coworker. With married John Stallings it was never really an issue. Besides, the senior detective treated her like a kid sister more than anything else, and she liked it that way. Now she’d been caught in the trap she’d seen too many female cops fall into. Was she interested in Mazzetti because he was an intelligent, funny, perceptive man or because there were no other options? Or was it the Bag Man case? Hell, she wished there was a pill she could take to figure this shit out. Instead she reached her hands around Mazzetti’s muscular neck and laid a kiss on him like she hadn’t had a real kiss in over a year. Which she hadn’t.
The next move was all his.
Nineteen
William Dremmel eased the van down the street, rehearsing out loud the casual way he intended to approach Stacey. “Hey, what’re you still doing here?” then, “Am I too late to eat?” He figured she’d laugh and tell him how her car wouldn’t start. He’d be ready with, “I got a buddy who’ll fix it for free. Can I give you a lift home?” It couldn’t miss.
After he had her in the car he’d make an excuse to go home. He had his lab all set up with the bed in place, furniture in the closet, and the chains ready to go. He didn’t want another disaster like Trina. But he did have a knife in his pocket and would from now on. It was just luck he had one available to use the way he did with Trina. His first priority was to avoid detection. If he was caught, his research ended. He didn’t like losing a test subject, but it was better than the whole project going down the drain. Not to mention what might happen to him. He thought the authorities might frown on the way he’d been conducting research.
Now he looked out his spotless windshield and saw Stacey still in profile at the door. He slowed down to a crawl to give her time to get out and to the car.
She stepped away from the door, then down the two steps to the ground, but the rear door was still open.
As Dremmel approached, he saw her hop into the small car and crank it as a large, round black man in an apron stood on the back stoop shaking his head. When the van was almost even with the rear parking lot, still moving slowly, the cook stepped to the car and bent to open the hood.
Dremmel didn’t hesitate. He kept a steady speed right past them and hoped no one noticed. He’d have to figure another way to make his approach to Stacey Hines, and he knew he had to do it soon.
John Stallings sprawled on his comfortable micro-fiber couch with Lauren equally relaxed next to him, her head nestled on his arm. He took a sip of the cranberry juice he had been drinking all night. He had an occasional beer if he was away from the house without anyone from the family, but around the house it was strictly no alcohol. He and Lauren had been watching an ESPN replay of Jaguar highlights of the 2007 playoffs. He could watch David Gerrard scramble for a touchdown a hundred times and he wouldn’t get tired of it. Lauren proclaimed a mild interest, but he knew that sometimes she just needed to spend time alone with her father. And he was glad of it. He needed time with the kids too. He wished time as a family was easier to come by and more rewarding for all of them, but that didn’t happen much right now. Baby steps. That’s what he kept telling himself.
He switched channels and caught a news update at the end of the hour on a local channel. The anchor said, “JSO detectives invade the community college looking for leads in the death of Tawny Wallace.” Video of the crime scene for the latest victim came on screen. “Veteran homicide detective John Stallings, known for his heroic capture of serial killer Carl Cernick, is heading the investigation of the so-called Bag Man, who is believed responsible for at least three deaths.”
He snatched up the remote and switched off the TV.
Lauren leaned up, then turned to look at him in the face. “I didn’t know you were in charge.”
“I’m not. They say whatever sounds good to them. I’m more interested in how they got the information. Probably someone out at the community college called the TV station, but
it’s still gonna piss off the lieutenant.”
“Why?”
“They wanted to keep the whole thing as low key as possible. Now that it’s got media traction it’ll cause us more grief.”
“Is the killer really looking for runaways?”
He knew what she was thinking. It had darkened his own mind since he first saw the face of Lee Ann Moffit in the duffel bag. “We’re not sure yet, but I promise we’re doing everything we can to stop him.” The same promise he’d made to Lee Ann and even to Jeanie as soon as he knew they had a killer like this on the loose.
She hugged him and said, “I worry about Jeanie.”
“Me too, sweetheart, me too.”
“I worry about you too. You have to be careful.”
He was touched. Neither of the kids had ever expressed that kind of concern. Common among most cops’ families was the idea that police work was just another job. The dangerous nature and risk were almost never acknowledged, let alone discussed openly. He could see the concern on her pretty face.
“I’ve got it easy, sweetheart. All I do is interview a few people and hang out at my desk in the Land That Time Forgot.”
She snickered. “You still call the office that?”
“They haven’t done anything to make us stop. Even if they renovated the whole floor we’d still call it that because it’s a good name that stuck.”
Lauren’s smile faded and she focused on her father. She turned her head and checked the room even though they were the only two awake in the house. “You still look for Jeanie, don’t you?”
“I’ll never give up.” He thought about all the checks he made and cops he called on a regular basis. He really was looking for his oldest child while he tried to help others in the same boat. “I promise I do everything I can to keep the streets safe for her until she comes home.”
She hugged him tightly and he felt the lump in his own throat cause a tear to run down his cheek.