by James Andrus
“Nope. I even talked to a couple of the counter people who worked the same shift. She ate there and checked out around nine. No fanfare, just, ‘good-bye, I’ll see you tomorrow.’”
They paused in their meeting as the waiter brought over a tray of assorted hamburgers, sandwiches, sodas, and chips. Unlike the old days before Stallings had become a cop, there wasn’t much drinking on duty anymore. He knew that he was headed back out onto the streets for a few hours after dinner and he didn’t need the guilt or effects of a couple of beers.
He was pleased to see everyone else agreed. As he thought about that and looked down the table at Patty, he realized he’d never seen her drink.
That was a dedicated cop.
William Dremmel sat in his silent Nissan Quest with the driver’s window down and the cool Atlantic breeze pushing the majority of bugs right past him. He was only a block from Stacey Hines’s little apartment, which was attached to a larger, single-family house. The space that normally held her Escort was empty, and he was waiting for her to show. His plan this time was a little more direct. Grab her and take off. He had a variation of chloroform, which he had made himself and tested first on Mr. Whiskers IV, then on his mother. Neither knew what had happened and awoke an hour later. The cat looked a little dazed, and his mom complained of a headache until the next day, but he knew the stuff worked.
The rear of the van was empty except for a moving blanket and some heavy nylon rope, both items he could explain to any cop who might stop him. The tiny bottle of chloroform looked like a commercial nasal spray, which made it easy to spritz onto the washcloth he had to go over Stacey’s lovely, delicate face. He’d prefer to talk to her for a while and interact, but his patience was wearing thin. He couldn’t even concentrate on simple tasks anymore because she had filled up so much of his head.
Another lesson he’d learned recently had taught him to have a knife handy. His wasn’t a large suspicious knife, just a folding Gerber with a sharp, serrated edge. He even knew the target now if he ever had to do it again: center chest and neck. Somehow he didn’t have the impression that Stacey would ever have the bad manners to act like Trina did before he was forced to deal with her. But he was prepared and flexible. That was the key to success in any endeavor.
He checked his watch and saw it was just after eight with no sign of her. She wasn’t at the Fountain of Youth either. A pang of jealousy, like any boyfriend might have, popped up in him as he wondered what she might be doing. Did she have another man? Then a much worse thought had hit him-what if she had been lonely and moved back to Ohio?
Now his main urge was to enter her apartment through the back where no one would see him and see what was left around. He had to know if she had moved. He didn’t think she could do it so quickly, but maybe he didn’t know her like he thought he did. He knew all about her. Her checking account back in Ohio, her power consumption, her rent, and even the grocery store she shopped at, but maybe, just maybe, he didn’t know her that well.
As he considered hopping out of the van and easing into her apartment he noticed some movement in his rearview mirror. He’d been so preoccupied with what Stacey could be doing that he’d gone soft on being aware of his surroundings. That was another key to avoiding detection. No one should be able to tell the cops they saw his van or give a description.
Now he saw that an elderly man was standing almost directly behind his van with a pipsqueak dog on a leash. Dremmel froze and waited to see what the man’s movements would be. From the streetlight all he could make out was the stoop of age, a light jacket like old men used to play shuffleboard, a cane, and the leash. From his side mirror he saw the dog sniffing near the light pole directly behind his van. The dog had a tiny shirt that covered its chest and two front legs and its movements seemed jittery like all miniature dogs’.
Dremmel swallowed and consciously held still while the man lingered behind the van. He knew the old man had spotted him and wondered why he was just sitting there. Hell, old people like that, with nothing to do but walk their dogs, might even write down his tag, then he’d have to forget about Stacey. Nothing could happen to her if there was a record of his presence in her neighborhood.
Give up on Stacey? Not after all he had been through. He reached into his front pocket and felt the weight of his new Gerber knife. He pulled it out and used his thumb to pop open the vicious blade as his eyes cut back up to the mirror and saw the old man in the same spot.
He knew what he had to do.
Twenty-three
Patty Levine felt like a weight had been lifted from her as the last of the unmarked cars pulled away from the Law and Order Pub, leaving just her and Tony Mazzetti in the parking lot. They both knew that any attraction they felt for each other had to be kept low key for now. An office romance meant scrutiny, gossip, and sometimes jealousy. She didn’t have time for any of that.
She looked up at Mazzetti now that they were alone in the lot. Still a little old-fashioned, she was waiting for him to make a move. If that failed, then she knew what to do.
He looked across the hood of her car and said, “You busy?”
Did he have an investigative task or was it a come-on? She had no idea how to read him, and that made it all the more exciting. She felt anxiety but no need to reach for Xanax. She liked this feeling and just smiled.
Tony Mazzetti said, “I was wondering if you might like to have a private drink with me?”
“Off duty?”
“Off duty.”
“No police talk?”
“Not unless you’re into that kind of thing.”
She nodded and then, without any idea it would come out of her, “How about my condo? I have a bottle of wine that’s been collecting dust for three years.”
“Will you actually drink with me?” His eyes twinkled in the streetlights. She liked his cute expression. It was the opposite of his persona around the Sheriff’s Office.
Patty considered the possibility of a drink. She’d taken her last Xanax on her way home from UF after the geologist came on to her. She hadn’t felt anxious, but with habit, took one of the peach-colored pills about the same time she did every day. That was more than eight hours ago. Her back or hip didn’t hurt, which meant there was no need for a pain pill. That left only Ambien. She needed her sleeping pill if she wanted any hope of dozing off. Based on her careful analysis, she finally answered him, “Sure, I’ll have a glass of wine.”
A grin slid across Tony Mazzetti’s handsome face, lighting up his brown eyes. She liked the brash New Yorker and realized most everything he did for show was just an act. He was a history buff who liked to write. That was more like the real him. She was sure of it. Regardless, she was ready for some quiet time with him based on two important facts: he was really well built, and she hadn’t slept with a man in almost a year. She needed a shot of confidence as well as a chance to get to know this guy better.
Mazzetti said, “I’ll follow you.”
She thought, I hope so.
William Dremmel had to commit himself to acting quickly. He already had his knife open and in his hand. He popped the automatic locks of the minivan and took a deep breath. This was something he’d never done before. He was about to assault the old man and planned to jab the knife into his abdomen and his throat, then shove him into the van and dump him God knew where.
The man’s little dog yipped behind the van and that made Dremmel freeze for a second. What would he do with the dog? If he left it, the cops would know the owner was gone faster than if he took it. That was one more clue that could potentially point to him. Either option was unacceptable.
He thought about it and decided he couldn’t kill the dog. Not with the knife anyhow. But maybe there was a way he could use the little dog in his research. It was a different metabolism than what he’d been working with. Unlike the girls or even Mr. Whiskers, the original or II and III, the little dog would present new opportunities.
Dremmel processed the decision, yanked the
door handle, and slipped out onto the asphalt road. He turned and hurried to the rear of the van, ready to strike without warning. He couldn’t afford to allow the man to scream.
As he cleared the rear bumper, the knife in his hand, but held low, he saw the man’s face clearly in the light of the dim bulb suspended on the rough wooden pole. He froze and the man turned to look in his direction.
“Hello,” said the man.
“Um, hello,” answered Dremmel, now frozen in place a few feet from the elderly dog walker.
“Am I blocking you?” The man touched his dark glasses. “I know my way around but sometimes get in front of cars waiting to pull out. I’m sorry.”
“No, no, I’m fine.” Dremmel now realized the cane was not a walking aid but an indicator that the man was blind.
“I’m afraid Pico here is not much of a guide dog. But he’s a good friend.”
Dremmel squatted down and let the little Chihuahua scurry to him and sniff his hand. He patted the white dog, then reached under him to get a feel for his weight. “This is one tiny dog, mister.”
“My daughter gave me little Pico Sanchez about three years ago, and I couldn’t live without him now.”
Dremmel made the snap decision that the man had no info he could give the cops and, reluctantly, that the dog was too small to provide any reliable or transferable research results.
He stood up and said, “Have a nice night.”
“You too son, you too.”
As Dremmel pulled away from the curb, leaving the old blind man with his useless little dog, he wondered where his Stacey could be and when he’d have her all to himself.
John Stallings had rushed home to make sure he could help both kids with their homework. The problem with that theory was that he’d have to understand their homework.
Charlie’s wasn’t that difficult, but as the TV show Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader? had taught everyone, there are things you learn that you forget. Most of Charlie’s history quiz on the settling of Plymouth seemed familiar, but there was no way he’d know the facts right off the top of his head. The name Miles Standish and the Puritans were familiar, but reading the little paragraphs taught him more than he thought he ever knew about the settlement in what is now Massachusetts. He never realized they left from Holland or that the entire ship was not filled with people seeking religious freedom. He never knew that the expedition started off with two ships but one never left European waters. Regardless, he made it sound like this was all old news to him as he ran Charlie through the simple fifteen-question quiz over and over.
Lauren’s homework was another story. The algebra didn’t even seem familiar to him, and he couldn’t fake it.
Stallings looked at his thirteen-year-old and said, “Is this the same math they taught when I was in school?”
“You mean back when you used slate tablets to add up the figures?” Her smile did more to lift him than any beer he had ever thought of.
“Yeah, we’d never even heard of calculators.”
She looked at him and knitted her eyebrows but didn’t say anything.
He laughed out loud and said, “Yes we did, I’m not that old.”
The evening continued like that with Maria coming out of the den for a good part of it. He’d noticed the subtle shift in her appearances with the family. From near-hermit status to a quick meal here and there, to spending more time at least in the same room with the family. Stallings would take it. He’d take whatever he could get. This was the woman he’d been crazy in love with almost twenty years ago and through all that they had suffered his feelings for her hadn’t changed. Sure he got frustrated at her repeated stints in rehab and her withdrawal from the family after Jeanie disappeared, but she still had that magic quality to light up a room when she wanted to. He wanted to be around when she wanted to light up rooms again.
After the kids had gone to bed and he’d straightened the kitchen and house, he was surprised when Maria joined him on the couch for the ten o’clock news. She’d told him that she cleaned the kitchen every morning after making the kids breakfast, but he knew she rarely got up with the kids, never made them breakfast, and hadn’t dragged a clean dish towel across any surface in the kitchen in a long time. But his mother had given him a little marital advice when he was young, and the smartest thing she’d said was, “As the husband you can be right or you can be happy, but you can’t be both.” Now he knew it was one of those times to keep his mouth shut. He was rewarded by Maria sitting next to him on the couch.
Of course the first story was about the serial killer. He cringed at the name Bag Man, but even the cops were using it now. Carl Cernick had gained the name “The Phantom” because there were so many false sightings of him. Six different men had been questioned because of the tips. The questioning was at the PMB, and the men were in custody no matter what they were told. Each time homicide was sure it was the right guy. Stallings was in the burglary unit at the time and paid little attention to the case. Until he solved it.
Now the newscaster opened with a line that made him take notice. The pretty young woman said, “Home Depot, the target of a new lead for the Bag Man investigation.”
“How in the hell did that happen?” he muttered.
Maria turned to him. “What?”
“That was a confidential line of investigation. Tony Mazzetti is gonna be pissed.” Stallings knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help but let a slight smile spread across his face.
Patty Levine lay on top of the sheets naked, computing how big of a dose of Ambien she would take. She took into account the two glasses of pinot noir she’d had a couple of hours earlier and the level of frustration that had risen in her since. She figured one canceled out the other.
She stared straight up into the dark, catching just a hint of streetlights through her blinds. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm as she tried to control her anxiety and disappointment. She still had a muscular body and worked on it, but nothing like she did when she competed.
As she was about to get out of bed and pad to the bathroom she felt the whole mattress shift. She turned to face the muscular, naked form of Tony Mazzetti, who said for the ninth time, “I’m sorry. This has never happened before.”
Twenty-four
John Stallings took three stairs at a time because he wanted to hear the drama inside the squad bay about the news leaks. Even though there were always leaks and it rarely affected a case, some detectives became irrational in their search for the tipster. It made for a fascinating few minutes after every newscast.
As he reached the second floor he saw Rick Ellis in uniform and ready for duty. Seeing the tall, middle-aged man made Stallings realize the truth behind the saying, “The uniform makes the man.” Ellis looked like authority incarnate-the sergeant’s stripes on his sleeve, the duty belt with a Glock model twenty-two on his hip. He looked like he knew his shit. The man was a cop’s cop and everyone looked up to him, but the uniform made him seem almost superhuman.
Ellis smiled. “On your way to the Land That Time Forgot?”
“Yeah. I like an early start these days.”
“I hear ya. When we were young all we wanted was afternoon shift so we could sleep late, now I can’t sleep past six if I want to.” He slapped Stallings on the back and headed down the stairs. “Gotta get on the road. Speeders are waiting.” Then he stopped at the landing and turned to face the second floor again. “Hey Stall, call me if you guys need something on the Bag Man. You need to be careful out there. It’s not like it used to be.”
“Thanks, Rick, I’ll keep you in mind for backup. I’d feel better with you around.”
Ellis gave him a thumbs-up and then cantered down the remaining stairs.
Stallings hit the detective bureau door and was only a step in when he heard Mazzetti’s voice boom, “Who the fuck keeps leaking our case?”
Stallings ignored him and settled right into his desk. He had leads to sort out and people to talk to. Leaks made no impac
t on him at all, except for entertainment purposes.
Patty eased over and plopped in a cracked plastic chair next to the desk. She said, “How’s it goin’?”
“Not bad. You look tired. Something keep you up late?”
He noticed her eyes cut across the room to the ranting Mazzetti. That kind of behavior can freak out a newer detective.
Patty looked back to Stallings. “Nothing really kept me awake. I was just distracted and didn’t sleep well. What do you make of the leaks?”
He shrugged. “Nothing new. Someone always has a hook at a TV station.”
“But why?”
“Maybe a favorable story on them later, or meals, or even cash sometimes.”
Patty sighed.
“What’s wrong?”
“I need to go out on an action lead. Following up on suitcases and Home Depots has worn me out. Maybe I can ride with you today. See what we turn up?”
“Okay by me.”
Before they could talk about it further, Lieutenant Hester walked up and said, “Patty, I need you for a while.”
“Sure L.T. What’s up?”
“Someone wants to talk to you about these news leaks.”
“Why?” She thought about it and said, “Who wants to talk to me?”
“Internal Affairs.”
As soon as William Dremmel entered the Fountain of Youth sports bar where Stacey Hines worked, he knew she wasn’t there. A different waitress he hadn’t seen before carried a tray of food to a young family in the area where Stacey usually worked. The waitress was a little older than Stacey, maybe twenty-five, and tall, with large, fake boobs positioned for the best possible tips.
He couldn’t just turn around and leave. The bartender had seen him, and he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Sliding up to the far side of the bar, he took a stool and ordered a simple burger and Diet Coke. While he waited, he pretended to watch the TV above the bar. A sports show had footage of the University of Florida football team in its orange and blue that so many schools in the area copied. The carpet that led to his office was the same hue of orange. People in Jacksonville were crazy for the Gators.