by James Andrus
Mazzetti shook his head and said, “You’re pathetic.” Then he stood up and stomped out of the room.
Stallings was at a complete loss for words. Seeing Ronald Bell gloating across the table didn’t help matters. Then the lieutenant stood up so she could look down at him and said the one thing he didn’t want to hear.
“I’m sorry, Stall, but I’m taking you off the case. You’re going back to the runaway roundup unless the sheriff wants to take more serious action.”
Stallings swallowed hard, trying to lose the lump in his throat. This was the worst thing they could do to him right now. Didn’t they realize it would crush him? When he looked across at the smug smile on Ronald Bell’s face he realized that the I.A. investigator knew exactly what this would do to him.
Thirty-eight
John Stallings sat in his Impala looking at his sister Helen’s car next to his in the driveway. He’d spent an hour just driving around Jacksonville trying to make sense of what had happened. He was trying not to hate Ronald Bell for jumping to conclusions because if Stallings had seen the same evidence he would’ve jumped to the same fucking conclusion. But he knew he hadn’t called any TV stations. He had no reason to. The headache that had started to blossom hours ago pounded in his skull.
He wasn’t certain why he’d sat in his car for twenty minutes. Everything had piled on him at once: work, Maria, and his feelings of failure made the walk from his car to the front door seem like the Green Mile.
His phone rang and he dug in his pocket. It was Patty Levine again, and like the last few calls, he let it go directly to voice mail. He didn’t want to talk about the Sheriff’s Office or what a prick Ronald Bell was. He didn’t know exactly what he wanted to do right now, so he took in a deep breath and stepped out of his car, marched to his front door, and entered, feeling almost as much apprehension as if he was on search warrant.
Helen sat on the living room couch with a tearful Maria. His sister was patting her back and listening. She looked up and gave him a mild nod, then flicked her head to get him moving into another room.
Even with all the classes and counseling sessions he’d attended, it was still hard to imagine this sort of emotion without a specific cause. He knew a lot of it stemmed from Jeanie but why now, after more than three years? He didn’t try to figure it out anymore. His job was to keep the kids safe and support Maria any way he could.
In a weird way it made his problems at work seem less severe, until he thought about the dead girls and the fact that he wouldn’t be helping stop the Bag Man.
Patty called again. Another voice mail.
He walked into the family room to see Charlie and Lauren watching TV silently.
“What’s up, guys?”
They both mumbled “Nothing.”
Was this how he wanted to live? To let his family fade into immobility?
“Hey, I’m home a little early. Let’s go do something.”
Charlie brightened. “Like what?”
“Don’t know, sport. Dinner out.”
“Mom too?”
“We might need to give her some space.”
His phone rang with a number he didn’t recognize. He’d given the phone number out to so many people in the past weeks that it could be anyone. He still didn’t want to talk. He didn’t answer, then noticed a minute later whoever it was left no message.
He dismissed it. Tonight was about the kids.
Tony Mazzetti had a mountain of reports from the lab, other detectives, and even streamed video from city surveillance cameras. Someone on command staff had the bright idea that if the beach cam caught Stacey Hines, another camera might hold a clue. What they didn’t reason out was the volume and randomness of the tape. Sure, he’d have a secretary or intern take a cursory look at the video, so he didn’t have to tell some captain or major they were a dumb-ass, but the idea was as useful as standing on the corner and looking for a girl being abducted.
The reports from the other detectives were mostly about clearing up leads that had come in and then not been relevant to the case. Citizens calling in about weird neighbors, stolen suitcases that could be big enough for a body, and sightings of Stacey Hines everywhere from downtown Jacksonville to upstate Georgia. It never ended and was part of any big case with media coverage.
The lab reports mainly confirmed what the medical examiner had said. The girls’ bodies all contained large amounts of prescription drugs, including Ambien, Oxycontin, heavy sedatives, and assorted other narcotics. He kept wondering why the killer wanted the victims so doped up. What did he do to them? There was no sexual assault. No marks other than to show that they had been restrained. It made no sense in this world, but Mazzetti knew the world of a serial killer was vastly different and skewed. It was the difference between Gone with the Wind and a Bugs Bunny cartoon. What was rational in one world held no power in the other. He had to find the link between the two worlds and figure out what the killer was doing and why, in his own mind, it was important enough for him to kill people.
One report from the crime scene unit was on the orange thread found near Trina Ester’s body. He remembered the long, heavy piece of string. They had determined it was a carpet thread. Someone in the unit had even gone above and beyond the call of duty and talked to a couple of carpet dealers. He appreciated that they didn’t waste a detective’s time on a task like that.
One of the carpet dealers said it was an industrial carpet thread probably sold in large quantity to an institution like a hospital or school.
Mazzetti filed it away in his computer brain as something that might come up later, but he had more important matters on his plate right now. He’d lost one of the best detectives, or at least luckiest, when John Stallings was sent home. He didn’t miss the glory hound, but had to admit the guy got things done.
The other matter occupying his mind was of a more personal nature. When he looked up from his work and saw Patty Levine across the room he decided to handle that right now.
Stacey Hines woke up in the dark, silent room where she’d been held for a while. She didn’t know how long, because it was hard to tell time in this place, and she had no idea how long she slept each time he gave her a dose of drugs. This was the first time she’d ever woken up quickly and without the overhead light battering her eyes. The dark was almost as terrifying as seeing William standing at the door with a tray of food and that spooky smile on his face.
She had no idea if anyone even knew she was in trouble and now realized the few restrictions her parents put on her were not enough to scare her away. If she got out of here, she was moving back home for good.
She didn’t let herself cry; that didn’t help anything. She sucked it up and tried to think if she could use this quiet, conscious time in the room to help her escape. She worked her hands in the cuffs, then tried her feet. Nothing. Then she heard footsteps outside the door and decided to play possum and not let William know the drug dosage wasn’t enough to keep her asleep all night.
She had to try anything she could if she wanted to live.
Patty Levine closed her phone on the fourth time she got John Stallings’s voice mail message. She knew he’d been relieved of duty just like she knew he’d never call a TV station. Why would he? All she wanted to do was make sure he was okay. He was tough. Tougher than anyone she’d ever met. With all that he’d been through she wasn’t the least bit worried about him making it through something like this. But she still wanted to speak to her partner.
She glanced across the wide squad bay of the detective bureau, and Tony Mazzetti quietly caught her eye with a wink and a smile. She couldn’t help but smile back. She watched as he carefully disguised a route across the busy room to her. He picked up a couple of file folders, then looked at them as he walked. He leaned down next to her, holding a folder open like he needed advice on something.
Patty hid her grin. “What was that wink for?”
“A hint at tonight.”
Her smile broadened. “Pr
etty confident there, Detective Mazzetti.”
“Actually, no I’m not. But you’ve given me hope that I won’t freeze up.”
She looked at the bags under his eyes and lines on his face. “Are you sure you’re up to it? You look beat.”
“I’ve waited long enough.”
She considered her next comments. “I’d like to talk to John before I leave.”
“That traitor, why?”
“He’s no traitor. It’s a mistake, and if you want me to look favorably on you, don’t say another thing.”
He shut his mouth.
She wanted to pat him on the head like a puppy and say, “Good boy.” Instead, she said, “How about my condo tonight?”
Mazzetti said, “I’m gonna be late.”
“Somehow I’ll survive.” She smiled, knowing he could take a joke.
The report of Lori’s accidental electrocution was barely mentioned at the pharmacy. The manager told the employees first thing in the morning, then the store got busy. The only thing really bothering Dremmel about her death was the lack of sleep. He’d been up late with Lori, then gone home to Stacey. He’d dozed off for one hour at the house before coming into work and feigning surprise and chagrin at the news that Lori was dead.
The manager had even said, “It was just shitty electrical wiring in a shitty old house. All of Durkeeville should be bulldozed.”
A help-wanted notice was on the Internet before lunch.
Dremmel felt pretty pleased with himself for the efficient and well-disguised job he’d done on Lori. On another level he didn’t want to dwell on what he thought might be remorse. He’d made Lori part of his game, but she didn’t deserve it. She’d been nice to him. She liked him. He already missed her smile around the pharmacy. But she knew too much. That’s what he had to keep telling himself. She knew too much.
Luckily, he had other things to focus on. He’d spent part of the day researching other drugs and dosages for Stacey. She’d seemed hard to rouse this morning when he brought her breakfast and tried to spend time with her before work. Maybe he’d been going a little heavy on the sedatives. He could lighten it up for a few days to let her get back on a normal schedule. Stacey presented some challenges.
And she wasn’t the only one. He already had a plan to deal with the pretty JSO detective. He knew where she lived and that she lived alone. His heart raced just at the thought of her lying in the little bed next to Stacey.
Life was sweet.
Tony Mazzetti had driven like a maniac, or, as they said here in Florida, driven like a New Yorker, to get to his house, shower, grab a protein shake, and change. He shaved and used Dolce amp; Gabbana balm on his face so there’d be no way he could give Patty a beard burn anywhere on her smokin’ little body.
His house on a canal that led to the St. Johns River could’ve been the model of a bachelor pad from the seventies. It was clean, neat, and furnished with some of the funkiest furniture Mazzetti and his mother could find seven years ago when he bought the three-bedroom with a deck built to the edge of the water. He had visions of parties and an endless stream of women when he took out a loan that terrified him. But that was before he figured out that no one really liked him. It was tough to throw a party when only a couple of detectives spoke to you on a regular basis, and the guys you hung with at the gym didn’t even know your name. He was pretty sure a couple of them had felony records, which meant he was supposed to steer clear of them or face questions about consorting with felons. It hardly ever happened, but was still a no-no for cops certified in Florida. He didn’t want to hang out with shit-birds anyway.
He took an extra minute to dress casually, but well, for his big date with the first woman he could relax with in a long, long time. She’d like his odd taste in interior design. She appreciated his work ethic. She liked his smile. His fucking smile! No one had ever told him that before.
He made a quick check to make sure the house was perfect in case she wanted to come over here in the morning or even later tonight. There was so much he wanted to show her that it made him start grinning like a goddamn Patriots fan after Belichik cheated his way to another AFC championship.
He rifled through his nightstand to find the condoms he’d bought six years ago but had never used, sitting on the edge of the bed as he fumbled through reading lights, old issues of Civil War Times, and a cupful of change. The simple act of sitting and removing the pressure from his legs and back made him relax almost instantly. He’d been on full speed since early in the morning and missing sleep most nights. He laid back on the soft Posturepedic, feeling it support his back and neck as his lower legs dangled off the side of the bed. He shut his eyes for a moment and felt the world rush away, then saw a cloud with a monkey in the Union officer’s uniform float by. His own snores didn’t even wake him up.
Thirty-nine
John Stallings looked over his Sprite at Charlie and Lauren as they debated the virtues of PlayStation versus Wii game system. Next to them in the booth at Chili’s were Maria and Helen, staring across at each other with the wall to their sides. Stallings intentionally jammed his wife against the wall, away from any possible egress. It was a risk bringing her along at all. His intention was to keep the kids’ minds off the family problems, but Helen suggested they make it a family adventure and now he saw she was right. The kids liked as many adults around as possible and responded well to it. He wondered if it was a safety issue in the back of their minds.
He’d been very quiet, pretending to listen to the children. In fact, his mind kept playing out the events of the day and then back to that stupid phone bill and the call to the TV station. He’d done a little of his own checking and there was no doubt that a call to the station was made on his phone. That’s what stumped him. He had no real recourse to appeal the decision because, as usual, Rita Hester had tried to take care of him. He hadn’t been suspended or even technically punished. Just moved off a case. A case that was his lifeline, his chance to restore something inside himself. He couldn’t explain exactly what had been pushing him so hard, but now that he could no longer work the case he felt the void even more acutely.
But the kids helped him. The tall waiter, who looked as if he lifted weights more hours a day than he slept, squeezed in next to the booth. Stallings had noticed Lauren stare at the handsome young man’s smile, and he flashed it again.
He looked across at Helen and Maria and said, “Could I bring the ladies a couple of strawberry margaritas? They’re two for one.”
Helen shook her head and said, “No, thank you.”
“C’mon, they’re pretty good.”
Helen shook her head again as Maria stared straight ahead, chanting some silent mantra.
“What if I bring out a little sample?”
Stallings tapped the man’s arm, then motioned him to lean down. He whispered, “If you bring out a sampler I’ll break that pretty nose of yours. She said no twice.” He smiled and winked to disguise the threat from the kids. The waiter scrambled back to the kitchen on some unknown quest.
Stallings looked up as the kids resumed their game console debate and Helen stared at him with a look of horror. She knew him too well.
All he could do was shrug. Maybe Patty was right; he was a little on the aggressive side. He’d work on reining it in.
His phone rang and his first impulse was to just ignore it. Everyone in the world that he wanted to talk to was with him right now. That thought comforted and calmed him down. But the years of being tied to the phone forced him to at least look down to see who was calling. No number showed on the screen. Someone was calling from a blocked phone. He wanted to just shut it but he had to flip the phone open and see who it was.
The restaurant’s thick roof and heavy walls blocked most of the signal.
“John Stallings,” he answered in a professional tone. All he got was static with little bits of a man’s voice.
“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you.”
More static and maybe someon
e calling out a name.
Stallings listened intently, blocking out the kids, terrified waiter, sullen wife, and spooky sister. Then he thought someone said “Ernie,” but he wasn’t sure as the line went dead.
He’d worry about it tomorrow when he tried to restart his life with his family and see if he really could walk away from the Bag Man.
William Dremmel still felt alert even after all this time without sleep. He cut out of work an hour early, but that had nothing to do with exhaustion. Now, as he slowly circled the neighborhood where Detective Patty Levine lived, looking for surveillance or security cameras, a parked police cruiser, or just an abnormal number of people on the street, he felt the excitement shoot through him. He’d had an erection since six o’clock thinking about the cute detective, but he guessed she had that effect on every man.
This was one of the few times he had no real plan and intended to make it up as opportunities presented themselves. He didn’t have enough of her schedule to intercept her on the way to an appointment. But here, where she might be off guard, he thought he had a chance at surprise. He looked down at his container of homemade chloroform. That would do the trick if he could just get close enough.
Her condo was set off the road. Four stories high with three units on each floor. She had the bottom corner, which, with all the extra windows, he figured to be one of the nicer units. Her parking space was next to the walkway that led to her front door. A Jeep Wrangler, parked an aisle back, was her personal vehicle. He’d found it on a Web site site listing vehicles in Florida. It was backed into the slot, like a cop would do it, and covered by a corrugated aluminum roof that ran in each direction over the second parking space for each unit.
Just as he turned the corner again to drive past her building, Dremmel saw her unmarked police SUV pull into the spot in front of the condo.
She got out, walked around, and pulled bags of groceries from the passenger side, leaving the door open for her next trip back.