The Perfect Prey js-2

by James Andrus

  “Yes, it was all real. Three dope dealers are dead. I’ve got a mother and her two terrified daughters stashed at a hotel for safety. Now what exactly did you see?”

  Jason stared off into space, his eyes not clearly focused on anything as he slowly and carefully said, “I cannot believe it was real. The way the girl with the red highlights in her hair stepped out of the front door with the gun in her hand. I thought I’d heard a few firecrackers, so I had looked out the window and I saw her step out and pull the trigger. She wasn’t aiming at anything. She held the gun and let it stitch the windows and one of the cars in the driveway.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “She sort of strolled back into the house. I think I might’ve dozed back off on the couch in the living room, and when I woke up I had assumed I dreamed the whole thing. I mean, I had seen the girl before. She lives there. Why would she shoot up her own house?”

  Mazzetti wrote notes furiously as a lot of things started to make sense now. It was weird that this spaced-out druggie had been able to put all of the pieces of the puzzle into place for him.

  Jason watched Mazzetti and said, “Does that help you at all, Detective?”

  Mazzetti cut his eyes to Jason, then over to Patty sitting on the edge of the bed. “Think about what you just told me. Go over it in your head carefully. I want you to make sure this is exactly what you saw. Take your time.” Mazzetti knew how crucial this testimony would be. He also knew the slim chances of keeping an X-head like this lucid, let alone alive, until this case could go to trial in a year or more. He was glad Patty was here to witness the testimony, and he intended to get it on video later in the day. But first he wanted to make sure this airhead had it right and clear in his mind. Mazzetti was patient; all good homicide detectives were. He could wait for an hour while this guy sorted out what he had seen. But after about a minute and a half, once Mazzetti stood up again, he realized Jason Ferrell had dozed off with a donut’s powdered sugar trailing down his chin to his chest.

  Mazzetti looked over at Patty. “Oh, he’ll make a bang-up witness.”

  “Does what he says make any sense?”

  “Perfect sense. The girl with the red highlights in her hair is one of the victim’s sisters. She was the only witness, and her statement has changed a couple of times.”

  “You don’t think she shot her own brother, do you?”

  “One thing homicide has taught me is never be surprised.” He stood and said, “Are you doing okay? Because I really need to grab Hoagie and haul ass over to the hotel where we put the mother and daughters from the shooting. I need to talk to the girl right now.”

  Patty looked over at the snoozing Jason Ferrell. “I think I’ll be safe until someone else can come relieve me.”

  This time Mazzetti did give her a kiss and darted out the door to take a shot at closing this homicide.

  Fifty-one

  Stallings had never been comfortable in the IA division, at least not since he’d been questioned after Jeanie’s disappearance. He understood the concerns about why he and Maria had waited so long to report their oldest daughter missing, and he’d been elusive in many of his answers, but it was only to protect Maria and the fact that she’d been whacked out of her head on prescription painkillers at the time. Now he was watching his chief tormentor, Ronald Bell, talk to a clearly agitated Gary Lauer. Mazzetti, Yvonne Zuni, and Ronald Bell’s partner were all in a small chamber attached to the interview room watching the proceedings through thick, mirrored glass.

  Lauer fidgeted in his hard seat, repeatedly cracked his knuckles, and twisted his head to crack his neck too. He blurted out curt answers to any questions and made comments on the uselessness of IA.

  As much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, Stallings had been very impressed with Ronald Bell’s hardball tactics. He knew what the crimes/persons unit wanted to pin on the motorcycle patrolman, and he was asking all the right questions to try and trip him up. First he covered Gary Lauer’s relationship with his girlfriend who had slit her wrists. Then he masterfully walked the conversation toward his habit of visiting dance clubs and his efforts to meet women there. Now the senior IA investigator was asking him about his girlfriend’s drug habits.

  Ron Bell said, “Was she a drug user of any kind?”

  “Not around me. She knew I couldn’t tolerate that kind of activity.”

  “Cut the shit, Lauer. I know you have no problem with drug use, and I know you stepped out on her all the time. Why don’t you take this opportunity to come clean and maybe save yourself from going crazy?”

  “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. She was a casual thing on the side and knew I hit the clubs. And I don’t know where you get the idea I’m okay with drug use.”

  “I heard you don’t mind handing out the X now and then.”

  Lauer stood sharply, kicking the chair behind him across a small interview room. “Bullshit. That asshole Stallings has got it in for me. You know I had to file a complaint to keep him away from me.”

  “Why did you file a complaint? Because he was getting too close to the truth?”

  Lauer started to pace back and forth, turning his back on Ronald Bell and wiping his face a couple of times. He didn’t turn toward the mirrored glass in the interview room, and Stallings figured he knew there was an observation area next door.

  Ronald Bell calmly and deliberately stood from the table and said, “Hang on one sec.” He stepped out of the interview room and five seconds later entered the observation chamber. He spoke in a low voice. “You guys see I keep hitting him from all sides. He claims the girl really didn’t mean much to him and she was fine when he left. Which we all know is true. She had a long history of drug use, so suicide isn’t that far out of the realm of possibility.”

  Yvonne Zuni leaned in toward Ronald Bell and Stallings and said, “She was terrified of him. I think she’d be happy he’d left for good. Can I talk to him?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Stallings stood, staring at Lauer through the one-way glass, aware Ronald Bell and he were on the same side in this case. The idea he could stand next to the IA investigator and not want to punch him disturbed Stallings. So he remained silent and focused on the small interview room as Yvonne Zuni entered.

  As soon as the door opened, Gary Lauer turned around. “What, are you gonna hit me again?” He reached up and touched his left eyebrow.

  “It’s probably what you need. But I don’t want you to have to go around telling people how a chick kicked your ass two different times.” She smiled as she sat down at the table. “Come on, Gary, you and I both know you have issues with women.”

  “I have issues with certain women. And you’re one of them.”

  “But we worked together for a while. I figured you might have an easier time talking to me.”

  “Sure, the supervisor of the guy who’s trying to wreck my career. That’s who I’m gonna talk to.” He wiped his face with a shaky hand as perspiration stains blossomed around his underarms and down the middle of his simple gray T-shirt. He sat down and immediately stood again and slowly pulled out the chair and tried to sit down and act casual. “You guys got nothing on me. Why treat me like this?”

  “We’re not trying to treat you badly. We’re just trying to get at the truth.”

  Stallings continued to watch the window, noticing Lauer’s jerky movements and flop sweat. As much as he hated the idea of a cop doing some of the things he thought Lauer had done, he had to be honest with himself and admit this guy looked like a loser right now. This guy was a bully and didn’t respond to anything but bullying.

  Stallings looked across at Ronald Bell as he watched the interview too. “You think if one of us gave him a heart-to-heart as cops, he might see the error of his ways?”

  “Can’t be you, because you let that dumb-ass goad you into punching him. So no matter what happens, I can’t officially let you into the interview room. It would only bolster his argument that we’re a
ll out to get him, and you’re behind the entire conspiracy. Besides I don’t think we’ve reached the point where we need to beat a confession out of him.”

  Stallings was about to respond when he heard Lauer say, “Am I under arrest?”

  Every cop knew that question could be the end of the interview right there. It was a delicate time that had to be handled carefully. The defendant could walk out of an interview or invoke his right to an attorney; then any chance they had of getting a confession would end abruptly.

  Yvonne Zuni didn’t answer. Sometimes that was the right move.

  Lauer said again, “Am I under arrest? Or am I free to go? Please answer the question right now.”

  Yvonne Zuni mumbled, “You’re not under arrest.”

  Without another word Gary Lauer stood, turned, and banged the door open, marching out of the room.

  Stallings didn’t hesitate or ask permission. He darted out of the observation room and walked quickly to catch up to Lauer before he reached the elevator at the end of the hallway. He placed a hand on Lauer’s shoulder and turned him. He didn’t waste time on a greeting or any other preamble. Stallings said, “There was a time when you swore to protect people. It had to mean something to you. It means something to all of us. For some reason now you’re a danger to people. I don’t know what went screwy in your brain, but you lost perspective. If nothing else, think about the girl who lost her life because of you today. You may not have killed her. But she’s dead and you’re sure as shit the reason. You need to come clean or find a way to stop yourself somehow before you hurt anyone else.”

  The smirk never left Lauer’s face as he said, “You give that same kind of pep talk to your daughter before she split?” He waited, inviting Stallings to punch him.

  Stallings had to swallow hard, take a deep breath, and let this asshole walk away from him.

  Patty Levine, not sure what to do with her prisoner or whatever she was supposed to call Jason Ferrell, checked out of the room, and now he sat in the front seat of her county car. She’d taken him to McDonald’s, where he wolfed down two Big Macs. The only place she was certain she shouldn’t take him was the PMB. At least not if the narcotics unit might use him as a snitch.

  Sometime before Tony Mazzetti had dropped by, Jason Ferrell had recalled that he stored a lot of information on his laptop computer. The problem with a smart guy who did a lot of drugs was he couldn’t recall where he’d left the computer. They’d made a run by his apartment building and couldn’t find any hint of the computer. Then, against Patty’s better judgment, he checked Marie Brison’s house and again had come up empty. But Patty noted how much more lucid Miss Brison seemed than her boyfriend nowadays. Maybe his idea of decreasing dosage had helped her clear her head and get off drugs. Tony Mazzetti had described how spacey the beautiful black woman was the first night he’d met her.

  But now Patty felt like a mother running errands with their child. He did pretty much whatever she said, asked a lot of stupid questions, and contributed almost nothing to her efforts to find his computer.

  “You have to buy gas for this car?” asked Jason.

  She shook her head.

  “Have you ever had to shoot anyone?”

  “No, I never had to, but I did anyway.” Patty smiled at the confused and worried expression on Jason’s face. Maybe if she gave him something to think about he’d shut up for a few minutes. But Patty thought of a question for the chemical engineer. “What does the J2A marking on your Ecstasy mean?”

  He looked out the window and mumbled, “Nothing, just something I put on the tabs.”

  “Come on, it has to mean something. I can tell by your reaction.”

  “It means Jason to Alyssa.”

  “Who’s Alyssa?”

  “An old girlfriend I had in college. I thought she’d come down here to Florida when I got my first decent job, but she decided the life of schoolteacher in suburban Chicago was too exciting to leave. And when I told her I would stay, she clarified it was the life of a single schoolteacher that she wanted to live.”

  “If she knew how romantic you were, using the markings on your Ecstasy tabs, maybe she’d change her mind.” Patty didn’t know what else to say, and she didn’t mean it as a joke, although she knew when she told Mazzetti about it later he’d laugh his head off.

  “It’s not really romantic. It just means that the pills fuck with your head almost as much as she did. When I figured out I could help Marie with the tabs it took on another meaning. Sort of like ‘screw you, Alyssa. I got a beautiful new girlfriend.’ ”

  Patty nodded, knowing he sounded like every scorned boyfriend she’d ever met. As she was thinking about where they could land for the next few hours until someone told her what they wanted to do with Jason, she started to feel the effects of no sleep and the constant activity of the last two days. She sighed.

  Jason said, “You’ve got to be tired.”

  “I didn’t realize how tired until now.”

  “I think I have the ingredients to make you some decent speed at my apartment. You want to swing by and see what I can do?”

  “That’s sweet, Jason. But I think I can last until I can grab a nap.” The sad thing was she’d been thinking some good amphetamine would perk her right up. She hadn’t realized the frame of mind she was in about prescription drugs until the last few days. Now she’d gone more than thirty-six hours without pain pills or sleeping pills and almost three hours since she’d taken a Xanax. It wasn’t perfect, but at least she was making progress.

  Then Jason snapped his fingers and said, “I think I know where the computer is.”

  “Where?”

  “The company owned the laptop, so I probably took it by there and left it.”

  “You mean the company in the Maxwell House building?”

  Jason Ferrell nodded his head.

  Patty thought back to how she and Stallings had tricked the manager the last time they were there, thinking they’d never see the man again.

  Patty swallowed hard and said, “Uh oh.”

  Tony Mazzetti and Christina Hogrebe sat in the front room of the Residence Inn suite where the shooting victim’s family had been held as a precaution. Now things were looking less obvious, and Mazzetti had focused his attention on the seventeen-year-old daughter of the woman he’d moved from the house. At the moment, the mother and the younger daughter were at a meeting with county social workers. The social workers were not allowed to discuss their case with the police, but Mazzetti figured the woman had to explain why none of her children had ever attended a public school and why the only one under sixteen still wasn’t in school. She might be smart enough to claim she had homeschooled them, but he doubted it.

  Both he and Christina had agreed they didn’t want to make this confrontational unless they had to. So now he sat back while Christina led the girl through a series of questions.

  Christina brushed her blond hair from her face, leaned toward the scrawny girl, and said, “Tosha, now you’re saying you did see a carload of white men shoot your brother and his friends?”

  The girl had a sleepy quality to her voice. “I seen on the news the police was looking for white boys and it make me think, and I remembered.”

  “Your first statement said it was an SUV and you couldn’t see who was inside.”

  “I started remembering I seen a white arm holding one of those big black guns.” She lifted a hand to play with the same piece of hair she always did. The red highlights swirled to make one red spoke out of her unruly head.

  “Would you mind coming back to the house with us?”

  “Why?”

  “So we can see which window you looked out of and what you saw.”

  The girl said, “Can you protect me from the white people?”

  Mazzetti thought, We’re the only white people you need to worry about now.

  Fifty-two

  John Stallings met Patty Levine and a surprisingly coherent Jason Ferrell at the office where he used
to work deep inside the Maxwell House complex. They’d been met by the same manager with the same attitude from their last visit, during which they’d said they were going to get a subpoena but never actually bothered after the man told them what they needed to know and let Stallings glance through Jason’s address book.

  The manager pointed at Jason and said, “That man no longer works here and has no right to be here.” He looked at Stallings, adjusted his gaze for the height difference, smiled, and added, “I’d be happy to talk to you, Detective, once you got a subpoena.”

  Stallings said, “I’m sorry about the misunderstanding last time we met.”

  “It wasn’t a misunderstanding. You lied to me. I have since been in close contact with our legal department and know I need a subpoena from the state attorney’s office, compelling me to talk to you, before I say anything else.”

  “We don’t actually need to talk to you. We just need to let Jason get some information from his laptop computer.”

  “That computer is the property of this company. Neither you nor Mr. Ferrell can have access to it.” The manager picked up a single sheet of paper with typewritten instructions printed on. “For something of that nature I would require a court order or search warrant. I’m sorry it has to be this way, Detective, but you left me with no alternative after our last encounter.”

  Stallings knew pricks like him got off on the minor power that occasionally came their way, and everyone loved telling the cops to go to hell when they were in no danger of going to jail. He knew better than to waste time arguing with the man and instead grabbed his cell phone and explained the situation to Yvonne Zuni. He knew she’d get someone right to work on a search warrant. He gave a description of the building and what they were looking for.

  The manager said, “I’ll be happy to talk to you when you have the appropriate legal documents.” His smile was his version of a bitch slap. He started to turn to walk back to his office, obviously expecting Stallings to leave.