by James Andrus
Patty leaned across, kissed him on the cheek, and slipped out of the car. She watched him pull away slowly to where the valet was pointing at an empty space. Patty turned around and was shocked to see Sergeant Yvonne Zuni in a beautiful dress with her hair down in a much sexier style than she wore to work every day. Even more surprising was seeing the tough sergeant kiss Ronald Bell squarely on the lips. When Sergeant Zuni turned and saw Patty, she immediately whispered something to Bell, who quickly walked inside the restaurant.
Patty said, “Wasn’t that …?” She could read a slight appearance of panic on the sergeant’s face.
“Who was driving the Crown Vic?”
Patty let a slight smile wash across her face and saw the sergeant smile at the same time. They were two women bonded together in a profession dominated by men. Now they had a secret. There was no promise or oath. They each knew the other would keep her mouth shut.
Then she remembered Tony was walking toward them from the valet lot. She nodded good-bye to the sergeant and hustled down the sloped parking lot to intercept Tony Mazzetti before he could see anyone standing near the front door.
Patty grabbed his arm by the elbow and interlocked her own, spinning him back toward the car and walking at a fast pace.
Mazzetti looked at her and said, “What’s wrong?”
Patty only had to think for a minute when she looked into his handsome face. She smiled and said, “I need to fuck you right now.”
She knew no man would ever argue with that statement.
Buddy liked the way Cheryl’s Chrysler handled. He was so used to his van he had forgotten what driving a decent car felt like. The music from the radio speakers filled the car nicely with the sounds of Nirvana. There was just something about “Smells Like Teen Spirit” that got his motor running and his head rocking. He suspected the excitement of the evening added to his feelings of euphoria. The two dead women crammed on the floor of the backseat didn’t put any damper at all on his good mood. The only downside was that he had not moved his work of art forward in any way. In hindsight it was better to take a step back than to force someone who wasn’t worthy of eternity into his dreams. At least he didn’t have to worry about that harpy Cheryl anymore.
The steering wheel felt a little awkward with his heavy canvas work gloves, but it was still better than leaving his fingerprints and DNA all over the car. He had slipped a plastic bag over Mary’s head to catch any blood that seeped out of the deep hole in her face. Cheryl was another story. He didn’t realize a relatively small human body could hold so much blood. He’d used three towels to sop up the bloody kitchen tile. He’d burn them up in his glass furnace later.
He had only a rough plan in his head and liked going with the flow for a change. He intended to leave Cheryl in her car somewhere. It was Mary who was causing him concern. He could take her back to her car at the airport, but someone would notice her and Buddy wanted to take advantage of the fact that she had told people she’d be away on a cruise for a full week. That was a lot of time to distance himself from anything to do with the pretty dental hygienist.
He needed a few minutes to consider his options and pulled into an older, off-brand gas station next to the interstate on Tallulah Avenue. He had often used the convenience store at the station to grab a soda on his jobs the northern part of Jacksonville. A semi truck with an open trailer blocked the northern side of the gas station. Buddy pulled to the rear of the truck, out of sight of everyone, and thought about buying a sixty-four-ounce Sprite. He noticed the burly truck driver hop down from the high cab and waddle into the store. That got Buddy thinking and he slipped out of the Charger and jumped up on the rear bumper to peek into the tractor, under a tarp covering the load. It was some kind of agricultural fertilizer or construction material he wasn’t familiar with. It had a musty smell and was dark green, filling more than half the trailer. Then Buddy had an idea.
As soon as it popped into his head, he knew he had to act. This was a now-or-never move and he didn’t intend to screw it up. He hopped off the trailer and grabbed Mary from the back of the car. She felt like a heavy doll as he lifted her onto his shoulder and hopped up onto the bumper. He saw the driver still inside the store chatting with the clerk at the cash register. Buddy had to be fast.
He slipped the plastic bag off Mary’s head and tossed her into the corner of the trailer. Her body naturally sunk into the soft fertilizer like it was quicksand and he was able to reach down and scoop a little more over her head until she was almost completely covered. He jammed the bloody plastic bag into his pocket. She had no identification and nothing that stood out in her clothing. If he caught a few breaks and the truck headed north, they may not have any clue where she came from.
Buddy hopped down off the trailer, slipped back into the Chrysler, and headed east from the interstate. He slowed a few blocks away and pulled to the side of the street. He intended to wait until he saw the tractor trailer pull onto the highway and, he hoped, drive north on the interstate.
Considering that it had appeared the driver was ready to leave the store, it took a surprisingly long time for the truck to move. Buddy glanced over to see the lifeless form of Cheryl sprawled on the floor. He said, “Why couldn’t you have been more like your sister? You had to play hardball. I’m an artist. I shouldn’t be pushed to do things like this. Now where should I leave you?” He thought about her abrasive manner and gaudy fake boobs. He wasn’t worried about her being linked to Mary now.
A smile washed over his face as he said, “Jacksonville Landing.”
It was perfect. He’d already been there this evening and knew that it would still be hopping at this time of night. No one would ever notice him slip in and slip out. A few minutes later he saw the trailer pull out of the gas station and onto the northbound ramp up I-95.
Being lucky had its rewards.
TWENTY-FIVE
Grace Jackson had talked to Stallings’s father the night before. She explained the current excess of volunteers to Stallings. There was an ongoing Christian revival in the area and the participants had flooded into the kitchen to help. Stallings’s father could’ve seen the crowd and decided not to stop.
Several times Stallings waited patiently while young Christian revivalists came in and asked Grace questions. She was never short or harsh with any of the well-intentioned young people but offered direct and simple advice or orders. Stallings thought she’d make a good cop. Finally he said to her, “Did he say anything at all about being busy today or visiting someone in another part of the city?”
Grace shook her head, keeping her intense brown eyes on him. “He always chats with me about his grandchildren and once he told me about being in the Navy. He really didn’t go over his schedule with me.” She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, then surprised him by wrapping her arms around him and giving him a loving hug. “It’s hard looking after parents and kids at the same time. I appreciate what you’re doing. I love your dad. I love hearing about his friends and family and the groups that he moderates. He once told me he wished he had the courage to do it when he was drinking and regrets what it did to his family.”
Stallings couldn’t imagine his father saying something like that, but he couldn’t imagine this lovely, caring woman making something up.
Grace said, “He’s very proud of the man you turned into and says you’re better than him. He says he would’ve held a grudge if his father had treated him like that as a child.”
“I still hold a pretty good grudge.”
“But you’re out here looking for him. I’ll pray for him and for you.”
Stallings nodded his thanks, barely able to speak. Finally he managed to say, “Did he seem all right to you when you spoke yesterday?”
Grace said, “He did do one odd thing.”
“What’s that?”
“He kept calling me ‘Jeanie.’ Even after I corrected him. After a while I just went with it.”
Now Stallings was really worried.
Buddy did not hesitate to park the car, take the keys, make sure it was locked, and look around to be certain no one noticed him as he took the stairway down to the ground floor. He walked at a leisurely pace and took a right on the scenic walkway along the river. He heard a reggae band playing from the balcony of one of the restaurants and let his feet fall into rhythm with the music. Once he was past the main buildings that made up the touristy, commercial property, he crossed the street and walked past some of the smaller, locally owned establishments. His stomach rumbled slightly and he suddenly realized he was thirsty as well. The first place he saw that looked appealing was called Sal’s Smoothie Shack.
As he stepped through the door he noticed there were no customers and the young woman behind the counter looked up with a surprised expression. She started to say, “I’m sorry, we’re …” Then she looked at Buddy and smiled. This time she said, “If you flip the closed sign on the door behind you, I’ll give you the last of our fresh strawberry smoothies in a giant cup.”
Buddy didn’t hesitate. He turned and eased up to the counter and said, “Only if you have one with me.” He was dazzled by the girl’s smile, which was accompanied by dimples in her pretty face. He said, “My name is Buddy. What’s yours?”
The girl handed him his smoothie, then stepped from behind the counter with a smaller smoothie in her hand. She said, “I’m Lexie.”
Angela Lusk leaned back on the hard park bench and almost wished she could vomit up all the stuff that had upset her stomach. Her head pounded with a hangover that would’ve slowed down the most hardcore alcoholic. She had not bothered to do anything with her hair, deciding instead to tie it back in a ponytail. Last night, on the dance floor-and for a little while on top of the bar-she had her long bleached locks loose and flowing. Now each strand seemed to throb after all the margaritas and shots. Damn tequila night. Rum night seemed to go easier the next day. The early-morning sun didn’t help any part of her body right now.
Angela looked around at the other two quiet mothers watching their kids at the playground located inside Pine Forest Park. They may not have had as much to drink, but they seemed no happier to be out on a bright Saturday morning. It wasn’t even 7:15 yet. Shit.
Taylor had wanted to visit the park and Angela had promised they would if Taylor used the “big-girl potty.” There were no dirty diapers this week, so they were at the park. Angela had thought that once she had to pay for babysitters she’d slow her personal night life down. Instead she crammed more into fewer hours. She threw down too many shots between eleven and midnight when she knew she had to head home. She couldn’t even bring a guy with her because the snotty sitter would blab to her mom and others in the River’s End apartment complex. She didn’t like guys to meet Taylor right away anyhow. She preferred to hook them solidly first. That’s how she intended to approach the cute young lawyer from Arlington who spent a small fortune on Patron Silver for her last night.
Angela looked up to see Taylor and a cute little black girl move from the slide to play in the soft sand of the playground. She didn’t care if the girls dug; she and Taylor would take a dip in the complex’s pool as soon as they got home.
After a few minutes the girls stopped digging and the little black girl scurried back to her mom, squealing. Angela watched as Taylor slid away from the hole the girls had dug. Something tugged on her “mother” string and she stood and started to trot toward her daughter.
The sun slapped her in the face as she approached the mini-excavation. She looked over Taylor’s shoulder. The first thing she made out was cloth; then she saw fingers. It was a hand. It was a body.
They both started to scream.
TWENTY-SIX
John Stallings rolled over and let his eyes adjust to the sun rising above the windowsill. He had no blinds on his bedroom window and knew that when the sun came into view it was just about eight o’clock. He estimated, with the shifts and turns, he’d gotten about three hours’ sleep. This kind of night seemed to last forever, when he was lying in bed worrying about everything from where his father was to if the kids were eating right. He always included Jeanie in those same concerns. Wherever she was, he hoped she was eating right. But now, with his eyes open, his immediate problem was telling his mother that his father was missing.
He dressed quickly in jeans and a short-sleeved, button-down shirt he could leave untucked to conceal his Glock in the waistband of his pants. Just because he wasn’t on duty didn’t mean he might not have to take action sometime today.
His first stop was his father’s rooming house. As he walked up the path in front of the two-story house he was surprised no one was on the porch on such a nice Saturday morning. The wooden planks of the porch creaked under his careful steps to the front door. He didn’t bother to knock, not wanting to wake anyone. Instead, he turned the knob slowly, poked his head into the entryway, and called out, “Hello?”
The woman who ran the house poked her head from the doorway down the hall. She smiled and said, “Come on down here, Johnny. I’m getting breakfast together for everyone.”
He followed her into the kitchen, where she worked a big griddle with ten eggs frying and four pancakes cooking on the hot surface. A small smile crept across his face as he watched the older woman hustle around the kitchen, keeping everything in motion.
He didn’t even have to ask the question. She looked up and said, “I checked the room ten minutes ago and your father hasn’t been home since we talked. Now I’m worried too. This isn’t like James at all. He’s usually so responsible and good about letting us know where he’s going and when he’ll be back. It’s almost like we’re all one big, odd, former alcoholics, not-too-sharp-on-hygiene family.”
Stallings let out a little laugh at that comment and appreciated that this woman stayed sane while doing so much for so many. He quickly lost the smile when he thought about talking to his mother.
Tony Mazzetti had not slept well. It often happened in the middle of a homicide investigation. But this time it had more to do with an awkwardness that had developed between him and Patty. Not only in bed, but last night, that was the focus, it seemed like it had crept into their relationship too. How many super exciting rescues could either of them have to keep things interesting? Last night he had realized Patty felt it too. Maybe it was just the freshness of the relationship wearing off. He didn’t have enough experience to know for sure.
Now he was having a dream he couldn’t quite figure out when the same sound kept occurring in his head. His eyes snapped open. His cell phone was ringing on the nightstand next to Patty’s bed. He reached across and fumbled with the Nextel phone, squinting in the dim light trying to pick up the name of the caller before he flipped it open. Finally he gave up and answered with his usual abrupt greeting, “Mazzetti.”
“Tony, it’s Francine over at the SO. We got a report of a body buried in a park east of the river. Yvonne the Terrible told me to get you moving over there as soon as possible.”
“Have we ID’d the body? Is there someone maintaining the scene? Are there any witnesses?”
The flat nasal voice of the dispatcher said, “All I know is what I’ve told you. Sergeant Zuni wanted me to call her back when I got you and crime scene on the phone. You want me to tell her you’re headed that way, or do you have a different message?” She explained exactly where the body was found.
Mazzetti took a moment to clear his head and said, “I’ll be there as quick as I can. Call crime scene and get their fat asses rolling.” He slammed the phone shut and sat up in bed. Through his entire conversati
on, Patty had not moved one inch. He placed two fingers on her exposed throat to make sure she had a pulse. Maybe he’d been in homicide too long. Then he gently rubbed her hair trying to wake her. When that failed, he shook her head and still barely got a response.
He climbed out of the queen-sized bed and padded to the bathroom. A few minutes later he came out, dressed in his clothes from the night before. He finally managed to get Patty to grunt in acknowledgment. When he told her what had happened she slowly sat up in bed and in a sleepy voice said, “I’ll come with you.”
Mazzetti said, “Meet me at the park. I have to go by my house and pick some stuff up.”
“What’d you have there, you don’t have here?”
“Clean clothes and the gel I use on my hair. This is probably gonna attract media attention before the day is over.”
A few minutes later, as he drove away in his Crown Vic, Tony Mazzetti had a fresh wave of concern about his girlfriend and what sort of things she was doing to make her so groggy in the morning.
Stallings rehearsed some of the ways he might phrase things to his mother. One lesson he’d learned on the job was to not provide false hope or unrealistic expectations. On the other hand, he didn’t want to alarm her either. Even with his father’s history, Stallings could find no explanation for his disappearance other than something bad. He had done the whole routine of checking with hospitals to make sure nobody matching his father’s description had been checked in. He imagined the multitude of car crashes and hit-and-run accidents, cardiac arrests, strokes, and violent crimes or anything else that could happen to a sixty-five-year-old man with a shoddy memory running around Jacksonville completely unsupervised. When he thought of it in those terms he felt like a bad son. But considering the life his father had provided him, he felt like he was doing the best he could.