The Perfect Death djs-3

by James Andrus

  Sparky shook his head. “The constant insults to Southerners in general and Floridians in particular are not helpful. It doesn’t make you, as a New Yorker, sound like you’re trying to fit in.”

  “I’m just saying sometimes backwards rednecks down here annoy me.”

  Sparky gave him a thoughtful look and said, “You know, Tony, the average New Yorker who moves here is less educated than the general population already here.”

  “Then they’re getting a shitty education if they’re too stupid to dig out a body without destroying evidence.” He didn’t have time to waste arguing with a guy like this about a topic that meant nothing. But he found it hard to concentrate on the task at hand.

  No matter how hard he tried, Tony Mazzetti couldn’t keep his eyes from the pretty assistant medical examiner. He liked the way her long curly, red hair was tied in a neat ponytail and tucked under a sanitary, Mylar cap. He normally didn’t go for redheads, but this girl’s features were pretty and her skin so creamy looking that he made an exception. He shuffled around for a better view of what she was looking at.

  She caught his movements and explained that she was interested in where the clothes touched the victim’s body as well as all the marks. She said, “There was a chemical residue of some kind on the seat of her shorts. I’d like to see if it touched her skin and what effect it had.”

  Mazzetti said, “We won’t know what the chemical is for a while. The lab has all that information now. We were able to identify her through fingerprints. Her name is Jessie Kalb and she taught preschool last summer so they were required to fingerprint her and run the prints through FDLE. She’s twenty years old and told her parents she wanted to travel the world before she got serious about school.”

  The medical examiner looked up and let her blue eyes focus on Mazzetti. “See these bruises?” She pointed to the girl’s throat. “There is a faint pattern that shows a ligature strangulation. It was a decorative belt or strap. The other girl, Kathy Mizell, was killed the same way.” She straightened her lithe frame and stretched. “Based on the marks around her throat I’d say you boys have a real live serial killer.”

  Mazzetti thought to himself. Tell me something I don’t know.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Buddy felt quite satisfied with himself. He’d planned things out and so far everything had fallen into place. Lexie was relaxed and giggling on the chair. He had the cord in his belt line and pulled it out. The jar was between them on the windowsill. It was like lining up a great golf shot. He had his left hand near her throat and right hand closest to the jar. After he was done using the heavy cord around her neck he’d be able to slip the jar in front of her face very easily. After his last few attempts he needed one that went smoothly and didn’t scare a month off his already sketchy life.

  In his head he started the countdown. He flexed his shoulders and arms, knowing they could be in for a workout, his heartbeat revved to the point that it sounded like a hammer in his chest. Lexie felt hot to the touch. Her pupils were dilated. She was definitely an angel worthy of worship.

  He gently tilted her head back as he stroked her graceful neck. Her eyes closed. Then he committed. He wrapped the cord around her throat and pulled with all of his might. It was important the first contact with the cord was shocking.

  This was a very odd situation for Yvonne Zuni. She was seated in front of Lieutenant Rita Hester with senior IA investigator Ronald Bell sitting across from her. Lieutenant Hester leaned back in her massive padded leather chair, her dark eyes shifting between them, her poker face never gave a hint of what she was thinking. Sergeant Zuni realized it was the lieutenant’s years on road patrol and actual, practical experience that gave her the ability to intimidate someone without saying a word or, in this case, even moving a muscle.

  Sergeant Zuni, like many of the female members of the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office, looked up to Lieutenant Hester as a role model. On the street she’d cracked so many heads with a nightstick she’d been given the nickname The Brown Bomber. As an administrator, she got the most out of her people while developing a reputation for protecting them. She had also been John Stallings’s partner many years ago in road patrol. That was an important tidbit to keep in mind.

  Every time Sergeant Zuni looked across at Ronald Bell she couldn’t help but think of their fantastic weekend together. He’d stayed over Friday night after their wonderful meal at Gi-Gi’s, then met her again Saturday night when she was done at the crime scene at Pine Forest Park. After drinks at an island-flavored bar near Jacksonville Landing, they’d gone dancing and ended up at his lovely riverfront home. It was only three blocks from her parents’ house. She didn’t bother to mention that to Ronald.

  He made her feel like a princess, catering to her every desire, and as a result, it had been the best weekend she’d had in years.

  Right now, midday on Monday, Sergeant Zuni was seeing a different side of Ronald Bell. Sure, he was devastatingly handsome and dapper in a sharp Armani suit. But she didn’t like what he was saying, even though she realized he had a different job from hers.

  Bell looked at the lieutenant and said, “We’ve gone as far as we can go on the investigation without being overt. We’re gonna need to start interviewing people and seeing if anyone talked or tried to sell the drugs on the street.”

  Sergeant Zuni said, “Are you trying to say you think one of my detectives not only stole the pills but then tried to sell them for profit?”

  Bell gave her a smile, but it was not like the ones she had seen over the last few days. “So you think it’s possible that one of your detectives took the drugs for personal use?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “But is it a possibility?”

  The sergeant didn’t know what to say or how she should feel toward this man who only yesterday she had thought was something special.

  Bell said, “I could narrow down the suspects.”

  At the same time both the sergeant and lieutenant said, “How?”

  “I checked the JSO medical records for everyone who was present in the squad bay.”

  Sergeant Zuni interrupted him. “Wait a minute. You can’t check personal medical records for just any reason.”

  “No, but I can check the records of JSO employees who have to go through a physical every two years. And I have a very good reason. A bundle of diverted prescription narcotics worth a small fortune is missing. That’s not just any reason.”

  Sergeant Zuni caught a glimpse of the smugness that rubbed John Stallings and many of the other detectives the wrong way. Right now she didn’t much care for it either. She kept her mouth shut. She had to trust Lieutenant Hester to come to her aid before this got out of hand.

  The lieutenant said in a very even tone, “What’d you find, Ronald?”

  “I think Patty Levine is a plausible suspect in this theft.”

  Sergeant Zuni almost sprang to her feet. “How in the hell did you reach that crazy conclusion?”

  This time it was Bell who kept a very even tone. “At her last physical, Detective Levine listed the prescriptions she was currently taking. Those include Ambien and hydrocodone.”

  The lieutenant said, “What is hydrocodone?”

  “The most common drug you’d recognize from that generic name is Vicodin.”

  Sergeant Zuni said, “So you’re telling me because she followed the rules and admitted to exactly which drugs she was legally prescribed, now you’re going to drag her name through the mud. That seems like pretty thin evidence to skewer a good cop on.”

  “Another way to look at is that she knew there was a drug screen and decided that no one would check if she admitted it. She wrote on her own form that she only used the painkiller occasionally for back pain and never on duty. But that was more than two years ago. There’s no telling what her drug problem’s like now.”

  Sergeant Zuni kept her mouth shut. Like a mother tiger, her first instinct was to protect her cub. She needed time to know how
to go about that the best way. Finally she said, “So what happens now?”

  Bell gave her that smug smile and said, “Think she’ll talk to me?”

  Sergeant Zuni knew she’d wasted her entire weekend.

  Lexie Hanover was excited and nervous. She’d only had two serious boyfriends in her entire life. Her first boyfriend, Elby Harris, had stayed with her three years until he graduated and went off to Auburn. She’d loved him and was not unhappy that she had lost her virginity to him. In the big scheme of things, losing your virginity on a king-size bed while his parents were out of town was not such a bad thing. It certainly wasn’t romantic, or at least how she had fantasized losing her virginity, but it was much better than the backseat of a Trans-Am or the bed of a pickup truck.

  Lexie’s only other boyfriend was a guy named Chuck who had an adorable miniature Doberman he brought by the clinic. He was older than her, about twenty-seven, and had led her to believe he was crazy about her. He took her on a weekend to Savannah and out to dinner four different times. Somehow it had shocked Lexie to learn he was married and that was the reason he never took her back to his place. She tried not to let the experience jade her toward men. Lexie focused on how experienced he had been and how much she had enjoyed the things he did to her. It opened her eyes to the advantage of dating a man who was perhaps a little older and more mature. Maybe that’s why she was attracted to Buddy. So when he suggested she close her eyes while he stroked her neck, she listened

  It was almost like a dream. Her whole body relaxed. She could drift off to sleep or turn into a wildcat on a second’s notice. She felt something on her throat. It was soft like cloth but heavier, but it wasn’t jewelry, it was too soon for extravagant gifts. As she drifted deeper into this wonderful state, she wondered what delightful trick he had in store for her.

  She could feel his breath near her neck and it smelled fruity and fresh. Her whole body tingled with excitement and expectation.

  Then something went drastically wrong. For a split second she thought she’d swallowed wrong. Lexie became disoriented and a violent jerk snapped her head. She was choking. She had no air at all.

  As fast as it started, she could breathe again. She’d sucked in one breath and opened her eyes. Buddy was right next to her face with the homemade jar in his hand. Maybe he thought it would help funnel oxygen into her. Her mind raced with all the dreadful possibilities. Had she had a stroke? A brain hemorrhage? Some kind of heart attack?

  Lexie tried to take another breath, but another sharp jerk cut off her wind. She realized it was a strap around her throat. It was Buddy. He was doing this.

  Lexie saw him set the jar down on the ground. Then the pressure around her throat increased drastically and she realized he was using both hands on the strap to choke her. Why?

  She struggled to stay conscious, her arms uselessly flailing against his; then she tried to dig her fingers under the cord around her neck. She didn’t know what to do or what she had done to cause this. She felt her consciousness slip away faster and faster as the room grew dim. The last thing she saw was Buddy’s pleasant smile.

  THIRTY-TWO

  John Stallings sat in the doctor’s office next to his mother on a small couch while his father reclined in a chair next to the wide, dark oak desk. He felt his mother’s small, trembling hand reach across the short gap between them to grab his. As soon as the doctor bustled into his office, Stallings knew what he was going to say. This was obviously not one of those doctors who could detach himself from the patient.

  The middle-aged doctor, wearing almost comically thick glasses, tried to buy some time while looking through several pages of a lab report. Finally he looked, first at James Stallings, then over to John on the couch. He started to speak slowly, but it didn’t hide his New York accent.

  “I’m afraid I have some very bad news. And I don’t believe in providing false hope. All the tests seemed to indicate …”

  All Stallings heard was Blah, blah, blah, blah-Alzheimer’s. Then another phrase he didn’t want to hear: Prepare for the worst.

  Buddy had held the limp body of Lexie in his arms until he felt a change in her body temperature. He was comfortable on the floor of her tiny apartment with her head in his lap and her smooth arms neatly at her sides. He had done nothing lewd or inappropriate as he tried to reassure her that this was for the best and she’d now be recognized for all eternity.

  He looked over to the small glass jar he’d set back on a windowsill and smiled, knowing he had another piece of his work of art completed. He’d been careful not to move from this area of the apartment and slid away from her like he was trying to keep from waking her up. He took the jar and glanced around. There was nothing that indicated he’d been in the apartment. He knew the cops had a way of picking up flecks of skin or strands of hair, but he wasn’t that concerned about it anymore.

  Buddy leaned down, lifted Lexie into his arms, and carried her across the room to the old, ratty couch. He laid her out gently and placed a pillow under her head. He turned the TV on and put the volume high enough that someone might hear it if he leaned against the door. Buddy figured that would buy him a day or two.

  He picked up the jar and made one more scan of the room, then looked at the peaceful image of Lexie. That’s how she’d be remembered until time itself ended.

  It wasn’t dark outside yet, but Stallings had the impression it was late. The office was completely empty and he appreciated the few minutes of silence while he sat at his desk and stared at the framed photo of Jeanie. He picked up a photo of Leah Tischler and stared at it for a few minutes. What had happened to the teenager from the wealthy family who lived near the beach? Would they be torn apart by this like his family was torn apart by Jeanie’s disappearance? Had his father really seen his granddaughter, or was it the wishful thinking of a sick old man?

  The doctor couldn’t have been less encouraging and his father couldn’t have been less interested in the diagnosis. Maybe it was his career in the military or his time on the streets, knowing that life was short and you shouldn’t have any regrets. Either way, his father’s Alzheimer’s seem to be taking more of a toll on Stallings than the old man.

  Stallings looked across his desk at all the information on the Leah Tischler case. He played an MP3 of the girl singing in the choir of the Thomas School. Her mother had provided it, thinking it might motivate him more. She had no idea how much he was motivated on his own. Even with the computer’s small speakers he could appreciate the girl’s soft, sweet voice. Definitely fit her innocent face.

  His desk phone’s loud, ancient ringer jolted him out of his trance.

  He snatched the receiver, simply saying, “Stallings.”

  The bored-sounding receptionist from the main lobby said, “Stall, we got someone down here to see you.” She hung up the phone before he could ask questions.

  He trudged down the main stairwell that opened into the lobby. As soon as he opened the door he was shocked to see his visitor.

  Liz Dubeck stood up from the hard plastic chair and gave him a tentative, hopeful smile.

  Patty Levine felt as if she was operating at half speed all day, as though a fog had fallen over her. A day to recharge felt more like it had sapped her of any energy at all. The minor contact she’d had with the other people in her squad had proved to be disconcerting at best. Tony Mazzetti had virtually ignored her after he got back from the medical examiner’s office. She chalked it up to the stress of running a serial-killer investigation. The media had started to talk about the bloody weekend Jacksonville had suffered. The news coverage focused on the discovery of a wealthy local woman’s body in the backseat of her Chrysler at Jacksonville Landing.

  Patty had heard Luis Martinez, one of the detectives on the case, mention that the big mystery of the crime scene was two different sources of blood. Right now the assumption was the other blood was the killer’s. Patty knew the media had latched on to the murder because the victim was extremely attractive and live
d in Ponte Vedra Beach. The local news stations rarely covered the story of a murder of a black prostitute or crack addict from Arlington.

  Stepping out of the Land That Time Forgot, Patty was surprised to run into Sergeant Zuni and Ronald Bell leaving the lieutenant’s office. All three of them stood, frozen, assessing each other. Patty assumed they were uncomfortable after the chance encounter at Gi-Gi’s restaurant down in Deerwood Park. But she got an odd vibe and a sharp look from Ronald Bell.

  Patty said, “Hey, guys. How’s it going?”

  There was an awkward silence until Sergeant Zuni cleared her throat and said, “Busy. How about you? You have a good weekend?”

  “Not bad. What about you?”

  Sergeant Zuni glared over at Ronald Bell, then back to Patty, and said, “Weekend was good, it’s today that sucks.”

  Patty couldn’t miss the murderous stare Sergeant Zuni gave the senior IA investigator.

  John Stallings had to admit he liked sitting at the picnic table, staring into Liz Dubeck’s beautiful face. The table sat under a small stand of willow trees that overlooked the St. Johns River. Technically it was owned by the condo next to it, but the manager of the condo, a retired NYPD sergeant, opened the beautiful spot to any cop who wanted to walk across the street from the PMB and welcomed them to think of it as their office away from the office. During the day it was rare the table did not have some frustrated detective jabbering on his cell phone. But this time of the evening Stallings and Liz had complete privacy.

  Liz reached across a wooden table and took both Stallings’s hands in hers. “I thought you might call. I know I’m acting like a schoolgirl, but I felt the chemistry between us.”

  “Sorry, I …” He couldn’t come up the combination of words that would explain how he felt about her or why he couldn’t do anything about it. He’d never been a very good liar, even if it was to spare someone’s feelings. Instead, he sat there and stared at her.