The Perfect Death djs-3

by James Andrus

  FORTY-NINE

  Buddy made some calculations in his head. He’d been at the house almost ten minutes with his plain white van sitting in the driveway. How many neighbors would have noticed him in that time? Did it really matter anymore? He’d be done with his work of art very soon and that was all that was important. His monument to eternity, displaying the gifts God had given him.

  His eyes followed Janet as she walked through the cavernous house as graceful as a dancer with a pleasant smile the whole time. She’d showed him two different sketches of etchings she liked on two large panes of glass that would set off the living room from the entryway. One etching was of a cross with Christ crucified on it and a faint shadow cast below him and the sun above his head. She had drawn it herself and it was moving in its own way. Certainly a unique and important skill that could be remembered forever.

  Buddy brought in a leather work pouch that contained two measuring tapes, a carpenter’s square, several pencils, and a grease pen. In addition, the special cord and the last jar were in the bag. He was ready. He had decided. He reached in and pulled out his jar.

  Janet said, “What’s that?”

  He handed her the jar. “Something I made.”

  Janet held the dark green jar to the light, not bothering to conceal her admiration. “This is wonderful.”

  Buddy was ready to make his move.

  John Stallings felt like he wanted to strike Ronald Bell in the head. The only question in his mind was if he should use his fists or elbow. But Yvonne Zuni seemed to be able to read his mind and gave him a serious “chill out” look. With a nod of her head she sent him back to his desk, worried about his partner. While he sat there thinking, he realized, maybe for the first time, that Patty had somehow filled a void in his life and he viewed her as a daughter. She was a partner he trusted, but he had very strong paternal feelings about her welfare. Even though there was only thirteen years’ difference between them, he worried about her like she was one of his own.

  He took a few minutes to breathe deeply and concentrate on calming down. There was a lot of work to do and no matter how much satisfaction he’d take in laying out the noxious IA investigator, in the long run it wouldn’t help his chances of catching and stopping this killer who had claimed so many lives in such a short time.

  He wondered what Sparky was saying behind the closed door of the sergeant’s office. Patty had been pulled in along with the sergeant and Ronald Bell. After a few minutes Stallings regained his composure and started going over the tasks he needed to complete.

  Luis Martinez, a relatively new detective in the crimes/persons unit, plopped down in the chair in front of Stallings.

  Luis inclined his head toward the sergeant’s office and said, “What’s going on in there?”

  Stallings mumbled, “Usual bullshit.” He liked the tough, direct former Marine who had recently been assigned his first homicide. “How’s your stabbing case going?”

  Martinez shrugged. “No one really cares about the Kazem stabbing. All anyone is talking about is the serial strangler. I haven’t gotten anywhere on the stabbing except to talk to a lot of ex-boyfriends and associates.” He opened his notebook and stared out the first sheet of paper. “Shit.” He ripped out a sheet of paper, crumpled it, and tossed it in the garbage can by Stallings’s desk.

  Stallings said, “What’s wrong?”

  “I got some kind of kind of chemical shit on the paper when I was over at the glass company talking to a guy who leases the building from the murder victim.”

  “Is the guy a suspect?”

  “No, he’s okay. He had no real motive and definitely wasn’t interested in her romantically.” Luis stood and said, “I gotta get back to work, Stall. It’s a lonely case.”

  Stallings mumbled, “Let me know if I can help.” Then he looked down at the damp sheet of paper Luis had tossed into his can. He wondered if it would hurt Ronald Bell if he picked up the garbage can and smacked him in the head with it.

  Buddy was lost in the image of Janet holding his homemade jar to the sunlight streaming in from a tall window-her light brown hair like satin, her full red lips, and that beautiful graceful neck. It was her neck that had him mesmerized as he held the cord loosely in his right hand. It looked like he just had a length of rope. Nothing threatening or unusual. It could’ve been a standard for measuring glass. His only concern was that if he moved too quickly she might drop the jar.

  She turned and faced him, handing back the heavy jar. Those wide eyes and that brilliant smile grabbed his attention now. She said, “It looks like the jar has a specific use.”

  “I’ve made eighteen of them to hold one of the most precious commodities on earth.”

  She placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned in close. “What would that commodity be?”

  Buddy decided he’d tell her as he was collecting the commodity. He placed the jar gently on a coffee table, faced her, once again taking in her beautiful face. He worked the logistics out in his mind of how to loop the cord around her throat and apply even pressure so he didn’t have the same problem he’d experienced with the nurse, Katie Massa.

  As he started to shuffle to one side he heard the front door and a male voice call out, “Sweetheart, where are you?”

  She turned and took a step away from Buddy, yelling, “I’m in the living room with a true artist.”

  She was so sweet it hurt Buddy’s heart that he couldn’t make her part of eternity right now. It seemed unfair to her.

  He watched the tall, well-built young man embrace his wife, then offer his hand to Buddy.

  Buddy shifted, saying, “Nice to meet you.”

  Buddy smiled and nodded as he took another look at his perfect subject. He even wondered if it would be worth killing the husband with a knife or a blow to the head. He figured in his current condition he wouldn’t have the strength to overcome such a fit young man. And that made him even sadder.

  He’d have to keep his eyes open for another subject. Then he brightened as he thought about the manager of the hotel. He had to concentrate to think of her name: Liz Dubeck.

  FIFTY

  Patty was in the sergeant’s cramped office with Sparky Taylor and a clearly agitated Ronald Bell facing the stern sergeant sitting on her throne behind her desk.

  Bell looked at Sparky and said, “What fucking policy do you want to quote now? It’s too bad you didn’t read policy about staying fit or maybe your fat ass wouldn’t have gotten stuck in a bathroom window and you could’ve stayed in the tech division, where at least people care about your fucking opinion. Jesus Christ, I am sick of tech agents.”

  Yvonne Zuni said in an icy voice, “That will be quite enough.” And it worked because Ronald Bell shut up and sat down like his third-grade teacher had struck him with a ruler.

  For his part, Sparky seemed completely unfazed by the outburst. He said, “The policy says that when there is a large seizure of contraband that must be tested in the lab, a representative sample can be stored in temporary evidence downstairs while the overall seizure is secured.”

  Bell said, “So what?”

  “So Dwight and I live by the same code of policy. He would know the policy and follow it. Since he’s been injured and unclear about what happened, I wonder if anyone checked temporary evidence.” He turned to give Bell a subtle, superior glance.

  Patty had to stifle a chuckle, he’d done it so perfectly. What Sparky had said sounded so simple that it couldn’t be true, could it? She had only used temporary evidence once. It generally involved holding part of a seizure in a standard-size locker with two separate locks at the entrance to the evidence room. An evidence custodian keeps a key to one lock in the evidence room and the seizing officer keeps a key to the second lock. That way the seizing officer can come back and retrieve the sample to take it to the lab while maintaining a strict and clear chain of custody. Not all departments used it and usually it only applied to narcotics.

  The sergeant stood behind her desk
and said, “I have an easy solution to this debate. Let’s all go down to evidence and check the lockers. It sounds like it’s something IA should’ve done long before the investigation got this far. And it will definitely be something I address with the captain later on.”

  Patty liked the support she was getting from the people on her squad and it was starting to give her some confidence. She followed the little posse of Sparky Taylor, Yvonne Zuni, and Ronald Bell down the rear stairs and through the corridor to the evidence custodian.

  As they were walking, Bell said, “We never found a key around the scene of the fight or in Dwight’s clothes.”

  Sparky said, “I’ve thought about that and there are a number of possibilities. The key would have been out and possibly on the desk. Your people could’ve simply overlooked it. It could’ve been kicked all the way across the room during the scuffle. It might have even ended up going to the hospital with Dwight and being left there.”

  Patty followed along, realizing she was a suspect in the eyes of the sheriff’s office. Even if it was only the IA division. She had to come to grips with idea that someone thought she’d committed the crime. It gave her a lump in her throat and upset her stomach. It made her think about all the times she’d purposely tried to upset suspects in her own cases in an effort to get them to confess or cooperate. This incident was giving her an entirely new perspective on the trick. She would have to look at the way she conducted business differently from now on. This sucked. She’d gone beyond pharmaceutical help. Patty was so nervous now that no amount of Xanax would calm her down. The crazy thing was that she was terrified over an administrative issue. She hadn’t been this scared when she was held captive by the fucking Bag Man. Her life had been on the line, but she’d known someone was trying to help her. It was an odd experience to have someone question her integrity.

  Stallings had tried to follow Patty and the group as they left the office, but a sharp look from the sergeant had kept him in his seat. It gave him one more thing to worry about in addition to his wife, his father, Jeanie, his kids, and Leah Tischler. He felt like he needed to burst out and do something to take action against one of the problems in his life.

  He looked around the nearly empty office and decided to act. Now.

  Fifteen minutes later he pulled into the driveway of his former residence, pausing at the front door before knocking firmly but politely and waiting for someone to answer. It was Charlie’s smiling face that cheered him up as soon as the door swung inward.

  “Hey, pal, is your mom around?”

  “She’s upstairs. Do you have time to kick with me?”

  “Let me talk to Mom for a little while first.”

  The boy darted upstairs like a guided missile; almost a full minute later Maria glided down the stairs like she was at an awards show and had admiring crowds watching her. In his own way Stallings was an admiring crowd.

  She gave him a weak smile and walked past him into the family room to sit on the couch. He knew the unspoken command to follow her and sit next to her. And he obeyed.

  Stallings started. “We need to talk.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “I mean about us.”

  “I do too.”

  That surprised him because she generally avoided any conversation about the troubled relationship.

  “I thought we had made a connection the other night. I mean I did spend the night here.”

  “You fell asleep here. There is a difference. And I’ll admit I liked having someone to cuddle up to. But as soon as the call of duty hit you, the house was empty and silent again. I understand your need to help people and I commend it. But the kids and I are people too and we need more than just a few minutes of your time every day.”

  He had considered a lot of reasons why Maria was acting the way she was. He thought it might be some reaction to seeing him with Liz Dubeck. He’d even considered the idea that she was using again. But this was not only the most logical and obvious explanation, it was also the one that stung the worst.

  Maria continued. “The last two weeks have been a revelation to me. I’ve gone down to the stadium and listened to Frank Ellis for hours each day. The man has some amazing insights and made me feel a real connection to Jesus.”

  Stallings leaned back and stared at his wife. “That’s why you were downtown. You were going to see the Holy Roller.”

  “That’s a condescending term. It was a legitimate religious service.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be insulting. I thought it was a legitimate Baptist religious service. You’ve been a legitimate Catholic your whole life.”

  “I thought you would have learned by now that nothing lasts a lifetime.”

  That brought Stallings up short. He looked at his wife and remembered their early married life with Jeanie running around and Maria smiling from early in the morning till she laid that beautiful head down on the pillow. It would be easy for him to say that was all he wanted back, but it was so much. He realized now it was more than any man should hope for.

  Maria caressed his cheek and then let her hand drop to his. “You should be happy that I’ve gone to the service. It’s taught me a lot about myself and what to expect from others. You are such a good man, John. And I’ve had a new hope instilled in my heart. I really do believe you can change. I believe in redemption. But you’re going to have to earn it. You’ll have to show me that you care about the family and that you can express all of your feelings, both good and bad.”

  “And how do I do all that?”

  “You have to figure it out for yourself. It may take a while. You may not be able to do it. And until you figure it out, I can’t have you living in this house.”

  Stallings stared into those luminous dark eyes and thought his heart might break. He had no idea how to change.

  At some point in the process Patty Levine had decided to toughen up and take this shit like a cop. She did everything else on the job like a man. It was to the point that most cops didn’t even notice she was female. Almost. That was the way she liked JSO. Anymore the only reason female cops were treated differently was because of an ingrained view or, as some called it, an “instinct” for men to treat women differently. On the road she occasionally saw patrolman instinctively keep her out of harm’s way. When the truth was she usually could fight better than any man on road patrol.

  Now she stood in the corner of the room while Ronald Bell questioned an evidence custodian and Yvonne Zuni kept the proceedings from turning into a witch hunt.

  Bell said, “So you don’t have a record of the detective using a temporary evidence locker?”

  The heavyset, middle-aged man acted like Bell was a fifth grader. “I said this before and now I will repeat myself for the fourth time. He was checking in something, I don’t know what, and took a temporary evidence key. Whoever took in the package and gave him the key expected him to be back in the next few minutes and didn’t log it for some reason. It was a mistake that I accept responsibility for. But it happened and I do not have time to explain it to you even once more. Is there anything that confuses you in that statement, Mr. IA?” He had spoken slowly and clearly.

  Patty smiled at his condescending manner, chalking it up to some past run-in with the Internal Affairs division.

  Bell said, “If we don’t have the key to the second lock how do we get into the locker?”

  The evidence custodian rubbed his bald head and said, “We do have an emergency master key. But we don’t use it very often.”

  Bell said, “I think this qualifies as an emergency. You can use it on my authority.”

  The evidence custodian chuckled, reached low under his counter, and handed him a three-foot-long set of bolt cutters, saying, “Ooh, your authority. I can’t wait to see if these things work. I’ve never been authorized to use them before.” The evidence custodian didn’t even wait to see Bell’s reaction. He rolled his eyes and went back to his usual work.

  Bell, Sparky, and Sergeant Zuni walked ac
ross the outer room to the wall of fifty lockers. They scanned the numbers along the top row to find the locker the narcotics detective had used. The evidence custodian had given Sergeant Zuni his key to the second lock. Once they found the locker the evidence lock was opened and off instantly. Then Bell used the big bolt cutters on the second heavy-duty lock. He struggled as he pulled the handles together and let the giant clippers snap through the shackle of the padlock.

  He wasted no time opening the locker and even from her position, Patty could see a gray bundle. She stepped behind the group as Bell pulled it out and saw the initials and date written by the injured narcotics detective.

  Sparky looked at Ronald Bell and said in a very moderate and cool tone, “Perhaps you people in IA should read up on policy a little more. We could’ve avoided this entire ugly incident had you showed a bit more interest in doing your job well.”

  Patty smiled at the portly detective’s comment.

  Sergeant Zuni summed it up more succinctly. She looked at the IA investigator and said, “You’re a douche bag.”

  Patty Levine laughed out loud for the first time in a week.

  FIFTY-ONE

  Tony Mazzetti felt the week start to catch up to him on Friday morning. He had set up an interview room in the administrative section of Shands hospital. The management and security at Shands could not have been more helpful and open to the investigation. Their help sped along a number of tasks he had to complete on the murder case. He also felt a lift in his spirits when he heard that the missing narcotics had been found and no one would get in trouble for it. He was starting to realize that Patty Levine had been a suspect and it bothered him. It bothered him because he didn’t understand how a great cop like Patty could fall into the crosshairs of Internal Affairs and he didn’t understand why Patty had not wanted to talk to him about it at all.