by James Andrus
Stallings raised his right hand, suppressing a smile. “On my honor as a certified law enforcement officer in the state of Florida, I will use any information you provide me for the sole purpose of a homicide investigation. I will eat the paper the information is printed on before I allow anyone in narcotics to see it.”
Wiley chuckled. “You have no idea how competitive the world of narcotics investigations can be.”
“My experience is that all law enforcement is competitive. Narcotics is one of the few areas that’s easy to measure. Arrests or seized narcotics. Both play well in the news.”
“And thank God for it. If we didn’t get decent airplay now and then the FBI would steal every penny of funding we have coming our way.”
Stallings started to get up, saying, “I appreciate this. I have a meeting in less than an hour and this information will be vital.”
Wiley smiled. “If Ronald Bell says you’re a hard ass, you’re okay with me. If you were a little younger we could use you.”
“I’m happy where I am.” He stood and paused by the table, looking down at the DEA agent. “You don’t think Josh Hickam’s father is responsible for these deaths? I know we talked about it and you said he didn’t have it in him. I just don’t want to miss something.”
Wiley shook his head. “No way. You gave me the dates and places of the deaths and I checked all of them against our surveillance. He was at home. He’s hardly left that house for two years. We’ve got cameras, trackers, and the occasional live surveillance. Plus our intelligence from informants says the old man’s all done. His son’s death just took it out of him.”
“But you’re still going after him on a case?”
“Have to. He was a boss. He brought in a lot of product. You’ll see in the packet I gave you a list of associates. It’s long. A dozen of them have already been to jail. We can’t pick on the little guys without going after the kingpin once in a while.”
Stallings held out his hand and said, “You’re okay.”
Wiley took his hand and shook it, saying, “The DEA doesn’t hear that much. Thanks.”
Tony Mazzetti bristled every time someone else brought up a piece of information that supported the serial killer theory in the Tau Upsilon case. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe the goddamn theory. It just felt like they were rubbing it in his face. Sitting around a big conference room table with everyone remotely involved in the case staring at him, he felt like a jackass. Somehow the only thing that mattered to him right now was that Patty Levine didn’t think he was a jackass.
That asshole John Stallings had provided a list of associates related to the pot smuggler whose son appeared to be the first victim in these lines of deaths. The victim, Josh Hickam, died of alcohol poisoning. Even Mazzetti’s current girlfriend, Lisa Kurtz, had confirmed that assessment. But now they were all pushing the angle that the deaths were somehow related to the pot business being run out of the fraternity.
Mazzetti picked up the list of more than forty names and said to Stallings, “What the fuck do you want me to do with this?”
Stallings stayed very calm and said, “First, check it against the list of Suburban owners whose license plates start with the letter A. We might get lucky and find the driver of the truck that ran down Zach Halston on the list. It’s just another group of suspects.”
Mazzetti was frustrated, but what Stallings was saying made sense. He still had to say, “Why not look at old man Hickam?”
“The DEA is all over him. I gave them a list of dates corresponding with the deaths of different Tau Upsilon members and he was at the house every single time. In fact, they say he very rarely leaves the house.”
Mazzetti shook his head and took a quick second to look at the face of each person at the table. Then he turned and handed the list to his partner, Sparky Taylor. Sparky had been quietly taking in the different conversations but had yet to say a word.
Mazzetti said, “Can you look through this bullshit, then use your computer brain to make sense of it?”
Sparky looked absolutely delighted.
Mazzetti realized this was a good assignment for his odd partner. He didn’t have to interact with anyone or anything other than a computer. It was perfect for him.
In an effort to kick-start the investigation, each pair of detectives took a list of names developed from owners of Suburbans that had license plates starting with the letter A. The entire effort made Stallings a little nervous; he hoped his eyesight was sharp enough that he had picked up the right letter on the license tag.
Sparky was still sorting out many of the names and intended to run them against the list of Hickam associates the DEA had provided. For now, Patty and Stallings had drawn eight names in the central part of the county. They were going to do simple knock and talks. They’d find the owner of the vehicle, knock on the door, and hope the person confessed or, more realistically, refuse to speak to with the police. That would earn them a spot on the suspect list. Another set of detectives was visiting local body shops hoping to find someone who had repaired front-end damage to a blue Suburban. The Department of Highway Safety and Motor Vehicles didn’t accurately list the color of vehicles. Detectives had found that often vehicles were repainted in different colors or simply listed with the wrong color at the date of registration. In a case as important as this, they couldn’t rely on the simple designation on a vehicle registration.
Just as Stallings was about to exit the D-bureau he saw Lonnie Freed, the detective from the intelligence division whom he had asked to find out anything he could on someone named Gator. It seemed like an eternity since he had approached the detective and asked for help. He’d never told Lonnie the help had to do with finding his missing daughter, Jeanie.
The thin detective with wire-rimmed glasses smiled at Patty as she walked by and said, “How are you this fine morning, Detective Levine?”
Patty gave him her standard smile and nod. She was so used to men hitting on her she didn’t even acknowledge it most days.
Stallings saw some papers in Lonnie’s hand and told Patty catch up to her a few minutes. He looked at the intel detective and said, “Whatcha got, Lonnie?”
“I’ve been working on the description and street name ‘Gator’ that you gave me.”
“You mean you found him?”
“Not exactly. Based on the information you gave me and the description I’ve come up with twenty-eight possibilities in North Florida. These are just men who’ve been mentioned in police reports or indexed news reports through any of the indexing services we subscribe to.” He handed the thick bundle of papers to Stallings.
Stallings looked down and saw that there was a photograph associated with every report. Some of the photographs were from booking at the jail, some driver’s license photos, a few surveillance photos, and a few from sources he couldn’t identify. He looked up at the scrawny detective and said, “This is great, thanks.” He turned to place the papers on his desk.
Lonnie said, “Is this on the fraternity case? I heard it might be big.”
Stallings shrugged and said, “Sort of.”
“Do you think you might be able to get me involved in the case?”
“It’s not up to me, Lonnie.”
“I busted my ass to find all the stuff. Come on, speak up for me. Maybe I can tell the lieutenant how helpful I’ve been already?”
Stallings quickly turned to keep the intel detective from doing anything stupid. “No, no, I’ll see what I can do.” He knew the sergeant wouldn’t turn down help, but he was hoping to keep it quiet. Then Sparky Taylor walked by and an idea popped into Stallings’s head, making him reach out and grab the portly detective by the arm. “Sparky, you know Lonnie from Intelligence, don’t you?”
Sparky nodded and said, “I am familiar with the detective.”
“I think he could be a big help working with you on the lists of names.”
Sparky gave a slight scowl and said, “I can handle it.”
Lonnie
cut in, “But I’m good with databases.”
“I am utilizing Microsoft Access for most of this.”
“I know Access inside and out. We could use the databases we’re hooked into in intelligence if we need to.” Lonnie looked like a puppy waiting to be patted on the head. “I’d love the chance to work with you. I applied to go into tech, but never got in.”
Sparky’s face softened and he finally said, “Okay. You can help.”
Stallings felt like a matchmaker as he watched the two eccentric detectives walk off together. Their body types reminded him of Laurel and Hardy. Before he could race off to meet Patty, Stallings couldn’t resist taking a moment to thumb through the photographs of the young man Lonnie had given him. Had Jeanie really ran off with one of them?
He moved from leaning on his desk to sitting in his chair as he thumbed through report after report. His cell phone rang. When he picked it up, Patty said, “I thought you were meeting me in the parking lot?”
“I am. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“That’s what you said over an hour ago.”
Stallings looked at the time on a cell phone and saw that he had been sitting at his desk for more than an hour. He’d have to be more careful to keep leads on Gator from distracting him on big cases like this.
FORTY-SEVEN
Lynn sat at the desk in her small, cluttered office at the Thomas Brothers supply company gazing over a stack of forms explaining why products had gone bad before delivery. She’d noticed an increase in spoilage since Dale had been arrested and fired from the loading dock. That went hand in hand with the current disorganization. She couldn’t believe the big, slow-witted redneck had been so competent and so essential to the company. The first report showed that a load of dairy products had not been refrigerated properly. The next report was just a case of holding eggs past the expiration date. These were simple errors that didn’t often occur when Dale was in charge.
She heard a light rap on her doorframe and looked up to see the lean figure of Leon smiling at her. “What’s going on?”
Lynn sighed and said, “Since you managed to get Dale arrested, the company has gone to hell.”
Leon quickly stepped inside the office and held up his hands. “Hey, girl, don’t say shit like that. Even joking.”
She saw how serious he was, and in a way that made her feel more confident. This was a man who had spent his adult life in a business that demanded secrecy. Lynn mumbled, “Sorry, you’re right.”
Leon smiled as he sat down and rubbed his hands together. “Now, what’s our next move?”
“You’ve already helped me enough.”
“Nonsense, I was just getting into it. My life is so boring now compared to what it used to be, I want to rob a bank just to see what it’s like. At least with you I’m helping an old friend’s daughter. Even if I don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”
“And going by your secrecy rule, it’s best that you don’t.”
“I understand. But that doesn’t change the fact that that I’m going to help you whether you want it or not. The alternative for either of us is not pleasant.”
Lynn could also see how this man would have been subtly threatening in his former career. Finally she nodded slowly and said, “I was going to drive down to Daytona Saturday.”
Leon smiled and said, “I’ll check out the Suburban from the fleet.”
“I was just gonna drive my personal car down there.”
“Why? I work till two on Saturday and have to go down to one of the warehouses in New Smyrna to pick up some paint and fencing material stored down there. It’ll all fit in the back of the Suburban.” He gave her a sly smile and said, “I’ll even drive you like I was a chauffeur.”
Lynn shook her head and said, “I still don’t get it. Why do you care what I’m doing?”
“I’m no idiot. The time will come one day when Bill Hickam repays favors. I know the man. I want to stay on his good side. The only question now is, what should I bring on Saturday?”
“What do you mean?”
“Knife, gun. Your call.”
Lynn rolled her eyes. “It’s not like that. I’m just going to the hospital.”
Leon snorted like he didn’t believe her. “You’re going to have to learn, girl, you always need something as backup. Something more than the person you’re going to talk to. Maybe we could get by with just a baseball bat or a Taser.”
“You own a Taser?”
“Technically, by law, I don’t own any weapons. But there’s nothing I can’t get ahold of on a moment’s notice.”
“Fine. Bring a pistol. Just don’t let me or anyone else see it.” Lynn didn’t mind having Leon come with her as a security blanket. Alan Cole was a loose end she couldn’t ignore. Looking up at Leon’s smiling face in her own office, she wondered if he wasn’t a worse loose end.
The doctor barked at the nurse when she bumped Alan Cole’s bed as she replaced an IV bag.
The doctor worked hard to suppress his slight Indian accent because he’d heard some of the rednecks in the hospital imitate him. “He’s very unstable. That’s why we have him in the ICU. If it was safe, I’d have him transported up to Shands in Gainesville, where he might stand a chance.”
The nurse said, “He seems like he’s been more responsive in the last few days.”
“He wants to say something. I’ve heard him mumble the same thing two or three times. But aside from his injuries, we’re dealing with a serious infection now.” He flashed dark eyes at the nurse and said, “From now on only you or the nurse who replaces you on shift are to be in here. Take every precaution to keep from exposing him to anything unusual. I’ll check back every three hours. The next three days are critical. We must keep him stable with no excitement. He’s conscious enough now that he would react.”
The nurse said, “I understand.”
The doctor nodded, thinking the nurse wasn’t a local. She didn’t have the annoying twang many of the nurses raised in Daytona or its suburbs had. He felt confident she was the right nurse to look after the most challenging case he had had since he arrived in purgatory.
Sparky Taylor had to admit he enjoyed working with the intel detective. Lonnie Freed shared his love of computers and even knew his policy pretty well. They started by sorting the names of associates provided by the DEA. The federal agencies had always been quite secretive about how they obtained information. Of course the FBI was the worst. An informant could provide them with hearsay about one person talking about another person and both of the people would end up as criminal associates to some known terrorist or fraud kingpin.
The world of narcotics was even more nebulous. Names were batted about by informants and over wiretaps and entered into DEA reports, making them each become an associate of a known drug dealer. At least the DEA attempted to rate the reliability of information. They had a proprietary database that no other agency could access. But this report the local DEA supervisor had given John Stallings detailed the reason each name was on the list.
Sparky noted how efficient Lonnie was in determining who was a viable suspect based on if they were in jail or living in some distant area. He had managed to narrow the list to eleven names.
Now Sparky was separating the various owners of Suburbans into three separate piles. Each pile represented a geographic area with the largest one being Jacksonville.
Lonnie pointed to a stack of five registrations and said, “What’s that fourth pile?”
“Those are vehicles registered to businesses. We may not have to worry about them.”
Lonnie said, “Why don’t you give them to me and I’ll see if anything matches up.”
Sparky smiled and nodded at the efficient, intelligent idea. He wished this guy worked in crimes/persons.
Patty Levine and John Stallings had already cleared three Suburban owners off their list simply by driving by the vehicles. One was white and two were red. Stallings had insisted they stop and inspect one of the red Su
burbans to ensure it hadn’t recently been painted.
Now Stallings wanted to stop when he saw a blue Suburban backed into the driveway of a small house in a newer section of Jacksonville known as Argyle. Developers had put their mark of bland, identical houses across broad swaths of former ranch land. Zero lot lines made the houses look more like apartment buildings.
Even though the chances were miniscule that this was the right Suburban, Patty felt her heart rate increase with anticipation. This was the first car that was even the right color.
She stood at the end of the driveway as Stallings bent over and inspected the grille and headlight on the front. Patty saw damage on the driver-side bumper, but it looked more like he had struck a low wall.
Patty was startled by a shout from the front door of the house.
A beefy bald man in his mid-thirties yelled, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Stallings straightened, reached into his back pocket, and pulled out his ID, letting the man clearly see the badge.
The man said, “I don’t give a damn who you work for. This is my property. Unless you want a shit pot of trouble, you better back out of my yard and get a warrant.”
Patty saw the way Stallings stuffed his ID back into his rear pocket and started to march toward the man. She could read Stallings’s body language better than anyone else. This was about to turn ugly, and more important, cost them valuable time.
Patty stepped forward, holding her hand up to stop Stallings like she was a traffic cop and he was an approaching truck. She turned to the man and said, “We’re sorry, we didn’t mean to upset you. This is a countywide effort to identify the driver of a specific blue Suburban.”
The man the man cut his eyes from Stallings to Patty. “Why are you looking for a Suburban?”
Stallings said, “Why are you being evasive? Doesn’t matter why we’re looking for it, we just are.”
Patty turned so the man couldn’t see her expression, but she was able to convey to Stallings that she needed him to shut the hell up for a minute. As she turned back to the man, Patty put on a calm expression and stepped closer to him. “We’re looking for someone involved in a hit-and-run of a young man in St. Augustine. A witness was able to see part of the tag, which is the same as yours. If you can tell us where you were yesterday about two we can cross you off our list.”