by James Andrus
He stepped closer and looked into her twitching eyes. Was that her or the electricity? Stepping away from the water he unplugged the heavy cord.
Lori stopped moving. He rolled up the cord, stuck it in his pocket, then leaned down and placed two fingers along Lori’s long, graceful neck. There was no pulse.
It took him only a minute to remove his block from the circuit breaker and pick up a CD player he’d seen in the carport. He plugged it in the wall and dropped it in the pool of water. The unit sparked, then shut off as the water on the line tripped the GFI breaker.
He surprised himself by feeling a lump in his throat for his lovely coworker, then squatted down and kissed her forehead gently.
Now there were no links whatsoever between him and Stacey Hines.
Thirty-seven
William Dremmel spent the early morning hours trying to chat with Stacey. He’d been so excited by his brilliant staging of Lori’s accidental death that he couldn’t even think about sleep. When she proved to be resolute in her silence, he spent the time feeding her part of her high-protein, low-carb diet. The food plan allowed her to maintain muscle and keep her from putting on extra pounds while she was stationary. It also tended to keep her energy more regular without the ups and downs of insulin coursing through her. He allowed her to sit on the portable toilet with her hands free but not her legs. It was awkward setting the toilet on top of her mattress, but it was safer than letting her go free.
Dremmel completed his favorite task, giving Stacey a loving sponge bath, just before dawn.
Finally she said, “What’s the other mattress for?” She nodded her head toward the opposite side of the room.
“It might work out that you get a little company in here.”
“Oh yeah, who?”
He just smiled. “There are several options open.”
“You’re never gonna let me go, are you?” Her voice was calm and matter of fact.
“Never is a long time.”
She looked at him and said, “I’m never going to forgive you for what you’ve done to me.”
That just gave him the idea for a different round of drug trials to see if he could soften her position. He’d see what he could pick up around the store today.
John Stallings had been distracted all day long. He had Maria’s sponsor and his sister over at the house and felt confident she was in good hands, but the guilt of whether his long hours had contributed to her back-sliding ate at him. Still he couldn’t keep himself away from the case today. He’d spent the day talking to homeless men and showing around photos of the dead girls.
As soon as he burst through the office door he had a sense that something was wrong. The other detectives kept their heads down or gave him a quick nod hello. He didn’t know if Tony Mazzetti had thrown a fit about something or if they were all just getting as worn down as him from the case and trying to maintain their own lives at the same time. God knows he felt as if he could just lie down and sleep for a few hours. But he had leads to follow and people to find.
As he approached his desk, near the old holding cell, he saw the door to the conference room open and Lieutenant Rita Hester lean out, look at him, then motion him into the room. He set down his notebook and hustled toward the room wondering what terrible thing had happened now.
At the doorway he paused, looking at the lieutenant, Tony Mazzetti, and I.A. weasel Ronald Bell all sitting around the long table.
“What’s up, guys?” he asked as he slowly stepped inside.
The lieutenant said, “Shut the door, Detective Stallings.”
Uh oh, he didn’t like the sound of that. Stallings took a seat on the far side of the table so he had a table between him and Ronald Bell. It seemed like a simple precaution for the I.A. investigator’s safety.
“What’s this about? Looks a little like a lynch mob.”
Mazzetti didn’t look at him.
The lieutenant said, “You wanna tell us again how you haven’t been talking to the media about the case?”
“I can, but nothing’s changed.”
Now Mazzetti looked up. “Bullshit, Stall. I actually believed you. I was starting to think you might be worth a shit as a cop and then you do this.”
“Tony, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Ronald Bell slapped a stack of paper onto the table. “Your county cell phone records.”
Stallings picked up the first page and studied it, seeing his phone number and the Sheriff’s Office name and address at the top. “Do I have to guess, or will you tell me what to look for?”
Bell leaned in, feigning the outrage that most I.A. investigators can turn on or off in a heartbeat. “You slipped up, smart guy. You made a call to a Channel Eleven extension from your cell phone.” He pulled a page from the bottom of the stack and slid it across the table to Stallings.
Stallings picked it up and looked at the circled call and thought about it for a minute. “That’s the day Luis Martinez shot the pot grower with the underaged girl.”
“Exactly, and Channel Eleven was there before anyone else, even the paramedics.” Bell plopped back in his seat like an old-time defense attorney who had just made some major point.
Stallings shook his head. “I never called any TV station.”
Bell’s face was a deeper red than usual. He said, “Is it an error? Just chance that the number for Channel Eleven appeared on your bill?”
Mazzetti shook his head and said, “You’re pathetic.” Then he stood up and stomped out of the room.
Stallings was at a complete loss for words. Seeing Ronald Bell gloating across the table didn’t help matters. Then the lieutenant stood up so she could look down at him and said the one thing he didn’t want to hear.
“I’m sorry, Stall, but I’m taking you off the case. You’re going back to the runaway roundup unless the sheriff wants to take more serious action.”
Stallings swallowed hard, trying to lose the lump in his throat. This was the worst thing they could do to him right now. Didn’t they realize it would crush him? When he looked across at the smug smile on Ronald Bell’s face he realized that the I.A. investigator knew exactly what this would do to him.
Thirty-eight
John Stallings sat in his Impala looking at his sister Helen’s car next to his in the driveway. He’d spent an hour just driving around Jacksonville trying to make sense of what had happened. He was trying not to hate Ronald Bell for jumping to conclusions because if Stallings had seen the same evidence he would’ve jumped to the same fucking conclusion. But he knew he hadn’t called any TV stations. He had no reason to. The headache that had started to blossom hours ago pounded in his skull.
He wasn’t certain why he’d sat in his car for twenty minutes. Everything had piled on him at once: work, Maria, and his feelings of failure made the walk from his car to the front door seem like the Green Mile.
His phone rang and he dug in his pocket. It was Patty Levine again, and like the last few calls, he let it go directly to voice mail. He didn’t want to talk about the Sheriff’s Office or what a prick Ronald Bell was. He didn’t know exactly what he wanted to do right now, so he took in a deep breath and stepped out of his car, marched to his front door, and entered, feeling almost as much apprehension as if he was on search warrant.
Helen sat on the living room couch with a tearful Maria. His sister was patting her back and listening. She looked up and gave him a mild nod, then flicked her head to get him moving into another room.
Even with all the classes and counseling sessions he’d attended, it was still hard to imagine this sort of emotion without a specific cause. He knew a lot of it stemmed from Jeanie but why now, after more than three years? He didn’t try to figure it out anymore. His job was to keep the kids safe and support Maria any way he could.
In a weird way it made his problems at work seem less severe, until he thought about the dead girls and the fact that he wouldn’t be helping stop the Bag Man.
Patty called
again. Another voice mail.
He walked into the family room to see Charlie and Lauren watching TV silently.
“What’s up, guys?”
They both mumbled “Nothing.”
Was this how he wanted to live? To let his family fade into immobility?
“Hey, I’m home a little early. Let’s go do something.”
Charlie brightened. “Like what?”
“Don’t know, sport. Dinner out.”
“Mom too?”
“We might need to give her some space.”
His phone rang with a number he didn’t recognize. He’d given the phone number out to so many people in the past weeks that it could be anyone. He still didn’t want to talk. He didn’t answer, then noticed a minute later whoever it was left no message.
He dismissed it. Tonight was about the kids.
Tony Mazzetti had a mountain of reports from the lab, other detectives, and even streamed video from city surveillance cameras. Someone on command staff had the bright idea that if the beach cam caught Stacey Hines, another camera might hold a clue. What they didn’t reason out was the volume and randomness of the tape. Sure, he’d have a secretary or intern take a cursory look at the video, so he didn’t have to tell some captain or major they were a dumb-ass, but the idea was as useful as standing on the corner and looking for a girl being abducted.
The reports from the other detectives were mostly about clearing up leads that had come in and then not been relevant to the case. Citizens calling in about weird neighbors, stolen suitcases that could be big enough for a body, and sightings of Stacey Hines everywhere from downtown Jacksonville to upstate Georgia. It never ended and was part of any big case with media coverage.
The lab reports mainly confirmed what the medical examiner had said. The girls’ bodies all contained large amounts of prescription drugs, including Ambien, Oxycontin, heavy sedatives, and assorted other narcotics. He kept wondering why the killer wanted the victims so doped up. What did he do to them? There was no sexual assault. No marks other than to show that they had been restrained. It made no sense in this world, but Mazzetti knew the world of a serial killer was vastly different and skewed. It was the difference between Gone with the Wind and a Bugs Bunny cartoon. What was rational in one world held no power in the other. He had to find the link between the two worlds and figure out what the killer was doing and why, in his own mind, it was important enough for him to kill people.
One report from the crime scene unit was on the orange thread found near Trina Ester’s body. He remembered the long, heavy piece of string. They had determined it was a carpet thread. Someone in the unit had even gone above and beyond the call of duty and talked to a couple of carpet dealers. He appreciated that they didn’t waste a detective’s time on a task like that.
One of the carpet dealers said it was an industrial carpet thread probably sold in large quantity to an institution like a hospital or school.
Mazzetti filed it away in his computer brain as something that might come up later, but he had more important matters on his plate right now. He’d lost one of the best detectives, or at least luckiest, when John Stallings was sent home. He didn’t miss the glory hound, but had to admit the guy got things done.
The other matter occupying his mind was of a more personal nature. When he looked up from his work and saw Patty Levine across the room he decided to handle that right now.
Stacey Hines woke up in the dark, silent room where she’d been held for a while. She didn’t know how long, because it was hard to tell time in this place, and she had no idea how long she slept each time he gave her a dose of drugs. This was the first time she’d ever woken up quickly and without the overhead light battering her eyes. The dark was almost as terrifying as seeing William standing at the door with a tray of food and that spooky smile on his face.
She had no idea if anyone even knew she was in trouble and now realized the few restrictions her parents put on her were not enough to scare her away. If she got out of here, she was moving back home for good.
She didn’t let herself cry; that didn’t help anything. She sucked it up and tried to think if she could use this quiet, conscious time in the room to help her escape. She worked her hands in the cuffs, then tried her feet. Nothing. Then she heard footsteps outside the door and decided to play possum and not let William know the drug dosage wasn’t enough to keep her asleep all night.
She had to try anything she could if she wanted to live.
Patty Levine closed her phone on the fourth time she got John Stallings’s voice mail message. She knew he’d been relieved of duty just like she knew he’d never call a TV station. Why would he? All she wanted to do was make sure he was okay. He was tough. Tougher than anyone she’d ever met. With all that he’d been through she wasn’t the least bit worried about him making it through something like this. But she still wanted to speak to her partner.
She glanced across the wide squad bay of the detective bureau, and Tony Mazzetti quietly caught her eye with a wink and a smile. She couldn’t help but smile back. She watched as he carefully disguised a route across the busy room to her. He picked up a couple of file folders, then looked at them as he walked. He leaned down next to her, holding a folder open like he needed advice on something.
Patty hid her grin. “What was that wink for?”
“A hint at tonight.”
Her smile broadened. “Pretty confident there, Detective Mazzetti.”
“Actually, no I’m not. But you’ve given me hope that I won’t freeze up.”
She looked at the bags under his eyes and lines on his face. “Are you sure you’re up to it? You look beat.”
“I’ve waited long enough.”
She considered her next comments. “I’d like to talk to John before I leave.”
“That traitor, why?”
“He’s no traitor. It’s a mistake, and if you want me to look favorably on you, don’t say another thing.”
He shut his mouth.
She wanted to pat him on the head like a puppy and say, “Good boy.” Instead, she said, “How about my condo tonight?”
Mazzetti said, “I’m gonna be late.”
“Somehow I’ll survive.” She smiled, knowing he could take a joke.
The report of Lori’s accidental electrocution was barely mentioned at the pharmacy. The manager told the employees first thing in the morning, then the store got busy. The only thing really bothering Dremmel about her death was the lack of sleep. He’d been up late with Lori, then gone home to Stacey. He’d dozed off for one hour at the house before coming into work and feigning surprise and chagrin at the news that Lori was dead.
The manager had even said, “It was just shitty electrical wiring in a shitty old house. All of Durkeeville should be bulldozed.”
A help-wanted notice was on the Internet before lunch.
Dremmel felt pretty pleased with himself for the efficient and well-disguised job he’d done on Lori. On another level he didn’t want to dwell on what he thought might be remorse. He’d made Lori part of his game, but she didn’t deserve it. She’d been nice to him. She liked him. He already missed her smile around the pharmacy. But she knew too much. That’s what he had to keep telling himself. She knew too much.
Luckily, he had other things to focus on. He’d spent part of the day researching other drugs and dosages for Stacey. She’d seemed hard to rouse this morning when he brought her breakfast and tried to spend time with her before work. Maybe he’d been going a little heavy on the sedatives. He could lighten it up for a few days to let her get back on a normal schedule. Stacey presented some challenges.
And she wasn’t the only one. He already had a plan to deal with the pretty JSO detective. He knew where she lived and that she lived alone. His heart raced just at the thought of her lying in the little bed next to Stacey.
Life was sweet.
Tony Mazzetti had driven like a maniac, or, as they said here in Florida, driven like a New Yorker, to ge
t to his house, shower, grab a protein shake, and change. He shaved and used Dolce & Gabbana balm on his face so there’d be no way he could give Patty a beard burn anywhere on her smokin’ little body.
His house on a canal that led to the St. Johns River could’ve been the model of a bachelor pad from the seventies. It was clean, neat, and furnished with some of the funkiest furniture Mazzetti and his mother could find seven years ago when he bought the three-bedroom with a deck built to the edge of the water. He had visions of parties and an endless stream of women when he took out a loan that terrified him. But that was before he figured out that no one really liked him. It was tough to throw a party when only a couple of detectives spoke to you on a regular basis, and the guys you hung with at the gym didn’t even know your name. He was pretty sure a couple of them had felony records, which meant he was supposed to steer clear of them or face questions about consorting with felons. It hardly ever happened, but was still a no-no for cops certified in Florida. He didn’t want to hang out with shit-birds anyway.
He took an extra minute to dress casually, but well, for his big date with the first woman he could relax with in a long, long time. She’d like his odd taste in interior design. She appreciated his work ethic. She liked his smile. His fucking smile! No one had ever told him that before.
He made a quick check to make sure the house was perfect in case she wanted to come over here in the morning or even later tonight. There was so much he wanted to show her that it made him start grinning like a goddamn Patriots fan after Belichik cheated his way to another AFC championship.
He rifled through his nightstand to find the condoms he’d bought six years ago but had never used, sitting on the edge of the bed as he fumbled through reading lights, old issues of Civil War Times, and a cupful of change. The simple act of sitting and removing the pressure from his legs and back made him relax almost instantly. He’d been on full speed since early in the morning and missing sleep most nights. He laid back on the soft Posturepedic, feeling it support his back and neck as his lower legs dangled off the side of the bed. He shut his eyes for a moment and felt the world rush away, then saw a cloud with a monkey in the Union officer’s uniform float by. His own snores didn’t even wake him up.