The Perfect Death

“Good, how about you?”

She let out a long sigh and sat down in the seat next to him. “Now that the IA cloud has been lifted from the squad I feel like I can focus on the mountain of information we’re getting in from the tip lines and lab.”

“We gettin’ anything good?”

She pulled a random report from her pile in her arms. “We finally have the lab report on the chemical found with two of the bodies. You know, the stuff Sparky found at Lexie Hanover’s apartment.”

“What was it?”

“It says here that it is consistent with the residue from a commercial glass cleaner with trace elements including potash. Some of the manufacturers form their own glass components, and potash and other accelerants would be used in natural, non-electric furnaces.”

“What does that mean?”

Sergeant Zuni looked off in space for a minute, then said, “Maybe it would be a good idea to look into construction workers that deal with glass in windows.”

Stallings nodded his head, knowing that it would be another big drain on man power when there were so many other leads coming in. He remembered speaking with someone recently about a glass company. But he just couldn’t recall the details.

Stallings knew it would bother him all morning until he could remember.

FIFTY-TWO

Tony Mazzetti looked at the lanky orderly who now sat directly in front of him. There was no one else in the small room the administration had given him as an office while he looked into the murder of Katie Massa. Obviously this guy was some kind of nut. The question was if he was a nut who liked to confess to murders he didn’t commit or a nut who went around strangling women.

Years before, when he was new to homicide, Tony Mazzetti had been taken in by a man who confessed to killing a teenager with a knife. He’d been so proud of himself after he found the man by canvassing the neighborhood where the homicide had occurred. But when he took the confessed killer back to the office he was met with a chorus of laughter. The suspect’s name was Gerald Conway, better known to the homicide detectives as “Conway the Confessor.” For some reason the man felt compelled to confess to every homicide that happened in the south end of the county. He’d been institutionalized twice and was on heavy doses of psychotropic drugs trying to bring him back to reality. It was a bitter lesson Mazzetti had taken to heart. Over the years he’d had several more instances where caution had proven his savior by not accepting confessions on their face.

Mazzetti took a moment to assess the young man who had thinning dark hair, a long, hawklike nose, and ears virtually perpendicular to his narrow head. Mazzetti said, “How’d you kill her?”

“I choked her.”

He could’ve heard that on the radio. “Describe how you choked her.”

The young man took a moment, looked around the room to ensure they were alone and said, “I wrapped my hands around her throat and squeezed until she went limp in my arms.”

Okay, thought Mazzetti, this is bullshit. One of the few facts they knew for sure was that Katie Massa had been strangled with a rope or a cord of some kind. But he didn’t want to dismiss this guy yet. Obviously he would have to talk to someone about one of the hospital employees wandering around telling cops that he killed someone.

Mazzetti said, “Why’d you strangle her?”

“Because she met someone else.”

“Was she your girlfriend?”

“She was, but she may not have realized it.”

Mazzetti had to stifle a laugh. “You know the guy she met?”

“I know he gave her crosswords to solve. She loved her crossword puzzles.”

Mazzetti nodded and smiled, trying to think how quickly he could deal with this guy. He stood from behind his table and said, “Let’s go talk to your supervisor about this. Where would I find him?”

“Up in endocrinology.”

Patty Levine approached Sparky Taylor’s desk by the most circuitous route possible. He was one of the few people who knew she had been a direct suspect in the theft of the drugs. He was no dummy and probably realized there was a rationale behind Ronald Bell’s theory that Patty had stolen the drugs.

She eased to Sparky’s desk and saw that he was trying to make connections between pages and pages of phone numbers and names relating to the homicide. The same kind of stuff she was good at too. She cleared her throat until he looked up with that wide face of his and casually pushed his glasses back onto his nose.

Patty started slowly. “Sparky, I wanted to thank you for figuring out what happened to the missing drugs.”

“There’s no need to thank me, I was just doing my job. It’s too bad that Ronald Bell doesn’t know policy well enough to resolve something as simple as that quickly.”

Patty nodded and said, “Thanks all the same.” She turned and slowly started to step away when Sparky said, “Wait a sec.”

Sparky took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, motioning Patty to the chair next to his desk in the far corner of the squad bay. He lowered his voice and said, “You guys think all I care about is tech equipment and policy. But I’m a cop first. I’ve been on road patrol, in fights, two shootings, and nearly a divorce. I see how hard you push yourself. I also see your ups and downs. It gets to all of us, girl. You’re not alone.”

Patty stared at Sparky like it was the first time she had ever seen him. He had worked with her the least amount of time of anyone on the squad and he had seen directly to her problems. It was like he had taken an X-ray of her emotions. She nodded her head and mumbled, “Thanks, Sparky.” She stood and started to shuffle away from the desk.

Sparky said, “I’m always around if you need to talk to someone.”

Suddenly Patty realized John Stallings wasn’t the only super sharp cop on the squad.

Stallings went over some notes at his desk, thinking about all the information that had flooded into his brain over the past thirty-six hours. He knew they had to do something quick to avert another homicide and it crushed him that he had no viable plan. They were all working hard and doing their best, but it didn’t seem like it was nearly enough.

An elderly black custodian ambled through the squad bay randomly wiping down cabinets and emptying garbage cans. When he reached Stallings’s desk he paused and said, “You look tired, John.”

“Been a long week, Ben. It doesn’t look to get any easier in the coming weeks.”

The older man chuckled. He had a deep, warm voice that had always been comforting to Stallings. The old custodian said, “I can remember when you started here. I don’t think you looked much different than you do now except for the scar on the bridge of your nose and a few lines around your eyes.”

“Somehow I doubt the interior held up as well as the exterior.”

“God tests us each in our own way.” As he was talking the older man reached down and picked up Stallings’s garbage can. “They first called you Stall because your engine ran so fast they were afraid you’d stall out.”

“You’ve got one hell of a memory, Ben. I wish my dad could remember things as well as you.” Stallings’s eyes shifted to the garbage can and he got an odd feeling. He couldn’t put his finger on it at that moment.

Mazzetti realized he’d broken a number of rules by not handcuffing the tall, dorky orderly named Marvin. He knew the guy was off by a couple of degrees and he’d clearly had nothing to do with Katie Massa’s homicide even though he insisted he had. Mainly Mazzetti wanted to make sure the hospital realized they employed a nut and he figured Marvin’s supervisor was the best person to talk to.

The corridors were crowded midmorning on a Friday. People hustled back and forth, and Mazzetti noted that several other orderlies nodded their heads as they passed Marvin. But no one seemed too concerned that he was