walking with a cop through the halls of the hospital. Mazzetti had his suit jacket off, and his gun and badge were clearly visible on his hip. In addition, he had a identification badge around his neck and everyone had been told the police would be hanging around the hospital conducting the investigation.
Pediatric endocrinology was one end of the floor that also housed pediatric oncology and a wing for kids with other ailments. A little girl whose head was as bald and shiny as any old man’s scuttled by in a long nightgown and waved at the orderly, saying, “Hi, Marvin.”
For his part, Marvin seemed quite unconcerned he’d just confessed to a homicide and smiled at the little girl as he said, “Hello, Emma. I’ll come by and see you later.”
The little girl giggled and scooted on her way.
Mazzetti allowed Marvin to lead him to the wide nurses’ station and immediately identified a woman of about thirty-five who was clearly in charge of the massive and busy station. She was tall and athletic, with pretty brown hair tied in a ponytail. She also wore runner’s shoes, which gave Mazzetti the impression this was not a manager who sat back and watched others work.
He stood there for a moment until she looked up. She came from behind a round desk at the center of the console out into the hallway and nodded to Marvin as she looked at Mazzetti. “Is there a problem, Officer?”
“Can we talk privately?”
The woman looked at the other seven nurses, who were busy making notes or answering the phone, and said, “Will this take long? Is Marvin in trouble?”
Mazzetti wasn’t sure exactly how to answer because technically Marvin had made a false police report or obstructed justice or bothered a police officer so badly that he was lucky he hadn’t gotten his ass kicked. Instead Mazzetti said, “Are you his supervisor?”
The nurse surprised him by starting to laugh. First as a giggle, then as a loud guffaw. It took her a few moments to compose herself. Finally she said, “Did he tell you he worked here as an orderly?”
“I don’t think I’d be here talking to you if he hadn’t.”
“Marvin is not officially employed by the hospital.”
“I don’t follow. He’s dressed like he works here and he told me he works here and you obviously know him.”
The nurse adopted Mazzetti’s slow condescending speech pattern to say, “He is a patient here. He’s treated three days a week in the psychiatric services section. But he’s harmless and good for the kids’ morale so we allow him to come and visit.”
“Why’s he dressed like that?”
“I think you’d have to ask him about that.”
Mazzetti glared at the taller man, who shrugged and said, “I like to dress in white scrubs.” The nurse started to laugh again.
That sobered the woman instantly. She nodded and couldn’t find words to speak. Finally she said, “He had a little crush on her. Everyone did.” Then Mazzetti’s eye caught something on the console. He reached past the nurse and picked up the single sheet of paper with a crossword printed out on it. “Marvin mentioned something about crosswords.”
The nurse said, “Katie did them all the time. She’d print out some for us to do too.”
Mazzetti looked at Marvin. “How’d you know Katie got the crosswords from a guy?”
“She told me she did.”
Now the nurse, sensing where Mazzetti was going with his questioning, said, “She told me she got it from a guy too. She met him at Starbucks around the corner.”
“Did she say anything else about him?”
The nurse shook her head. “Not really. She had just met him and liked him. She didn’t describe him or give any details.” This was a sharp woman who recognized that any new man entering Katie’s life would be a suspect in her death.
Something told Mazzetti this was a serious lead.
FIFTY-THREE
John Stallings couldn’t take his eyes off the garbage can in the custodian’s hands. Something in the back of his head was screaming at him, but he couldn’t hear what the voice was saying.
The older custodian said, “You guys keep some long hours. At least you’re not as bad as narcotics with paperwork crumpled up and thrown everywhere and day-old food sitting on every desk. It’s like cleaning a frat house.”
Stallings nodded absently, then suddenly recalled his conversation with Luis Martinez about interviewing a man at a glass company. At that moment he couldn’t pinpoint the source of his anxiety. He said, “Hold on a minute, Ben.” He stood and peered into the half-full garbage can and saw the sheet of paper Luis Martinez had tossed into it yesterday.
Stallings plucked out the paper, pulled it out at the corners to clearly see the ring with a hint of moisture still visible. He looked at the custodian and said, “Gotta go.” And hit the door of the squad bay at a full sprint.
Buddy couldn’t recall when his nickname had really caught on. It wasn’t long after he moved out of his mother’s house and started working the odd construction jobs. He always felt his real name, Arnold Cather, was formal and stiff sounding. His parents had never called him Arnie. Until the day his father died when Buddy was twelve he called his son Arnold. His mother had been no better. When she was happy with something he did she called him Arnold; when she was angry she called him Arnold. Now she didn’t call him at all.
He liked the informality and anonymity of the name Buddy. He especially liked the way the woman who ran the hotel, Liz, said it with such a pleasant smile and upbeat tone.
He had decided she was the final link. The chance to finish his work of art so it could stand for all eternity. He had the jar out, sitting on the rear shelf of his van along with the cord he had used on his last several victims. Now he was waiting for the right circumstance. He was certain he could do it sometime later today but was prepared to come back if he had to.
As he replaced the bay window, for the second time in less than a week he found himself whistling.
Stallings didn’t like to bully people, at least people who hadn’t committed a crime. But as he backed the lab tech into the corner, he realized the man was nervous because he feared actual physical pain. Stallings would never consider touching another employee of the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office in any kind of aggressive way. But he didn’t have to let this guy know that’s how he felt.
The tall, thin young man had initially told Stallings he wouldn’t be able to look at the paper with the odd chemical ring on it for several days and that Stallings should submit it through official channels.
Stallings said, “I don’t think you understand. This is urgent and relates to the multiple homicide investigation we have going on.”
The young man stammered, “I won’t be able to tell you exactly what the chemical is without checking a number of variables. Could take hours or even days.”
“All I need you to do is compare it to a previous sample we submitted from two other victims. You don’t have to tell me what it is, only if it’s the same chemical found at the other crime scenes.” Stallings stepped away from the man to let him relax slightly. “And I’m going to stand in the room until you get it done.”
The young man scurried to the other side of the lab and grabbed a folder of recent reports. He came back and took the paper Stallings had given him in an open plastic bag and examined the stain, first through a large microscope sitting at the end of the bench and then with a magnifying glass as he looked into the light. The young man went to a bench and pulled out a bottle with a small eyedropper and placed one drop of clear liquid on top of the paper. He then examined the paper again with the magnifying glass and touched the drop of liquid with a small piece of litmus paper.
Stallings fidgeted, trying to conceal his impatience. At least the young lab technician was doing his job and
