but they were better than nothing. There was a place called the Trinity Rescue Mission that did a good job of looking after the homeless.
Years ago Stallings viewed them as an impediment to investigations, a group who thought they were above the law. He believed that teens should be dragged home if found and these safe houses were sending the wrong message. Part of that was hearing his father complain about Helen while she was gone and believing that she was better off with the family. Now he had the opposite sentiment and even tried to throw a little cash their way when he could. It was funny how his view of the world had evolved in the last few years.
Stallings had learned what it took for a sixteen-year-old to fend for herself and where she might do it. He also learned that it took a long time to build up trust with this subculture and shuddered at the thought of that idiot Mazzetti blundering into it thinking he could use his size and commanding voice to scare people into talking to the cops.
But Stallings knew better than to ignore the call to a meeting on the case just after lunch. Most meetings were useless and just a way for someone to show they could call a meeting to tell other cops things they already knew. Stallings had to admit that in this case he was interested in what they already knew and who was going to do the legwork.
Rita Hester had told him his role, but he wondered if they would abuse Patty. She was a sharp and tough detective, but also junior in the D-bureau. Patty’s looks could be deceiving, and he hoped the macho homicide dicks didn’t stick her on menial, worthless tasks. He wanted her to see if this was the kind of work she was interested in, and if she wanted to move on from missing persons, he’d support her. He was her partner; that was his job.
At the top of the staircase leading to the “D-bureau” or detective bureau, a tall road patrol sergeant named Rick Ellis stopped him.
“Stall, what’s shakin’?”
Stallings shook the bearlike hand and said, “I’m up in homicide for a little while.”
“I haven’t seen so many guys up in the Land That Time Forgot since Cernick was on the loose.”
Stallings looked down, not sure what to say. He didn’t know how public the task force was yet.
Ellis’s eyes popped larger. “Jesus, don’t tell me we got us another serial killer.” A good cop read between the lines, and Ellis was a damn good cop.
“I don’t know exactly what’s going on yet, Rick.”
“Days like this I’m glad to be working traffic and patrol. Let me know if I need to pass something on to my troops.”
“I promise.”
As they started to head in opposite directions the uniformed sergeant said, “You look good, Stall. I’m glad to see you’re back in the game.”
Stallings sat at his desk, writing down a few phone numbers as Tony Mazzetti prepared to address the group of detectives by looking down at a few pages of notes. Someone had already cleaned the sand out of his drawers and his few personal belongings were arranged on the desk next to the computer that looked like something out of the Flintstones. It resembled a stained, off-white boulder with a rounded, green screen. He never had a lot of things to move around whenever he changed units at the S.O.-a photo of the whole family from a trip to Six Flags four years ago, an old-style Rolodex with business cards and little notes crammed into it, and a penholder with a soccer ball that was a thank-you from Charlie’s team he coached last fall. It said, “Coach John. You Rock.” It might have been his most cherished possession.
The low ceilings and stained fiber panels that hung between dim fluorescent lights made Mazzetti’s clean, crisp suit look impressive. The other eleven detectives took life in the Land That Time Forgot more casually. Patty and the other two female detectives had on jeans and professional blouses. One of them, Christina Hogrebe, or “Hoagie,” as she was commonly known, wore a pullover with the JSO badge and her name embroidered on the left chest.
The male detectives seemed to pattern themselves after Mazzetti, only with less taste and cash to throw into their wardrobes. Short-sleeve shirts with cheap polyester ties were the average, with Stallings at the low end of the scale in a simple polo shirt. What he needed to do on the case didn’t involve undercover or trying to impress anyone with his clothing.
Mazzetti began, “We’ve got a lot of forensics and lab work to decipher. So far we’ve found some black cat hair that may match on both victims. There are other factors that might tie the victims together.”
Someone called out, “Like what?”
“Their size, for one thing. Both women were five feet give or take an inch and a little over a hundred pounds. That may mean a lot.” His dark eyes scanned the room to see if anyone had any theories to throw out there. “I think it might mean this guy has his own height complex. That may be how he targets his victims. The fact that both victims were found stuffed inside some kind of luggage is also a detail that connects them.”
A lean, hard-nosed guy named Luis Martinez, pulled in from auto theft, said, “What’s with the first victim? I didn’t even realize we had another homicide like it.”
Mazzetti fumbled. “I–I,” he paused, took a moment, then said, “we were handling it quietly.” He cut his eyes to the silent Rita Hester sitting at the rear of the main group of detectives, but she didn’t offer any help. “That’s not important anymore. What’s vital is that we’re all on the same sheet of music and hit these leads hard.”
Stallings chuckled quietly, knowing the subject of how Detective Perfect screwed up would not go away. If anything, as the case wore on it would become more of a concern and subject to scrutiny.
Mazzetti looked down at his notes. “Right now we’re just gonna call this a homicide case. No nicknames or operations.”
Martinez said, “C’mon, Tony, I already had a perfect name for the investigation.”
Mazzetti sighed, “Okay, Luis, I’ll bite. What do you want to call it?”
“Son of Samsonite.”
The laughter around the squad bay was typical of cops who were exposed to the worst of society everyday. They could make jokes at horrific crime scenes, laugh at car accidents, and basically ignore things that would drive the average person insane, but for Stallings that shit had gone by the wayside a few years ago. He wanted to hit the street and find who had killed these girls. He wanted to start right this fucking minute, before the killer had a chance to strike again. He didn’t have time for jokes anymore.
He raised his hand and said, “Tony, now that we know about the linked deaths, what are we gonna do about it?”
“Good, at least someone is ready to get out there.” He looked down and started writing a few comments on his note pages. “We gotta see if we can identify someone named ‘Jamais.’ Moffit had his name tattooed on her upper right shoulder.” He pointed at a few detectives. “You guys are gonna fan out through the city.” He turned to another pair of detectives. “You two are going to check tattoo parlors to see if anyone local drew it.” After a few more assignments he looked at Patty Levine. “I need you to see if you can track down the manufacturer of the luggage to see if there is any way to get an angle on it that way.
“We’ve got a mountain of other things. Each of you has a photo of the first victim. We’re putting a drawing of her out to the media today. We gotta find a name to go with the body.” They often used the drawings of photographs to spare showing a dead body on TV, especially if there was a family out there that was unaware of the death. He clapped his hands. “Let’s get to work.”
Stallings stood up from his desk and grabbed his beat-up pad folio. Mazzetti stepped right over to him. In a quiet voice that made his slow speech more labored, he said, “No bullshit, Stall. You need to keep me filled in on anything you come up with.”
“Do you want to catch this guy as fast as possible?”
Mazzetti nodded and said, “More than anything.”
“Then I’ll keep you completely filled in.”
Nine
John Stallings didn’t usually work after sunset, at least for the Sheriff’s Office. He worked at providing his kids with a comfortable place to grow up. He worked at keeping the pressure off Maria so she could stay sober if not
