looking to get ahead and was acting as a mouthpiece for someone higher up the ladder. It didn’t take the sting out of the inquiry as he grieved over the loss of his daughter.
Stallings remembered when he finally snapped and took a swing at the surprisingly agile detective. The goof had asked, “Why call in a missing person at three in the afternoon Saturday when no one had seen her since noon on Friday?”
Now Stallings knew it was a legitimate question, but at the time stress and the desire to have every swinging dick out looking for her pushed him too far. To Bell’s credit he never said a word about the attempted battery. But just the sight of the man brought up memories he’d tried hard to suppress: the sheriff’s tech unit searching the home computer for e-mails and instant messages that Jeanie might have sent; the crush of media; and, worst of all, the questions he couldn’t or wouldn’t answer, like “Can we talk to your wife?”
He shuddered at the thought, then snapped back to reality. As he did, he heard Bell’s voice saying, “So you didn’t think you needed a warrant or to use the SWAT team for the entry?”
Stallings shook his head; he was short of breath and didn’t want to waste any speaking.
Bell paused, then said, “How’d that work out for you, Stall?”
Patty Levine had ignored the order to go home after the shooting and her I.A. interview. There hadn’t been much to say about the incident. They had forcibly entered the house when no one answered the door but they had heard movement inside. They confronted the suspect, who had a pistol in his hand. Luis Martinez fired once, striking the man in the center of the chest. The suspect died. When you stripped away the issues of why they were there, why they had no warrant, how they developed the information, the situation was clear. It was a “shoot” situation. Martinez fired because he saw a threat to his life and the lives of others.
She had avoided Tony Mazzetti during the hectic day because she knew he already felt terrible about his failure to launch. She didn’t know why it had happened but didn’t feel like adding to the guy’s guilt.
Right now Patty had records from Home Depot, tips from the general public, information from suitcase manufacturers, and the medical examiner reports on the three victims all on her desk. The killer’s identity lay somewhere in the details of this pile of data, and she intended to find him.
John Stallings had the contacts with the street people, Mazzetti the drive to push everyone, and she felt like she had the eye for a detail that might break the whole thing wide open. At least that was her hope.
The task force members agreed that the killer had the ability to attract the victim without causing too much alarm. At least at the beginning of the encounter. The vicious knife wounds to Trina Ester showed that she had been frightened and the killer acted out of character. Patty sat and tried to figure out what he had done to spook her. Had he undressed? Tried to undress her? What caused the reaction?
The killer also seemed to fly under the radar, which made her think he might be a maintenance worker or someone else who fit into an area like a fixture and wouldn’t arouse suspicion. That included such a range of people that she didn’t waste time thinking about it. Except he also had access to prescription drugs. The drugstores had been canvassed to see if a large amount of Oxycontin was missing from anywhere and the search determined everyone was missing some. For a drug that helped so many with persistent pain and caused so much heartache for those who abused it, none of the stores seemed to pay attention to their inventory.
Finally Patty shoved some of the tip sheets aside and leaned back in her chair, pressing her palms into her eyes and feeling the events of the day start to drain her. It also gave her a moment to feel the regret of a missed opportunity bubble up in her again as she tried to consider what went wrong in bed the night before.
Then it hit her. In little fragments at first, then as a fully realized, crystal-clear vision: Tony Mazzetti was gay.
John Stallings kicked the slightly deflated soccer ball harder than he had intended as it flew up off the neatly cut grass of his front yard and whacked Charlie in the chest, rocking the young boy.
Charlie gave his dad a confused look, and Stallings raised his hands in apology.
The meeting in the Internal Affairs office had rattled him, and he knew it. The sight of Ronald Bell had sent him racing home to see his family and spend some time with the kids.
It wasn’t just the shooting. A cop had a sense of his own mortality every time he stepped out the front door. A lot of their work was luck and fate as much as training. No, it was the face time with Bell that had brought back the memories of Jeanie’s disappearance and his own issues with the suspicious I.A. investigator. It also reminded him of what the whole family had gone through, and he saw it as a testament to their strength that everyone was still together and functioning. Even Maria had come around in the past few months. After the loss, the allegations, and Maria’s own issues, he’d never believed life could be good again.
But he still couldn’t sit at home comfortably while he knew he had the power to stop the asshole roaming J- Ville and stuffing girls into bags. He knew that after kicking with Charlie and doing some stretches and conditioning with Lauren he’d be up on his computer organizing his schedule to interview the street people and search the city once again.
Charlie set the ball, stepped back, and, running toward the ball and swinging his spindly right leg, launched the ball at Stallings with a slight hook to it. The ball twisted like a knuckleball, cutting an erratic path through the air and striking Stallings directly in the solar plexus. His breath burped out of him in a fast swish and he felt his knees buckle as he went down first on a knee and then onto his back.
He concentrated on taking in first tiny breaths, then longer, more satisfying gulps of air.
Charlie appeared over him with a look of horror on his face.
Stallings held up a hand and waved him off, gasping, “I’m fine, I’m fine.”
Charlie nodded and said, “That’s what happens when you mess with Stall 2.0.”
Even in pain a smile washed across Stallings’s face as he reached up, grabbed the boy, and hugged him tight.
This was all he needed.
William Dremmel could see the apprehension building in Stacey as she fidgeted and glanced at the retro wall-mounted clock that looked like an Elvis LP record. He’d tried to buy some time to allow the drugs to kick in, but the whole scenario felt too much like the disaster with Trina. The difference was that he’d spent a lot of time learning everything about Stacey and had dreamed about the long months of her semiconscious activity, when he’d explain her whole life to her. He’d even planned how they’d spend the evenings watching TV shows on his computer from one of the broadcast sites and the different configurations for the chains to allow proper blood flow in her shapely limbs. The more he considered the plans he had made for young Stacey Hines, the less likely it became that he’d draw his knife and damage that beautiful skin of hers.
He was frozen with indecision when Stacey said, “I think we need to get moving now.” There was a hint of a slur in her words, but they were forceful enough for him to realize time was up. Then an idea popped in his head fully formed and ready: blunt trauma. A blow to the head might do the trick if not delay his research for several days while she recovered. He didn’t like the idea of overt violence on this precious girl, but he saw no alternative.
His eyes scanned the room frantically, finally settling on a lamp with a brass base resting on the end table on his side of the couch. Too hard, with sharp angles that might cut her scalp deeply. He didn’t want another bloody scene that took all day to clean up.
Then he considered the leather TV remote holder that was sitting atop the coffee table in front of him. Too soft. Although it had some heft, he doubted the cardboard under the riveted leather would be sturdy enough to deliver a blow that would lay her out.
Then he noticed the thick plastic-covered coil he used to work out his forearms. It was a simple matter of leaning to the side, almost like he was going to stand up, and grasping it. When Stacey stood and turned toward the door he could swing it and catch her in the lower back of the head. It would certainly stun her if not knock her out completely.
He said, “Yeah, we probably should get going.” Then he leaned across the couch and wrapped his fingers around the coil leaning next to the couch against the wall.
Next to him, Stacey rose to her feet, but he felt a shaky quality to her movement and noticed her waver slightly when she was finally upright.
He was standing with the coil in his hand when he noticed Stacey flail her arms in the air like she was surfing. She let loose with a “Wheeee!” as she turned to him and smiled with a whimsical quality that let him drop the coil, knowing one of the drugs had just hit pay dirt in her brain.
A smile crept across his face at the serene expression Stacey held as she barely maintained her balance. The familiar and now vital thrill shot through his body as he realized his plans had worked and he was about to
