dramatically advance his research.
More important, he would be able to spend a lot of time with this beautiful young woman.
Thirty
John Stallings missed a presence like Luis Martinez in the Detective Bureau. He was currently on a paid leave of absence because he fired his weapon and killed someone in the line of duty. There was no stigma to this kind of leave. It was standard and required to avoid the tough-guy police mentality. Once you worked with someone you didn’t realize all their qualities until they weren’t around. Aside from being a good cop, Martinez could translate for detectives trying to communicate to people who spoke Spanish, he never complained, and he had a sense of humor that lifted the entire Bureau. Stallings hoped he wouldn’t be too affected by the shooting. But you could never tell.
Shootings bothered everyone, whether they admitted it or not. That was one of the reasons Stallings had stopped watching most TV police shows years ago. No TV cops ever seemed to feel remorse for shooting. In real life that was the definition of a sociopath.
Patty Levine eased up to his desk. She looked tired, but Stallings knew she’d never admit to a problem. That wasn’t like her. This had been her first shooting, and it always took its toll on cops who shot or cops who witnessed the shooting.
Stallings said, “You okay?”
She shrugged.
He smiled and said, “It’ll get worse around here. If we don’t nab this guy in a week, we’ll all have to readjust our lives.”
“I had no idea it could be like this.”
Before he could say anything to reassure her, like senior detectives were supposed to, an analyst rushed past them to Mazzetti and the L.T. in the conference room. They all knew what that meant.
An hour later, six detectives crammed in the conference room viewing the video from a webcam set up at a park near Neptune Beach. The hazy, low-quality footage was designed to show surfers the wave height. The camera was secured on a utility pole in the parking lot and caught just one lane of parking. The twelve-second clip they watched over and over showed a small woman climb into a vehicle, probably a van, next to a white Ford Escort in the lot.
Stallings said, “How’d we get onto this video?”
Mazzetti said, “The manager of a sports bar”-he flipped over a sheet of paper and read out-“the Fountain of Youth, called in a missing waitress.”
“How long has she been gone? Usually a bar manager has employees going AWOL all the time.”
“The guy seemed straight up and concerned. He said the waitress, Stacey Hines, was very reliable and they were like her family here in town. The manager and other employees checked on her all the time.”
“That was enough to search for her?”
“They’ve been watching TV, and she’s only five feet tall.”
One of the other detectives mumbled, “Finally the media helps us out.”
Mazzetti said, “The patrolman who took the missing persons report was on the ball. He ran her name and saw her car had been towed for overnight parking at Neptune Beach. He went to the lot and checked out the car and found her spark plugs had been pulled. We couldn’t ignore it.”
Stallings realized that they had a big break in the case. He just hoped it didn’t cost a young girl her life.
Lieutenant Hester said, “What do you guys think?”
Mazzetti spoke right up. “We found her parents in Cincinnati, and they’re sending us photos and are on the way themselves. The restaurant says she didn’t have any stalkers that they noticed but that her car had broken down there before. One of the cooks said he thought the plugs were pulled but added he wasn’t completely certain. I’d say we have this shitty video of the Bag Man’s vehicle.”
The lieutenant said, “The video only shows a door. Nothing else in the frame. So what do we do with it?”
Mazzetti said, “See about enhancing it. Maybe pick up a detail. Try and find anyone who was at the beach and saw the driver of the vehicle.”
Someone asked, “How?”
Stallings blurted out. “We have to go public. Show the girl’s photo. Ask for help.”
Mazzetti immediately had an answer. “We’re already flooded with leads.”
“What else do you have in mind?”
Mazzetti thought about it, then sighed. “We don’t need someone to leak it this time. I’ll make the call.”
They had another victim.
Stacey Hines felt her head clear but still couldn’t move her arms or legs. The first time she’d awakened in this position she thought she was paralyzed for a minute until she was able to see the chains holding her in place. Each time she had woken up since then it took less time to remember what was happening to her. That also meant it took less time to think of what was going to happen to her.
She was still naked under a thin, wool blanket with a Thanksgiving motif. Pumpkins and Pilgrim hats now haunted her dreams. But she hadn’t given up hope. So far William had taken great care to keep her clean, feed her, and make her comfortable. She tried not to think about what he did after he dosed her with the drugs that made her pass out. He also liked to tell her all the details of her own life. He talked about her brief stint at Youngstown State University, citing her 2.1 grade point average, and then saying, “Sounds like someone was a little immature for college.” It was like he had been there.
She had no idea if it was night or day or how long she had been restrained in the little bed. The initial terror she’d felt was now more of a chronic fear. It must’ve been some psychological coping mechanism, because she would’ve gone crazy quickly the way she felt the first time she woke up in chains. The tiny room held no clues either. Just her bed, a lamp, and a small, hard plastic portable toilet he had slid under her twice a day. She didn’t even shudder at him wiping her after each use of the toilet. It was so clinical and nonsexual on his part, and she was so terrified about other things that she barely resisted the action anymore.
The truly scary thing was that she knew that he was the Bag Man. He hadn’t said it, and she hadn’t asked, but she knew whatever he had planned for her she would end up crammed in a suitcase. She knew she had to do something to get away. He would never just let her go.
As she considered possible courses of action, William unlocked the door and walked in holding a tray of food, including the protein shake he required her to drink every day.
William smiled and said, “Good morning, sunshine. Time for nourishment.”
This guy put a whole new meaning on the word “creepy.”
Patty Levine looked up from her desk as she was closing up files for the night. Things had returned to normal in the days after the shooting-as normal as a giant serial homicide case could be. It was dark outside, and she hadn’t eaten since mid-morning. The three Xanax she’d taken during the day had kept her calm as well as thirsty, and the water suppressed her appetite. Now she was ready to cut loose and eat. Preferably a buffet with lots of pasta and mashed potatoes. The way she felt right now the guy who wrote the South Beach Diet could kiss her ass.
Her stomach had felt like acid a few hours earlier, but some over-the-counter Zantac cleared it up. She wondered if that was something she needed to add to her prescription arsenal. Why not? She’d found relief in every other area of her life from some little pill.
As her computer cycled off she sensed Tony Mazzetti moving toward her. She’d noticed him at the far end of the squad bay for the last forty minutes. He always stayed late, but tonight she could tell that he was waiting until everyone else cleared out so he could talk to her. That was why she’d taken her time to pack up for the night. The games people play for romance. They hadn’t changed in centuries and hadn’t changed for individuals since elementary school. Regardless, she smiled at his approach.
Without saying a word he slid a chair and plopped in it so that he was sitting and facing her from only a few feet away.
