porch.” He turned and took the three wooden stairs to the ground and immediately turned down the potholed, cracked cement driveway. He didn’t want to risk kissing her and then changing his mind over what had to happen.
She followed him eagerly in her simple bedroom ensemble and bare feet.
He stepped into the shadow of the house and kept moving, making Lori follow him without time to think.
Dremmel carefully stepped around a puddle of water in the deepest part of the shadow, quickly added two more steps to get farther away, then turned to face Lori and watch the spectacle he’d spent an hour setting up quietly earlier in the evening.
Lori didn’t notice the puddle, which was really a pothole with more than six inches of water. She stepped into the small pool of water and froze, then convulsed onto the hard cement driveway, still shaking as her left leg dipped into the water.
Dremmel was fascinated by any form of death and this was a new challenge. He’d set an electric cord running from an outdoor socket into the water. He had jammed open the automatic GFI breaker in the utility room attached to the open carport. The juice running through her was just a powerful shock except that he allowed the shock to continue while she lay there for what was termed “low-level electrocution.” This was more spectacular than the stun gun. The little device had given him the idea for this stunt. The current essentially caused her heart to drop into arrhythmia.
He stepped closer and looked into her twitching eyes. Was that her or the electricity? Stepping away from the water he unplugged the heavy cord.
Lori stopped moving. He rolled up the cord, stuck it in his pocket, then leaned down and placed two fingers along Lori’s long, graceful neck. There was no pulse.
It took him only a minute to remove his block from the circuit breaker and pick up a CD player he’d seen in the carport. He plugged it in the wall and dropped it in the pool of water. The unit sparked, then shut off as the water on the line tripped the GFI breaker.
He surprised himself by feeling a lump in his throat for his lovely coworker, then squatted down and kissed her forehead gently.
Now there were no links whatsoever between him and Stacey Hines.
Thirty-seven
William Dremmel spent the early morning hours trying to chat with Stacey. He’d been so excited by his brilliant staging of Lori’s accidental death that he couldn’t even think about sleep. When she proved to be resolute in her silence, he spent the time feeding her part of her high-protein, low-carb diet. The food plan allowed her to maintain muscle and keep her from putting on extra pounds while she was stationary. It also tended to keep her energy more regular without the ups and downs of insulin coursing through her. He allowed her to sit on the portable toilet with her hands free but not her legs. It was awkward setting the toilet on top of her mattress, but it was safer than letting her go free.
Dremmel completed his favorite task, giving Stacey a loving sponge bath, just before dawn.
Finally she said, “What’s the other mattress for?” She nodded her head toward the opposite side of the room.
“It might work out that you get a little company in here.”
“Oh yeah, who?”
He just smiled. “There are several options open.”
“You’re never gonna let me go, are you?” Her voice was calm and matter of fact.
“Never is a long time.”
She looked at him and said, “I’m never going to forgive you for what you’ve done to me.”
That just gave him the idea for a different round of drug trials to see if he could soften her position. He’d see what he could pick up around the store today.
John Stallings had been distracted all day long. He had Maria’s sponsor and his sister over at the house and felt confident she was in good hands, but the guilt of whether his long hours had contributed to her back-sliding ate at him. Still he couldn’t keep himself away from the case today. He’d spent the day talking to homeless men and showing around photos of the dead girls.
As soon as he burst through the office door he had a sense that something was wrong. The other detectives kept their heads down or gave him a quick nod hello. He didn’t know if Tony Mazzetti had thrown a fit about something or if they were all just getting as worn down as him from the case and trying to maintain their own lives at the same time. God knows he felt as if he could just lie down and sleep for a few hours. But he had leads to follow and people to find.
As he approached his desk, near the old holding cell, he saw the door to the conference room open and Lieutenant Rita Hester lean out, look at him, then motion him into the room. He set down his notebook and hustled toward the room wondering what terrible thing had happened now.
At the doorway he paused, looking at the lieutenant, Tony Mazzetti, and I.A. weasel Ronald Bell all sitting around the long table.
“What’s up, guys?” he asked as he slowly stepped inside.
The lieutenant said, “Shut the door, Detective Stallings.”
Uh oh, he didn’t like the sound of that. Stallings took a seat on the far side of the table so he had a table between him and Ronald Bell. It seemed like a simple precaution for the I.A. investigator’s safety.
“What’s this about? Looks a little like a lynch mob.”
Mazzetti didn’t look at him.
The lieutenant said, “You wanna tell us again how you haven’t been talking to the media about the case?”
“I can, but nothing’s changed.”
Now Mazzetti looked up. “Bullshit, Stall. I actually believed you. I was starting to think you might be worth a shit as a cop and then you do this.”
“Tony, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Ronald Bell slapped a stack of paper onto the table. “Your county cell phone records.”
Stallings picked up the first page and studied it, seeing his phone number and the Sheriff’s Office name and address at the top. “Do I have to guess, or will you tell me what to look for?”
Bell leaned in, feigning the outrage that most I.A. investigators can turn on or off in a heartbeat. “You slipped up, smart guy. You made a call to a Channel Eleven extension from your cell phone.” He pulled a page from the bottom of the stack and slid it across the table to Stallings.
Stallings picked it up and looked at the circled call and thought about it for a minute. “That’s the day Luis Martinez shot the pot grower with the underaged girl.”
“Exactly, and Channel Eleven was there before anyone else, even the paramedics.” Bell plopped back in his seat like an old-time defense attorney who had just made some major point.
Stallings shook his head. “I never called any TV station.”
Bell’s face was a deeper red than usual. He said, “Is it an error? Just chance that the number for Channel Eleven appeared on your bill?”
Mazzetti shook his head and said, “You’re pathetic.” Then he stood up and stomped out of the room.
Stallings was at a complete loss for words. Seeing Ronald Bell gloating across the table didn’t help matters. Then the lieutenant stood up so she could look down at him and said the one thing he didn’t want to hear.
“I’m sorry, Stall, but I’m taking you off the case. You’re going back to the runaway roundup unless the sheriff wants to take more serious action.”
Stallings swallowed hard, trying to lose the lump in his throat. This was the worst thing they could do to him right now. Didn’t they realize it would crush him? When he looked across at the smug smile on Ronald Bell’s face he realized that the I.A. investigator knew exactly what this would do to him.
