He said, “You believe these two girls got their X from the same source.”
She nodded.
“You think there could be more to the girls’ deaths?”
Patty was cautious. “Could be.”
“Then we need to investigate it, Detective Levine,” he said in a mock-formal tone. He glanced over the notes and added, “I wish we had a lead that was common to the girls.”
“We might.”
Stallings just stared at her.
Patty said, “And this might be a long shot.”
“What is it?”
“You know that yellow liquid we found at Jason Ferrell’s apartment?”
He thought about their search for the missing chemical engineer, then nodded. “It’s safrole oil.”
“And you’ll explain what this is to me.”
“It’s the precursor and main ingredient in homemade Ecstasy.”
Twenty-seven
John Stallings hit the accelerator on his Impala a little hard as he tore west on Interstate 10. He knew the logical move was to find the next suspect on the list provided by Larry, the bartender at the Wildside. Patty had determined that Chad Palmer was a married pharmaceutical rep with a house west of Jacksonville in a little area called Normandy. But Stallings zipped past the exit for Normandy on his way to Sanderson and Leonard Walsh.
The redneck and his friend had given him the slip at Jason Ferrell’s apartment, and it had bugged him ever since. Now that Mr. Walsh might have information that could help on the case, he was happy to pay him a visit.
Patty seemed a little anxious, and based on his history she had reason. But all he really wanted was to solve the mystery of what these morons were doing at Ferrell’s. If the guy was making bathroom X, then Stallings wouldn’t be as bothered about his disappearance. It was a karma thing. If you worked in the drug business you got what you deserved. He’d still feel bad about Ferrell’s mother. If he was an amateur pill maker he could be hiding from any number of lowlifes or one of them could have found him.
Twenty-five minutes later they pulled off the interstate onto the maze of state and county roads crisscrossing North Florida. The edge of the Osceola National Forest bordered the north side of the road, and what seemed like endless, empty cow pastures spread out to the south. One dirt road cut east into a field in desperate need of some maintenance. Stallings took it as if he’d been down the rocky road a thousand times.
He slowed the Impala as they approached a broken-down wooden gate permanently propped open.
Stallings said, “Getting a little lax on security.”
“Who’d want to come back here to steal anything?”
A double-wide trailer, up on blocks, sat near the rear of the cleared section of the field. A smaller travel trailer in terrible disrepair was parked about fifty yards from the double-wide with a new Ford F-150 parked in between.
“That’s the truck that ran from us,” said Patty.
Stallings took another second to scan the entire open area and especially the corners of the trailers and truck. He said quietly, “Is this the day that changes my life?”
He parked right in front of the double-wide and didn’t waste any time pounding on the thin door. He stepped to the side and appreciated that Patty stood at the corner of the big trailer so she could see anyone coming from the rear.
After a few seconds the front door opened, and the man that had run from him, in the same green John Deere hat, poked out his head and looked down at Stallings standing at the base of the three metal stairs that led into the trailer.
Stallings said, “Thought you could run from us, didn’t you?”
“Goddamn, you’re the five-O from J-Ville.” He started to ease back inside, but Stallings jumped onto the landing to block the man from closing the door.
Stallings said, “You Leonard Walsh?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office, we need to talk.”
“I got nothin’ to say to you. This here is Baker County, not Duvall. You got no juice here.”
Stallings smiled. “And the local cops don’t know me either. I think that might be worse for you.”
He stared, open mouthed, trying to figure out exactly what Stallings meant. He stepped back all the way into the double-wide, and Stallings followed.
Stallings said, “Why’d you run from us, Leonard?”
“I don’t want no trouble.”
“Neither do I. All I want is answers. If you tell me what I need to know, then we’ll be gone in a few minutes. But if you don’t…” Stallings knew to leave the threat open. Imagination was worse than anything he could’ve said. He watched Leonard Walsh’s face closely, knowing he’d sufficiently scared the man when he saw his Adam’s apple bob in a deep swallow.
Leonard bowed his head. “What do you want to know?”
“Why were you at Jason Ferrell’s apartment?”
“How’d you know that’s who we were going to see?”
“Lucky guess.”
Leonard hesitated, then said, “He was doin’ some work for me.”
“C’mon, Leonard, speed this along. Get to the point. What kind of work?”
“He said he could find a new way to make meth without using the ingredients that are on the watch list so we don’t have to show no driver’s license just to get cold medicine.”
“That’s why you have the small trailer, isn’t it? That’s your cook shack.”
Leonard nodded.
“All I really need to know is where Jason is now.”
Leonard shrugged.
“Why were you at his apartment?”
“We owed him some cash.”
“He come up with the recipe?”
Leonard remained silent.
Stallings said, “I think I’ll take a look around the property.”
“You can’t do that. You got no warrant. You don’t even got jurisdiction.”
Stallings looked over to Patty at the door in a signal to get ready in case this guy did something stupid.
Then he turned and stepped back out into the yard.
It was early, but he enjoyed getting out to someplace different. No one knew him here and no one knew he liked to come here. Closer to the University of North Florida in the southeast part of town, this little club featured a live band later in the evening but cheap beer early. That meant it was crowded. Really crowded.
Lisa, the girl he had met in the food court at the mall, grinded her hips up against him. She wasn’t technically a spring break visitor because she had flunked out of a junior college in north Georgia, but she had a great smile, blue eyes, and straight, long blond hair. Her hips were strong enough to bump him over a few inches.
He had agreed to meet her in the little club but now was sorry because of all the blond heads he saw. He could go wild in a place like this. He wondered what would happen if he did something really crazy like use a gun to kill five or six of the blondes. Would the cops think all the blond victims were a fluke? The thought made him chuckle.
Lisa said, “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” He liked her big, curvy frame in perfect time to the music. This chick could dance.
“What’s on your mind?”
