mid-twenties, wearing just shorts and a T-shirt. A boy, about five, peeked around one of her shapely legs, but didn’t say a word.
“Yes?” the young woman said.
Patty knew to take this one. “Mrs. Palmer, is your husband around?”
“I’m not Mrs. Palmer.”
“I’m sorry. Does a Chad Palmer live here?”
The young woman smiled. “Can I ask what this is about?”
Stallings, feeling a little impatient, said, “Ma’am, we’re with the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office. And we need to talk to Chad Palmer.”
“Oh. I’m his sister, Debbie. He actually lives over near the beach.”
Patty said in her usual calm tone, “This house is listed as one of his addresses.”
Debbie smiled. “Technically he owns this house, but I’m the only one who’s ever lived here. Well, me and the rug rat here.” She ruffled the silent little boy’s hair.
“That sounds like a good brother.”
“Yeah. He’s a pretty good guy. What’s this all about?”
“He may be a witness to something, and we need to talk to him. No big deal.”
“Where? He travels all over with his job.”
“Where’s he travel?”
“From Miami to Atlanta.”
“This has to do with Jacksonville.”
“He spends a lot of time in Daytona, but he has an office in Jacksonville too. What did he witness?”
Patty hesitated, then said, “Just a routine investigation. I’m sure we’ll get hold of him soon.”
“What kind of investigation?”
Patty looked over to Stallings, who nodded. “It’s about a Mississippi college student who died from an apparent drug overdose.”
“What kind of drug?”
“Ecstasy.”
Stallings noticed the woman relax a little, as if the fact that it wasn’t a pharmaceutical drug relieved her.
As they walked back to the car, Stallings looked over his shoulder at the cute boy staring through the window at them.
Stallings said, “A pharmaceutical rep has access to a lot of drugs.”
“So why would he need to make his own?”
“That, my young partner, is a very good question. I hope we can get an answer from Mr. Palmer in the very near future.”
Since the uncomfortable incident with Holly he’d been a little more careful. He hadn’t told Lisa where he’d be tonight because he wasn’t ready to make his move. Still, the music, the crowd, and the girls were giving him an erection that drew so much blood from his head it was making him dizzy. He knew he had to be more careful and that people were looking at Allie Marsh’s death. He didn’t know why the cute girl from Mississippi deserved so much attention, but he didn’t want to do anything stupid now.
He knew that moving too quickly with Lisa, no matter how exciting her blond hair and blue eyes were, could get him in trouble in the long run. Besides, he liked the thrill of the hunt. He almost wished she weren’t so accessible. It had been hard convincing her he couldn’t give her his cell phone number. She’d been all too quick to give up hers, but he mumbled some half-assed excuse. Now she was convinced that he was married. But she didn’t seem bothered by the excitement of an older, married man. Somehow the prospect of a guy who might have a little money, was in pretty good shape, and could dance blinded her to the problems that arose from him not giving her his phone number.
To be on the safe side, he’d called her in the afternoon and told her that he was busy tonight, but that he’d make sure that they got together tomorrow. That would give him the whole night to dream about her and what he might do to her. The image of Holly with the steel knife stuck in her head was still in his brain. The excitement and enjoyment he’d gotten out of that was on a whole new level. He wondered if that was going to be his new standard: quick, bloody, devastating. Perhaps it was a kind of evolution he was undergoing. The problem was it was so much easier for the police to detect those kinds of crimes. Another issue was that he was getting low on Ecstasy tablets. Usually his source would come by and he could pick up a couple of tablets quietly, with no one asking any questions, and usually no money changing hands. There were things he could barter. Favors, friendship, drinks. Ecstasy was a fluid currency, as well as the best hunting tool around. He paid a lot for the first, large batch, but it had proven to be worth the investment.
Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice as the young woman approached him. She said, “Excuse me.”
He gazed up into perfectly clear, blue eyes. A wisp of blond hair hung over a cute face. His heart raced as he tried to answer her.
As far as he was concerned it would be spring break for another couple of weeks. And he had at least two targets to focus on. Lisa and this girl.
He straightened up and smiled. “Hey, what’s your name?”
She focused her blue eyes on his and said, “Ann-why?”
“Because I want to ask you out on a date, Ann.”
The hunt was on.
Twenty-nine
It was Saturday morning, and John Stallings was alone in the crimes/persons office. Budget cutbacks and tax shortfalls had reduced the detectives’ overtime budget to almost nothing. That wasn’t why Stallings sat here alone; this case had started to eat at him. And he had nothing else to do. Maria had taken Charlie and Lauren to visit her sister in Orlando for the day. Stallings had scheduled an outing with them in the morning. It was almost as if he and Maria had already gotten a divorce.
In front of him, he held the glass tube with three Ecstasy tablets that Leonard Walsh had given him. Somehow he felt Jason Ferrell could be a link in this case, but he had to consider the suspects for now. Gary Lauer and Chad Palmer were high on his list. Donnie Eliot had all but convinced him that he had no part in Allie Marsh’s death. It seemed prudent to let him rot in jail a while longer and focus on suspects he thought were viable. One thing he wanted to do was make certain the goofy drummer wasn’t known in other spring break towns as a serious troublemaker who distributed Ecstasy on a large scale. There were hundreds of different police databases, but the best way to find out things like this was through contacts. Usually cops from local jurisdictions who could talk to people and know what the word on the street was.
Stallings picked up his desktop phone and dialed the Daytona Beach Police Department. His friend, Detective Hugh O’Connor, often worked on Saturdays, so he would have more time in the evenings to coach his daughter’s softball team.
The phone in the Daytona Detective Bureau rang once, and then he smiled as he recognized his friend’s voice.
“Detective Bureau, Hugh O’Connor.”
“Hugh, John Stallings, at JSO.”
“Stall, how’s life in Missing Persons?”
“Not bad, not bad. Working a couple different things right now. I was wondering if I could run a name past you. A musician.”
“Fire away.”
“A drummer named Donnie Eliot.”
O’Connor laughed. “A drummer? I thought you said he was a musician.”
“Do you have anything in your local database?” Stallings searched through a few notes as his friend worked the computer on the other end of the phone line. The usual curse words that every cop who’s ever had to type away
