“Not a peep out of you until I get back.” He could tell by the look in their eyes they understood how serious he really was.
Forty-nine
Stallings didn’t like being in a pursuit that wasn’t authorized and in an area decidedly unfriendly to police officers, next to a cop he would prefer not to be in the same car with. But that didn’t stop him from doing his best to close in on the stolen Crown Vic. He, like most cops, didn’t get in many chases, and the Impalas they issued the detectives weren’t designed for highspeed chases and cornering the way some of the patrol cars were. But luckily Jason Ferrell wasn’t much of a driver and he clearly had no idea of where he wanted to go. That was the case with most people fleeing the police.
They were very close to the house where the pursuit had started, but Stallings wanted to wait until they were in an area with wider streets. He didn’t want to risk this moron losing control of the Crown Vic and driving through someone’s bedroom wall. Instead, he gave the young man space and backed off several car lengths.
After another few minutes on the main road, Stallings saw a baseball diamond on the left, turned to Mazzetti, and said, “This is our one chance, Tony. If we miss him here we’re gonna have to call in.”
Mazzetti nodded solemnly, understanding his fate.
Stallings mashed the gas, closed in on the Crown Vic, and pulled to the left. Now he could see the scared driver was definitely Jason Ferrell. His hair was shaggier than in the photos, but he was basically an easy spot. As they reached the edge of the baseball field, Stallings swerved toward the Crown Vic and watched as Ferrell instinctively swerved away from him, caught the curb, and spun the Crown Vic out on the wide infield of the first baseball diamond.
Both detectives were out of the car with their guns drawn and in Jason Ferrell’s face before he recovered enough to try to pull away.
Mazzetti said, “Now you’re in one shit pot of trouble.”
He had left the shitty Toyota running while he ran into his apartment, changed clothes, grabbed his spare keys, and, to be on the safe side, picked up a long, razor-sharp combat knife he had bought at a gun show last year. His mind was still swirling as he thought about Ann and her despicable behavior.
The drive back to the beach was fast, and he pulled up next to his Jeep. No one was visible, but he knew the two naked people were in the bushes and yelled over to them. “Come and get your car and clothes.”
At first there was no movement, but after a few seconds the girl stood tall and walked across the lot as if she was in a beauty contest, not ashamed of one inch of her lean body. She had real grace and some indescribable quality, which radiated beauty. Then the fat schlump popped up and scurried after her like a frightened dog. How had these two ended up together?
He had the knife tucked under his shirt as he casually leaned against his Jeep.
The girl stopped in front of him, making no attempt to cover herself. The fat guy bumped up next to her with his hands over his genitals. She looked at him for a moment. “Now what?”
He took the key to the Toyota, slid it into the car’s door lock, and snapped it off in the lock. He smiled at the girl. “Now, I’ll give you a ride anywhere you want, and he can fend for himself.”
Without hesitation, the girl accepted her bundled clothes, slipped them on, and climbed into the Jeep, ignoring all comments from her boyfriend.
He didn’t offer the boyfriend his clothes. He drove off with the pretty girl and left the chubby naked man whimpering by his disabled car.
Back at Miss Brison’s house, Stallings sat directly in front of Jason Ferrell as the young man trembled and his eyes darted around the room to the other detectives. The first thing Stallings said to him was, “Your mom is worried sick about you.”
“Huh?”
“You disappeared, you idiot, and your mom hasn’t heard from you in three weeks.” Looking at the scared, meek man, Stallings lost a lot of his anger. He decided it might not be a bad idea to listen to him before jumping to any conclusions.
Understanding slowly dawned on the young chemical engineer. “You mean the only reason you were looking for me was my mom was worried?”
From across a room, Mazzetti said, “I got a few questions about the shooting across the street.”
Stallings added, “And I have a few questions about the Ecstasy you made and who you sold it to.”
“So I’m not really in trouble?”
Mazzetti stomped across the room shouting as he came closer. “Oh no, you’re in trouble, dipshit. You can’t steal a police car and drive around Jacksonville without being in trouble. In fact, you ran from me twice.” Mazzetti balled a fist when he was right next to him. “I oughta kick your ass.”
Stallings snapped his finger to get the young man’s attention. “There’s only one way to keep this madman from killing you. You have to help us out with a few things.”
Ferrell glanced around the room and said, “When did my mom call?”
Stallings thought about it and said, “Two weeks ago last Monday.”
“What day is it now?”
“Thursday.”
“Is it still February?” Ferrell’s red eyes scanned the room again, and the shakes that had been confined to his hand spread through his whole body. “I kinda lost track of time. But I’ll help out any way you want. Just tell my mom I’m okay.”
Her name was Sharee, and her light brown hair flowed behind her as the wind whipped in from the missing window. She had not said one word about the fat guy they’d left at the beach.
“You got any weed?” she asked after a few minutes of driving west.
“Bad for you. You look too fit to smoke grass.”
“Got anything?”
He thought about his final X tab leaving with Ann. He shook his head. “Sorry, I’m dry.”
“Somehow you seemed like a guy who would have something. You were pretty cool back there. You weren’t really robbed, were you?”
He smiled and shook his head.
“A girl?”
He nodded.
“Your girlfriend?”
“Not even close.”
She reached across and rubbed his shoulder, then let her hand drift down his body until it rested in his lap. After a few seconds of massaging, she looked at him with those big, dark eyes and said, “What’s a matter? You a fag?”
He shook his head. “You’re not my type.”
He dropped her at her father’s house a few miles later.
It had taken a few minutes to calm Tony Mazzetti down and keep him from physically assaulting the bewildered Jason Ferrell. But now John Stallings had the young chemical engineer in the kitchen alone. He didn’t seem like a jerk or uncooperative in any way; he was just sort of out of it. He had moments when he was lucid, but more often than not he stared off in space and mumbled long, incoherent sentences.
Stallings scooted a chair directly in front of him and sat down so he could look at the young man eye to eye. He noticed Patty Levine slip in from the other room and lean against the kitchen counter. A standard practice the partners used. When one person interviewed a subject, the other hung back and took notes. That allowed the interviewer to focus on the subtle nonverbal cues given off by a witness or suspect.
Stallings said, “We know about Leonard Walsh and the meth recipe you were making for him.”
“Who’s Leonard Walsh?”
“You don’t know a guy with a meth lab over in Baker County?”
Jason’s eyes focused for a moment as he looked at Stallings and said, “You mean the guy by the national
