“There’s no decent games the day after Thanksgiving. But there’s Florida-Florida State tomorrow.”
“Are you planning for us to stay in bed until tomorrow?”
“I could plan it, but I wouldn’t survive it.”
Lisa giggled. She turned her head and stared up at the ceiling and said, “Practically all I watch on TV anymore is sports and comedies. God, those TV police shows. .”
“I know what you mean. If our CSI guys talked to me like that I’d have to crack one of their heads open with my ASP.”
“I know, right? I love how the crime scene guys get in more shoot-outs than the narcotics guys on that show.”
Mazzetti realized that even though Patty Levine was a couple of years younger than Lisa, she was more mature in her attitude and speech. Lisa sounded like a college student more than a college grad. But right now, when she wasn’t yakking about medical school or the medical examiner’s office, and he felt her warm, soft body against his, he didn’t care one bit. Maybe she wasn’t too bad. He couldn’t compare everyone to Patty Levine. If he did, he was afraid he’d be disappointed the rest of his life.
They lay there comfortably for a few more minutes before Lisa said, “I forgot I traded weekends and have to work tomorrow anyway. As slow as it’s been, it’s not going to be a big deal.”
“That’s the way it is in homicide. It’s like a roller-coaster ride with a lot of ups and a few downs. We call it the feast-or-famine syndrome and we’re definitely in a famine right now. That’s why I’m so frustrated I still can’t solve the shooting of the auto parts manager from a few months ago.”
“I’m sure something will break on it soon. I saw something that reminded me of the victim earlier in the week.”
“What’s that?”
“We had an UNF student who died of an overdose over the weekend.”
“The one Luis Martinez is working?”
“Yeah. It looks like a simple overdose. The kid was a known drug user and big drinker. We’re just waiting for toxicology. Anyway, he had the same funky tattoo on his right ankle as the victim from your shooting.”
“The one with the Greek letters from a fraternity in the bed of a red pickup truck?”
“The exact same one.”
“No shit?” He started to calculate the odds of two fraternity brothers dying, when he was distracted by Lisa starting to kiss his chest, then his stomach.
Lisa said, “Now I think I need some more protein.”
Mazzetti felt himself respond but not like he had yesterday. He might need some protein himself. If this kept up he might need a regimen of vitamins.
Or something stronger.
FIFTEEN
A quiet, rational conversation with a woman like Sonia always put Stallings in a positive frame of mind. He felt like he had accomplished something and he was doing his best to find his daughter and piece his life back together. He knew it was a tremendous long shot, but it was better than brooding at home.
Now he raced down Interstate 75 toward Orlando and his surprise interview with Kyle Lee of Winter Park. As he came through Ocala, Stallings had to pull off to grab something to eat. He slipped into a Firehouse Subs shop and ordered the first thing on the menu board with a Coke and took the whole meal out to his car. He ate the sandwich as he continued south on the interstate. His car looked like it had been attacked by terrorists. This was not like him. He liked order and cleanliness. There were food receipts and discarded wrappers across the passenger seat and floor. He started to wonder if he was losing his grip on reality. Maybe Maria was right and he had his priorities all mixed up. He didn’t want to worry about it right now; instead, he wanted to get down to Kyle Lee’s house and find out what the University of North Florida student knew about Zach Halston’s disappearance and if he recognized Jeanie from the photograph.
He found the house easily enough. It was an upscale, two-story house in an upscale neighborhood of an upscale town. Winter Park had essentially been established by a wealthy northern industrialist as a southern getaway more than a century ago. Now it had a nice, calm, artsy feel to it.
Grabbing his notebook and keeping his ID visible, Stallings walked past a new pickup truck in the driveway and knocked on the front door. A pleasant-looking, plump woman in her early fifties answered the door. Her eyes popped slightly at the sight of his badge, a common response of suburbanites dealing with law enforcement officers.
The woman said, “Oh my, is everything all right, officer?”
Stallings smiled in that flat, unemotional way Patty had taught him. “Yes, ma’am, everything is fine. My name is John Stallings and I’m with the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office. I was wondering if I could have a few words with Kyle if he was home.”
The woman’s eyes cut over her left shoulder and then back to Stallings. The instinct to protect your child cut across all social barriers and cultures. He could see her calculating the risk of hiding her son from a police officer. She said, “Why’d you want to talk to Kyle?”
“I am working on a missing-persons investigation. Zach Halston, one of Kyle’s fraternity brothers, is missing and I wanted to ask Kyle a few simple questions.”
The woman looked visibly relieved and called over her shoulder, “Kyle, there’s someone here to see you.” She invited Stallings inside.
He did quick assessment of the house and its furnishings. He made her husband as an upscale accountant or money manager of some kind. There was no real reason for this rush to judgment, nor did it mean anything, but it ran through his head just the same.
A teenage girl walked through the living room and gave Stallings a fleeting smile. She reminded him a little bit of Jeanie, but nowadays almost every young woman reminded him of his missing daughter.
A thin, average-looking young man padded in from the family room and paused for a moment when he saw Stallings and his badge. Stallings noted the apprehension about talking to a cop.
After they had exchanged introductions and Mrs. Lee had left them alone, they sat on the ornamental couch in the living room and Kyle answered the standard questions Stallings would ask about any missing person. He had not heard from Zach, but hadn’t really been worried either. Zach was known to go on short vacations and not show up for a few weeks at a time.
Then Stallings started getting serious with Kyle. “You knew about Zach’s off-campus apartment, right?”
Kyle nodded. “I’ve been there a few times.”
“Did you know how he afforded to live off-campus?”
“I, ur, um, I thought his parents paid for it.”
Now Stallings had the young man where he wanted him. He had caught him in a clear lie and realized this boy was concerned about something more than a missing friend. Stallings let his hard look sink in on the boy for a few moments before he said, “You think his parents didn’t mind paying for an on-campus and off-campus apartment? Cut the shit, Kyle. There’s something going on here I don’t understand and you’re going to explain it to me.” He leaned forward and grasped Kyle’s forearm and said quietly, “And I mean you’re going to explain it to me right, fucking, now.”
Kyle swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bouncing up and down in his scrawny neck.
Stallings added, “This is not the time to lie to me either, Kyle.” He could tell by the look in the boy’s eyes that he was about to hear the truth. Maybe for the first time in this case.
Lynn pulled her black Nissan Sentra to the curb at the end of the street where Kyle Lee’s parents’ house sat. She was confident no one would notice a young woman sitting in a nondescript car in a suburban neighborhood. She felt sort of like a spy watching the house of a target after finding the address through several public records websites. She recognized his Dodge Dakota pickup truck. Clearly it was another upper-middle-class white kid trying to fit into the culture of Jacksonville. The easiest way was to buy a pickup truck. She’d seen the same truck around
