Now Stallings wanted to stop when he saw a blue Suburban backed into the driveway of a small house in a newer section of Jacksonville known as Argyle. Developers had put their mark of bland, identical houses across broad swaths of former ranch land. Zero lot lines made the houses look more like apartment buildings.
Even though the chances were miniscule that this was the right Suburban, Patty felt her heart rate increase with anticipation. This was the first car that was even the right color.
She stood at the end of the driveway as Stallings bent over and inspected the grille and headlight on the front. Patty saw damage on the driver-side bumper, but it looked more like he had struck a low wall.
Patty was startled by a shout from the front door of the house.
A beefy bald man in his mid-thirties yelled, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Stallings straightened, reached into his back pocket, and pulled out his ID, letting the man clearly see the badge.
The man said, “I don’t give a damn who you work for. This is my property. Unless you want a shit pot of trouble, you better back out of my yard and get a warrant.”
Patty saw the way Stallings stuffed his ID back into his rear pocket and started to march toward the man. She could read Stallings’s body language better than anyone else. This was about to turn ugly, and more important, cost them valuable time.
Patty stepped forward, holding her hand up to stop Stallings like she was a traffic cop and he was an approaching truck. She turned to the man and said, “We’re sorry, we didn’t mean to upset you. This is a countywide effort to identify the driver of a specific blue Suburban.”
The man the man cut his eyes from Stallings to Patty. “Why are you looking for a Suburban?”
Stallings said, “Why are you being evasive? Doesn’t matter why we’re looking for it, we just are.”
Patty turned so the man couldn’t see her expression, but she was able to convey to Stallings that she needed him to shut the hell up for a minute. As she turned back to the man, Patty put on a calm expression and stepped closer to him. “We’re looking for someone involved in a hit-and-run of a young man in St. Augustine. A witness was able to see part of the tag, which is the same as yours. If you can tell us where you were yesterday about two we can cross you off our list.”
The man relaxed slightly and said, “I was on my route in Fernandina Beach yesterday.”
“What kind of route do you have?”
“I’m an independent business machine repairman. I have the contract for Konica in North Florida.”
Stallings said, “Can you prove where you were?”
The man scowled at Stallings but stepped over to the car and opened the passenger-side door. Patty maneuvered to be able to see inside the vehicle and brought her hand to the gun on her hip covered by an open Windbreaker. She noticed Stallings step to the other side so he could look through the driver’s window.
The man came out with two sheets of paper. As he showed them to Patty he said, “This is the receipt from the office where I fixed two copiers. And this is my vehicle log that shows I left the house at eight-fifteen, made three stops, all at Fernandina Beach, and got back home at four-forty-five.”
Patty checked the paperwork and saw that it all matched up. But the paperwork gave Patty an idea. What if the Suburban was part of a fleet? It could be very hard to track down. Both Zach Halston and Alan Cole in Daytona had been struck during the middle of the day. There was the strong possibility that whoever was driving was using a vehicle from their employment.
She looked at Stallings and said, “On the next set of names we pick up, let’s take vehicles registered to businesses.”
FORTY-EIGHT
John Stallings and Patty Levine had identified five businesses they would visit tomorrow. Somehow Stallings wasn’t surprised that Sparky Taylor had already separated out vehicles registered to businesses. As usual, the portly detective gave no indication of whether he thought it was a good idea to visit businesses. He had found a likable, capable new assistant in Lonnie Freed. No one from the D-bureau even asked why Freed was up there helping out. Even Sergeant Zuni accepted his presence without a word.
Stallings had chosen the businesses they would visit based on their size. Because tomorrow was Saturday he chose only the big offices that would have someone there on the weekend. He knew command staff viewed this case as vital by the ease with which he and Patty got permission to work on a Saturday. No one even asked about overtime.
Stallings had purposely left all information Lonnie Freed had provided on suspects named Gator on his desk. He didn’t trust himself not to abandon the case in his search for Gator and a link to Jeanie. He hoped they could resolve the fraternity case soon; then he’d contemplate taking a leave of absence to focus on finding Gator and healing some of his own personal issues. He wasn’t sure how he could explain it to Maria, if he even bothered. As distracted as she’d been recently, he wasn’t sure she would realize he was not going to work.
Just thinking of Maria caused him some anxiety. He knew his personal life was a mess. He knew he was still hopelessly in love with his estranged wife. What he didn’t know was how she felt about him. He was trying to be patient with her issues. But he didn’t know how much longer he should let things drag out without resolution. Stallings didn’t want to let another woman like Grace Jackson walk out of his life. That was one of the reasons he was visiting the community center this late on a Friday evening. Although he wanted to visit with his father, he was hoping Grace might be volunteering tonight as well.
His father was in the rear of the kitchen putting away some clean pots and serving dishes. The crowd had thinned to a few older men playing cards and some kids playing basketball at the far end of the giant room.
Stallings’s father turned around and smiled, saying, “Hey there, John. What brings you by this hour?”
“Just wanted to see how you were doing, Dad.”
“I’m hanging in there, for an old fart.” He motioned Stallings over to a couple of stools. As they sat down, James Stallings said, “You might need to spend more time with your wife and kids than you do down here with me. I wouldn’t want you to make the same mistakes I did.”
“Sometimes it seems like you’re the only family that wants to see me.”
“At least you’re not turning to alcohol for the answer. I swear to Christ, son, I wish I had never had a drink. Maybe it would’ve made Helen’s life a lot different. My problem is I joined the military so young, and had such a strict father, that I never understood how to deal with your mom or you two. I’m just glad it wasn’t too late to fix things with you. Maybe Helen will come around someday.”
Stallings nodded, too choked up to speak. After almost a minute he said, “It’s meant a lot to me to get to know you the last few months. I’m glad you’re getting to know your grandchildren too.” Stallings didn’t want to waste a night of his father being lucid.
“I only wish I could help you more with Jeanie. I know I met her, but I can’t for the life of me remember any more details.”
“Did she ever mention a name to you? Maybe a boy she was seeing.”
“I can barely remember the visit at all now. And some of my memory comes from you asking me questions about what I said before. I know things are fading in my head. I know what my future holds. That’s why I’m trying so hard in the present.”
Stallings saw the old man was having trouble controlling his emotions too. “I found out Jeanie hooked up with a guy named Gator.”
“Gator? What kind of a name is that?”
“We call it the
“So you’re convinced she’s alive.”
“She was more than a year after she disappeared. I won’t give up until I find out what happened.”
His father reached over and patted him on the shoulder. “I must’ve done something right. I couldn’t be more proud of you.”
Stallings didn’t want to ruin the moment by saying that his mother had done something right. He just gave his father a weak smile, then asked, “Has Grace Jackson been by here tonight?”
His father gave him an odd look and said, “That name rings a bell. Who is she again?”
