that.
The lieutenant considered her words, then nodded. Her pretty face hid the fact that on the street she was known as the “Brown Bomber” for her devastating strikes with her baton. “You’re on the case, but this is Mazzetti’s show. You’re gonna look at leads related to the runaway culture and use your contacts there. You will assist Detective Mazzetti on leads as he sees fit. You will not give Mazzetti any shit in front of the other detectives. And you will keep your mouth shut about the how the first homicide was initially handled.”
“You mean how it was fucked up?”
“I mean that if I have to waste time explaining how to act for one more second you can go back to the ‘runaway roundup’ and we’ll somehow manage to carry on without your help.” She stared him down. “Do you understand everything I just said?”
Stallings swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am, I understand.” It was hard to argue with a good cop.
The lieutenant cracked a brief smile. “Good to hear.”
Now that all issues were settled, Stallings leaned forward in his chair to leave, but as he started to stand up the lieutenant placed a hand on his shoulder to have him wait.
Mazzetti hesitated when he saw Stallings was sticking around, but a glare from the lieutenant chased him out the door.
The lieutenant waited a moment as the door clicked closed, then looked down at Stallings. “We need to talk privately for a minute. Just Stall and Rita, not detective and big-black-bitch-who-can-bust-him-back-to-patrol-if- she-needs-to.”
She was still funny. “Sure, Rita, anything you need.”
“The girl you found with the predator yesterday. I know you popped a crack dealer from Houston Street and then sent him on his way with no official action. But just like every other time you kicked someone’s ass, you said or did something that kept it quiet. You’ve never had a serious complaint against you. You get results. That’s what we need on this case-results.”
“So you want me to break the rules?”
“I want you to find this killer. Talk to all your snitches, scare the street dealers, I don’t care. Mazzetti will do most of the investigative work, find where the luggage was bought, see if some pharmacy is missing Oxycontin, find forensic links between victims. But you’re going to be doing your thing too.”
“What about following the book?”
“We will follow the book. But John Stallings is going to be John Stallings no matter what any book says. That’s what I need.”
Stallings wasn’t certain, but it felt like the first time anyone in command had ever told him it was time to kick ass and take names.
Seven
By the time John Stallings marched into the homicide squad bay in the detective bureau, Patty had already grabbed her computer and the metal pad case where she stored everything. The dented and scratched case said a lot about Stallings’s partner; she was practical, didn’t care what others thought, and was tough as nails, just like the case. The back of it had the indentation of a smart-ass pimp’s forehead for suggesting Patty would be a good addition to his stable. Luckily the man didn’t want his reputation to suffer because a petite, pretty, female cop had knocked him unconscious, and he never said a word about it. But everyone knew after that not to smart off to the diminutive detective from Crimes/Persons.
Stallings trudged down the hall nodding to several of the detectives already in place. Tony Mazzetti intercepted him at the doorway.
“There’s a dress code here, Stall. This is homicide.” His smirk would’ve earned him a punch on the street. His trimmed mustache and perfect hair moved in unison as he broke into a full smile.
Stallings gave him a smile as he shook his head. “A suit like you? Too hot outside.” He started to push past.
“C’mon, Stall, we got an image. Your pullover and the whole exposed badge and gun on the belt thing doesn’t fit in.” He straightened Stallings’s collar. “Maybe just a shirt and tie would be okay.”
Stallings stared at him. “Where do I sit, asshole?”
Mazzetti just pointed to a desk stuffed all the way inside the old, unused holding cell that was a remnant of the building before the jail was built next door with booking areas and interview rooms. A gray computer monitor took up an entire side of the desk.
He ignored the ancient, lingering urine smell and then scooted the desk out into the squad bay, careful to balance the gigantic monitor as he did. He didn’t look up to see who was laughing or who was in on the little joke. When he sat at the desk with his files on top, he noticed most of the detectives were watching him. There was another joke on its way. He opened the bottom drawer to put his files in order and saw it immediately. Sand. All the drawers were filled with fine, white sand. Someone had carted up bags of the stuff to dump in his desk.
He knew how to play it off. He’d pulled the same prank on rookies coming in the bureau before. Stallings rolled back his chair, left the files where they were, and headed out the door.
On his way he looked over at Mazzetti. “I got a lead on the case. I’ll call you if I make an arrest.” He knew the vague hint at a break in the case would eat at the lead detective.
A smile crept across his face as he walked out of the D-bureau. Behind him he heard Mazzetti calling, but he kept walking right into the open elevator door. What timing!
Patty Levine wasted no time grabbing the two thin case files on the previously unrelated deaths and started to do her thing. She was an organizer, a task-oriented, detailed, precise investigator who often found things in records that other detectives missed. She’d located more than one runaway by painstakingly looking through e-mail records the family had provided, then determining who might hold the key to the missing child’s whereabouts. She’d used bank records to help uncover a drug suspect when she was pulled out of patrol for a temporary duty assignment, or TDY, in vice and narcotics.
It was that kind of investigation that fit her pack rat mentality. It also fed into her mildly compulsive personality. It made her a standout cop in a profession where men liked to stand out.
Now she looked at the reports, the early lab results, and the pile of photographs, to see if the connection was obvious beyond both victims being found inside luggage. Immediately she saw it. Both dead women, more like girls, were short. As a gymnast, Patty had been small for her age until a growth spurt shot her to a towering five foot five. She had still managed a scholarship to the University of Florida for her ability on the open floor exercises but she just didn’t have the drive to go any further. The pressure of the competitions had also worn on her. Her second year was the first time she learned about the relief the right pharmaceutical could provide. After she suffered back spasms, a doctor prescribed the muscle relaxer diazepam, under the name of Valium, and the effect on her anxiety was stronger than the effect on her tight back. She lost her fear of competition but also lost any edge she had, which, added to her height, meant she quickly fell off the list of potential champions. The photos of the dead girls reminded her of teammates.
Just thinking about her past and competitions made her reach into her knockoff Coach purse for her tiny travel carrier of Xanax. She popped one and swallowed it dry, her eyes dancing around the crowded squad bay quickly to make sure no one noticed.
She’d seen Stallings come in and set up shop at a nasty old desk on the inside of the bay. The whole room looked like a set out of a 1960s TV police show with thin, ratty carpet running down the center of the room and cheap linoleum near the old holding cells that were now filled with ancient files and rotting boxes of records. Why was the sheriff punishing the detectives in Crimes/Persons when the rest of the building looked like a modern, clean, efficient office complex? Patty didn’t get it.
Focusing again, Patty laid out the photos of the two dead women and stared down at them, wondering how something like this really affected John Stallings. Although he didn’t talk much about his missing daughter, he had to wonder if Jeanie’s photo was on some cop’s desk, dead, discolored, and unidentified. She hadn’t known Stallings three years ago when his daughter’s disappearance was a major news story and the S.O. did everything possible to find her. She had heard the rumors that the girl had been gone quite a while when they finally reported it, and some
