James Andrus: The Perfect Scream

She often worried that Tony Mazzetti would scurry back into his cave of isolation when they broke up. It was her biggest concern about the relationship. Tony was a great guy and deserved more credit than he gave himself when dealing with women. If she believed everything he’d told her, Tony had not had a date in years before they hooked up. But she couldn’t understand why. He was handsome and intelligent, and once you got past his facade of arrogance, he was actually a very sweet and pleasant guy. He lived to impress his mom and sister in New York and felt the only way he could do that was to either publish the ultimate book on history-a passion of his-or maintain the best clearance rate for homicides in the country. Patty knew he had written a lot of articles on history and maybe his goal was to write a book, but there was no doubt Tony Mazzetti took his clearance rate for homicides seriously.

Her concerns for Tony skipped to the back of her head as she listened to Ken tell her about growing up in Brownsville, Texas, and going to Temple University for the school of podiatric medicine. She liked the laugh lines that filled out on his face when he talked about being a fish out of water.

“It took a while to get used to a big city like Philadelphia. I must’ve run up twenty different flights of stairs to imitate Rocky before I finally got the right set. I swear every building looks like an architectural work of art even if it just houses the public works department.” He smiled and gazed across the table directly into her eyes.

Patty took the final swig of her Ichiban, then reached over and took hold of his right hand. “Which do you like better, Jacksonville or Philadelphia?”

“If you would’ve asked me two weeks ago, I would’ve said Philadelphia, but now definitely Jacksonville.”

She beamed and thought about leaning across the small table and laying a kiss on him. This was a great first date.

A walk along the river would be the perfect piece of the puzzle.

John Stallings tried to hide how uncomfortable he was in the brightly lit fellowship hall next to the giant Baptist church. The preacher with a giant, cartoon head gave a quick opening prayer; then everyone started to chat over nonalcoholic punch and tables full of homemade cookies. Maria seemed to know a lot of people, which surprised Stallings. She was generally on the shy and reserved side, but this place had brought her out of her shell.

She introduced Stallings by name, never saying he was her husband. She seemed perfectly at ease among these people. There was no music, but it still felt like a party.

The preacher, Frank Ellis, approached them, greeting couples on the way.

He gave Maria a hug and looked at Stallings, saying, “Don’t tell me this is John.”

Stallings shook his offered hand, shocked Maria had talked about him to the preacher. He made his cop’s quick assessment. The guy was about his age, on the soft side, but wore expensive shoes and had a manicure. Could be harmless or on the make. Immediately Stallings didn’t trust him.

Brother Ellis said, “I feel like I know you. I’m so glad you came to our friendly gathering.”

“Maria can be quite persuasive.”

Brother Ellis shared a quick glance with Maria and said, “That’s not what she tells me. I hear she can’t persuade you to leave police work and spend more time with the family.”

He was about to snap back with an answer when he saw this guy’s game. He was trying to bait him. Stallings took a breath and said, “We do the best we can, don’t we, Father?”

“I’m a reverend, not a father.”

“Sorry.”

Brother Ellis held his smile, but probably knew his cover was blown. “What is it about your work that’s so compelling?”

Stallings gave it some thought. “Helping people.”

“What about your coworkers? Do you like them?”

“Most.”

“How about your partner, Patty? I hear she’s quite the looker.”

That caught Stallings by surprise. What the fuck? If the preacher thought that, he must have gotten it from Maria. Stallings steadied himself and said, “She’s a great cop.” He felt the urge to punch this prick rise in him. A shot to his giant noggin would knock him off his perch.

The preacher’s instincts told him it was time to move on to another couple. All Stallings could do was turn and stare at Maria.

Patty Levine reached down and took Ken’s hand as they strolled west along the St. Johns River in front of Jacksonville Landing. It seemed natural the way he interlocked his fingers in hers. Neither said anything as they passed other couples out on a walk. It was still relatively early and the dinner crowd was pouring out of all the restaurants in the big tourist mall.

After a few minutes Ken asked, “What are you thinking about?”

She didn’t know. For the first time she could remember she wasn’t thinking about some horrible crime from work or worried about a personal problem. She blurted out, “How nice this is.”

He stopped, took her arms in his hands, and was about to lean down when Patty noticed a couple approaching from the right. Her eyes darted that way out of instinct and it stopped Ken in his tracks. Then Patty saw who it was and stepped away from Ken as she turned. What were the chances?

Patty threw on a forced smile and said, “What are you guys doing down here?”

The room was a gray haze of marijuana smoke when Lynn stepped out of the bathroom. She’d considered taking off her top to keep Connor interested in the scam, but then thought she’d rather avoid it altogether and just hoped he’d sunk deeper and deeper into a drug-induced coma. To her surprise, when she stepped through the cluttered living room and into his bedroom, he was sitting upright and puffing on the giant bong she’d noticed earlier. What the hell? Had life in a fraternity made him build up immunity to all drugs and alcohol? By her reckoning he had ingested four sleeping pills, two ecstasy tablets, a couple generic prescription-strength painkillers, six shots of tequila, a few beers, and now this pot. She hated to abandon her plan to make this death look like an accident, but she did have a knife in her purse if she had to use it. She was not leaving this apartment while Connor Tate was still breathing.

She sat down next to him on the edge of the bed. He automatically handed her the bong, which she politely refused. When she saw his eyes, Lynn realized how far gone he really was. His eyes didn’t focus in any way and his pupils looked like giant hollow black caves. They were something out of a nightmare.

Connor slurred, “What’s your name again?”

Instead of answering, she patted him on the shoulder, then guided him down onto the bed and made him comfortable with a pillow fluffed around his giant head. She rubbed his forehead, trying to get him to calm down and let the drugs kick in.

He mumbled, “That’s nice.”

She had learned not to listen to these arrogant frat pricks. If she did, she’d back out of every one of the murders. But in this case he did sound like a lost eight-year-old boy, and she wondered if she’d have the nerve to stick the knife in his throat if the drugs didn’t work. Her purse was at the foot of the bed and she leaned across Connor’s feet to look into it and grabbed the four-inch folding Buck knife one of the loading dock workers at Thomas Supply had given her. She took it in her left hand and sat back up to continue to rub Connor’s head.

Just as she thought he was drifting off, he said, “When you’re done with my head, play with my dick.”

There it was. That’s the kind of conversation she’d expected to have with this immature brat. She smiled and said, “Just relax for a few minutes and we’ll see what happens.” She heard a satisfied moan and could feel him relax under her touch. She looked over at her left hand and the knife that was still closed. It would be messy, suspicious, and dangerous, but she was starting to think she had no choice. She reached across and fumbled with the blade until it opened. Connor turned his head slightly, his eyes opened but unfocused.