James Andrus - The Perfect Scream

As he entered the room he was glad he was still wearing his suit. The room was kept at a constant fifty-eight degrees and could be a little overwhelming if you weren’t prepared for it. Lisa gave a quick wave and bright smile as she scurried around the room, placing instruments where she would need them for an autopsy.

She said, “What a nice surprise.”

Mazzetti just grunted.

“I hope you don’t mind if we chat while I work on an accident victim from last night.”

“No, not at all.” He waited while she walked to the rear of the room and rolled a gurney up into the position she had prepared with a bright overhead light and a recorder for her notes. Mazzetti could remember the first time he had seen a circular saw and drill laid out on the table and made the connection to what they would be used for. At that time, as a new homicide detective, it had made him queasy. He’d never admitted it to anyone, especially his partner at the time, but after they had left the procedure room and he’d claimed to have needed to use the bathroom, he’d thrown up instead of peeing. No one had ever found out, but he was sure they all suspected. Now the sight of the tools was as mundane as seeing a computer on someone’s desk. Even the sight of the black plastic body bag on the gurney didn’t cause him any concern.

Lisa fumbled with the awkward bag, always preferring to work by herself rather than with an assistant. She said, “This is the accident victim from the marina last night.”

Mazzetti nodded, having seen a short story on the local news about a fisherman who fell into the blades of a deep-sea fishing boat. He said, “Bet I can tell you what killed him.”

“Very funny.” She slowly started to pull down the zipper of the body bag, saying, “This has a lot more to do with toxicology to see if drugs or alcohol played any role. We’re starting to do more and more studies like that as long as the homicide rate has slowed down and we have time for it. This was the kind of stuff I expected to do when I graduated.” She concentrated as she jerked the zipper the last foot of the bag, which was turned slightly on the side. The lower part of a leg, severed just below the knee, rolled out onto the table.

Mazzetti had become so jaded that the gruesome scene held no real interest for him. Until he noticed the familiar tattoo on the ankle. It was the local Tau Upsilon fraternity tattoo. He glanced up and saw Lisa had noticed it too.

She mumbled, “You don’t have to say it. I think this is something you should look into a little more closely.”

As Mazzetti stared at the severed leg he couldn’t even remember why he had come over to the medical examiner’s office, but it was a good thing he had.

Stallings burst through the door of the squad bay, annoyed that he’d been called in from checking with the businesses on University Boulevard. He had a clear plan of what he expected to complete today and yakking with the sergeant or lieutenant was not part of his agenda. But now that he was sitting in the conference room with Tony Mazzetti, Patty Levine, and Sparky Taylor, the sergeant had his complete and utter attention.

Sergeant Zuni stood in front of an easel with three sets of photographs. They were all of corpses at the medical examiner’s with a tattoo of a red pickup truck with Greek letters in the back identifying the fraternity of Tau Upsilon. The sergeant said, “The first tattoo is from a shooting victim in Arlington. Tony’s been working the case.” She looked over at Mazzetti and said, “Anything new?”

Mazzetti looked down at the table and shook his head.

The sergeant continued, “Second photo is from an overdose over at the big apartment complex where the fraternities are housed. This kid’s name was Connor Tate and I think Patty and Stall talked to him about their missing persons case.” Her eyes cut over to Stallings and Patty, who were both nodding. “The last photo is from the young man who fell into the marina last night. His name was Kyle Lee. The folks at the marina and on the fishing boat said that he was a regular in the area and that they saw nothing unusual. But the fact that three young men from the same fraternity at a smaller school like the University of North Florida would end up dead in just a short amount of time makes me curious.”

Stallings said, “How’d we make the connection between the three? Who recognized the tattoos?”

Sergeant said, “We can thank Detective Mazzetti for being sharp. I knew you and Patty had been talking with some of the fraternity members and my real fear is that Zach Halston is dead somewhere and we just don’t know that yet.”

Stallings mumbled, “That’s my fear too.”

“Do you have a rapport with the fraternity brothers?”

Stallings said, “I got rapport up the ass.”

The sergeant let a slight smile creep across her pretty face. “Do you think you and Patty could go over and talk to some of the brothers to see if anything else has happened? I don’t want to start a panic or put any ideas into anyone’s head. I just want us to do our duty and protect the public if there’s something other than clumsiness or drunkenness causing these deaths.”

“We’re on it.”

The sergeant folded her arms and leveled a fierce glare at Stallings. “I don’t want you to scare any of those boys. You understand me? No terror tactics.”

Stallings was already standing when he said, “I understand perfectly.”

Patty Levine considered intervening as John Stallings held Bobby Hollis by the collar of his Izod shirt, so close that Stallings’s spit settled on the boy’s cheek. They had not seen the young fraternity member since the first encounter at the beach that kicked off the whole investigation. Stallings rumbled, “Look, you little shit. I know you guys are hiding something.”

The terrified young man shook his head furiously, saying, “No. No, sir.” Stallings released his grip and the boy stumbled to one side and grasped a garbage can next to his couch and vomited.

Stallings backed off, saying, “Jesus, at least dopers don’t get sick when you throw a little scare into them.” He settled on a recliner and looked across at Bobby Hollis, who was now sitting on the beat-up leather sofa. Stallings said, “Look, son, I’ve talked to a couple boys in this fraternity and both of them ended up dying. I cannot believe that’s a coincidence.”

The young man shook his head again, his eyes cutting over to Patty for some kind of reassurance. She figured now was the time for her to move in as a good cop. Although sometimes Stallings went so far she could slap someone and still be considered the good cop.

“Bobby, all we’re asking is if you heard about any other brothers that had been hurt or killed that we might not know about.”

“You mean from our chapter?”

Patty had to think about that for a minute. “Your chapter or any chapters you guys are associated with in the area. Maybe as far south as UCF and as far north as Atlanta.”

“I heard about a guy who graduated and had been by our chapter house a couple times. He was in some kind of a hit-and-run down in Daytona. I think he’s still in the hospital.”

Patty used an even voice to say, “You know his name?”

“Alan Cole.”

“Anyone else?”

The boy seemed to hesitate, causing Stallings to lean forward and emit a low growl like a pit bull.

That spurred the boy to say quickly, “An upperclassman who graduated from UF before me died in a fire in Atlanta.”

“Do you know his name?”

Bobby shook his head, but said he could get it.

Patty realized they had a lot of work to do.

Tony Mazzetti hadn’t stopped hustling since the impromptu meeting a few hours earlier. He’d managed to send out an inquiry to law enforcement and medical examiners asking if they had seen any homicide or accidental death victims with tattoos similar to those on the dead fraternity brothers in Jacksonville. He’d been careful to list that it was just for information and no action should be taken.