James Andrus: The Perfect Scream

“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 street name . You would’ve called it a nickname.”

“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?”

Patty sat on her comfortable couch with papers spread out across her long coffee table and her cat, Cornelia, splayed across copies of vehicle registrations. Patty reached over and rubbed the long-haired tabby’s stomach, saying, “I know I haven’t been paying enough attention to you. I’m sorry.” The cat curled up and playfully caught Patty’s hand in her front paws.

It was another Friday night and Patty was alone, but at least it was by choice. She had been reenergized by the leads on the fraternity case and was excited that her idea to check businesses had gotten so much support from her partner, John Stallings. Now she was making notes and checking the list of names provided by the DEA. She would know exactly what to look for tomorrow morning when they started visiting businesses in greater Jacksonville, asking about the Suburbans registered to them.

The whole squad was working well together and the sergeant seemed pleased with their progress. Patty knew how much command staff worried about a case like this blowing up in their face. The two factors that had to make them uncomfortable were the fact that no one discovered a connection in the deaths until two years after they started and the victims were generally well off financially. The children of wealthy parents garnered the most media coverage, and, as a result the strongest possible police response. That was the case in almost any crime. A burglary in Hyde Park got more attention than a shooting in Arlington. That was the reality in virtually any police department in any city in the country.

Patty was about to tidy up her papers and slip them into the battered metal case she carried everywhere when her doorbell rang. She was careful to check the peephole before opening the door and greeting Ken.

She appreciated his handsome, smiling face, but the moment was still awkward. Patty had not returned his calls and then had waited until she’d known he was at the gym to leave a message saying she was too busy to see him tonight.

Patty said, “I didn’t expect you.”

“I thought I’d be romantic and surprise you.” He stepped into the town house, glancing in every direction.

“Look, that’s sweet, but I have a lot of work to do and an early morning tomorrow.”

“Work is more important than me?”

“It is right now.”

“Does that mean you’re asking me to leave?” He had a cold, arrogant edge to his voice and took a stance like he was about to be in a fight.

“No, I’m telling you to leave.”

Ken folded his arms and shook his head. “You’re blowing something good. I’m quite the catch.”

Patty sighed. “In order to be a catch, you can’t know you’re a catch. You need someone who’ll love you as much as you love you. That’s going to be a long search.” She crowded Ken and slowly started forcing him back toward the door.

She could tell he was trying to think of something clever to end on, but nothing came out of his mouth. It was probably lucky for him. As she closed the door firmly behind him, she had a pang of doubt. She’d just broken up with her second boyfriend in three months for two opposite reasons.

Patty took a moment to regain her composure and wondered if a Xanax would make her feel better or if she needed an Ambien to sleep. Then she decided she felt too good about herself right now to screw it up.

The doctor was beyond exhaustion. His other three patients in the ICU were all stable and their prognosis was favorable, but this young man, Alan Cole, was giving him fits. He’d already explained the immediate dangers to Alan’s mother, who’d been at the hospital almost continuously the last few days. At the first sign of any consciousness from Alan, his mother had appeared like a magic genie. But the doctor had been honest with her and explained that Alan’s condition was grave and his chances of survival less than fifty-fifty. The plump blond woman had stifled a sob but accepted the news she seemed to have been expecting for more than a month.

The doctor wasn’t good with family. He was the top of his class in every aspect, but there was no class on interpersonal relationships and dealing with grieving parents.

He hated to lose. At basketball, at golf, or with a patient. It wasn’t really compassion. He didn’t try to fool himself. It wasn’t an ego thing. He was the smartest guy in this hospital, not that that was hard to achieve in Daytona. But he was top of the food chain. His dark skin had made him stand out and he knew that some of the other doctors looked down on him because of it. They couldn’t even pronounce his name properly. The only way he could prove them wrong and win was to hold the most effective survival rate of any professional in the hospital. So far he had achieved it.

Now he sat in the generic recliner next to Alan Cole’s bed, watching the monitor. It didn’t look good for the young man who’d been struck by a car only a few miles away. He’d slipped in and out of consciousness all day. The doctor wished he could have a few minutes of clarity to say whatever he wanted. He was probably asking for his mother like so many dying patients did.

The doctor yawned, stretched, and realized he needed to get some sleep so he could be back by eight in the morning. He’d already canceled his regular Saturday golf game. This was more important.

He had to win.

Leon Kines waited for the office manager to come back to the window with the keys to the Suburban. He didn’t know why the half-door was closed to this one office, but he suspected they didn’t want the Guatemalan car washers wandering in and out.

The thin, balding man named Larry, who always wore the same drab white shirt and blue polyester pants, came back with a clipboard and the keys to the SUV.

The manager said, “Where you going today, Leon?”

“Down to the warehouse in New Smyrna Beach.”

“Good idea to go on a Saturday. Traffic shouldn’t be bad at all except down there by International Speedway Boulevard where that giant flea market is.”

Leon nodded, anxious to get on his way.

“What time do you think you’ll be back?”

Leon shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe two o’clock?”

“Why would it take so long to run down to New Smyrna and back?”

Leon didn’t want to stick around with this jerk all day. He had things to do. “I was going to visit a sick friend at the hospital in Daytona. It won’t take too long and I didn’t think anyone would mind.”