James Andrus - The Perfect Death

Her voice was scratchy like she’d just woken up, but she didn’t look like she’d had any recent bouts with drugs or alcohol, which had plagued her since before Jeanie had disappeared.

Maria said, “How’s it going, John?”

He shrugged. “Charlie’s got a pretty good head for numbers.”

“I’m glad somebody does. Thanks for coming over to help him with it.”

“No sweat. I was over visiting my dad anyway.”

“I’m impressed you’ve tried to work things out with him. I know the kids get a big kick out of seeing him. How’s he doing?”

“I’m not sure, to tell you the truth. He seemed confused when I was over there.”

“I can tell you from personal experience that even when you’re not drinking or drugging, the effects linger a long, long time. Confusion is the least of an alcoholic’s problems.”

For the first time in many months she seemed interested and connected and what she said made sense. He felt better already.

Tony Mazzetti sat quietly in his Crown Vic with Sparky Taylor content reading an issue of Popular Mechanics . Mazzetti was almost afraid to engage his new partner in conversation for fear he would learn about something as disturbing as his family not watching TV at night; his organic diet, which had yet to make a dent in his extra eighty-five pounds; his oldest son’s ability to deconstruct, then rebuild, any electronic device sold in the United States; or the fact that Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office policy drove Sparky’s professional life. He enjoyed the chance to think about not only the enormous number of tasks still needed to be completed for his case, but how to move his relationship with Patty further along. How to make it seem completely right again.

It was nine o’clock and he knew the crews had been working almost eighteen hours a day to complete the renovation of this large office building. There were supervisors for every aspect of the job, but tonight he only wanted to speak to one of them. In the construction trailer sitting in front of the hollow building was Joe D’Annunzio, who was also known as Joey Big Balls. Joey Big Balls ran the administration of the construction project, paying vendors and figuring out payroll because he had no building experience whatsoever. No one wanted to screw with Joey Big Balls because, at least down here in Florida, every Italian from New York or New Jersey in the building industry was assumed to be part of the mob. It’d taken Mazzetti years to get used to the suspicious glances he got when locals heard his accent and saw his name written out on credit applications or business cards. It was a relatively mild and benign form of prejudice, which shows like The Sopranos hadn’t helped one bit.

In the case of Joey Big Balls, Mazzetti knew the real story. He’d been kicked out of the longshoremen’s union in New Jersey for his third offense of stealing big-screen TVs from a freight depot in Newark. He’d moved down here and started fresh, first doing manual labor on construction sites but quickly moving up to the ranks to administrator when builders sought to get things done with a glare or a subtle threat. Mazzetti had met him years earlier when he’d been caught for fencing stolen auto parts. To avoid jail time Joey Big Balls had cooperated in the case and given up two different groups who were stealing high-end cars and breaking them down for parts. Joey didn’t care about anyone knowing he had an arrest record, but there was no way he’d survive anyone ever finding out he was a snitch. And that’s what Mazzetti was counting on today.

Finally it looked like the trailer was empty except for the single light on in the back. Mazzetti turned to Sparky and said, “Looks like it’s showtime.”

He didn’t wait for an answer; instead he popped out of the Crown Vic, hustled across the street and through the construction site. He was surprised to see that Sparky had kept up with him and was right behind him as he knocked on the door and entered.

The giant man behind the desk at the far end of the trailer didn’t look up. All he said was, “I’m done paying out vouchers tonight. I’ll be back at noon tomorrow.”

Mazzetti said, “I don’t need any money, Joey.”

The fifty-year-old man looked up and focused his red eyes on Mazzetti and Sparky. He didn’t smile or show any concern at all. In a flat voice he said, “Whatcha need, Tony?”

Mazzetti eased through the trailer back to the man’s cluttered desk. “How are things going, Joey?”

The big man wiped his hand over his face and down his scraggly beard, showing two of his fingers had been broken and never set properly. He sighed and said, “It’s a goddamn right-to-work state, how do you think it’s going?”

“Jersey is better?”

“At least you knew where you stood with the unions. They may charge three times too much and have to shut down projects, but there was none of this bullshit of hiring guys right off the street or hiring guys you couldn’t trust. Sometimes I think the state is stuffed with goddamn morons.”

“Look, Joey, I’m from Brooklyn so I feel like I have a pretty good view of things, and I’ll admit the state does have a lot of morons, but after a few years you start to realize the worst morons have come from Jersey or New York.”

Joey shook his head and rephrased his first question. “Can I help you with something, Tony?”

“I need info on a case. You hear about this girl found over in the Dumpster?”

The big man remained silent but nodded his head.

“I’m looking for someone in the construction business who might notice another worker acting funny. Basically I’m asking you to keep your ears open and help us out if you hear anything.”

“If I turned in every felon or guy acting strange, I’d have no drywall or carpet guys left to work with.”

The conversation went back and forth for a few minutes with Joey avoiding any commitment to help. Mazzetti felt his patience start to lag and he stood quickly, shooting the chair back with his legs and leaning in close to Joey Big Balls across the desk. “Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret, Joey. This is serious.” Then he leaned closer, catching a whiff of the big man’s body odor. But out of the corner of his eye he saw Sparky Taylor shaking his head instead of backing him up on the threat.

Joey Big Balls raised both of his hands and said, “I’ll start asking some guys quietly and see if I can come up with a name for you, but in return you can’t come around here anytime you want.”

“Joey, I don’t want to come around here at all, but I don’t think you want to feel any responsibility if another girl turns up dead and you’re not willing to help us.”

After giving Joey his cell phone number and making his good-byes, Mazzetti headed out of the trailer with Sparky in tow. He turned to his partner and said, “What’s with the look back there?”

“I don’t agree with those kinds of tactics. They’re not prescribed in law or the sheriff’s policies. There’s a reason we have rules, Tony. You’re treating that man like a criminal.”

“Hello. He is a convicted felon and a snitch.”

“Is he a documented source of information?”

“No, I haven’t officially listed him as one of my snitches.”

“Then by policy he’s only a witness and we don’t treat witnesses so poorly.”

“We don’t let killers run free either and if we don’t find the guy responsible for Kathy Mizell’s murder and maybe Leah Tischler’s too, he’s gonna kill again. And I can’t let that happen. That’s my fucking policy.”

Stallings could always tell when the whole squad was on one big case by the way detectives tended to focus on reports and information on their desk rather than chatting back and forth. The usual friendly atmosphere of the detective bureau went out the window when cases got serious and detectives got tired. In the past, before the recession, when overtime was plentiful, everyone had been buoyed by the idea they were making a lot of extra money by working such long hours. Some cops had equated the extra hours and pay to specific material things like, “Fifty more hours and I can get a pool.” Some cops had built a future on it-“This is Tommy’s college fund.” Now the detectives seemed to work a lot of hours for comp time or some other bullshit they never got reimbursed for. That was never Stallings’s motivation for working hard. He wanted to find who was responsible for Leah Tischler’s disappearance and punish him.