James Andrus - The Perfect Death

The old man hesitated and scratched the short gray bristle on the top of his head “She promised to come back and visit me if I didn’t say anything. She was scared and so was I. The whole thing slipped my mind. That happens to me sometimes. I forget a lot of things. You may not notice it yet, but I get confused easily.”

Stallings’s mother patted his father on the back and gave him a hug from behind. Lauren reached across the table and grasped his hand.

Then James Stallings wept silently.

Patty Levine didn’t think of her quiet Sunday afternoon as sulking; she considered it recharging. But as she sprawled on her couch, watching an old, sappy Meg Ryan movie, she had to admit it felt like sulking. The more accurate word might be depressed . She couldn’t point to anything in her life that would depress her except the total failure she had suffered kicking her prescription-drug habit.

The sergeant had made it clear she wanted a rested crew ready to kick ass on Monday morning, so Patty was confident she wouldn’t be called out today. That was how she justified swallowing a Xanax earlier and now used a couple of painkillers to ease the throbbing in her lower back. She felt some guilt about the painkillers because she’d thought she’d gotten past them and could make it without the subtle fog the long, light blue pills put her in.

The long hours of the afternoon gave Patty a chance to contemplate her entire life. She wondered if she was like an alcoholic who, after an absence of drinking, started right back where she was when she had stopped.

Despite the guilt about using again, she considered the advantages of using a prescription antidepressant to pull her out of her funk. Maybe she needed someone to talk to. Despite her feelings about John Stallings or even Tony Mazzetti, she didn’t want to put them in an awkward position of knowing she had a problem and not telling a supervisor. If something happened and it was discovered that they had known she had a problem, they could face discipline as well.

No, she’d been too good at keeping her issues private for too long. There was no reason to yak about them now. Her issues would be hard for a man to understand. They might treat her like one of the boys, but she wasn’t. Some cops just looked at her like a cute chick who had lucked into a job or slept her way into the detective bureau. That was another reason why she didn’t really want to go public with her relationship with Tony.

She’d continue to keep it quiet a while longer. She had to.

John Stallings intended to attack the day. He’d appreciated the rare Sunday afternoon with his family. His father’s odd comment about Jeanie haunted him. That’s why he was glad he was taking the old man to the doctor this afternoon.

This morning was about work. It was about finding the asshole who’d killed the girl found in the shallow grave at Pine Forest Park. He was learning all he could about what might happen to a runaway in Jacksonville who just disappeared one day. He couldn’t stop thinking about the girl found buried in the park. He wanted the man responsible. It burned in him like the start of an ulcer. Which Stallings realized really could be the source of the feeling.

Tony Mazzetti was welcome to make a case, to talk to the media, and to advance his career, but Stallings was going to catch the killer. He didn’t care who took the credit. He just wanted this creep.

He couldn’t help but consider Jeanie when he thought about Leah Tischler. Stop at the wrong bus stop, at the wrong time, and God only knew what could happen. A life could be gone like a wisp of smoke. He knew from experience that some of the killers who roamed the streets felt about as much from taking a life as they did from blowing out a candle. He hated trying to think like them, but sometimes it was the only way to catch them. That’s all Stallings wanted to do: stop assholes like the one who had killed the girl found at the park and the nursing student at the bus stop.

He wanted to punish the killer not just for the girl in the park or Kathy Mizell, but for all the Jeanies in the world too.

Tony Mazzetti was waiting at the parole and probation office in downtown Jacksonville when the portly parole officer strolled in with a bag of doughnuts in one hand and a giant container of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee in the other.

Mazzetti sprang from the uncomfortable plastic chair he’d been sitting in for thirty minutes while he waited. “Tom Laider?”

“Who’s askin’?”

Mazzetti had his ID out and open in a flash. “JSO. I need to talk to you right now.”

Mazzetti nodded to Sparky Taylor, who calmly closed his Popular Mechanics magazine and followed.

The heavyset parole officer led them down a series of narrow hallways. One was so tight the fat man’s sides brushed booth walls. Mazzetti worried that Sparky might be having the same problem behind him so he was careful not to turn around.

Once they were sitting in the miniscule, windowless office with drab, blank walls and the parole officer had wedged himself behind the desk, he said, “What can I do for JSO this morning?

“We need to talk to Daniel Byrd.”

“So do I.”

“What’s that mean?”

The fat man sighed and rubbed his face like it was 3:30 in the afternoon instead of nine o’clock in the morning. “It means I haven’t seen Mr. Byrd in two months. He’s never at the construction site where he tells me he’ll be. He switches apartments like most people switch underwear and misses every appointment I’ve ever set for him in this office.”

Mazzetti stared at the ineffective parole officer. “Why don’t you violate him? Send his ass back to prison.”

The parole officer shook his head. “Do you have any idea how much paperwork that’d be? Besides, you’ve seen the state budget. We can’t afford to house inmates anymore. The only way anyone gets violated is if they commit a new, violent felony.”

“What if I told you he was a suspect in a murder?”

“I’d say call me after you convict him.” The fat officer munched happily on an iced chocolate doughnut, then washed it down with a huge swallow of coffee. “Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’m very busy.”

“Busy! What do you have to do to keep busy? You’re not seeing anyone, not violating anyone, you don’t even get in the goddamn office until after nine o’clock. How can you be busy?”

The parole officer didn’t bother to acknowledge Mazzetti’s outrage.

Mazzetti looked at the parole officer, at his partner, and finally at the folder containing Daniel Byrd’s photograph and criminal history. He considered the few options he had to track the construction worker down. As much as he hated to admit it, this sounded like a job that Stallings could handle better than anyone else.

Lexie Hanover liked her independence. She worked evenings at Sal’s Smoothie Shack to earn extra money, but she really enjoyed working at a vet’s office during the day. The poor veterinarian was so busy in his personal life and made so little money at his beachside office that he relinquished much of the regular duties to Lexie. That’s why she knew that one day she’d make a great veterinarian herself. She had two more courses at a community college before she could transfer to the University of Florida and start the real competition for the limited number of spots in their veterinary medicine program. She knew she could do it.

Lexie rushed around her small apartment because she liked to make a good impression on people when they stepped inside. She recognized the building wasn’t new and didn’t look historical or anything like that. Not in an industrial section west of the interstate. Her apartment was tiny and therefore easy to keep clean, and her two cats didn’t leave much of a mess.