James Andrus - The Perfect Death

The bouquet of flowers he’d brought was as pretty as the first. He’d also brought her one of his homemade jars, which was too short to put the flowers in. She did like the milky-colored glass with bubbles rippling through it. She also liked how original it looked and felt. It had a thin, sticky film around it. Buddy told her it was from the glassblowing process. There was something decidedly uncommercial looking about the jar, and she was happy he wanted to share the artistic part of his life with her.

She set the glass jar on the windowsill between them, then leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips. Not a flirty or sexual move, but a gesture of how much she appreciated his present.

Buddy had already quizzed her about how much she loved animals. Now, out of the blue, he said, “Do you believe in God?”

“Sure. I was raised in a Baptist church and now I go to a nondenominational service a few blocks away. I don’t go every week, but I make it more than I miss it.”

“That’s nice. You don’t see that much with people anymore. Everyone wants to live for the day and gives no thought to eternity. If you think about it, we’ll spend a lot more time in eternity than we do shuffling around on Earth.”

“That’s a nice way to put it.”

“I was hoping you’d think that way.” He scooted the bamboo chair closer to her and coughed loudly in his hands.

“Are you okay?”

“One of the dangers blowing glass. Sometimes your lungs can be coated with film just like that jar. A small price to pay.”

Lexie liked the way he looked deep into her eyes as he gently stroked her cheek and then ran his fingers through her hair. She closed her eyes as he tilted her head back slightly and started to caress her throat.

Tony Mazzetti and Sparky Taylor stood on the opposite side of the procedure table watching the autopsy of the girl found buried in the playground at Pine Forest Park. Mazzetti went through his long list of tasks to accomplish on this case as he watched the assistant medical examiner go through her preliminary steps. He was a little annoyed at John Stallings taking off the afternoon for personal business. Mazzetti didn’t know what the personal business could be, but from his point of view there was nothing more important than an unsolved homicide.

Sparky made notes as he looked closely at the girl’s shirt and then her hands and wrists. He said, “One mark on her wrist here is from a crime scene tech’s trowel.”

Mazzetti said, “The goddamn rednecks we hire should be working for a landscape company like their DNA compels them to.”

Sparky shook his head. “The constant insults to Southerners in general and Floridians in particular are not helpful. It doesn’t make you, as a New Yorker, sound like you’re trying to fit in.”

“I’m just saying sometimes backwards rednecks down here annoy me.”

Sparky gave him a thoughtful look and said, “You know, Tony, the average New Yorker who moves here is less educated than the general population already here.”

“Then they’re getting a shitty education if they’re too stupid to dig out a body without destroying evidence.” He didn’t have time to waste arguing with a guy like this about a topic that meant nothing. But he found it hard to concentrate on the task at hand.

No matter how hard he tried, Tony Mazzetti couldn’t keep his eyes from the pretty assistant medical examiner. He liked the way her long curly, red hair was tied in a neat ponytail and tucked under a sanitary, Mylar cap. He normally didn’t go for redheads, but this girl’s features were pretty and her skin so creamy looking that he made an exception. He shuffled around for a better view of what she was looking at.

She caught his movements and explained that she was interested in where the clothes touched the victim’s body as well as all the marks. She said, “There was a chemical residue of some kind on the seat of her shorts. I’d like to see if it touched her skin and what effect it had.”

Mazzetti said, “We won’t know what the chemical is for a while. The lab has all that information now. We were able to identify her through fingerprints. Her name is Jessie Kalb and she taught preschool last summer so they were required to fingerprint her and run the prints through FDLE. She’s twenty years old and told her parents she wanted to travel the world before she got serious about school.”

The medical examiner looked up and let her blue eyes focus on Mazzetti. “See these bruises?” She pointed to the girl’s throat. “There is a faint pattern that shows a ligature strangulation. It was a decorative belt or strap. The other girl, Kathy Mizell, was killed the same way.” She straightened her lithe frame and stretched. “Based on the marks around her throat I’d say you boys have a real live serial killer.”

Mazzetti thought to himself. Tell me something I don’t know.

Buddy felt quite satisfied with himself. He’d planned things out and so far everything had fallen into place. Lexie was relaxed and giggling on the chair. He had the cord in his belt line and pulled it out. The jar was between them on the windowsill. It was like lining up a great golf shot. He had his left hand near her throat and right hand closest to the jar. After he was done using the heavy cord around her neck he’d be able to slip the jar in front of her face very easily. After his last few attempts he needed one that went smoothly and didn’t scare a month off his already sketchy life.

In his head he started the countdown. He flexed his shoulders and arms, knowing they could be in for a workout, his heartbeat revved to the point that it sounded like a hammer in his chest. Lexie felt hot to the touch. Her pupils were dilated. She was definitely an angel worthy of worship.

He gently tilted her head back as he stroked her graceful neck. Her eyes closed. Then he committed. He wrapped the cord around her throat and pulled with all of his might. It was important the first contact with the cord was shocking.

This was a very odd situation for Yvonne Zuni. She was seated in front of Lieutenant Rita Hester with senior IA investigator Ronald Bell sitting across from her. Lieutenant Hester leaned back in her massive padded leather chair, her dark eyes shifting between them, her poker face never gave a hint of what she was thinking. Sergeant Zuni realized it was the lieutenant’s years on road patrol and actual, practical experience that gave her the ability to intimidate someone without saying a word or, in this case, even moving a muscle.

Sergeant Zuni, like many of the female members of the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office, looked up to Lieutenant Hester as a role model. On the street she’d cracked so many heads with a nightstick she’d been given the nickname The Brown Bomber . As an administrator, she got the most out of her people while developing a reputation for protecting them. She had also been John Stallings’s partner many years ago in road patrol. That was an important tidbit to keep in mind.

Every time Sergeant Zuni looked across at Ronald Bell she couldn’t help but think of their fantastic weekend together. He’d stayed over Friday night after their wonderful meal at Gi-Gi’s, then met her again Saturday night when she was done at the crime scene at Pine Forest Park. After drinks at an island-flavored bar near Jacksonville Landing, they’d gone dancing and ended up at his lovely riverfront home. It was only three blocks from her parents’ house. She didn’t bother to mention that to Ronald.

He made her feel like a princess, catering to her every desire, and as a result, it had been the best weekend she’d had in years.

Right now, midday on Monday, Sergeant Zuni was seeing a different side of Ronald Bell. Sure, he was devastatingly handsome and dapper in a sharp Armani suit. But she didn’t like what he was saying, even though she realized he had a different job from hers.