James Andrus - The Perfect Death

Patty pulled through the lot, twice braking hard to avoid patrol cars coming and going. Each time she mumbled some swear or curse, when, in truth, she didn’t know if it was more her fault or theirs.

The rear gate moved in slow motion. As always there were several day laborers and homeless people wandering on the sidewalk behind the building. Two young black men hurried down the street on the opposite side; their quick strides and confident manner told her that they weren’t homeless people. An elderly woman pushed a tiny shopping cart along the sidewalk toward the young men, who politely stepped to the side and allowed the old woman the full width of the sidewalk. On Patty’s side of the street a middle-aged Hispanic man wobbled toward her. At first she thought he might be drunk; then she realized he had one bad leg and he compensated for it with a lively swing of his arms.

Finally the gate locked open and Patty pulled through onto the street only to have to mash her brakes again. There was never traffic on this side street behind the PMB. The jackass in a pickup truck coming toward her wouldn’t swerve around. Instead, he stopped and stared until she threw her Freestyle into reverse and started to back into the lot.

Before she was out of the way of the pickup truck, still moving in reverse, she felt a thump and heard a sickening shriek.

Maria Stallings had spent many evenings wondering what went wrong in her life. One thing the Narcotics Anonymous meetings had taught her was not to dwell on the bad things but think about the good things in her life. The easiest way to do that was to think about her two children still at home.

Tonight she wasn’t contemplating anything; she was taking action. She’d been doing a lot of that lately. No matter how hard it was for her to send her husband away, Maria felt like it’d given her room to look at her life and hopefully make him realize how important the family was. No matter how many people he arrested, it wasn’t going to change what happened to Jeanie. Tonight’s activity had Maria in Jeanie’s room. It was largely the same way it had been the day she disappeared. Maria made it a point to vacuum and clean in the room just like she did the rest of the house. It made her feel better, and if Jeanie did come home she’d realize that no one had ever given up on her.

There were a number of things stored neatly in boxes stacked in Jeanie’s walk-in closet. This was where Maria had started her search. She had questions that needed answers, and she liked the idea she was the one who was going to find them.

Tony Mazzetti had not said a word. Now he, Stallings, and Sparky were inside Daniel Byrd’s apartment in front of the walk-in closet. In addition to a work shirt and a pair of men’s pants, there were five dresses hanging in the closet.

Mazzetti had a feeling this could be their man. Something about dresses in the shitty apartment didn’t fit. He looked around the apartment and said, “I’d bet my left nut that no woman lived in this apartment.”

“At least not willingly,” mumbled Stallings.

Mazzetti and Stallings turned to Sparky at the same time.

The portly detective looked at each of them and said, “No matter what we found, it doesn’t make breaking into this apartment right.” He checked the labels on each of the dresses quickly and said, “All big sizes. But this doesn’t mean anything.”

Mazzetti shook his head, “Come on, Spark, the totality of the circumstances, man. We get more and more information about this creep and it’s starting to add up. It may be that he likes to keep a dress from each of his victims. It may be something weirder. I know we need to snap some photos and decide what to take with us.”

Sparky said, “Now we’re gonna include theft with our burglary?”

Mazzetti knew he was in an odd position. He had no idea what could be evidence. Anything they took now would be thrown out if they made a case. At the very least he needed some DNA samples. He glanced around the room and saw an ashtray overflowing with Marlboro Light cigarette butts. He hesitated, not wanting Sparky to see what he was about to do.

Mazzetti pulled several small Baggies from his inside coat pocket. He always threw a couple in when he was going to do an interview of a suspect or be in a place where he might need to store something for DNA testing later. These were all hard lessons learned through experience. He let Stallings see the bags in his hand and then cut his eyes to the ashtray. He thought Stallings was an asshole, but he was an asshole Mazzetti could trust. Mazzetti knew Stallings wanted this guy captured more than anyone.

Stallings took the cue and knew exactly what to do. He said to Sparky, “Come into the hallway and let’s discuss this.”

Mazzetti heard the other detectives’ voices raise as Sparky stuck to his position and Stallings tried to get him to look at the other, less legal aspects of the investigation.

That was all Mazzetti needed to reach down and pick up four of the cigarette butts. He shuddered at the thought of touching something that had been in a convicted felon’s mouth, but sometimes he had to do what he had to.

Mazzetti heard Sparky make a final comment on his stance that everything in the apartment was off limits. But he had all he needed.

Now Mazzetti had to worry about this apartment along with everything else. They had to put a full-court press on to find Daniel Byrd and get some questions answered.

Patty Levine froze behind the wheel and felt her blood turn to ice. She didn’t want to look into the rearview mirror, but when she did there was nothing to see. The pickup truck scooted around her, the redneck flipping her off as he drove past. None of the pedestrians on the other side of the street turned to look at her way. She pulled the car forward a few feet, threw it into park, and bailed out like she was about to chase a suspect. Instead she ran directly to the rear bumper and her worst fears were realized when she saw the man lying flat on his back with his one good eye focusing on her.

She put both her hands to her cheeks and said, “Oh my God.” She dropped to her knees and put her hand gently on the man’s shoulder. “Can you understand me, sir?”

The man just moaned.

“I’m going to get help. Don’t move.” But when Patty started to stand up he gripped her wrist firmly. She turned back to him.

The man said, “No, no. I okay.”

Patty stared at the man carefully. Even in those few words she heard his Spanish accent. Patty didn’t want the man’s immigration concerns to keep him from getting medical treatment. “It’s all right. We have to make sure you’re not injured.” But he wouldn’t let go of her wrist.

The man slowly sat up and twisted his head around in every direction. “See, I not hurt.” He braced himself on her and slowly worked his way to his feet. Then he spent another thirty seconds shaking his limbs, even though one leg had been hurt by some earlier injury.

Patty kept her hand on the man’s shoulder to make sure he was steady. Finally she said, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

The man gave her a smile that revealed crooked and broken teeth. He nodded his head vigorously and started to walk the way he had been headed originally.

Patty looked in every direction and saw that no one had even noticed her accident. Her stomach burned and her hands were so shaky she wondered if she’d be able to drive.

The man turned and gave her a brief, cheerful wave.

Patty smiled and waved back. She had to get home and swallow something that would calm her down.

John Stallings almost bolted from Tony Mazzetti’s car as he parked behind the PMB.

Mazzetti said, “Where you headed in such a hurry?”