James Andrus - The Perfect Death

Stallings reached for the radio when he heard Mazzetti say, “That’s our man, that’s our man, let’s go.” The homicide detective had a tinge more excitement in his voice than normal. He liked to see passion in police officers. Even a jerk-off like Mazzetti.

Stallings didn’t rush as he put his Impala in drive and rolled across the parking lot a little faster than a jog. Mazzetti peeled up limestone dust as he skidded across the lot, struggling to maintain control of his big Ford Crown Vic. Patty followed Stallings’s lead and did the smartest thing she could’ve, waited in the lot. Stallings and Mazzetti reached the front door of the trailer at the same time.

Mazzetti drew his gun and said, “I don’t care if this is just an interview. This asshole has a long record and has been hard to find.”

Stallings agreed but left his gun in his holster as he pulled open the door. Stallings scanned the entire trailer but only saw an older, heavyset man sitting behind a desk.

Mazzetti looked at the man and said, “Where’d he go?”

The man said, “Who?”

Then Stallings heard the truck as it kicked shell and dust into the trailer.

Mazzetti scowled at the man behind the desk and said, “I won’t forget this, Joey.”

The man just shrugged.

Patty suppressed a giggle as Mazzetti’s Crown Vic swerved one way then the other in the loose gravel parking lot. John Stallings drove slowly, under control, directly to the front of the trailer. The one look from Stallings told her someone needed to watch the outside of the building. She had already concluded that three detectives inside the filthy trailer was too many. She didn’t have to prove herself to anyone. Stallings appreciated her tactical sense and she could’ve had worse examples set for her.

So she sat in her Ford Freestyle, which was great for surveillance because she looked like a young soccer mom or a junior partner in a law firm downtown. No one gave her a second look until she popped on the hidden red and blue lights or blasted the siren.

Almost as soon as she’d seen Mazzetti and John Stallings step through the front door of the trailer, she noticed someone scurry from the far side of the trailer directly to the truck. It was so fast and unexpected that it took a moment for her to realize it was Daniel Byrd. The truck was pointed toward the exit when he jumped in and he was out of the lot in less than five seconds. Patty knew to stay on him until the others caught on to what had happened.

Patty tried the radio but realized neither of the other detectives had carried one into the trailer. She pulled out onto the street and barely caught a glimpse of the truck turning right at the next corner. Patty didn’t want to get into a high-speed chase with someone whom, at this point, they just wanted to interview. The Freestyle wasn’t the vehicle to push into a high-speed pursuit anyway. She’d use her natural advantage and wait until Mazzetti and Stallings could catch up to her.

After she made another turn and saw the truck clearly in front of her, she risked a quick call on her cell phone to Stallings.

Stallings answered on the first ring. He said, “I was about to call you on the radio. Did you see him when he came out?”

“Of course. I was where I was supposed to be. Now we’re on Myrtle Avenue headed north. He left in a hurry, but his speed dropped back down and there’s not much traffic.”

“You rock, Patty.”

She let a broad smile slide across her face. She needed to hear something like that today. All she could say was, “You bet your ass I do.”

Tony Mazzetti was fuming as he raced out to his car and kicked rocks in the air on his way out the exit. Thank God Patty was smart enough to wait outside in case something like this happened. Mazzetti realized that Joey Big Balls would’ve probably spotted him and Stallings earlier, but he never would’ve figured the fat man for a double-crosser. He didn’t know why Joey had felt like he had to warn Daniel Byrd. Mazzetti knew he’d pay for it one way or another.

He fell in behind Stallings, who was catching up to Patty. There was no way to justify this turning into a high-speed chase, just like there was no way he was gonna let that shithead Byrd give him the slip.

His radio scanned two frequencies. The one he, Patty, and Stallings were using and the main frequency. He’d heard some traffic earlier relating to a search warrant at the north end of the city. Now he noticed several panicked transmissions and realized something had gone terribly wrong. First he heard the dreaded “Shots fired” call; then he heard a narcotics sergeant named Fernandes request fire rescue and any available unit for a perimeter. Fernandes was a cool customer and wouldn’t call for the help unless it was needed. It was an unusual call for a slow Wednesday night in Jacksonville and Mazzetti knew every cop in the city was headed that way right now.

Mazzetti used the local frequency to raise Patty. “What’s your twenty, Patty?”

“We’re north on Moncrief a few miles from U.S. 1. He has no idea I’m behind him.”

Mazzetti said, “Excellent. I’m a minute behind you.” Mazzetti smiled, thinking about how smart his girlfriend was. If she was still his girlfriend. He’d missed talking to her the past few days, but he didn’t want to keep pestering her on the phone. He didn’t want her to think he was too needy. She’d made it clear she wasn’t ready to move in with him, so he told himself not to crowd her.

He hadn’t even heard about her accident until today. She said it was okay, but the IA inquiry had gotten to her. He weighed the benefits of punching that asshole Ronald Bell right in the face. He’d also heard Bell and his IA cronies were looking into some missing pills. They’d interviewed some of the narcotics guys this morning and already the rumor mill churned out all kinds of theories. One of those theories was that the pills had been taken from the crimes/persons squad during the fight with the gangbangers. Mazzetti knew it was all a bunch of bullshit and wished the IA cocksuckers would try and work a real case once in a while.

His radio came to life again as more and more resources were dispatched to the search warrant scene at the far end of the county. The helicopter and a dozen more patrol cars were racing that way right now. Three detectives on a slow-speed surveillance didn’t rate any resources. Mazzetti figured the media was on its way north as well. Why not? The SWAT team guys had cool uniforms and big guns and gave pretty good sound bites for the late news. He couldn’t even say they were chasing a serial killer because they weren’t. At least not yet. Byrd was only a person of interest.

It was after ten o’ clock when he wondered how long it would be until they could safely corner this guy. It wasn’t like the old days when no one cared how fast you chased someone or the reasons you were in the chase. It was all part of police work. But nowadays only certain cars could be in the chase and only with a sergeant on hand. And they had to be able to articulate the reasons they’d risk the public’s safety. They had to be chasing a violent criminal who posed an immediate threat.

This might be a very long night.

About twenty minutes into the surveillance, John Stallings took the lead and let Patty back her Freestyle off the target vehicle. Just in case Daniel Byrd had been paying enough attention to recognize the same vehicle had been behind him for miles and miles of Jacksonville city streets. Mazzetti, in his more obvious police-car-looking Crown Vic, was the team’s last choice to follow the crafty construction worker.

Byrd hadn’t tried to get on the interstate, which made Stallings think his destination was relatively close by. As soon as Byrd stopped and got out of the truck, Stallings would make his move. At this point, Stallings didn’t care what tactics he had to use. He had questions that needed answering. Right now Byrd was acting calm. He probably thought he’d lost them as soon as he left the construction site and was chuckling about how inept Jacksonville cops were.