James Andrus - The Perfect Death

Buddy let out a quick snort of laughter. “No, not at all.” He didn’t have to fake that answer or lie in any way.

The detective took that another way. He said, “Really? You sound pretty definite on that. Why? She was awfully cute.”

Buddy saw the trap the detective had walked him into. If he said he didn’t think she was attractive, the detective probably wouldn’t believe him. Everyone thought she was a knockout. And if he said she was such a bitch he couldn’t be around her, that would also make the detective more suspicious. He might even think that Buddy had a motive to kill her.

Buddy hesitated and the detective took a half step back. Buddy had his hand behind his back resting on the handle of the butcher knife. He was making the assessment of how he could dispose of a Jacksonville police detective and his car. He’d also have to answer a lot more questions because surely the detective had called in where he was going and who he was talking to. At that moment Buddy wasn’t sure there was an alternative.

Then the answer to the question came to him. Buddy said, “I don’t really like to talk about it.”

“Talk about what?”

“Look around. I’m in my mid-thirties, I’m neat, I’ve never been married, and I talk to my mom every day.” Only one of those things was a lie.

It didn’t take long for the detective to catch on to what Buddy was trying to make him believe. The detective nodded and smiled, picking up his notebook and stepping around Buddy toward the front door.

Detective Martinez said, “If you think of anything please feel free to give me a call.” He handed Buddy his business card, turned, and opened the door.

Buddy was in the clear again.

John Stallings hated the way news channels would inflate stories and make them sound more lurid or interesting than they really were. But he also recognized, as a detective in the new millennium, there was a role reporters could play in major investigations. The story of the dead nurse found at Shands hospital had been tied to three other murders in the Jacksonville area. Sergeant Zuni, fast on her feet, used the media opportunity to show photos of the missing Leah Tischler. Less than two hours after the first broadcast, Stallings was on his way to talk to a witness.

He’d come across this witness in a less than official way. One of the downtown homeless people had gone to the only person she could trust: Liz Dubeck. Liz had called Stallings directly and told him she’d entertain the witness at her office until he came down and talked to her.

The call was what he needed to pull himself out of his funk. It was not only his father’s descent into Alzheimer’s but the erratic behavior of his wife, Maria. She was gone from the house so often that all he could figure was she had a boyfriend. He felt like his hopes of getting back together with her had completely fallen apart. Somehow, just going to visit with Liz Dubeck cheered him.

Walking along the sidewalk to the front door of the four-story hotel, Stallings immediately noticed work being done on the building. A tall, stooped man was measuring the floor for new carpet and another man was measuring the front bay window. Inside, Stallings could tell the walls had been recently painted.

Liz Dubeck greeted him with a bright smile that instantly lifted his spirits.

Stallings said, “What’s going on here?”

“I got a federal grant to fix up the old place. I’m going to replace some of the carpet that was ruined by a leak, have the whole place painted, bring the wiring up to code, and even replace the cracked front window.”

“That sounds great.” He felt a little awkward since their last conversation and really didn’t know what else to say. As usual, Liz was able to take up the slack.

Liz looked around the lobby to ensure that none of the workers could hear her as she motioned Stallings around the front counter and said, “This woman is really scared about talking to the police. I promised her that you and I were friends and you’d use the information without implicating her.”

“No problem. What kind of information does she have?”

Liz led him back into her office. “You can ask her yourself.”

Stallings looked at the fifty-year-old woman wearing a plain but clean dress and eating a Krispy Kreme doughnut. Her greasy, gray hair had been recently brushed and pulled back in a ponytail. She looked up with bloodshot eyes but didn’t say anything.

Liz introduced Stallings to the woman, who didn’t want to give her name. But her first question took Stallings by surprise.

“Are you any relation to James Stallings?”

“He’s my father.”

“If James Stallings is your father, you can’t be too bad, even if you’re a cop. Your pop has done more to help me and the other homeless people in town than just about anyone I know.”

For possibly the first time in his life Stallings felt real pride about his father. He settled down into the chair next to the woman and asked why she wanted to talk to him.

“I seen the photo of the missing girl on TV at the community center. I seen the girl.”

“Which girl are you talking about?”

“The missing one. Leah something.”

Stallings felt his pulse increase as he reached in his notebook and pulled out the familiar picture of Leah Tischler and held it for the woman to look at.

“That’s her. I seen her two Saturdays ago. I remember because it was before that revival started down at the stadium. She was wearing jeans and a man’s plaid shirt. Like a lumberjack’s shirt. Way too hot for this time of year.”

Stallings made a couple of quick notes and wanted to confirm the timeline with her. “How can you be sure it was a Saturday morning?”

“Because some businesses were closed and they don’t serve breakfast at the community center on Saturday. I had to walk to the Christian relief center on Davis. When I was coming out I saw that girl at a bus stop. We talked for a minute. That’s why I remember.”

She spent a few more minutes giving Stallings enough details for him to believe that she had seen Leah Tischler at least one day after she had been here looking for a place to stay. That meant Leah was alive and not wearing the belt found wrapped around Kathy Mizell’s throat.

The woman said, “Leah said she was going on a trip. She was tired of J-Ville.”

“Where was she going?”

The woman shrugged. “She just said she was leaving.”

As Stallings thought of a new set of questions, he looked out of the open window in the office at the white construction van with a magnetic sign that said CLASSIC GLASS CONCEPTS stuck on the side.

Buddy was relieved the sharp young detective left without asking any more questions. After the meeting he decided he needed to get away from the shop for a few hours. He had estimates to make and was still looking for the final piece of his work of art. He doubted he’d be bothered about Cheryl’s death any more. In a way she had gotten the opposite of eternity. It seemed like her case would be unsolved and she’d be largely forgotten in a very short time.

His first estimate was at a crappy motel that catered to homeless people and probably got a ton of federal money to house them. It was a simple job. Replacing a cracked window. No etching or decoration. Pretty much just manual labor. He’d make his estimate high so that if the woman accepted it at least he’d have a few bucks in his pocket. There was no way he wanted to get stuck on a job like this unless it set him up for free time later. The only thing that mattered now was his work of art. He had to find the right subject to fill that last slot.

As he made a few notes and walked back to the open door of his van, a young woman dressed like she worked at a bank stopped him and said, “Your sign says Classic Glass Concepts-does that mean you do more than just replace windows?”