The Perfect Prey (3 page)

They split up and made sure the two-bedroom condo was actually empty. Then they settled down to see what they could find.

Patty pointed to a framed diploma. “Northwestern, not bad.”

There was a framed photograph of Ferrell and a cute, young woman with long dark hair hanging on the wall next to the diploma. At the bottom of the photograph a small caption read,
Jason and Alyssa forever.

Stallings said, “No messages on his machine.” He rummaged through some kitchen drawers until he found the one drawer every home has. Crammed with odd pieces of paper and pens, loose change, and errant business cards, it was a chaos pit of possible leads. He pulled it out and dumped it on the counter. Patty joined him to start going through the pile of crap.

They found a few phone numbers that Patty copied down on a sheet from her notepad, two tangled sets of stereo earbuds, a business card from a car detailing place, Jason Ferrell’s own business card that read
Chemical Engineer, Commercial Waste Inc,
and a hard, clear plastic bottle that held an ounce of light yellow fluid.

Patty held it up to the light and shook it gently.

“What’s it look like to you?”

Patty kept staring up into it and said, “I thought it was clean urine until I shook it. It’s thick like an oil.”

“Let’s check the rest of the house.” He didn’t say anything when Patty stuffed the bottle into the front pocket of her jeans. She was so curious that she couldn’t let something so simple go unanswered. He knew she’d talk some chemist at the SO into analyzing it. Before he’d finished checking the drawers in Ferrell’s bedroom his cell phone rang.

“John Stallings,” he said in his usual professional phone greeting.

“Stall, Lieutenant Hester says for you and Patty to come back to the Land That Time Forgot by three for some kind of squad meeting.” Stallings recognized the secretary’s voice. A lot of the staff referred to the detective bureau on the second floor of the PMB as the Land That Time Forgot because of the lag time in new equipment and nice furnishings. Even though the unit had made strides under the guidance of Lieutenant Rita Hester, it fit a cop’s natural tendency to bitch to call the office by its nickname. All Stallings said to the secretary was, “See you then.”

Administrators always found a way to screw up real police work.

Allie and Susan giggled uncontrollably at the Tiki Bar of the Hide-a-Way motel. The cold wind had chased everyone away from the outdoor bar, but they still insisted on getting margaritas outside, then joining the other visiting students inside the room overlooking the closed swimming pool. The little pill they’d split had relaxed Allie, but it positively transformed Susan. Wearing a skirt to hide her butt and bikini top, inside and out in the freezing gale, she had already kissed a University of Georgia marching band drummer, danced on
an empty space in front of the bar by herself, and downed about six bottles of water.

Susan said, “Whatever that pill was, I like it.”

Allie grinned. “I know. I hope he has one if I see him tonight.”

“You like him?”

“Yeah, I guess, but I wanna keep my options open. If we go to the Wildside again I’m gonna dance with at least five different guys. That’s a promise.”

“Wish I could be that confident.”

Allie put her arm around the shorter, plump girl. “Are you kidding me? Girl, you can have any man you want.”

Susan looked up at her. “Really, any man at all?”

“I guarantee it.”

“Good, I got one in mind.”

“Who is it?”

“The guy who gave you the pill.”

He finished a set of thirty push-ups, then hopped up and rattled off six pull-ups on the bar set into his bedroom doorframe. He had a few more sets, then a thirty-minute run before he would cool down, catch a nap, then clean up for his evening out hunting. This was his version of baiting the field. He knew that with his body and face it was almost too easy to attract women. That was one of the reasons he liked to focus on blue eyes and blond hair. It gave him a goal.

His job helped him stalk his prey too. He had the chance to meet a lot of people and talk with them. No one would worry about him if they saw him working; it was too natural. He made enough money to live comfortably and still maintain the two different places to
live even if one was a cheap apartment and one was shared, so no one would ever know he had two lives. It was a sweet setup.

He had a talent of dealing with people, and he made the most of it.

On the wall behind him was a corkboard framed in wood with photos of most of the girls he’d met in the last five years. A two-foot-square montage of light hair, big smiles, and him, the silent predator with an arm around one or on the dance floor with another. Most made it back to their hometowns, but some he had claimed for himself. Claimed forever. They were part of him now. Psychologically as well as physically. That’s what drove him. He never hinted about his needs. No ordinary person would ever understand. He’d be considered a monster. That made sense because the antelope viewed the lion as a monster. No, this was a solitary task, and he liked it that way.

On this blustery afternoon he couldn’t get cute Allie from Mississippi out of his head. She had that look. Bright, wide smile, pleasant Southern accent, and healthy naturally blond hair. He would’ve had her last night if the little chubby one hadn’t needed her. But he’d be ready tonight. If she came to him at the Wildside, then he knew she was his. Just like all the others before.

He let out a whoop as he flopped back onto the ground to do some crunches.

The Police Memorial Building, or PMB, sat on Bay Street looking out toward the St. Johns with ugly new condos blocking what was once a good view. John Stallings and Patty Levine trudged up the inside stairs to the second floor where the Land That Time Forgot, or the detective bureau, was located.

Stallings marveled at how fast Patty could walk with her petite frame. Without ever telling him, Patty had conveyed that if he ever slowed down for her or showed her any preference because she happened to be female, she’d beat his ass. As far as he was concerned, she never had to prove anything to anyone. He’d seen her use good judgment, be decisive, and be brutal when needed. She backed him up and kept her mouth shut about their own business. That made her a great partner. He dreaded the day she made sergeant and they moved her to the road on midnights in some lonely section of Duval County. For now he was happy things were going so well at work.

His mother used to say, “It’s always something,” and now it was his family life that had gone to shit. It felt as
if he couldn’t have both work and home life going well at the same time. He hadn’t accepted it either, and that’s what hurt. He spent as little time as possible alone at night in the little duplex he had rented a few miles from his family. He tended to stay at the house as if he still lived there, helping the kids with homework and practicing soccer with Charlie until he felt Maria had seen enough of him. Then he’d excuse himself and dread the rest of the evening watching baseball on the Sun Channel or
NFL Replay
on the NFL network.

As they crossed the threshold between crimes/property and crimes/persons he heard Lieutenant Rita Hester’s voice from across the squad bay.

“I’ll be damned, John Stallings is early for a meeting. I should play the lotto tonight.”

He had a long history with the tall, large-framed lieutenant. She’d been another good partner on the road and now did a decent job as an administrator. He was pretty sure that once they had a permanent sergeant she’d be like every other lieutenant in the agency and feel like a ghost. She’d show up when you didn’t expect her, but no one would able to find her most of the time.

Stallings smiled as he walked toward her. His eyes scanned the immediate area so he knew who was around. Just before he was about to address her by her former nickname, the Brown Bomber, he noticed a staff assistant working at the end of the conference table behind her. He just nodded and said, “I hate to hold things up.”

The lieutenant smiled. “What’s the spring break patrol look like?”

“Dammit, that name is catching on.”

“What can you do, even Mazzetti comes up with a good one once in a while.”

“We cleared three of the missing college kids. The kid from Boston College is in the can for possession of alcohol by a minor, then taking a swing at a cop.”

Lieutenant Hester shook her head. “Bad judgment.”

“The young man from Auburn found true love with a forty-year-old secretary from Fernandina Beach until her husband came home early from a fishing trip.”

“Any casualties?”

“Nope. He called his parents, who had the sense to call us. He’s not even coming back through J-Ville.” He thought about the other student and lost any good humor he had talking with an old friend. “The last missing kid was the girl Mazzetti is working over in Brackridge Park.”

The lieutenant looked down. “The suicide. That’s a tough one to tell the family about. The Columbia, South Carolina, cops are going to make the notification. Still gonna be tough. The report of her missing came in before we found the body. I’d hate to hear news like that.”

Stallings knew that was true. Even worse than him hearing that there were no leads on his missing daughter three years ago. He still hadn’t recovered from it.

He remembered that Friday afternoon. It was one of those days that stood out in his life. Everyone had those days. Most adults have four or five days that stick out in their minds and maybe affect how they live the rest of their lives. Some are good, like hitting your first home run or your first serious kiss. Some are traumatic, like a car accident or a parent’s death. Those days fuel most people. But Stallings’s day, the day his life took a serious turn off the path he’d been traveling, ground down his heart and soul every day. It was about three years ago, coming home after a long day stuck on a drug homicide with no witnesses who were talking and no administrator
who really cared if he solved it or not, finding Maria passed out on the couch and Charlie playing quietly in his room completely unsupervised. All of that wasn’t even the problem. It hadn’t even dawned on him that Jeanie was missing.

It wasn’t till later, much later, that he noticed his oldest daughter had not made contact with the family in any way for almost a whole day. Then it took time to check with everyone from his mother to all of her friends before he sounded the alarm. He still remembered it as if it was just yesterday. That shocking fear. The terror that your baby, no matter how old, was gone. Then the anger at Jeanie for being gone, the cops for not finding her, and Maria for distracting him. It was still an issue he’d never resolved. Anger. It boiled out of him at the most inappropriate times, when he wanted to remain calm or appear professional. It seemed as if Jacksonville was awash in broken noses and black eyes from Stallings’s anger issues.

Then the sorrow and despair sank in along with the realization that Jeanie might not ever come back. One of the hardest things was sitting down with Lauren and a very young Charlie to explain to them what happened. Why Mommy fell into such a deep sleep, why the police are around the house, and why Jeanie was gone. Nothing he told them was exactly true. Lauren had figured some of it out.

He felt the familiar lump in his throat as the LT brought him back to reality.

The lieutenant said, “What about the guy who works for Maxwell House?”

“He might be a real mystery. We went by his apartment, and there’s nothing suspicious there. I’ll drop by his work after the meeting. It’s not really Maxwell
House, but some kind of waste-removal company that they subcontract. I’d like to spend some time on this one.”

She nodded. “Good, I’d like to see it resolved.” She paused for a moment, then, in a completely different tone, said, “What’s new at home?”

He shrugged. The universal sign for cops who are separated from their wives. The lieutenant knew not to delve any further.

Other detectives filed in, every one of them keenly aware that they’d been without a sergeant for more than five months due to personnel shifts and retirements. The right sergeant could make everyone work together well and get a lot accomplished. The wrong one could get a cop killed. The sergeant was probably the most important position in a police agency. A squad seemed to take on the personality of its leader. A cautious sergeant made for a slow, deliberate squad. A hyper one usually pushed everyone else into a frantic rush of activity. But the rare, even-tempered, fair, intelligent sergeant could positively transform any squad. From detectives to road patrol, a good sergeant made everyone shine.

Stallings waited for Patty to pad over from her desk, then take a seat around the long conference table with the other detectives. Mazzetti and his crew were still finishing up at the medical examiner’s with the body of the Brackridge Park suicide.

The lieutenant never had to raise her voice to get anyone’s attention; her physical presence and reputation were enough to quiet down any group of JSO cops.

Luis Martinez, one of the hardest-working cops in the bureau, said, “What’s the scoop, LT? We got a new sergeant on the way?”

“We do.”

“Who is it?”

The lieutenant just smiled.

Tony Mazzetti had a headache. He’d missed lunch, and the goddamn ME blabbed his ear off about a nephew who is a starting nose tackle at FSU. Southerners and their football. Growing up in Brooklyn, all he cared about in football were the Jets. He did like that a Jersey school like Rutgers was starting to field a decent football unit, but the rednecks down here lived and breathed football. His headache was proof of that.

His headache was exacerbated by thinking about Kathleen Harding from Columbia, South Carolina. He still hoped to find some of her friends to talk to and maybe attach a reason for her suicide. That usually shut the family up. At least it was cleared, and he didn’t have to worry about an unexplained death hanging over his head like a weight. If he wanted to stay as the lead detective in homicide he needed to keep his clearance rate high. Administration had overlooked what his desire to clear cases had done in the Bag Man case. He had been credited, along with Patty and John Stallings, with capturing the crazy shit. No way anyone in command staff would punish him for clearing the first victim as an overdose when the media was so positive right now.