The Perfect Scream (26 page)

L
ynn sat at the desk in her small, cluttered office at the Thomas Brothers supply company gazing over a stack of forms explaining why products had gone bad before delivery. She’d noticed an increase in spoilage since Dale had been arrested and fired from the loading dock. That went hand in hand with the current disorganization. She couldn’t believe the big, slow-witted redneck had been so competent and so essential to the company. The first report showed that a load of dairy products had not been refrigerated properly. The next report was just a case of holding eggs past the expiration date. These were simple errors that didn’t often occur when Dale was in charge.

She heard a light rap on her doorframe and looked up to see the lean figure of Leon smiling at her. “What’s going on?”

Lynn sighed and said, “Since you managed to get Dale arrested, the company has gone to hell.”

Leon quickly stepped inside the office and held up his hands. “Hey, girl, don’t say shit like that. Even joking.”

She saw how serious he was, and in a way that made her feel more confident. This was a man who had spent his adult life in a business that demanded secrecy. Lynn mumbled, “Sorry, you’re right.”

Leon smiled as he sat down and rubbed his hands together. “Now, what’s our next move?”

“You’ve already helped me enough.”

“Nonsense, I was just getting into it. My life is so boring now compared to what it used to be, I want to rob a bank just to see what it’s like. At least with you I’m helping an old friend’s daughter. Even if I don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

“And going by your secrecy rule, it’s best that you don’t.”

“I understand. But that doesn’t change the fact that that I’m going to help you whether you want it or not. The alternative for either of us is not pleasant.”

Lynn could also see how this man would have been subtly threatening in his former career. Finally she nodded slowly and said, “I was going to drive down to Daytona Saturday.”

Leon smiled and said, “I’ll check out the Suburban from the fleet.”

“I was just gonna drive my personal car down there.”

“Why? I work till two on Saturday and have to go down to one of the warehouses in New Smyrna to pick up some paint and fencing material stored down there. It’ll all fit in the back of the Suburban.” He gave her a sly smile and said, “I’ll even drive you like I was a chauffeur.”

Lynn shook her head and said, “I still don’t get it. Why do you care what I’m doing?”

“I’m no idiot. The time will come one day when Bill Hickam repays favors. I know the man. I want to stay on his good side. The only question now is, what should I bring on Saturday?”

“What do you mean?”

“Knife, gun. Your call.”

Lynn rolled her eyes. “It’s not like that. I’m just going to the hospital.”

Leon snorted like he didn’t believe her. “You’re going to have to learn, girl, you always need something as backup. Something more than the person you’re going to talk to. Maybe we could get by with just a baseball bat or a Taser.”

“You own a Taser?”

“Technically, by law, I don’t own any weapons. But there’s nothing I can’t get ahold of on a moment’s notice.”

“Fine. Bring a pistol. Just don’t let me or anyone else see it.” Lynn didn’t mind having Leon come with her as a security blanket. Alan Cole was a loose end she couldn’t ignore. Looking up at Leon’s smiling face in her own office, she wondered if he wasn’t a worse loose end.

 

 

 

The doctor barked at the nurse when she bumped Alan Cole’s bed as she replaced an IV bag.

The doctor worked hard to suppress his slight Indian accent because he’d heard some of the rednecks in the hospital imitate him. “He’s very unstable. That’s why we have him in the ICU. If it was safe, I’d have him transported up to Shands in Gainesville, where he might stand a chance.”

The nurse said, “He seems like he’s been more responsive in the last few days.”

“He wants to say something. I’ve heard him mumble the same thing two or three times. But aside from his injuries, we’re dealing with a serious infection now.” He flashed dark eyes at the nurse and said, “From now on only you or the nurse who replaces you on shift are to be in here. Take every precaution to keep from exposing him to anything unusual. I’ll check back every three hours. The next three days are critical. We must keep him stable with no excitement. He’s conscious enough now that he would react.”

The nurse said, “I understand.”

The doctor nodded, thinking the nurse wasn’t a local. She didn’t have the annoying twang many of the nurses raised in Daytona or its suburbs had. He felt confident she was the right nurse to look after the most challenging case he had had since he arrived in purgatory.

 

 

 

Sparky Taylor had to admit he enjoyed working with the intel detective. Lonnie Freed shared his love of computers and even knew his policy pretty well. They started by sorting the names of associates provided by the DEA. The federal agencies had always been quite secretive about how they obtained information. Of course the FBI was the worst. An informant could provide them with hearsay about one person talking about another person and both of the people would end up as criminal associates to some known terrorist or fraud kingpin.

The world of narcotics was even more nebulous. Names were batted about by informants and over wiretaps and entered into DEA reports, making them each become an associate of a known drug dealer. At least the DEA attempted to rate the reliability of information. They had a proprietary database that no other agency could access. But this report the local DEA supervisor had given John Stallings detailed the reason each name was on the list.

Sparky noted how efficient Lonnie was in determining who was a viable suspect based on if they were in jail or living in some distant area. He had managed to narrow the list to eleven names.

Now Sparky was separating the various owners of Suburbans into three separate piles. Each pile represented a geographic area with the largest one being Jacksonville.

Lonnie pointed to a stack of five registrations and said, “What’s that fourth pile?”

“Those are vehicles registered to businesses. We may not have to worry about them.”

Lonnie said, “Why don’t you give them to me and I’ll see if anything matches up.”

Sparky smiled and nodded at the efficient, intelligent idea. He wished this guy worked in crimes/persons.

 

 

 

Patty Levine and John Stallings had already cleared three Suburban owners off their list simply by driving by the vehicles. One was white and two were red. Stallings had insisted they stop and inspect one of the red Suburbans to ensure it hadn’t recently been painted.

Now Stallings wanted to stop when he saw a blue Suburban backed into the driveway of a small house in a newer section of Jacksonville known as Argyle. Developers had put their mark of bland, identical houses across broad swaths of former ranch land. Zero lot lines made the houses look more like apartment buildings.

Even though the chances were miniscule that this was the right Suburban, Patty felt her heart rate increase with anticipation. This was the first car that was even the right color.

She stood at the end of the driveway as Stallings bent over and inspected the grille and headlight on the front. Patty saw damage on the driver-side bumper, but it looked more like he had struck a low wall.

Patty was startled by a shout from the front door of the house.

A beefy bald man in his mid-thirties yelled, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Stallings straightened, reached into his back pocket, and pulled out his ID, letting the man clearly see the badge.

The man said, “I don’t give a damn who you work for. This is my property. Unless you want a shit pot of trouble, you better back out of my yard and get a warrant.”

Patty saw the way Stallings stuffed his ID back into his rear pocket and started to march toward the man. She could read Stallings’s body language better than anyone else. This was about to turn ugly, and more important, cost them valuable time.

Patty stepped forward, holding her hand up to stop Stallings like she was a traffic cop and he was an approaching truck. She turned to the man and said, “We’re sorry, we didn’t mean to upset you. This is a countywide effort to identify the driver of a specific blue Suburban.”

The man the man cut his eyes from Stallings to Patty. “Why are you looking for a Suburban?”

Stallings said, “Why are you being evasive? Doesn’t matter why we’re looking for it, we just are.”

Patty turned so the man couldn’t see her expression, but she was able to convey to Stallings that she needed him to shut the hell up for a minute. As she turned back to the man, Patty put on a calm expression and stepped closer to him. “We’re looking for someone involved in a hit-and-run of a young man in St. Augustine. A witness was able to see part of the tag, which is the same as yours. If you can tell us where you were yesterday about two we can cross you off our list.”

The man relaxed slightly and said, “I was on my route in Fernandina Beach yesterday.”

“What kind of route do you have?”

“I’m an independent business machine repairman. I have the contract for Konica in North Florida.”

Stallings said, “Can you prove where you were?”

The man scowled at Stallings but stepped over to the car and opened the passenger-side door. Patty maneuvered to be able to see inside the vehicle and brought her hand to the gun on her hip covered by an open Windbreaker. She noticed Stallings step to the other side so he could look through the driver’s window.

The man came out with two sheets of paper. As he showed them to Patty he said, “This is the receipt from the office where I fixed two copiers. And this is my vehicle log that shows I left the house at eight-fifteen, made three stops, all at Fernandina Beach, and got back home at four-forty-five.”

Patty checked the paperwork and saw that it all matched up. But the paperwork gave Patty an idea. What if the Suburban was part of a fleet? It could be very hard to track down. Both Zach Halston and Alan Cole in Daytona had been struck during the middle of the day. There was the strong possibility that whoever was driving was using a vehicle from their employment.

She looked at Stallings and said, “On the next set of names we pick up, let’s take vehicles registered to businesses.”

J
ohn Stallings and Patty Levine had identified five businesses they would visit tomorrow. Somehow Stallings wasn’t surprised that Sparky Taylor had already separated out vehicles registered to businesses. As usual, the portly detective gave no indication of whether he thought it was a good idea to visit businesses. He had found a likable, capable new assistant in Lonnie Freed. No one from the D-bureau even asked why Freed was up there helping out. Even Sergeant Zuni accepted his presence without a word.

Stallings had chosen the businesses they would visit based on their size. Because tomorrow was Saturday he chose only the big offices that would have someone there on the weekend. He knew command staff viewed this case as vital by the ease with which he and Patty got permission to work on a Saturday. No one even asked about overtime.

Stallings had purposely left all information Lonnie Freed had provided on suspects named Gator on his desk. He didn’t trust himself not to abandon the case in his search for Gator and a link to Jeanie. He hoped they could resolve the fraternity case soon; then he’d contemplate taking a leave of absence to focus on finding Gator and healing some of his own personal issues. He wasn’t sure how he could explain it to Maria, if he even bothered. As distracted as she’d been recently, he wasn’t sure she would realize he was not going to work.

Just thinking of Maria caused him some anxiety. He knew his personal life was a mess. He knew he was still hopelessly in love with his estranged wife. What he didn’t know was how she felt about him. He was trying to be patient with her issues. But he didn’t know how much longer he should let things drag out without resolution. Stallings didn’t want to let another woman like Grace Jackson walk out of his life. That was one of the reasons he was visiting the community center this late on a Friday evening. Although he wanted to visit with his father, he was hoping Grace might be volunteering tonight as well.

His father was in the rear of the kitchen putting away some clean pots and serving dishes. The crowd had thinned to a few older men playing cards and some kids playing basketball at the far end of the giant room.

Stallings’s father turned around and smiled, saying, “Hey there, John. What brings you by this hour?”

“Just wanted to see how you were doing, Dad.”

“I’m hanging in there, for an old fart.” He motioned Stallings over to a couple of stools. As they sat down, James Stallings said, “You might need to spend more time with your wife and kids than you do down here with me. I wouldn’t want you to make the same mistakes I did.”

“Sometimes it seems like you’re the only family that wants to see me.”

“At least you’re not turning to alcohol for the answer. I swear to Christ, son, I wish I had never had a drink. Maybe it would’ve made Helen’s life a lot different. My problem is I joined the military so young, and had such a strict father, that I never understood how to deal with your mom or you two. I’m just glad it wasn’t too late to fix things with you. Maybe Helen will come around someday.”

Stallings nodded, too choked up to speak. After almost a minute he said, “It’s meant a lot to me to get to know you the last few months. I’m glad you’re getting to know your grandchildren too.” Stallings didn’t want to waste a night of his father being lucid.

“I only wish I could help you more with Jeanie. I know I met her, but I can’t for the life of me remember any more details.”

“Did she ever mention a name to you? Maybe a boy she was seeing.”

“I can barely remember the visit at all now. And some of my memory comes from you asking me questions about what I said before. I know things are fading in my head. I know what my future holds. That’s why I’m trying so hard in the present.”

Stallings saw the old man was having trouble controlling his emotions too. “I found out Jeanie hooked up with a guy named Gator.”

“Gator? What kind of a name is that?”

“We call it the
street name
. You would’ve called it a nickname.”

“So you’re convinced she’s alive.”

“She was more than a year after she disappeared. I won’t give up until I find out what happened.”

His father reached over and patted him on the shoulder. “I must’ve done something right. I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

Stallings didn’t want to ruin the moment by saying that his mother had done something right. He just gave his father a weak smile, then asked, “Has Grace Jackson been by here tonight?”

His father gave him an odd look and said, “That name rings a bell. Who is she again?”

 

 

 

Patty sat on her comfortable couch with papers spread out across her long coffee table and her cat, Cornelia, splayed across copies of vehicle registrations. Patty reached over and rubbed the long-haired tabby’s stomach, saying, “I know I haven’t been paying enough attention to you. I’m sorry.” The cat curled up and playfully caught Patty’s hand in her front paws.

It was another Friday night and Patty was alone, but at least it was by choice. She had been reenergized by the leads on the fraternity case and was excited that her idea to check businesses had gotten so much support from her partner, John Stallings. Now she was making notes and checking the list of names provided by the DEA. She would know exactly what to look for tomorrow morning when they started visiting businesses in greater Jacksonville, asking about the Suburbans registered to them.

The whole squad was working well together and the sergeant seemed pleased with their progress. Patty knew how much command staff worried about a case like this blowing up in their face. The two factors that had to make them uncomfortable were the fact that no one discovered a connection in the deaths until two years after they started and the victims were generally well off financially. The children of wealthy parents garnered the most media coverage, and, as a result the strongest possible police response. That was the case in almost any crime. A burglary in Hyde Park got more attention than a shooting in Arlington. That was the reality in virtually any police department in any city in the country.

Patty was about to tidy up her papers and slip them into the battered metal case she carried everywhere when her doorbell rang. She was careful to check the peephole before opening the door and greeting Ken.

She appreciated his handsome, smiling face, but the moment was still awkward. Patty had not returned his calls and then had waited until she’d known he was at the gym to leave a message saying she was too busy to see him tonight.

Patty said, “I didn’t expect you.”

“I thought I’d be romantic and surprise you.” He stepped into the town house, glancing in every direction.

“Look, that’s sweet, but I have a lot of work to do and an early morning tomorrow.”

“Work is more important than me?”

“It is right now.”

“Does that mean you’re asking me to leave?” He had a cold, arrogant edge to his voice and took a stance like he was about to be in a fight.

“No, I’m
telling
you to leave.”

Ken folded his arms and shook his head. “You’re blowing something good. I’m quite the catch.”

Patty sighed. “In order to be a catch, you can’t
know
you’re a catch. You need someone who’ll love you as much as
you
love you. That’s going to be a long search.” She crowded Ken and slowly started forcing him back toward the door.

She could tell he was trying to think of something clever to end on, but nothing came out of his mouth. It was probably lucky for him. As she closed the door firmly behind him, she had a pang of doubt. She’d just broken up with her second boyfriend in three months for two opposite reasons.

Patty took a moment to regain her composure and wondered if a Xanax would make her feel better or if she needed an Ambien to sleep. Then she decided she felt too good about herself right now to screw it up.

 

 

 

The doctor was beyond exhaustion. His other three patients in the ICU were all stable and their prognosis was favorable, but this young man, Alan Cole, was giving him fits. He’d already explained the immediate dangers to Alan’s mother, who’d been at the hospital almost continuously the last few days. At the first sign of any consciousness from Alan, his mother had appeared like a magic genie. But the doctor had been honest with her and explained that Alan’s condition was grave and his chances of survival less than fifty-fifty. The plump blond woman had stifled a sob but accepted the news she seemed to have been expecting for more than a month.

The doctor wasn’t good with family. He was the top of his class in every aspect, but there was no class on interpersonal relationships and dealing with grieving parents.

He hated to lose. At basketball, at golf, or with a patient. It wasn’t really compassion. He didn’t try to fool himself. It wasn’t an ego thing. He was the smartest guy in this hospital, not that that was hard to achieve in Daytona. But he was top of the food chain. His dark skin had made him stand out and he knew that some of the other doctors looked down on him because of it. They couldn’t even pronounce his name properly. The only way he could prove them wrong and win was to hold the most effective survival rate of any professional in the hospital. So far he had achieved it.

Now he sat in the generic recliner next to Alan Cole’s bed, watching the monitor. It didn’t look good for the young man who’d been struck by a car only a few miles away. He’d slipped in and out of consciousness all day. The doctor wished he could have a few minutes of clarity to say whatever he wanted. He was probably asking for his mother like so many dying patients did.

The doctor yawned, stretched, and realized he needed to get some sleep so he could be back by eight in the morning. He’d already canceled his regular Saturday golf game. This was more important.

He had to win.

Leon Kines waited for the office manager to come back to the window with the keys to the Suburban. He didn’t know why the half-door was closed to this one office, but he suspected they didn’t want the Guatemalan car washers wandering in and out.

The thin, balding man named Larry, who always wore the same drab white shirt and blue polyester pants, came back with a clipboard and the keys to the SUV.

The manager said, “Where you going today, Leon?”

“Down to the warehouse in New Smyrna Beach.”

“Good idea to go on a Saturday. Traffic shouldn’t be bad at all except down there by International Speedway Boulevard where that giant flea market is.”

Leon nodded, anxious to get on his way.

“What time do you think you’ll be back?”

Leon shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe two o’clock?”

“Why would it take so long to run down to New Smyrna and back?”

Leon didn’t want to stick around with this jerk all day. He had things to do. “I was going to visit a sick friend at the hospital in Daytona. It won’t take too long and I didn’t think anyone would mind.”

The manager looked around at the empty office behind him and said, “There’s nothing going on around here today. If I’m not here, leave the keys in my mail slot.”

Leon waited for Larry to make a few notes on the clipboard, then accepted the keys. He hustled out toward the rear lot where he knew Lynn was waiting for him. She was a nice girl and certainly pretty, but that wasn’t why he was going out of his way like this. She was the key to getting back in with Bill Hickam. Old Bill might have taken some time off, but guys like that never quit and they never failed. He’d be back in business soon enough and Leon wanted to be right there with him.

He didn’t care what he had to do to help Lynn; he wasn’t cut out to work jobs like this the rest of his life.

 

 

 

John Stallings and Patty had already been to three businesses and checked three Suburbans in the greater Jacksonville area. One of the vehicles was old and rusty and the shop manager said he wouldn’t trust it more than five miles from the business. The second was green and the last was white with a hideous painted logo of a kangaroo carrying building supplies and wearing a work apron that said,
WE JUMP ON EVERY JOB
.

It was almost ten in the morning when they pulled through the main gate of Thomas Brothers supply company. Everywhere Stallings drove he saw step vans and semi-tractor trailers with the company’s tasteful logo. The complex was massive with administrative offices in the front.

Patty didn’t say a word as Stallings turned onto an access road and headed immediately toward the rear lot where work vehicles would be stored. He didn’t have time to go through nine layers of bureaucracy just to look at a truck. Besides, on a Saturday morning it didn’t look like too many people were in the main building.

The gate was open and Stallings drove into the acres and acres of paved area. A dozen semi tractor trailers were parked in the far corner with several step vans next to them. As he followed the small road toward the rear loading dock he saw a blue Suburban backed into a spot.