by James Andrus
She glanced at her watch and realized she’d already gone forty-five minutes and needed a few minutes to cool down and stretch. She stopped at her favorite park bench, which overlooked a small pond and had shade from the late afternoon sun. This was where a lot of runners ended up because of the workout area with bars for pull-ups and grass for abdominal exercises.
As Patty leaned forward with her foot on the back of the bench, she made a wide sweep of her arm like she was a ballerina stretching before a recital. It was a goofy ritual she’d done since her early days in gymnastics. It made her feel more graceful and feminine while fulfilling an important fitness requirement. She noticed the guy in the grass to her right finishing up a set of crunches. She’d seen him in the park before and smiled as he stood up and started to stretch his back. He was about her age and awfully cute. She’d seen his long strides and knew he was serious about his afternoon runs.
Patty took a moment to gather her courage and finally said, “How far today?”
He smiled and said, “Four miles. You?”
“I go by time. I did forty-five minutes.” She took her foot off the park bench and stepped toward the man. She held out her hand and said, “I’m Patty.”
FIVE
Stallings had agonized about what to do with the photograph of Jeanie. He wanted to rush over and show Maria, but the longer he considered it, the worse idea it appeared. He had no idea what the photograph meant or how it might affect Maria and her fragile recovery. As much as it hurt, he’d have to keep the photo from her for now.
The one person he could show it to, the one person whose memory it might help, was his father. Stallings had been surprised how quickly he had gotten past twenty years of estrangement from the man who had bullied and terrified him in an alcoholic haze for most of his childhood. These days, James Stallings was a fixture in the Jacksonville homeless scene. Since going on the wagon he’d done all the things any twelve-step program could ask. And that included starting up and moderating a number of support groups for alcoholics and addicts.
But in the past six months Stallings had reestablished contact with his father and found the old man was worth the effort. He had immediately dazzled Stallings’s children, who were thrilled to meet their long-lost grandpa. Without even trying, he’d helped Stallings with his own issues of anger and sorrow over his missing daughter. The biggest surprise by far was an off-the-cuff comment his father had made at lunch one Sunday afternoon in front of the entire family. This was about the time they realized he had a serious memory issue, which was diagnosed as Alzheimer’s disease. Over pizza, his father commented that Jeanie had visited him twice. Under questioning, the old man came up with enough details to make it sound plausible, and the next week Maria had found Jeanie’s old diary in which she’d written that she knew her grandfather lived in downtown Jacksonville based on comments she’d overheard between her mom and dad.
But James’s faulty memory kept him from providing any useful information. The old man had babbled something about her name being Jeanie and then later said she liked to be called Kelly. She’d told him not to tell anyone she had visited or she’d never come back. When the old man remembered brief snippets of the meeting, he knew the pain he had caused his son. It racked him so badly that Stallings hated to bring it up. But today, armed with a more recent photo of Jeanie, he hoped to pry more details from his father’s defective brain.
Stallings chatted briefly with the priest who ran the community center where James Stallings volunteered. The short, pudgy priest never seemed to do anything but watch the various tables of adults talking about their problems on one side of the giant room and the boys playing basketball on the other. But he liked Stallings’s father and seemed to keep a pretty good eye on the old man.
Stallings said, “Notice any changes in my dad?”
“I’m sorry to say I do. If you listen to him he doesn’t call a lot of people by name. He uses names like Sport or Bud.” The priest took a second to clear his throat and wipe his eyes. “He doesn’t even call me Doug anymore, just Father.”
“Thanks for letting him keep working with his groups. It means a lot to him.”
“It means a lot to everyone in the groups too. I think they’d continue to meet only if to keep your father’s mind occupied. He really did a lot for them the last few years.”
Stallings couldn’t answer because of a catch in his throat. Instead he saw the group start to disperse from around the table and walked toward his father, the photograph of Jeanie in his right hand. He felt his whole body tense as he got closer and tried to work out the small talk with his father before hitting him with hard questions.
He stopped a few feet away from the table and waited until his father looked up and saw him. When James Stallings looked up and smiled, he had a strange expression on his face.
Stallings was about to ask his father what was wrong when the old man said, “Hello there, young fella. What can I do for you?”
He just stared at his father for a moment trying to think what to say and figure out if the old man was trying to be funny. He got his answer when his father said, “Don’t be shy. It’s tough to meet new people.”
Right then Stallings realized he wouldn’t be asking any hard questions of his father tonight.
Lynn concentrated on the accounting program Thomas Brothers Supply had apparently purchased before there were actual computers. Although it was frustratingly slow, she couldn’t say she did not understand the software or how it worked. The company made a great profit and the Thomas family had become wealthy and well-known in the area. They had used some of their money to start a private school in the northern part of Duval County. It had started out as a place to send their own children and friends to get a good education, but, as is always the case, the rich get richer. Now the school cost more than thirty thousand dollars a year in tuition and had a waiting list to get in.
She felt a presence in the doorway as what little sunlight filtered in was blocked by the giant form of one of the loading dock supervisors. Dale Moffitt never tucked in his gray uniform shirt, instead wearing it like a muumuu. It was hard for her to get a fix on his age, but he probably wasn’t much more than thirty, which was sad because he was obese, balding, and most troubling of all, obnoxious.
Dale smiled, revealing the stained teeth of a chewing tobacco user. “Hey there, good looking. What you got going on tonight?”
“Work.” She didn’t even look up, not wanting to encourage any extra conversation.
“Here or at the other place?”
“Dr. Ferrero’s office.”
“Shit, old man Thomas doesn’t pay you enough? You control the finances around this place, why don’t you just funnel some to yourself?” He gave a hearty chuckle to emphasize that it was just a joke.
“Just two nights a week. Never hurts to have extra cash coming in.”
“What’s a doctor need a bookkeeper for anyway?”
Lynn felt a headache coming on, and talking to this moron wouldn’t help things. She ignored him for a moment while she picked up her purse and rummaged through it for Tylenol.
Dale stepped closer and set down the paperwork he had in his hand; then he said, “Damn, girl. You gonna party tonight or what?”
When she gave him a puzzled look he reached across the desk and plucked a Baggie full of loose prescription pills out of her purse without her permission.
She snatched them back and tried to control herself so he wouldn’t get the idea they were that important. “These are all the loose pills I found at my house and my parent’s house. I’m going with my mom to see if any of the prescriptions need to be refilled.” She played with the bag, looking at the assortment of Ambien, homemade ecstasy and anything else she could buy on the street easily. Then she glared up at Dale to put an end to the conversation by saying, “If it’s any of your damn business anyway.”
John Stallings tried to hide his frustration about waiting until eleven o’clock to talk to this fuck
ing slug. They were at the fraternity house of Tau Upsilon, where the brothers at the beach hotel had told them they could find Connor Tate. When Patty called Mr. Tate, he’d informed her that he rarely saw visitors before eleven. Stallings had assumed that it meant he had class, but now he realized the slacker stayed in bed until almost lunchtime. He controlled himself because, according to the other fraternity brothers, Conner and Zach Halston were very close.
Patty had dazzled the hungover, red-eyed moron with her brilliant smile and perky attitude. Even though she was twenty-seven, she looked a lot more like a college coed, only prettier. Connor responded by inviting them in and even turning on the overhead light and ceiling fan. Stallings would’ve thought he’d make an attempt to hide the bongs, knowing the cops were coming to talk to him. But that was not the case.
Stallings knew he had to play it cool in front of Patty and not mention what he was really interested in about Zach Halston. He let Patty start off by asking the general questions and getting a list of all the fraternity brothers and their contact information. She went through the standard questions about girlfriends and enemies but got the standard answers that he had no steady girlfriend and no known enemies. Connor and Zach were among a dozen seniors in the fraternity house and he knew Zach kept a separate apartment. The University of North Florida was too small to have on-campus fraternity houses so they had an arrangement with an apartment complex to have two-bedroom apartments and a separate building for the clubhouse. Zach’s parents paid for this apartment and visited quite often. That explained the crash pad.
Patty looked over the list of brothers and said, “You guys all stay in pretty close touch even after you graduate?”
“Try to.” His voice was scratchy and hoarse. “We have a couple of parties a year where the alumni come back and even brothers from other schools come over.”
Patty said, “Is there a chance Zach is hanging out with one of the alumni somewhere? Was he close to any of them?”
A cloud passed over Connor’s face as he looked down and said, “He and Alan Cole are good friends, but Alan was in a car accident yesterday down in Daytona and is in the hospital. I know Zach isn’t with him.”
Stallings looked over at Patty and gave a slight head nod. They’d worked together as partners enough for her to know his signals and he knew hers. She was getting frustrated with the diffident attitude of this stereotypical asshole fraternity boy. She cleared her throat and said, “I’m gonna take a look around. You boys can chat.”
Connor tried to stay cool and show he didn’t care if she poked around the apartment. Stallings gave him his best shot at a warm smile and eased over to the couch and sat down next to the young man. He purposely waited until Patty moved off to another room of the apartment. His heart was starting to race like he was on a search warrant instead of an interview. There was even a slight tremor in his hand as he opened his notepad and pulled out the photograph. He had to ask questions about the photograph before Patty walked back in the room because he couldn’t even tell her what he had found and what it might lead to.
He just held up the photo for a few seconds until dipshit got the idea to stare at it. Finally Stallings said, “Do you recognize her, Connor?”
The buff young man shrugged his muscular shoulders, ruffled his long, surfer hair, and studied the photo. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”
“Yes, she is. Do you recognize her?”
“Yeah, I recognize her, but I don’t remember much about her.” He turned to look at Stallings and said, “You know how it is, man. Zach scores well with the ladies. Know what I mean?”
The father in Stallings wanted to pop his kid’s head like a pimple. He felt a fury start to rise in him that scared him back to reality. He had not felt a murderous rage like that since the last time he caught a middle-aged man trying to meet a teenage girl. He took a moment to breathe deeply and clear his head. While he was working through the exercises the psychologist had given him to manage his anger, Connor said the one phrase that probably saved his life.
“I think I remember her now.”
“All right, Connor, what has penetrated that petrified brain of yours?”
The dazed student gave Stallings a sly look, signaling he liked the idea a cop could joke about his marijuana use. “She hung out with Zach about two years ago. Nice girl. I think she lived in some really cheap apartment close by. She didn’t have a car or anything. Her name was real common.”
“Jeanie?”
“Nope.”
“Are you sure?” Stallings was careful to not let the kid pick up on the true nature of his questions.
“I’m sure her name wasn’t Jeanie, but I can’t remember what it was. I know we didn’t have a nickname for her like we do for a lot of the chicks that hang out here.” He scratched his head and mumbled, “Really cute, that’s all I remember.”
Just then Patty walked back into the room and Stallings shifted gears quickly and smoothly. “And you are certain no one has heard from Zach in the last week?”
“I’ll ask around again, but I haven’t heard anyone mention it. Should I be worried, dude?”
“We should all be worried until he’s home safe. You keep checking with the other brothers and get back to us.”
As they walked out of the apartment, Stallings wondered if he sobered this kid up whether he’d have a clearer memory of Jeanie. He might even remember something important about Zach.
SIX
It was late afternoon and John Stallings found himself once again roaming the streets of Jacksonville considering what he’d just discovered and if he should tell anyone else. As a cop and a resident, the streets were utterly familiar to him. He liked to call them the mean streets of Jacksonville, even though he knew some big-city people might scoff at the idea. But the South had an edgy toughness to it that no one truly understood. It wasn’t just number of firearms on the street compared to New York or Philadelphia; it was a multi-generational attitude that people just didn’t want to take any shit. Ironically, that was also one of the reasons people were generally more polite. To avoid confrontation.
Stallings searched every face that passed him on the busy sidewalk wondering if one day he would stumble across Jeanie walking casually to a job. Why not? He apparently could’ve done it just a couple years ago. That was what bothered him now. Maybe if he had looked just a little bit harder and been more alert he might have seen her walking along the street to a job or to meet a boy or to go to a party at the fraternity house near one of the universities. The whole idea made him feel sick.
He did sometimes feel sorry for himself. Especially when he saw young families with their kids laughing at the table at a restaurant or at a park. That was all he ever wanted and he really didn’t think it was too much to ask.
The photograph of Jeanie and Zach Halston was neatly tucked in his shirt pocket just above his heart with his light jacket covering the pocket for safety. But the photograph weighed on him like a heavy burden he was not able to hand off or even tell anyone about. It was Maria who really concerned him. How would she take news like this? It might be the one thing to push her over the edge.
It was also times like this when the only thing in his head was Jeanie that he wondered if, even for the briefest moment, he’d done something wrong to drive her off. All parents of runaways thought the same thing. It’s almost like the stages of dying ending in acceptance. The parents of kids who end up being serious drug users have a similar guilt that leads to doubts. Was there something else they could’ve done? Had they missed some sort of clue? The whole issue was far too complex for easy answers. Sometimes Stallings wondered if an extra sport here or more attention there might steer a kid away from a bad influence. Who knew what intricate formula went into making a happy, successful child? Maybe it was just luck. Whatever the reason, a well-adjusted kid was a precious commodity. Beyond all cost.
Stallings realized sometimes he spent too much time roaming the streets hoping to recapture what he’d l
ost. But now, for the first time in a long time, he wondered if his Jeanie might come back on her own.
Once she was back at her desk, Patty felt at home with a stack of leads that would keep her busy and occupy her mind. This was an ideal pace for her because she had no downtime, but there wasn’t the stress associated with the usual homicides that seemed to roll in to the office far too often.
She’d been very impressed by the way her partner had handled the young stoner over near the university. For some reason she’d had the feeling Stallings wanted to clobber young Connor Tate, but instead, he had sat down like a father and chatted with him while she looked through the rest of the apartment. They had a few names and addresses to run down but nothing that pointed to any foul play. Patty had learned early on in her career in the crimes/persons unit to never jump to conclusions. More missing people turned up safe than turned up dead. More murderers turned out to be friends or relatives of the victim than strangers. It was nothing like TV and she was glad of it.
She was also happy to see Stallings visit his estranged wife more often. She knew the stress of losing Jeanie had torn the family apart, but Stallings had also had to deal with reuniting with his father, then learning the old man had Alzheimer’s. It was enough to break anyone’s spirit, but no one could tell Stallings had any personal issues at all. The guy just seemed to go and go and go without ever wearing down. He had lost some of his Joe Friday look, tending to wear more casual, long-sleeved shirts and leave them untucked to cover his gun. It made it easier for them to get into a lot of places in Jacksonville. Stallings had a charm with women that he didn’t even realize. His easygoing manner coupled with his rugged, natural good looks, which made him look like an intellectual athlete or a doctor who had played sports in college, made it easy for him to deal with females. But sometimes a shortcut to dealing with men involved a fist or an elbow in places no one wanted a bruise.
