The Perfect Prey

by James Andrus

  Normally Mazzetti would’ve raised hell about losing one of his cases to anyone, especially Stallings. But this shooting would be all over the news and a major case. No one but her mother cared much about the Marsh girl.

  The sergeant focused those beautiful eyes on him and said, “I want this solved with arrests as soon as possible. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He could see where she got the nickname Yvonne the Terrible. She’d just scared the crap out of him.

  He watched as Holly scampered up the old, creaky, wooden stairs and smiled as he followed at a slower pace. He liked her little game because the longer it went on, the more excited he became. Like a drug, he had found he needed more stimuli to reach the same level of satisfaction. That was one of the reasons he’d picked up the pace of his hunts recently.

  At the top of the stairs he caught her cute butt, in tight shorts, as it disappeared into a room at the end of a long hallway. The solid wooden door slammed shut behind her, cutting off a squeal. She was enjoying this as much as he was.

  He paused outside the door, confident that there was no other exit and figuring that she intended him to come into this room because it had a bed or maybe a window for some fresh night air. He thought about pulling his knife now, but decided to leave it in his pocket and wait until he had a few more minutes of fun with her before he got down to serious business.

  He opened the door and jumped into the room with an exaggerated grunt, then froze.

  There were candles already lit around the room, and Holly stood behind a tall bench, still smiling.

  The door swung shut behind him, and then he noticed the other people in the room. He scanned and counted six figures besides Holly: five men and one tall, dark-skinned woman.

  He said, “What in the hell is this?”

  A tall man with broad shoulders next to Holly slowly drew a long knife that reflected the candlelight.

  Now he wondered who the hunter really was.

  Nineteen

  Stallings searched through the bland personnel file and saw that Gary Lauer had been with the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office for six years. He’d been in the motorcycle traffic unit for three years and a member of the department’s SWAT team for two years. He was twenty-nine, very fit, and, based on his evaluations, a good, aggressive cop. There were several complaints of use of force, but that was normal. Anyone who was arrested wanted to cry foul and blame others. Stallings saw a one-page memo that said an allegation of domestic battery had been investigated and dropped due to “lack of evidence and witnesses.” That was a different finding from “unfounded” or “false accusation.”

  Ronald Bell waited silently near the door to the file room. Stallings hated to admit it, but the IA detective had provided him valuable information. It was something to keep in mind when Stallings interviewed Lauer in the morning.

  Stallings made a few notes and walked past Bell at the door.

  The IA detective said, “This something we’re gonna have to take over?”

  “I’ll let you know. My new sergeant will make that call.”

  “Yvonne the Terrible.”

  Stallings nodded, still worried about that nickname.

  Bell said, “Ask her about Lauer.”

  “Why, what would she know?”

  “She had to straighten him out once. You’ll know by the scar on his left eyebrow.”

  “How’d you know that?”

  “C’mon, Stall, I’m IA. I know everything.”

  All Stallings knew was that this guy was still an asshole.

  He stared at the knife and the other men standing around him. No one made a move or threatened him, but he knew the situation. It was as if he were a leopard trapped by a herd of water buffalo. Numbers counted for something.

  Holly, still cheerful, patted the table and said, “It’d make this so much easier if you climbed up onto the altar for us. Would ya, please?”

  He was careful not to telegraph his intentions. “You guys are a cult. I think you might want to try and bag someone else.”

  One of the men said, “Holly says you’re exactly who we need. Lean and athletic, your essence will live on in us for years to come. It’s the best way to go.”

  He nodded slowly. “I doubt that, and I doubt you’ll be able to succeed tonight.” Then he kicked the man to his right hard in the knee, knocking him back and making him howl at the same time. He didn’t hesitate to grab the doorknob and yank, striking the man on his left with the edge of the wooden door. He turned and threw an elbow into the man’s face for good measure and darted out the door as he heard confusion erupt in the room.

  Instead of fleeing down the stairs he paused outside the room and struck the first man out in the face with a solid back fist. That made the rest hesitate.

  He ran as quietly as possible down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out to his car. He had his own knife out for defense as he backed the car out quickly, hoping one of these morons would wander out the door behind him.

  No one did.

  His tires squealed briefly as he tore away from the house, wondering how he would get his revenge, but certain he would.

  John Stallings stood between his and Patty’s cars outside the Police Memorial Building. She seemed tired to him, but he fought his big-brother urge to tell her to get some sleep. Instead he tried to be subtle.

  “Don’t screw up your personal life like I did. As much as I hate to say it, you have a boyfriend now.”

  She smiled. “Why do you hate to say it?”

  “I’m glad you have a boyfriend, but your choice in men is not exactly comforting to me.”

  “C’mon, John, Tony is a good guy. No one gives him a chance.”

  “Because they’re usually pissed off at him.”

  “I’m working on that.”

  Stallings laughed and said, “Women always want to fix men.”

  “Because most of you are severely damaged.”

  “You really should get some rest.”

  Patty sighed. “Tony’s out on the triple drug shooting. I won’t see much of him for a few days.”

  “We got a lot to do too. Now that we have leads and people to talk to. I’m hoping the cop, Gary Lauer, noticed someone talking to Allie.”

  “Why would a cop hang out in that place?” Patty made a face to show her disgust at a twenty-nine-year-old officer mixing with college kids.

  “Ron Bell said he could be trouble.”

  “I’ve seen him around. Kind of a gung-ho, motorman type. Superfit pretty boy who likes to show off a little.”

  “Isn’t that most young men?”

  Patty laughed. “Let’s see what we find out about Lauer before we bumble in and talk to him.”

  “You want to treat him like a suspect?” That hadn’t really occurred to Stallings.

  “Don’t you always say, ‘Is this the day that changes my life?’ ”

  “How does that apply here?”

  “I thought the whole point of the mantra was to keep you alert and keep your mind open.”

  “I guess we can score one for the junior partner. That’s exactly what it’s for.” But the idea that a cop could be handing out a drug to college girls lodged in his head and started to bug him. This case was turning into so much more than the simple missing college girl it started as.

  Twenty

  The sun smacked him in the face, making his eyes snap open to a startling sight. Staring back at him were deep blue eyes and a bright row of teeth. He breathed deeply, adjusting to his surroundings. The blinds were up and at an odd angle, letting the mid-morning sun flood the small bedroom.

  He cleared his throat and said, “Hey.”

  The steady smile didn’t waver.

  “What time is it?”

  Still no movement, just a smile.

  He reached out and grabbed the smiling face and pulled the small boy onto his bed.

  The boy giggled loudly as he started to tickle him and said “Why did you open my blinds?”r />
  The boy lay back, gasping between laughs and said one of the eight words he knew. “Uncle.”

  “What do you need, you little creep? More tickling?”

  The boy shook his head.

  He rolled out of bed and got dressed while the boy stayed on the rumpled bed. In the small, adjoining bathroom, he brushed his perfect teeth, slapped on a splash of Pierre Cardin, calling out to the boy, “Where’s your mom?” It was rhetorical–he knew the cute little boy would never answer him.

  As he wandered through the small house the boy followed him. Then he heard, “Man, this is late for you.”

  He followed the voice into the kitchen.

  “I’d still be snoozing if master-pooper hadn’t opened my blinds.”

  The woman turned and gave a look at the boy. “Why’d you wake up your uncle? You know he works late.”

  He said, “That’s okay. I got a lot to do today.”

  She turned and smiled. “Oh yeah, what’s her name?”

  “Holly.”

  John Stallings knew how to play this first interview with Gary Lauer. He’d been under the microscope himself, and he didn’t want to be the cause of someone else going through the wringer if it wasn’t deserved.

  He and Patty waited outside the PMB for motorcycle patrol officer Gary Lauer to finish the pre-shift roll call, the ritual for all major police departments that gave sergeants a chance to go over a few procedures or bulletins with their patrol officers right before they hit the streets. Stallings knew the motorman would have to cut through the side door to get his heavy Harley-Davidson Electra Glide from the parking lot. He saw an angular, dark-haired man about thirty strutting through the garage. He wore a tailored uniform that showed off his biceps. He looked more like a marine than a cop.

  Patty said, “That’s him,” and nodded toward the young man.

  As Lauer came closer, Stallings noticed the straight scar across his dark left eyebrow that Ronald Bell had mentioned. It intrigued him that tiny Yvonne Zuni hurt a guy like this.

  Lauer smiled and nodded as he approached, his brown eyes scanning the JSO IDs around Stallings’s and Patty’s necks.

  Stallings stepped away from the patrol car he’d been leaning on and said, “Gary Lauer, right?” He held out his hand.

  The younger man shook his hand and said, “You got him.” His eyes flicked over to Patty for a quick appraisal.

  “I’m John Stallings, and this is Patty Levine from crimes/persons.”

  “Everyone knows you, Detective.”

  Stallings cleared his throat and said, “That’s not completely accurate, but I appreciate it.” He focused back on the sharp young man in uniform. “I have a couple of questions and think you might be able to help me.”

  “Sure, anything.”

  He knew not to hesitate. “Were you over at the Wildside Monday night?”

  Lauer paused as if he was thinking about it. That made Stallings’s radar ping instantly. Why deny it? Why think about it? It was only three nights ago.

  Finally Lauer said, “Why?”

  “Were you there?”

  “Yeah, I think I stopped by for a beer.”

  “That really the kind of place you stop by for a beer?”

  The young man kept quiet and shifted his gaze from Stallings to Patty. “What’s this about?”

  “Just one of our cases. We’re looking for witnesses.”

  “How’d you know I was there?”

  “Then you were at the Wildside?”

  Now he had regained his composure and said, “Yeah, I was there, but I wasn’t in cop mode.”

  Stallings didn’t think this guy would ever be out of cop mode.

  Patty said, “What kind of mode were you in?”

  He looked at her with a smirk and said, “Pussy mode.” He held her cold glare.

  Stallings thought about Lauren running into a creep like this and felt his face flush red.

  Patty said, “How’d you do?”

  “I’m afraid I went home all alone.” He winked at Patty.

  Did this asshole really think he was charming? Or was he playing a game to piss them off? At least Stallings understood the scar on his eyebrow.

  Stallings said, “You know any of the staff there?”

  “A few.”

  “Any band members?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “What about the drummer from the other night, Donnie?”

  “Donnie Eliot? Yeah, he’s okay.”

  “Know where he lives?”

  Lauer shook his head. “We’re not close or anything. He’s just a good drummer. He usually plays downtown at the Bamboo Hut.”

  Stallings made a note.

  Patty pulled a photo of Allie Marsh from her battered notecase and held it up. “Ring a bell?”

  He glanced up at it. “Maybe. Lotta tail running around that place.”

  “Why is a cop your age running around that place?”

  He gave Patty a flat, steady scowl. “Why’s a chick that looks like you a cop?”

  Stallings realized things had gotten personal and out of hand. He tried to turn the interview back. “Look, Gary, we’re just wondering if you saw or heard anything that might help us.”

  “Help you what? I don’t even know what you’re working.”

  “It’s a death investigation. Looks like she overdosed on X, and we’d like to know her source.”

  “Shit, everyone in that place has X in their system.”

  Patty said, “What about you?”

  “I’ll take a pee test right now.”

  Stallings held up his hands. “Relax, Gary, we’re all cops here.”

  “You’re not treating me like a cop. You’re treating me like a goddamn scumbag.”

  Patty didn’t have to say anything. She just shrugged.

  Stallings could see the anger in Lauer’s face as he turned away from Patty. He looked at Stallings and said, “I can’t think of anything right now. But if she keeps talking to me like that I’ll call PBA.” PBA stood for Patrolmen’s Benevolent Association, the police union.

  Stallings had reached his limit. “Call anyone you fucking want. She’s right, it’s weird that you hang out in a place like that. You can call PBA and maybe I’ll call IA.”

  The two men locked their eyes, and no one looked like they were going to back off.

  Patty Levine wasn’t used to driving John Stallings around, but he’d asked her to pick him up at the little house he was renting over in Lakewood. It was eight in the evening, and they were on their way to the place where Gary Lauer had told them they could find Donnie Eliot. The Bamboo Hut had nothing to do with bamboo and little to do with huts other than being small and dingy. She looked across at her partner and wondered what was going through Stallings’s mind as he silently stared out the window at the passing Jacksonville streets.

  The tiny club sat on the first floor of a rundown office building and was known for its music. The weekends saw kids jammed into the stuffy room, but week-nights were a different story. Patty knew Stallings was on a mission and right now all he wanted was to find out who gave Allie the Ecstasy and the circumstances of her death.

  A large black man standing next to the door said, “Five bucks each.”

  Patty was about to pull her JSO credentials when the large man looked past her and said, “Oh shit, I didn’t see you there, Detective Stallings. Come right in.” He opened the door and even performed a slight bow as if Stallings were royalty.

  Patty smiled, not bothering to ask what Stallings had done to deserve such treatment. She had learned in her time as his partner that it was just as likely that he had scared the man with physical violence as it was that he had paid the rent on the man’s apartment.

  Stallings smiled and nodded. “Thanks, Curtis.”

  Inside, the bar stretched from front to back with tables sprinkled across the dirty linoleum floor. It was way early by bar standards. In a couple of hours this place would be pulling in a decent crowd.

>   The stage had instruments on it but no performers. She hoped their information was right and Donnie Eliot was here. They had a lot to talk about.

  Stallings said, “Let’s find the manager. He’ll point us to Donnie.”

  “Think he’ll mind talking to the po-po?”

  “Not really my concern.” He looked up and his expression changed immediately.

  Patty said, “What’s wrong?”

  He just pointed.

  Patty followed his finger to a group of girls sitting at the table closest to the bar. At first she didn’t see the problem; then, after a moment of study, she understood his attitude.

  Sitting in the middle of the girls was his daughter, Lauren, dressed like a college student and sipping a drink.

  Twenty-one

  John Stallings was at a loss while he waited outside the little bar with Lauren. He checked his watch every twenty seconds as he waited for his sister, Helen, to swing into the lot and pick up the precocious girl. He didn’t like leaving Patty inside alone, but they still had a job to do.

  Patty had confronted Lauren and her friends and then led the girl out to her father.

  Outside, when they were alone, Lauren said, “Dad, stop treating me like a little kid.”

  He shook his head. “I’m treating you like a fourteen-year-old. A fourteen-year-old who should not be at a bar. Not for another seven years.”

  “Patty checked my drink. It was just Diet Pepsi.”

  Thank God for small favors. He’d had plenty of practice with her mother, checking to make sure a drink wasn’t alcoholic.

  Lauren said, “What are you doing here at eight o’clock?”

  He turned, red faced. “I’m working. I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

  “Really? I thought you were supposed to be at home, with us.” Her angelic face held no scorn, which made the impact that much more brutal on him.

  He couldn’t think of an answer and stared silently at his wayward daughter as he spied his sister Helen’s little Honda CRV racing down the street. She probably thought she was saving her niece from certain death.