The Perfect Woman js-1

by James Andrus

  Stallings turned into the middle of the plaza and quickly pulled his Impala around and parked close to the building. He shut off the lights, drew his Glock, and waited, intentionally avoiding any speculation on who his tail was or what he wanted. Now was not the time for distraction.

  The beam of a headlight passed over the lot as a car slowly made the turn toward him. Stallings knew that right about now the other driver was discovering he had fucked up. Once the Buick had cleared the building and was just in front of Stallings he hit his lights, threw the Impala into gear, and roared from his spot, forcing the Buick to the side and pinning the car next to a high curb.

  As both cars came to a stop inches from each other, Stallings popped out of the driver’s side with his pistol up and on the driver of the Buick.

  Stallings said, “Let me see your hands, now.” The last word was a shout. He emphasized it by bringing up the pistol slightly.

  Inside the Buick a pair of hands rose and Stallings kept the gun on the driver.

  “Open the door slowly and step out. Do it now.”

  The door popped open and two hands immediately rose up. He could see a male’s face as he focused past the front sight of his Glock.

  He heard, “Okay, Stall, you win.”

  He recognized the would-be spook and still debated shooting him right where they stood.

  The trauma of the evening rushed through Stacey Hines and she started to shake. Even under the wool blanket her naked body shuddered uncontrollably like she was laid out on ice. The bitter aftertaste of the water with several pills ground up and mixed in spread down her throat and up her nasal cavity. She knew what was in the cloudy glass of water. She’d even watched as William had pressed the pills under the bottom of a thick glass, then scooped the dust into a plastic cup with a few ounces of water.

  After being shocked twice with that weird electric grip thing she decided she’d drink the water without complaint. Almost instantly she’d felt her system slowing down and then the shivering and shuddering started.

  William leaned over her and stroked her hair as if he thought it would soothe her. “You’ll sleep for a good long time, and tomorrow night I hope we don’t have the kind of conflict we had tonight.”

  She didn’t say anything but kept her eyes on him. She wanted to burn every detail of him into her memory so when the police finally saved her and needed information, she could give it to them. His thinning blond hair and pale blue eyes now made him look cold. His smile wasn’t inviting like she’d thought before; it now appeared evil. Like the bogeyman her brothers used to tell her about to scare her. Somehow it was William’s mild good looks that made him scarier than if he had a hook for a hand or a horribly scarred face.

  She started to drift off, wondering how soon her parents really would start looking for her. Stacey now wished she had more of a social life so someone did miss her. She didn’t even know yet if anyone knew she was in trouble. Maybe someone at the Fountain of Youth would worry about her missing a few shifts. But would they be concerned enough to call the police?

  The room went hazy and a calm, almost pleasant feeling drifted over her. William’s face fell out of focus. Then she was dreaming about kissing her mom good morning back home as she smelled hotcakes and bacon on the griddle. She tried to hold on to the dream but snapped back to reality for just a moment and thought, God, how did I get into this?

  John Stallings had his pistol holstered and his arms folded, and he leaned against the hood of his car as he stared across at Ronald Bell leaning against the hood of his Buick.

  “Never did much dope work, huh, Ron?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Your surveillance skills are a little weak.”

  “We still follow people occasionally.”

  “We, as in I.A.?

  “I’ve been in the unit a long time, so yes, when I say ‘we,’ I mean the professional conduct unit.”

  “No one calls it PC.”

  “I know, but that’s the name of the unit.”

  “If you’ve been there that long without moving up that must mean you like it.”

  “Look, Stall, I know you think we exist to screw with good cops, but that’s not the case.”

  “Then what are you doing following me around tonight?”

  Bell sighed and wiped his handsome face down with his bare hand.

  “C’mon, Ron, I got things to do. We gonna spend all night here or are you gonna spill it?”

  “Two things have me looking at you. First of all there’s Franklin Hall.”

  “Who?”

  “The pimp you brought in for questioning.”

  “Oh, Jamais.”

  “Yeah, same guy. He claims you threatened him and damaged his Hummer with an ASP.”

  “He make a complaint?”

  “No, I was looking at another issue when it came out.”

  “What else, Ron?”

  “The media leak in the unit.”

  “You’re shitting me. We’re after a killer who’s probably just grabbed his fourth victim and you’re wasting time on who blabbed to a TV station?”

  “I never said it was specifically TV.” He leaned forward like he’d just made Stallings confess.

  “No, you dumb-ass, but the reports are always on TV, then the Times-Union quotes them.” He shook his head at this silliness. “And you think I’m the leak?”

  “I have to investigate.”

  “And I have to catch a killer.”

  Bell said, “We each have a job to do.”

  “But mine has a fucking purpose.”

  Thirty-four

  The photograph of Stacey Hines on the TV barely caught William Dremmel’s attention as he walked past the break room in the rear of the pharmacy. In the photo she was smiling as if she’d just graduated or was the homecoming queen. The cute dimples on her cheeks and light in her eyes came through even on the cheap TV with sketchy reception. The image didn’t startle him like the first time he’d seen it, because now the airwaves were flooded with her pretty face. His minor error was not looking for an Internet pole camera designed to show surfers the wave height and conditions. The grainy image from the webcam showed a petite woman, who the police said was Stacey, climbing into a vehicle. Even the police experts said it was probably a van, but no one could say it unequivocally. No one would notice him in his little tan Nissan Quest. Just like no one would see Stacey’s face again in public. At least not outside a suitcase, and he hoped that wouldn’t be for a long, long time. The story closed with the announcer saying that although there is no official comment it is believed the girl had been taken by the Bag Man.

  Dremmel couldn’t keep a smile from creeping across his face. He was the Bag Man. No one knew but him.

  Then the announcer said that police have several leads that look promising. That made him freeze and a lump in his stomach rise to his throat. Did they really have a lead? Had he slipped up? Allowing his van to be filmed, even if only by a crude surf camera, was a mistake. How many others had he made?

  As he considered this possibility he felt a quick sting on his butt and jumped, then turned to see Lori smiling.

  “C’mon, Billy,” she started. “You’re not used to someone pinching your cute caboose?”

  He forced a smile and mumbled he just didn’t expect it. She followed him into the storeroom as he started to clean up old magazines. As he sorted through things to discard, Lori perched atop a case of baby formula and started chatting like she was on a class break in high school.

  “How late do you work tonight, Billy?”

  “I’m done here at six, but I have papers to grade after that.”

  “Wanna catch dinner?” Her white teeth almost glowed against her attractive dark skin.

  “I can’t tonight.” He tried to say it firmly because he knew it might be a long time until he was free.

  Lori continued to hang out with him for more than fifteen minutes, then followed him back into the break room. Just as they e
ntered there was another news teaser on Channel Eleven with a photo of Stacey Hines.

  Lori said, “Hey, isn’t that the waitress you’re sweet on?”

  He turned as casually as he could make himself and looked at the small screen. “I’m not sweet on a waitress.”

  Lori pointed to the TV and said, “Isn’t that the girl who served us lunch the other day?”

  He looked again. “I guess it could be. That’s a shame.” He had no idea how to sound concerned or show any real emotion.

  “I hope they find her before that goddamn Bag Man is done with her.” Lori turned to leave, but Dremmel caught the sideways look she gave him.

  He stood in the small break room alone, an uncontrollable shaking starting up one side of his body and down the other. He knew he couldn’t have a link to Stacey. Lori would put two and two together soon enough. He had to act and act fast to keep his identity a secret.

  Tony Mazzetti was exhausted from the events of the last few days and his responsibilities, but he wasn’t in any kind of a bad mood. Hell, he felt pretty good. Patty had shown she was patient, and the pressure he normally felt with women had melted away. He’d considered Viagra but didn’t want to talk to his own doctor about it. Not with his hot nurse, Darlene, right there and then having to face the doctor for every little thing after. He’d rather have extra rectal exams than admit he needed help with his own equipment.

  But Patty seemed to be the only medicine he needed, and now all he wanted was an opportunity. That might be tough. Being the lead on a big case like this took up a lot of time and energy. Besides actually investigating the case he had to update bosses, talk to the media, dole out leads (making sure to keep the good ones for himself), and generally keep on everyone’s ass to stay on top of things.

  The video of Stacey Hines had motivated the detectives like nothing he’d ever seen before. Her photo was running on every channel and shown by the detectives to every cheap dope dealer or smart-ass pimp in an effort to scare up some information. The circumstances of the last deaths indicated that the Bag Man didn’t kill victims immediately, and that gave everyone hope that they could still find the missing girl.

  He assigned out a dozen shit leads. The kind of leads Stallings would be getting if not for his contacts in the homeless community and his protection from the L.T. He checked on Patty’s assignment and saw she’d be hitting all the pharmacies on the South Side west of the river. He nodded to himself. That was a good and safe assignment. He couldn’t wait until they both had a few minutes for each other.

  Stallings looked over at the blond guy in the tan Nissan Quest trying to see his face. He was paranoid and suspected every jerk-off in a van of being the Bag Man. Ever since he had seen Trina Ester and not noticed the killer at the Wendy’s, he had been careful to look closely at everyone. It was emotional and counterproductive; he needed to focus on real leads. The only thing he should be paranoid about was if he was still being followed by Internal Affairs. He had hoped his sincere, if not a little aggressive, chat with Ronald Bell would satisfy their concern that he was a leak to the media and now he could focus on finding the Bag Man.

  The fucking case had started to eat him alive, and the video of Stacey Hines had only exacerbated his anxiety. He had barely been home while anyone was awake, skipped meals, forgot about any kind of exercise, and now found himself only thinking about leads and clues in the case.

  He jumped every time his phone rang, fearing it was someone telling him they had found Stacey Hines in a suitcase somewhere. The entire situation was too similar to Jeanie’s disappearance, and he knew that it had to be affecting Maria, but he wasn’t home to support her. The story playing out on TV was gut-wrenching from Stacey’s parents’ arrival from Ohio to the volunteers searching aimlessly for her.

  His experience told him that someone like the Bag Man wouldn’t be caught by well-intentioned volunteers. Even if they found a decent lead, they probably wouldn’t recognize its significance.

  A detective like him was the best shot that girl had to live, and he wouldn’t screw up any chances he found. It felt personal and direct since he had first seen Lee Ann Moffit’s face. Now the desire to stop this guy burned even brighter inside him

  He had a bullet with the Bag Man’s name on it, and he needed to find him before it was too late. For Stacey Hines and his own family.

  Thirty-five

  William Dremmel felt as if he might be a little paranoid when he saw a man in a black Impala give his van a good long look as he pulled away from the intersection. But there was no reason to believe anyone suspected him of any crime. Even with the news stories and volunteers, no one was looking in Grove Park or anywhere close by.

  His stomach growled as he headed for the pharmacy. He rarely ate as well as he wanted while at home feeding two separate but disabled women. His mother had been quiet the last few days, and he was pleased with Stacey’s health too. She’d settled into the long periods of rest and didn’t seem to be having any immediate health issues. His notes reflected that she had maintained her weight and had regular bowel movements, and her attitude, while still defiant, signified that she was not suffering strong psychological effects of the drugs.

  He’d been very careful allowing her to move around since the night when she attacked him. He let her see the stun gun and once had even hit the trigger to see her flinch at the dreadful electronic chatter. Fear was a wonderful motivator.

  He pulled into a Denny’s for some good old-fashioned protein and fat. This Denny’s generally serviced the string of independent hotels along U.S. 1 and out to the Interstate. He stopped, because all Denny’s food was the same and there were no cars in the parking lot.

  He hurried inside, sat at the counter, and was ready to order from memory when he was surprised by the pretty waitress who gave him a bright smile. She had clear, healthy skin and dark eyes that showed an open innocence that completely disarmed Dremmel.

  “Hi, want some coffee?” She kept her perfect smile.

  He eased onto the stool and shook his head. “Grand Slam, scrambled with O.J.” He didn’t take his eyes off her. She made him forget his worries about Lori, his issues with his mom, and even his status with Stacey.

  The waitress said, “Need anything else?”

  He glanced to each side of the empty counter and noticed the cook was busy on the far side of the kitchen.

  Dremmel gave her his own smile. “Could you answer a question?”

  “Sure, what’s that?”

  “How tall are you?”

  Her smile stayed firm as she said, “Five feet even.”

  William Dremmel’s mind started to race.

  Patty Levine had been swept up in the concern for the missing girl like everyone on the task force. The main difference was that she didn’t want to waste time on leads or investigative activities with little chance of success. She watched as other detectives rushed out the door to question random street people, surfers who might have been at the beach, even a sampling of sexual predators who lived on the east side of the county. These were all long shots to find the missing young woman. Patty intended to follow a deliberate investigative plan to catch the Bag Man. That way she would make her best effort to find Stacey Hines while she tried to identify the killer.

  Today she had started a comprehensive canvass of pharmacies to see if any had been missing Oxy and if there were any insights pharmacists could give her. It was a duplicate of a quick check completed the first week of the investigation, but now the lieutenant wanted detectives checking out the whole pharmacy from employees to records. She had the southwest section of the city, and three other detectives were handling the other sections.

  As she entered the fifth store of the day, feeling confident as a cop and as a woman for the first time in quite a while, she noted the traffic in the store. It looked like they catered to the free clinic and Medicare clients.

  She’d already developed a shorthand for which pharmacies ran a tight ship and which ones didn�
�t care what inventory looked like. If the manager was also the pharmacist and had to watch the cashiers up front too, the drug records were shitty. If the store hired a separate manager and had the pharmacist only worried about running the pharmacy section, then things were usually in order. The chain stores had a handle on things like this. It was the family-run stores that scared her.

  Now she was in a family-run store that had several locations.

  She identified herself and spoke to a cute thirty-year-old pharmacist who tried to make it clear this little store was just a blip on his career path.

  He invited her back behind the counter, then into a small room with a TV, and scooted two chairs so they faced each other.

  She eased into one chair as he plopped into another directly across from her. “When I graduated from UF, I had a lot of offers with the big chemical firms, but I wanted some experience in a neighborhood pharmacy like this.”

  Patty went right into her questions: Missing any Oxy? Ever hear anyone talk about mixing drugs? Ever overhear a customer talk about a source for Oxy outside the pharmacy? All the usual stuff.

  The young pharmacist offered some professional advice. “From what you’ve explained to me and the type of drugs used by the killer, I’d say the Bag Man has a professional knowledge of drug interactions. He’d have to be someone trained in the area or else some kind of genius who can learn things on the fly.”

  Patty took notes furiously until the pharmacist said, “I bet you have some kind of big, badass cop husband.” He smiled to show he was only half serious.