The Perfect Woman js-1

by James Andrus

  Mazzetti scurried up to Stallings for a look just as Stallings drew his Glock, stood up, and started sprinting across the empty street. He slowed as he approached the door but not much. He tried the front door handle. Locked. Now he could clearly hear yelling from inside as well as another sound that was familiar but he couldn’t place. Then he heard it again and realized what it was: a stun gun.

  Dremmel already had the detective flopping on the floor from a blast of the stun gun. Now he had the weapon firmly on Stacey’s naked thigh, delivering 400,000 volts of incapacitating energy. The struggling girl immediately went limp under the power of the gun. But his mother was still screaming like an air raid siren.

  “Get her, William, get her,” she shrieked. Then she started yelling nonsense. The noise was so loud and shrill it disoriented him.

  “Mom, quiet down.” He doubted that he penetrated the wall of noise. He raised his voice, “Mom, shut up.” Still no effect.

  Finally, trying to keep track of the two stunned, nude women, regain his own composure, and deal with his mother’s wailing became too much. He put the nodes of the stun gun to her neck and let a charge of electricity fly.

  Before he could appreciate the silence for a moment he heard someone at the front door. First trying the handle, then kicking it. Hard.

  Dremmel stood, then raced toward the rear of the house, the stun gun still in his hand. He had no idea where to go.

  Stallings was surprised how strong the door to the older house was, withstanding his first kick easily. He looked over his shoulder to see Mazzetti running toward the house, apparently not as sure hitting the front door was the right move. Stallings stepped back and delivered another kick just above the door handle and dead bolt. This time the door gave a little. Then, with all his power he splintered the door with a final kick.

  Mazzetti timed it and ran through the open doorway without breaking his stride.

  Stallings entered the house and froze at the sight of three bodies on the ground. Two naked women and an older women in a wheelchair were sprawled across the floor.

  Then one of the naked women moved. Stallings kneeled to her and realized it was Patty. She let out a squeak and groan, then her whole body flexed.

  He cradled her head. “Patty, can you hear me? Patty.” He looked into her eyes and saw some recognition.

  Mazzetti was helping the other woman on the floor. He turned and said, “How is she?”

  “She’s coming around. What about her? Is it Stacey Hines?”

  “Yeah, and she’s in shock.”

  “I think it was a stun gun or Taser.”

  Mazzetti joined him next to Patty and said, “I got her, Stall. Go get that son of a bitch.”

  Stallings saw that the woman in the wheelchair was stirring, so he turned and headed toward the back of the house, his gun up, ready to kill the first person he saw. He was a little surprised Mazzetti would give up the chance to catch the Bag Man himself. Maybe he wasn’t the tool Stallings thought he was.

  Patty Levine’s head started to clear. She’d thought Stallings was with her. A blanket covered her on the soft couch, and she saw Stacey Hines sitting up in a chair across the room with a blanket wrapped around her. Tony Mazzetti gently patted an elderly woman sitting in a wheelchair.

  She cleared her throat and croaked, “Tony.”

  He turned, then rushed to her side. He held her hand and smiled at her before she knew it. It felt natural. Mazzetti said, “Help is on the way.”

  “I’m okay. How’s Stacey?”

  “She’s scared but all right. I think he didn’t have time to hit her with the stun gun as long as you.”

  “Where is he? Tony, that’s the Bag Man. Did you get him?” She felt her words rush out as her brain tried to catch up.

  “Stall is after him.”

  “You need to go with him.”

  He smiled, patted her hand, and said, “I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

  Forty-eight

  William Dremmel was starting to calm down and think clearly as he drove the Honda Accord he had stolen two streets north of his house. He came out from between two houses and saw the Accord with the engine running and door open, then just jumped in. He needed to get away from the cops kicking in his door and then he’d decide where to go.

  How had they found him? He hadn’t even seen anything about Detective Levine on the TV yet. Somehow he’d left a clue pointing in his direction. It was maddening to think some flunky cop had figured out who he was and where he lived.

  He fumbled with the radio dial but heard only music this time of night, no news. Traffic was light as he cruised the streets of Jacksonville keeping an eye out for police cars. He made an assessment of what resources he had with him. He had credit cards in his wallet, but using them would mean he could be traced. That left him with just over ninety dollars in cash. He might risk a stop at the ATM later, maybe throwing a misdirection at the cops by getting cash from a ATM machine south of the city, then driving north.

  When he saw the sign for Denny’s, the idea of some food and coffee to perk him up overwhelmed any instinct to just run blindly. The fact that the parking lot was empty and it might give him a chance to see the lovely little Maggie Gilson once more aided his decision.

  As he walked into the restaurant, Maggie greeted him with a smile as he took one of the empty stools at the counter. There were no other customers.

  Maggie smiled. “Hey there, where you been?”

  “Just crazy at work. How are you Maggie?”

  “Good.” She studied him. “You okay? You look tired.”

  He thought about the question for a second and said, “A pipe broke in my house, so I have to spend the night out and see about it tomorrow.”

  “Hungry?”

  “I am.”

  Maggie smiled and said, “Let’s feed you, then we’ll find a place for you to stay.”

  William Dremmel managed to smile at the young woman’s perky attitude.

  John Stallings felt his body sag as the events of the last few days caught up with him. William Dremmel’s home was a beehive of activity as more cops arrived and neighbors came out on the street of the quiet neighborhood.

  Patty Levine had insisted on staying while both Stacey Hines and Dremmel’s mother were transported to the hospital. Patty wore her own clothes they’d found in the closet of the little dungeon. They were probably evidence, but at this point no one cared and it made Patty smile.

  Outside the house, Lieutenant Rita Hester was already talking to a few reporters to get out the word about the man they were looking for and warn anyone else out there to steer clear of William Dremmel. The TV stations were going to flash both his driver’s license photo and one found here at the house.

  Stallings joined Patty and Mazzetti as the paramedics prepared to move her.

  Mazzetti said, “Anything?”

  He shook his head. “A kid a few blocks over reported a stolen Honda. It’s out over the radio. Every cop in the city is looking to be a hero tonight.” He turned to Patty. “How’r you feeling?”

  “Like a truck hit me.” Her smile told him all he needed to know about her chances for recovery.

  Stallings said, “You’re a real hero. Stacey is telling a great story.”

  She shook her head. “If you guys hadn’t arrived…”

  “You got out of his dungeon and made enough noise that we found you. You did great.” He smiled.

  She took his hand and gave him that motherly look she sometimes had. “Have you been at home enough? I know how important they are to you.”

  He looked down at the floor.

  “John, I hope you didn’t let this case distract you from the kids and Maria.”

  He shrugged, too embarrassed to answer. “Don’t worry about it. You’re safe now.” Then he said, “It’s almost over.” He looked at Mazzetti. “C’mon, Tony, let’s hit the street and see if we can find this creep.”

  A paramedic raised the gurney with Patty on
it.

  Mazzetti looked at Stallings. “No, I’m going to the hospital with Patty.”

  Stallings smiled and slapped Mazzetti on the back. “Good for you, Tony.” He also felt a pang of guilt for not choosing Maria over the case.

  Mazzetti said, “Be careful, Stall. Catch him, but don’t do anything stupid.”

  Patty backed up that statement with a hard glare.

  Maggie Gilson knew her manager didn’t like any of the employees watching the little TV in the tiny rear office, but the manager wasn’t here at eleven at night. No one was. That was why Maggie had Cesar, the night cook, watching the counter while she sat in the swivel chair in the rear room of the Denny’s watching the twenty-inch TV.

  She liked the Friends episode that always ran from ten-thirty to eleven, then sometimes she switched over to Scrubs for a few minutes. Tonight, right at eleven o’clock she started changing the channels and stopped at the local news when she saw a big banner in red letters that said, “Breaking News.” Usually she cared little about what went on around her, but this caught her attention when she saw a photo on the screen. She thought she knew the man in the photo as the announcer said, “William Dremmel is the focus of a man-hunt for questioning in the Bag Man serial killer investigation.”

  Maggie studied the photo and realized it was the guy who had been in the restaurant earlier in the evening and said a pipe broke in his house. That was bullshit. She’d told him about the J-Ville Inn.

  She hurried to the employee lockers and grabbed her small Vera Bradley purse, then dug in it until she found her cell phone. Maggie scrolled through the numbers until she found the one person she knew she could trust. Cops could be tough, stupid, arrogant, and, occasionally helpful. But this guy understood people, and he’d know exactly what to do.

  She dialed the phone and waited until after the third ring she heard a familiar voice say, “This is John Stallings.”

  Maggie knew he’d fix everything, just like he always did.

  William Dremmel lay back on the hard bed in room 6 of the J-Ville Inn. The small hotel off U.S. 1 had twelve rooms with the office in the middle. Six rooms went off in one direction and six in the other. Dremmel had paid the scruffy clerk fifty bucks for the room on the end without paperwork or fuss. Dremmel promised to be out by six when the owner showed up.

  He’d changed out the tag on the Honda he had stolen, then, as added security, parked the car three blocks away. The only things in the room with him were his stun gun and the clothes on his back.

  At dawn he planned to get money from an ATM south of here, then double back and head north. He’d already screwed up his experiment and the life he had; there wasn’t much else that could go wrong except getting caught. He planned to resist that as long as humanly possible.

  With time and some ingenuity he hoped to start over again somewhere. Maybe out west or Canada. Now he just had to get away, no matter what.

  John Stallings was almost to his house when his phone rang. He flirted with the idea of just letting it ring and checking the message in the morning, but he couldn’t help himself and dug it out of his pocket. He flipped it open just as he slowed in front of his house. There was still a light on in the living room.

  “This is John Stallings,” he said as his usual greeting.

  “Hey, Stall, it’s Maggie Gilson.”

  He had to think for a moment to place the name and face. Then he remembered the cute little runaway who now worked at a Denny’s. “Hey, Maggie. What’s up?”

  “I think I might know where the guy on TV, that William Dremmel, is.”

  He paused, then said carefully, “Where’s that, Maggie?”

  “He was in my Denny’s earlier this evening, and I mentioned a motel on U.S. 1 called the J-Ville Inn.”

  “I know the place, just north of Edgewood Avenue.”

  “That’s it.”

  “Thanks, Maggie, I’ll go over and check myself.”

  “I knew you were the right person to call.”

  Forty-nine

  The Shand’s Jacksonville Medical Center was oddly slow tonight even with the reporters crowding the visitors’ lounge hoping to get some kind of scoop from the survivors of the Bag Man. Tony Mazzetti had been here on a Saturday night when there was a full moon and the place looked more like a zoo than a hospital.

  Now, in one of the small cubicles off the emergency room, he stood next to Patty Levine, holding her small hand while a nurse came in to check on her. They wanted to admit her for observation, but Patty insisted on spending the night in her own home. He couldn’t blame her after what she’d been through.

  Patty hadn’t said much, but she didn’t let go of his hand either, so he knew he was doing the right thing. He just followed wherever they wheeled her, and she seemed happy he was there. He still wondered what was happening with the search for William Dremmel, who he now knew was the Bag Man, and had given him the slip for longer than he cared to admit. Now some rookie road patrol guy would pull over the killer on a fucking traffic violation and be a hero. Shit.

  Then his phone rang. He had ignored most calls tonight, because he knew it was just some stupid command staff member wanting an update. This time he saw it was Stallings on the line, so he answered.

  Mazzetti said, “Whaddya got, Stall?”

  “Tony, I have a reliable tip that he’s out on U.S. 1 at a hotel. Why don’t you meet me there and we’ll see if we can scoop this asshole up.”

  “You really think he’s there?”

  “One of my old runaways ran into him and gave him a motel that’s safe to stay in.”

  Mazzetti’s heart skipped as he considered his chance to really make a splash. If he could catch this guy after being the lead on the case, every news station in town would want to talk to him. A smile broke across his face as he considered the possibilities.

  Stallings said, “I’m heading to the J-Ville Motel.”

  Mazzetti was about to say he’d be there, then he looked down at Patty and saw the fear in her eyes at the thought of his leaving. She squeezed his hand tighter, and that kept him from answering.

  Over the phone Stallings said, “Tony, you gonna meet me?”

  Then Mazzetti surprised himself. “No, Stall, Patty needs someone here.”

  There was a brief silence, then Stallings said, “Goddamn, Tony, you might be human after all.”

  For the first time Mazzetti smiled at something Stallings said.

  Before he called in reinforcements, Stallings planned on checking out the small motel. He drove past it slowly twice but only saw an old Ford pickup and a semitractor with no trailer sitting in the lot of the J-Ville Inn. The motel had two wings jutting out from the office in the center.

  Stallings drove past one last time and parked around the corner in the lot of a self-storage place. He pulled his shirt over his gun and badge, then approached from the road, walking along the covered walkway next to the first six rooms. He noticed a light on inside the farthest room marked with a number 6 as he crept toward the office. The rooms on either side of the office also had lights on. One had the pickup truck parked in front of it, and the other had the semitractor at a funny angle in front of it.

  Stallings was in the glass door and standing quietly before the clerk looked up from an old TV with a half-blown speaker. Craig Ferguson’s Scottish accent seemed to rattle the torn speaker fragment even more.

  The clerk had the dark scowl of a pissed-off redneck. Longish greasy hair combed straight back with loose strands spiraling out around his ear. His dark eyes studied Stallings as he made him for a cop immediately.

  The clerk said, “What are you doin’ here?”

  Stallings showed his badge just so there was no question who he was.

  The clerk said, “I know, I could tell the second I looked up. What’s the po-po need here in this shithole?”

  Stallings held up a photo of William Dremmel. “You seen this guy tonight?”

  The man didn’t hesitate to shake his head. “N
aw, been real slow here tonight.”

  “Let me see your registrations.”

  “You got a warrant?”

  “No, but you’ll have one on you if you don’t show me your registrations right now.”

  The man was surprised at the aggression. He was apparently used to dealing with the younger, more polite police officers of the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office. Stallings stepped behind the half counter where the TV sat.

  “Okay, okay, hang on.” The clerk handed him a book with the list of occupants for the night.

  Stallings snatched it from the man’s hand, keeping his eyes on him as he set it on the counter and looked down to see two names, Bob Ura in room one and Dennis Bustle in room seven. Stallings flipped back a few pages to see how names had been entered the last few days. They had nine customers yesterday and six the day before. He looked up at the clerk, who still held a defiant look.

  Stallings said, “You only have these two tonight?”

  “Yep.”

  “So you have ten rooms empty?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why was there a light on in room 6 at the end?”

  The man hesitated and eyed the phone at the same time as Stallings.

  Fifty

  John Stallings was stuck. He knew he couldn’t leave this asshole clerk alone or he’d warn Dremmel in room 6. He called the sheriff’s office to send by a marked unit but knew he couldn’t wait. He grabbed the ring with room keys and pulled the reluctant clerk from the office and had him follow down the walkway as they approached room 6.

  Stallings turned and asked, “There’s no back door?”

  The sullen clerk shook his head.

  “You wouldn’t be screwin’ with me again, would you?” He backed it up with a “no bullshit” look.

  “Naw, no back door, and I think he’s in there alone.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that when I asked in the office?”

  “You’re a cop. Never help the cops.”

  “I respect that kind of commitment. Now sit down right here and don’t move.”