The Perfect Prey js-2

by James Andrus

  He had seen no one since he started walking into the thick scrub, but knew that this was a popular homeless hangout. Not the younger runaways who tended to hang out near downtown and had a chance to turn it around, but the older, burned-out, alcoholic homeless that tended to be men in their fifties, some of them veterans of the Vietnam War who were never able to fully integrate back into society. Some were convicted felons who couldn’t find a job and decided to turn their backs on the rest of the world, and some were just mentally unbalanced and were turned out into the world by a system that often couldn’t afford to care for them.

  There was no real bond among most of the men. They talked a good game about looking out for one another, but Stallings knew they constantly stole from one another, beat each other, and sold each other out when it was convenient. Stallings knew Stan wasn’t selling anyone out. He was concerned about the missing girl and had told Stallings that the man he saw with the phone was not the violent predatory type. But he knew the violent predatory types were usually not too obvious; that’s how so many were able to operate without detection.

  Stallings had seen several different studies on serial killers. The newest ones had revised the number of murders committed by serial killers in the United States from about 200 a year to as many as 2,000 a year. That was an astonishing number to a cop. Yet the threat from a serial killer was never mentioned until the media got ahold of a story and played it up.

  He continued on his slow trek through the scrub and pine. Up ahead he heard voices, and the flickering light of a campfire bled through the trees. He eased up and tried to figure how many men were in the small camp. He could hear two voices, but could see at least four bodies through the bushes.

  Stallings cleared his throat loudly, then made sure he didn’t surprise anyone as he crashed through branches into the clearing. He’d misjudged. There were ten men in the clearing, and they all jumped at the sight of him. He hoped this wasn’t going to be a problem. But that hope faded as he ducked a board swung at his head.

  He tapped his heel to the beat of the “You Found Me” by The Fray. Heel tapping was more alluring than toe tapping. Not that it made a difference with him. He peered out over the dance floor, disappointed in tonight’s offering. It was a little soon since his last capture, but he’d found that he waited less and less time after every kill. His memory of Allie was fresh and so was her scent on him. He didn’t shower, because he loved the musty smell of sex mixed with a woman’s perfume.

  He’d posted her photograph up on his collage at his east apartment. It was one he’d taken with his cell phone and printed on his good Epson photo-quality printer. She held the top right edge of the collage of blue eyes and blond hair. Some might have been too thin or too short, but they all had that clean, European look.

  He’d also kept a memento. This was a new trick, but he’d found he wanted something from every prize he brought down with a swift foot and extended claw. In Allie’s case it was her belly-button ring. A little gold number with a loop of fine chain that drooped down her tight stomach. He’d plucked it out after she was dressed and tucked away in the corner of the park. Now it was in a wooden box he’d made in seventh grade along with a couple of earrings, a ring, and a silver ball that was part of a tongue stud.

  He knew keeping photos and trinkets wasn’t a smart move, but they were subtle. If his landlord wandered in, he wouldn’t think anything about it. The girls were from other cities or listed as suicides so they wouldn’t have been in the news much. It had taken him a few times before he realized that suicides or just plain missing girls raised a lot less fuss than a murder victim. Man, he remembered the stink in Daytona a few years ago. Luckily no one ever tied it back to him. Cops generally didn’t stay hot on the trail of cases once the media died down.

  Even the mementos weren’t alarming. Everyone had the odd piece of jewelry. It wasn’t like the crazy-assed killer here in Jacksonville a few years ago named Carl Cernick. He’d been caught because he had a finger from one of his victims. Crazy people caused all kinds of shit.

  Now he looked across the floor and saw a blond head with hair that hung straight down a beautiful back with strong shoulders. Immediately his penis stiffened at the thought of finding more prey so quickly. He’d still have to cut her loose from the herd, but that usually wasn’t a problem. Especially since here, where no one knew him, he didn’t have to be quite so careful.

  He eased along the edge of the floor to get a look at her and see whom she was with. She had a long, lithe body and swayed to the beat unlike a lot of girls. He liked that. He’d already seen an emerald ear stud that would make a great memento. His heart began to beat faster, sharpening all his animal instincts. He edged closer, realizing that the girl was here with a couple of friends. The easiest possible target.

  Then she turned and saw him. He paused to let her take in his full image. She smiled as he expected, but then his heart sank. In the light he could see she had brown eyes. Dark brown eyes.

  He turned, deflated enough to simply leave alone.

  Stallings ducked the two-by-four that would’ve cracked his skull, then dodged a brick from another direction. He stayed low and dove behind a thick pine tree and called out, “Not very friendly of you.”

  Another brick bounced off the tree trunk.

  Stallings yelled. “I’m a cop, and the next motherfucker that chucks something at me is gonna get his ass kicked. Is that clear?” He raised his voice and took off the friendly edge.

  There was silence and an absence of projectiles.

  He peeked from behind the tree, showing his badge as he did. He took another look, accounting for all ten men. Then he stepped out and said, “That’s better.”

  No one spoke at first. Then an older man in the back said, “What are you hassling us for all the way out here?”

  “Hassling you! You’re the ones who tried to take my head off.”

  “This is our camp. We don’t bother no one.” The others nodded in agreement.

  “I heard one of you might have something I need.”

  “What?” asked a couple of them at the same time.

  “A cell phone. A red cell phone.” He searched the faces in the group to see if anyone flinched or gave it away.

  Everyone stayed calm.

  “I expected this kind of response and was ready.” Stallings already had Allie’s number in his phone and pressed send. In a few seconds he heard the beat to a song that was also a ring tone. All the heads started turning until one man was the focus of the entire crowd.

  The heavy, older white man rolled onto his knees in an attempt to spring up and flee, but Stallings was standing next to him and had to help him up to his feet.

  Stallings said, “Looks like we need to talk.”

  Twelve

  Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office Detective John Stallings sat with the old man from the woods, drinking stale 7-11 coffee and munching on hard, dry donuts. For his part, the old man appreciated the way Stallings had dealt with him and seemed to be enjoying not only the refreshments but the show as well.

  They watched two JSO crime scene techs recover and process Allie Marsh’s purse and a shirt that may or may not have belonged to the girl. The old man, after taking a few minutes to decide if he could trust the JSO detective, had told Stallings he had heard the phone ringing as he passed the Dumpster, reached in, and retrieved it. He hadn’t used it because he really didn’t have anyone to call and only answered once, which was when Stallings had called. The story had checked out, and Stallings didn’t believe the old man had anything to do with Allie’s disappearance, but he couldn’t let him wander off just yet. He made the man believe staying and watching the law enforcement spectacle was his idea. Truthfully, now that Stallings had been on duty for almost twenty hours, he didn’t mind the company.

  As the sun rose and cast a pleasant light over a possibly nasty situation, he saw Patty Levine pull up in her county, unmarked Ford Freestyle with Tony Mazzetti right behind her in
his big Crown Vic. Another police-looking unmarked car, a Dodge Charger, rumbled in behind them. He was surprised to see the slim, attractive form of Yvonne Zuni pop out of the Charger and start marching his way. She had a certain sway in her hips that said she was not all business, all the time.

  She smiled, as she got closer. “This is impressive, Stall.” She stopped short when she saw the old man next to him.

  “Who’s this?”

  “He found the phone.”

  “He’s the one that answered it when you called?”

  Stallings nodded.

  “Did he turn himself in?”

  “Sort of.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “When I found him, he explained the whole situation and led me here.”

  “Then he’s a suspect.”

  “Barely.”

  “Why isn’t he in cuffs?”

  Stallings looked at her with a cocked head, wondering if she was serious. “Handcuffs? Why? He’s not technically in custody.”

  “Then why is he here?”

  “I’m holding him in case I have more questions. It’s consensual.”

  “Have you Mirandized him?”

  “I don’t have to. He’s not in custody.”

  “Is he free to go?”

  Stallings hesitated. “What are you, his attorney?”

  “No, I’m your sergeant and I want things run properly. Now, you need to shit or get off the pot. Charge him and cuff him or tell him he can go. I don’t want a complaint the first week I’m in a new job.”

  Stallings started to answer, then realized she wasn’t making a personal attack. She was doing what she thought was right. Even if it was all fucked up. He nodded and walked away, motioning the old homeless guy to follow him. Stallings said, “I don’t need you anymore. You have my phone number-I want you to call me tomorrow at noon.”

  The old man nodded.

  “And I’ll be able to find you at your little camp?”

  “That’s where I stay unless it rains. Then I use the back of the Regency Square Mall a little east of here. I don’t want to ruin it so I go by myself and only stay there every once in a while.”

  Stallings nodded, understanding, like few others, the plight of homeless people. He reached in his front pocket and checked the little brown alligator money clip Charlie had given him at Christmas. He had three twenties and four singles and a five-dollar bill. He yanked out the three twenties and handed them to the old man.

  The man took it and nodded his thanks. Then he said, “I’ll probably watch from the front of the 7-11. I don’t want you in trouble with your pretty sergeant.” He smiled, showing as many gaps as teeth.

  Stallings let out a laugh, realizing how sharp the old man was to hear and understand what was going on. He watched the old man walk away and wondered about his own father, who had ended his career as a bully and shitty father by rolling out onto the streets himself. Stallings had seen him once in the last few years but kept tabs on him though different sources. He used to live downtown in a cheap, pay-by-the-week motel, his Navy pension keeping him safe, but alcohol slowly rotting him from the inside out. Stallings knew he had moved in the last year and hadn’t looked for him.

  He’d thought that his father had at least provided him with a negative role model so he wouldn’t screw up his own marriage or kids. Now, separated and still mourning his missing Jeanie, he didn’t think his father had provided him with anything, either negative or positive.

  He heard Patty say, “You need a hand with anything, John?”

  He turned to see her with Mazzetti standing next to her.

  Mazzetti said, “Yeah, the real cops are here now, Stall.”

  “Well, Mr. Real Cop, this case just got kicked up a notch. What do you suggest we do now?”

  Mazzetti just stared at him.

  Stallings was sincere when he asked for investigative recommendations, but somewhere inside he hated to admit he enjoyed seeing the homicide detective baffled with such a direct inquiry.

  Patty said, “I’ll see if we can get any more information off the cell towers and then check to see if there are any security cameras for businesses along the road for a couple of miles in each direction. Maybe the 7-11 had some traffic and somebody saw something?”

  From off to the side, Yvonne Zuni spoke up. “That’s the first decent plan I’ve heard on a case since I came into crimes/persons. Go ahead with all of that, Detective Levine.” She looked at Mazzetti. “What are you doing here? Waiting to see if we find a body? Detective Mazzetti, if you don’t have enough to do in homicide I’m certain I could find something for you to work on.”

  Mazzetti nodded and said, “Yes ma’am,” turned, and scurried to his car.

  Stallings and Patty exchanged glances, but neither laughed out loud.

  John Stallings stood at the rear of his Impala with a large, detailed map of the county spread out across the trunk. Patty was on the other leads with two analysts assigned by the new sergeant. They had all the high-tech avenues covered. The leads were viable, and Patty was running down more detailed cell records, checking video cameras, and staying on top of any lab developments.

  Stallings was different. He had learned the basic skills of a cop before the world of high-tech had changed so many things. He knew how to talk to people or scare them if necessary. He knew luck was involved in so much of police work and he knew how to reason things out. It didn’t always work, but sometimes he surprised himself as well as others. Right now he studied the map and drew a blue circle downtown where the Wildside dance club was. He knew she’d been there at some point. He marked the Dumpster, which was where he was standing right now, on the map. Then he let his cop eyes roam up and down the map, thinking about the possible scenarios that had led to Allie Marsh’s purse being discarded in the Dumpster.

  First he had to assume the person who threw it in there didn’t expect it to be found. That person thought either no one would look in a nasty Dumpster or it would be emptied soon. Next he thought of the reasons Allie left the bar with someone. He didn’t like to dwell on any of it. Finally, he searched the map for the kind of open, but private, area someone could park a car and not be bothered. Places like parks, green spaces, canals, or tributaries with wetlands around them. It was as if he was up in one of the sheriff’s office’s helicopters without the use of time or the inevitable airsickness.

  He used his finger to trace the main road, starting at the Wildside and slowly moving it along the map, keeping track of the mile legend and then following it east, over the river, across the marshes and residential neighborhoods, past the municipal airport, then all the way to the ocean. He could check the beaches. Every would-be Romeo in Florida tried to impress tourists with the ocean. Many of the beaches even had webcams to show what the waves were like for surfers. That was one of the breaks he’d gotten in the last big homicide case he had worked on. But something told him they didn’t drive as far as the ocean. The couple of parks off the road were small and tended to get a lot of walkers and runners cutting through them.

  Then he started tracing back from the beach, and his finger lingered on the outer edges of the municipal airport. There were trails back in there and it was secluded. He packed up the car and waited for the last crime scene tech to leave before he headed east the 2.3 miles to the airport. He drove past the main fields and found one of the dirt paths that led behind the small airport. He had purposely not mentioned his plan to Yvonne Zuni. While it was amusing to see her cut Tony Mazzetti down to size, he had no interest in experiencing it today. She must have failed to notice that he’d been on duty almost twenty-two hours now or she definitely would’ve said something. He planned a long afternoon of sleep as soon as he checked his one theory.

  He found a field with mowed grass and a tree line set back fifty yards. Low-hanging branches of wide scrub brush formed a thick, green wall with the occasional southern pine that towered near the runways of the small airport. He got out and started walking
the perimeter of the field, letting his eyes scan wherever something caught his attention. Stumps in the grass, unusual piles of leaves, anything that broke the straight lines of the field.

  Then he noticed something all the way over in the tree line and started walking that way. He tried to continue scanning as he came closer, but whatever was on the edge of the scrub brush had captured his attention fully and he couldn’t take his eyes off it. He saw a splash of red and blue and knew whatever it was it wasn’t something from nature.

  Then he slowed as a form started taking shape. He saw the blond hair and one arm splayed out to the side, and his heart sank. He slowed and noticed the shoe missing off one foot; her face was turned away from him.

  He carefully stopped and eased to the side through the brush about ten feet away from her so as not to disturb the crime scene in any way. He could see her blue, bloating face and recognized it as Allie Marsh’s formerly pretty face. He stepped back out of the brush, his hand already reaching for his cell phone when he had to stop, look up at the sky, and scream as loud as he had ever screamed. “Fuck!”

  James Andrus

  The Perfect Prey

  Thirteen

  As soon as Patty Levine had gotten the call from John Stallings telling her he’d found the body she’d dropped her inquiry into cell tower hits and security cameras and raced to meet him. At some point she would have to resume that kind of work, but right now her partner had called. He sounded a little shaken. She knew it had as much to do with his own daughter as with the case itself.

  She stepped into the ladies’ room at the sheriff’s office and popped a Xanax to steady herself before the ride back east to the municipal airport. As she swallowed the pill with a palm full of water from the sink, the door opened. Patty turned her head quickly, perhaps with a tinge of guilt for having almost been caught and was surprised to see her new sergeant, Yvonne Zuni, standing there.