by James Andrus
“How long has she been gone? Usually a bar manager has employees going AWOL all the time.”
“The guy seemed straight up and concerned. He said the waitress, Stacey Hines, was very reliable and they were like her family here in town. The manager and other employees checked on her all the time.”
“That was enough to search for her?”
“They’ve been watching TV, and she’s only five feet tall.”
One of the other detectives mumbled, “Finally the media helps us out.”
Mazzetti said, “The patrolman who took the missing persons report was on the ball. He ran her name and saw her car had been towed for overnight parking at Neptune Beach. He went to the lot and checked out the car and found her spark plugs had been pulled. We couldn’t ignore it.”
Stallings realized that they had a big break in the case. He just hoped it didn’t cost a young girl her life.
Lieutenant Hester said, “What do you guys think?”
Mazzetti spoke right up. “We found her parents in Cincinnati, and they’re sending us photos and are on the way themselves. The restaurant says she didn’t have any stalkers that they noticed but that her car had broken down there before. One of the cooks said he thought the plugs were pulled but added he wasn’t completely certain. I’d say we have this shitty video of the Bag Man’s vehicle.”
The lieutenant said, “The video only shows a door. Nothing else in the frame. So what do we do with it?”
Mazzetti said, “See about enhancing it. Maybe pick up a detail. Try and find anyone who was at the beach and saw the driver of the vehicle.”
Someone asked, “How?”
Stallings blurted out. “We have to go public. Show the girl’s photo. Ask for help.”
Mazzetti immediately had an answer. “We’re already flooded with leads.”
“What else do you have in mind?”
Mazzetti thought about it, then sighed. “We don’t need someone to leak it this time. I’ll make the call.”
They had another victim.
Stacey Hines felt her head clear but still couldn’t move her arms or legs. The first time she’d awakened in this position she thought she was paralyzed for a minute until she was able to see the chains holding her in place. Each time she had woken up since then it took less time to remember what was happening to her. That also meant it took less time to think of what was going to happen to her.
She was still naked under a thin, wool blanket with a Thanksgiving motif. Pumpkins and Pilgrim hats now haunted her dreams. But she hadn’t given up hope. So far William had taken great care to keep her clean, feed her, and make her comfortable. She tried not to think about what he did after he dosed her with the drugs that made her pass out. He also liked to tell her all the details of her own life. He talked about her brief stint at Youngstown State University, citing her 2.1 grade point average, and then saying, “Sounds like someone was a little immature for college.” It was like he had been there.
She had no idea if it was night or day or how long she had been restrained in the little bed. The initial terror she’d felt was now more of a chronic fear. It must’ve been some psychological coping mechanism, because she would’ve gone crazy quickly the way she felt the first time she woke up in chains. The tiny room held no clues either. Just her bed, a lamp, and a small, hard plastic portable toilet he had slid under her twice a day. She didn’t even shudder at him wiping her after each use of the toilet. It was so clinical and nonsexual on his part, and she was so terrified about other things that she barely resisted the action anymore.
The truly scary thing was that she knew that he was the Bag Man. He hadn’t said it, and she hadn’t asked, but she knew whatever he had planned for her she would end up crammed in a suitcase. She knew she had to do something to get away. He would never just let her go.
As she considered possible courses of action, William unlocked the door and walked in holding a tray of food, including the protein shake he required her to drink every day.
William smiled and said, “Good morning, sunshine. Time for nourishment.”
This guy put a whole new meaning on the word “creepy.”
Patty Levine looked up from her desk as she was closing up files for the night. Things had returned to normal in the days after the shooting—as normal as a giant serial homicide case could be. It was dark outside, and she hadn’t eaten since mid-morning. The three Xanax she’d taken during the day had kept her calm as well as thirsty, and the water suppressed her appetite. Now she was ready to cut loose and eat. Preferably a buffet with lots of pasta and mashed potatoes. The way she felt right now the guy who wrote the South Beach Diet could kiss her ass.
Her stomach had felt like acid a few hours earlier, but some over-the-counter Zantac cleared it up. She wondered if that was something she needed to add to her prescription arsenal. Why not? She’d found relief in every other area of her life from some little pill.
As her computer cycled off she sensed Tony Mazzetti moving toward her. She’d noticed him at the far end of the squad bay for the last forty minutes. He always stayed late, but tonight she could tell that he was waiting until everyone else cleared out so he could talk to her. That was why she’d taken her time to pack up for the night. The games people play for romance. They hadn’t changed in centuries and hadn’t changed for individuals since elementary school. Regardless, she smiled at his approach.
Without saying a word he slid a chair and plopped in it so that he was sitting and facing her from only a few feet away.
He looked at her and she remained silent until he said, “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Got a minute?”
“Sure, Tony. I got all night.” She didn’t mean to make it sound like a crack about their attempt to make love, but that’s how it came across.
He swallowed hard and said, “I wanted to talk about the other night.”
“You’d have to be more specific.” She liked the way he squirmed. It was cute.
He took a deep breath and said, “The other night when I was unable to perform in bed.”
She kept quiet.
He looked off to gather his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking about the incident.”
“The incident? That’s what it was like for you? A homicide scene? It was an incident?” Her voice raised even though she wanted to cut the guy some slack.
“That’s a poor choice of words. I’m sorry. What I’ve really been thinking of is you. You and me.”
“Is there a you and me?”
“I-I don’t know. What I was talking about was my problem.”
“Couldn’t it be our problem?”
He seemed to be concentrating on what he would say, not what she was saying.
Mazzetti said, “I don’t think you understand. It’s not you, it’s me.”
She let her anger seep away and smiled at the cute, nervous guy. “Relax Tony, I figured it out all by myself.”
“You did? How?”
“I’ve been around a little, I’m not an idiot.”
“What are you talking about, Patty?”
“I know you’re gay, and your secret is safe with me.”
“What? Gay? Me? No, wait a second, you really don’t understand.”
She held up a hand to shut him up. “Don’t sweat it, Tony. I’m not judging you and know you think the guys in the bureau could be tough on you if they knew, so I won’t say a word. But I think you’re wrong. It’s the new millennium. I doubt it’d make any difference at all to the detectives here. They already don’t like you because you’re an asshole.”
He looked like he had more to say, but he started to hyperventilate, panting like a big dog on an August afternoon.
She watched him breathe faster and shallower until she got concerned. Then scared.
Thirty-one
John Stallings had let the analysts and Mazzetti scramble to find out all they could about the video from the beach cam. All it meant to him was another girl was missing an
d he’d failed in another pledge.
He’d been hitting the streets hard all day trying to find out who might’ve seen someone or something that could connect the dots in the investigation. He tried not to think of the anguish the family of the missing girl, Stacey Hines, was going through. He’d been there. Instead, he was out doing something. At this moment he was stopping in the Law and Order Pub to get some food into a young man he’d met off Bay Street who looked like he had not eaten in a week. He’d only give his first name—“Dan”—and not much else. Stallings could tell he was at least twenty, but something in his face told Stallings the young man needed a little help whether it was official or unofficial, so dinner sounded like a start.
As he was about to hold the door open for Dan, several uniformed cops came out of the pub, laughing. The first two nodded to Stallings and gave Dan a cursory, dismissive glance.
The last cop out stopped and said, “Hey, Stall, who’s your friend?”
Stallings looked up at Rick Ellis. “This is Dan, and we’re going to grab a bite.”
Ellis took a few seconds to reassess Dan but said nothing about the dirt caked on his neck and face, ripped T-shirt that used to be white, mismatched flip-flops, or hair frozen in place by grime. His face made it clear he’d caught the odor.
He looked back to Stallings and said, “Anything new on the big case?”
Stallings waited a second as Dan wandered a few feet away to look at a plant. “You heard about the video from the beach cam.”
Ellis nodded.
“We’re gonna release it tomorrow to see what we can stir up.”
“Sounds like a plan. My bosses don’t want me working with your task force again without clearing it through them first.”
“Not surprised. Shootings make command staff nervous.”
Ellis eyed Dan as he turned back toward them. “Gotta go. Keep in touch, Stall.” The big sergeant was moving away from the smelly homeless man before Stallings could say good-bye.
William Dremmel checked the results of his drug trial so far. The detailed notes and a chart he’d made up showed that Stacey Hines slipped into a deep, unconscious state with a combination of Ambien and Nembutal. She’d do the same with Seconal but had a harder time waking up. Her mood had not stabilized yet even with Wellbutin included in her meals. The antidepressant hadn’t had enough time to take hold, and she’d been distracted by her new surroundings. This was within the expected normal parameters of the trial.
Tonight he intended to ease her concerns, and the first way he’d do that was by giving her some time out of the chains. It would help her circulation. Maybe help her adjust. But he wasn’t unprepared. In the rear pocket of his jeans he had a handheld stun gun he’d bought at a gun shop for $39.99. It looked like a pistol with no barrel—square and scary. The shock delivered through two electrodes at the end of it when he squeezed the trigger was guaranteed to incapacitate any human. If Stacey stepped out of line, he wanted to be able to act without leaving any serious marks on her perfect skin.
He moved to the locked room near the front of the house, checked to make sure his shirt covered the stun gun, smoothed his thinning hair, and taking a deep breath before using the single key to unlock the door, he entered. She was awake, but as usual didn’t say anything when he first appeared.
He smiled, reassuring her that nothing would happen to her. At least nothing right now. After a few seconds he bent down to unlock first her feet, then the handcuffs holding her in place.
He said, “Thought you might like to walk around and maybe use the toilet by yourself.”
She didn’t say a word as she slowly sat up in bed, letting the blood flow stabilize, shaking her hands and wiggling her feet. He reached down to help her to her feet after more than a minute of sitting. She accepted and stood unsteadily for another minute, massaging her arms, then her legs. She stood straight, not hiding her nakedness. A defiance and elegance that he’d note on his report later.
She slowly stepped toward the toilet, leaned down like she was stretching, then, without preamble, turned with the hard plastic toilet in her hands, swinging the boxy solid commode, striking him in the head so hard he fell off his feet, slid across the terrazzo floor, and started to lose consciousness.
Tony Mazzetti’s chest felt tight as he gasped for air. It might be a coronary, lashed through his mind. All he knew was that he didn’t want to croak in the Land That Time Forgot, leaving the beautiful Patty Levine still believing he was gay.
He shook his head and could only repeat, “Not”—gasp, “Not”—gasp. “I’m not,” This time he sucked in more air.
Patty squatted next to him with her small hand on his back. She leaned in to see his eyes and said, “Tony, I’m calling fire/rescue.”
He shook his head violently and used what strength he had left to grasp her ankle as she stood up to rush to the phone. She paused at his grip and he gulped down some more air to finally spit out, “I’m not gay.” He collapsed onto the thin carpet. Now that he had said it he was ready to die. At least that weight had been lifted off him. As he thought it, and lay on his back, he suddenly started to feel much better. Air flowed into his lungs, and his head cleared.
He sat up, which kept Patty in position near him and not springing up to call some dumb-ass paramedic. He faced her and said, “I’m not gay.”
She didn’t say anything, but the look told him he better come clean and explain that she wasn’t the reason he couldn’t get an erection the other night.
He just dove right in. “I used supplements for a long time. Stuff like Andro, anything that would give me an edge in the gym. Sometimes I can’t get it up easily.”
She just stared at him.
“I mean I can sometimes, but not in a pressure situation.”
“Was my bedroom really a pressure cooker?”
“No, not the room, the situation. I like you and didn’t want things to go wrong. But when you think about what could go wrong, nothing goes right. Know what I mean?”
A smile spread across her pretty face, and she nodded. “I know exactly what you mean.” She kept gazing into his eyes and said, “Why didn’t you just tell me the other night?”
“I was scared. I just got caught up in the wrong atmosphere at the gym. I used to eat supplements by the carload, and it’s embarrassing. You probably couldn’t understand something like that.”
She looked away and mumbled, “Yeah, I could understand.”
Mazzetti said, “So that’s my problem.”
“And I know how to fix it.”
“You do? How?”
She reached over and kissed him.
William Dremmel needed time to clear his aching head. But Stacey was advancing on him with the toilet now raised above her head for a vicious downward strike. He still admired the naked form of the woman before him now. With her arms raised, her breasts looked giant compared to her small body. He intended to pose her like this later after he regained control. Then the hard, heavy plastic toilet battered his arms that he held up to protect his head.
He reached for his stun gun, but a blow to his arms sent it skittering across the floor. He kept his arms up for protection. The blows hurt his right forearm but still didn’t strike his head, and Stacey looked like she was having problems raising it again. Then she surprised him for the second time. A sharp, compact fist struck him across the chin.
He blinked hard and scrambled to one side as she abandoned the toilet and started pummeling him with her fists and elbows. This girl was a wild woman, and he’d never suspected it.
As he rolled onto his back she fell on top of him, still swinging. He knew exactly what he had to do to reverse this situation.
Thirty-two
John Stallings couldn’t convince thin, dirty Dan to ride back to a homeless shelter with him. The skittish young man thanked him for dinner, then walked away down East Bay Street at a pretty good clip. If Stallings hadn’t been watching him leave, he might not have noticed the head inside a pa
rked car down the street. There was nothing unusual about someone behind the wheel of a car except the car was dark and didn’t start while Stallings watched it.
He knew a surveillance when he saw one. Now the only question was if they were surveilling him. He made it a point to wave to Dan as he trudged away, making the occupant of the surveillance car think he was watching the young man and not the car. Sometimes cops who weren’t used to surveillance believed that dark windows hid everything and they were virtually invisible while watching someone from inside their car.
He took his time opening his car and driving off. The suspicious vehicle never moved. As he pulled away from the curb, just before he turned left, away from the river, he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the car, which he now knew was a Buick, headed down the street toward him. Stallings didn’t speed up to lose them but instead slowed to give the Buick a chance to close the distance. They were on his turf, and he knew exactly where he’d lead them.
William Dremmel fended off most of Stacey’s blows but still worried about the lucky punch that could knock him unconscious or leave an obvious mark. He shoved away from Stacey to one side and started to rise when she turned back at him like a crazy woman, all fists, feet, and fingernails. Jesus, he wouldn’t have thought she was able to move like that.
He grunted, “Stacey, you need to calm down before you’re sorry.”
It was unfair, because he couldn’t punch her back. First of all he didn’t want to put one imperfection on that beautiful face; secondly he didn’t want to have to treat a wound while running his experiments because he didn’t know how the extra treatment might affect the drug trial. He also didn’t know how the wound would heal while she was under the effects of the sedatives. For all these reasons he took her blows and didn’t reply.
