The gruff sergeant, who obviously wasn’t happy about wasting time talking to some detective in a hick town like Jacksonville, said, “Homicide doesn’t necessarily believe that death was anything but an accident. You know how they are about their clearance rates.”
“I do know that.”
“Anyway, the victim had two kilos of marijuana in his apartment and toxicology shows that he was stoned and had ketamine in his system. He was asphyxiated before he even realized there was a fire.”
“Do you have a big ketamine problem in Atlanta?”
“Kids use it if they can get it. A few veterinarians have been burglarized and lost some, but it’s not too bad.”
“Is there any evidence or anything left to go through on the death?”
“There are few things in boxes in evidence, but it’s just the bricks of marijuana and maybe some ID. I’m pretty sure the landlord never rented the apartment and there may be something over there. If you need more details or to come up here to look at the case I’ll have to hand you off to one of the homicide guys.”
Sparky scribbled a few notes while the sergeant read off the address and any other information he had on the case. Then the sergeant said, “Why would you guys be interested in something like this?”
“Because, like your police department, our homicide unit is more interested in clearance than in finding murderers. It’s my job to make sure we do both.”
The sergeant said, “You sound like a guy who could work for me any day of the week.”
Yvonne Zuni sat in her office signing off to close cases regarding accidental or justifiable homicides. She had been very impressed with the work of several of the new detectives who had been brought on board in the last year. The one case she pulled out of the pile was Connor Tate, the overdose victim from the University of North Florida. In an effort to keep the inquiry into the Tau Upsilon fraternity quiet, the sergeant had opted not to tell the detective on the Tate case what was going on. As a result, Detective Luis Martinez had done his usual thorough job and turned in the case file with everything necessary to close it out permanently.
Right now the only ones who knew the cases could be related were the four detectives working the case and her lieutenant, Rita Hester. She expected the lieutenant at any time and had been cleaning up the files to get her signature on the closings. The lieutenant had not spent much time with the crimes/persons squad in the last six months while she helped convert the evidence computer system as well as work on the re-accreditation of the sheriff’s office. On one hand it was a compliment to Sergeant Zuni and her abilities that no one interfered with how she ran the squad. On the other hand, it was a lot more work.
Sergeant Zuni recognized that Rita Hester had her eyes set on a position much higher up the ladder. Not only was she a good cop but she didn’t shy away from the political angle of her job either. The sergeant recognized that Lieutenant Hester and John Stallings had been partners on the road years before and remained very close friends. She didn’t think Stallings would ever go over her head to the lieutenant, but it was an important relationship to consider when dealing with politically sensitive cases.
She did recognize that although Stallings didn’t go over her head, occasionally the lieutenant would use Stallings for her own needs. The lieutenant would allow Stallings to conduct investigations outside the lines of the normal policy with the subtle understanding that if he got in trouble no one would be there to help him. Sergeant Zuni considered this taking advantage of Stallings’s natural tendency to fixate on a case and push to solve it no matter what the cost. That was why she would probably remain a sergeant for the rest of her career.
The lieutenant appeared at her door without a sound, like a genie. She gave a curt hello and immediately stepped around the desk to start signing off on the cases. After the lieutenant had completed the paperwork, as she stood up and stretched her large frame, she paused and reached down to pick up the photograph Sergeant Zuni had taken from John Stallings’s desk.
The lieutenant asked, “Where did you get this?”
“From John Stallings. That’s the missing fraternity boy he’s looking for.”
The lieutenant nodded but kept the photograph. She said, “Where’s Stallings now?”
“Canvassing businesses on University Boulevard where someone had seen the young man before he disappeared.”
The sergeant was surprised that all she got back from the lieutenant was a brief nod as she rushed out of the office with the photograph still in her hand.
It took John Stallings a moment to catch his breath, then say to the woman, “You know Kelly?”
The woman took her glasses off and allowed them to hang down around her neck by a rhinestone-studded strap. “Yes, she worked here for a couple of months a few years ago.”
Stallings tried to keep his voice calm and even. “Have you been in touch with her since she left?”
“Why, has she done something wrong?”
“No. She’s missing and her family is very, very concerned.”
The woman looked at the photograph again and said, “I think the boy looks familiar too. I know she dated someone briefly while she worked here. It might have been him. I only met him one time.”
“His name is Zach Halston.”
“Yeah, that’s him. There was something about him that Kelly didn’t like. But I haven’t talked to either of them since she quit.”
Stallings pulled out his notebook ready to grill this woman until he had as much information as he could get on his missing daughter and Zach Halston.
TWENTY-SIX
Tony Mazzetti felt like a genius. After listening to his partner explain the conversation he’d had with the cop in Atlanta, Mazzetti came up with an idea that would solve two problems at once.
He looked at Sparky and said, “Why don’t you take a ride up to Atlanta and look over the evidence yourself just to make sure everything’s in order?”
“I don’t know, Tony. That’s a long ride up there and a long ride back. I wonder if talking to the medical examiner might not be more efficient.”
“No, no, we’re cops and we talk to other cops. Take a look at what they have and maybe we can conclude that it really was an accident and we’re chasing shadows here.”
“The victim isn’t even from Jacksonville.”
“Right now he’s just an unlucky kid from Gainesville. But if we let people build this into a huge conspiracy they would consider him part of some kind of crazy cult or victim of a serial killer. He died in a fire that may or may not be suspicious. You look and see if there are any ties to Jacksonville or something that makes you think there’s more to it.”
Sparky Taylor nodded his head slowly, chewing his lip as he thought. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to get the sergeant’s approval and spend the night up there. If this turns out to be more than bad luck it’s something we have to do anyway.”
Mazzetti patted him on the shoulder and said, “That’s the way to look at it, Sparky.”
Lynn was down in the parking lot of the Thomas Brothers supply company inspecting the grille of the Suburban she’d borrowed and used to run down Alan Cole. It had obviously been damaged and the grille repaired, and the entire truck had been cleaned thoroughly. When she had checked before she returned it, she’d only noticed a scrap of clothing, which she had pulled off the grille. Now she was concerned that Dale wasn’t quite the blowhard or moron he pretended to be.
A tall man with sandy brown hair was washing one of the main delivery trucks when he noticed her and set down his hose. He stood out because he was the only non-Hispanic maintenance man and always seemed to be in a foul mood. Lynn didn’t know his name even though she’d seen him around the facility over the past three months.