He held the glass door for Patty as they entered the long, wide science building.
Patty looked down and said, “Looks like they got a deal on part of a University of Florida rug.”
Mazzetti noted the orange rug and nodded. All it would take was an equal length of blue carpet and it would look like a hall in Gainesville. They checked two offices, but there was no one around. The classes looked about half full and the building seemed to have regular traffic. Seeing the young girls in their tight blouses and capris made him think about his own age. When did college students start to look so young? He felt out of place and uneasy here.
Then a blond man in his early thirties nodded and smiled as he walked past and turned down a narrow corridor. Patty said, “I’ll see if there’s an office this way.” She turned and walked the opposite direction.
Mazzetti nodded, then caught up to the blond man and said, “Excuse me.”
The man turned. He was about five seven and built with thick shoulders and biceps that taxed his button-down shirt. “May I help you?”
“Are you a teacher in this department?”
“I am.”
“My name is Tony Mazzetti,” he said as he reached back and pulled his badge and ID from his rear pocket. He’d done it so many times he had it timed to coincide with his saying, “From the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office.”
The man stared at them and said, “What’s this about?”
Mazzetti thought his tone was a little odd and paused before saying, “I couldn’t find anyone in the office down the hall.”
The man nodded and said, “We’re a little shorthanded and everyone has a class right now. Is there something I could help you with?”
“Not really anything specific. We identified a student as the victim in a homicide.”
“Oh dear Lord.”
“Tawny Wallace. Did you happen to know her?”
He thought about it, then slowly shook his head. “No, not off the top of my head. I only teach part time. This semester I have two classes, so I don’t see everyone on a regular basis.”
“Who would?”
“Professor Sporano is the head of the department. He practically lives here.”
Mazzetti nodded as he wrote down the name. He liked seeing an Italian in charge. It seemed like that was the only way to keep things running smoothly down here in the South. Then he asked, “What do you teach?”
“I mostly run labs for biology and teach classes on natural and earth sciences.”
Before he could ask anything relevant to the case, a bell rang and the classes let out. Crowds of young people and a surprising number of older ones flowed into the main hallway.
The man said, “Sorry, I have to go now.”
Mazzetti said, “I understand.” Then he looked at the man. “What happened to your eye?”
“Basketball.”
“Rough game.” It was a black eye turning to yellow.
“Especially here. The students don’t cut me any slack.” He smiled and turned toward his office.
Mazzetti called out. “I just need your name for my notes.”
“Dremmel. William Dremmel.”
Eighteen
John Stallings sat at his barren desk staring at his notes. He’d talked to four pharmaceutical drug pushers since noon. Three were converted crack dealers, and one, a little creep named Peep Morans, had dealt Vicodin to Maria when she had fallen off the wagon. None of them had any great leads but knew to keep their eyes open. Peep Morans had a series of hiding spots he used to spy on women, and Stallings had figured out where three of them were. When the pervert ran from him earlier in the day he didn’t bother to chase him. Instead he drove to the hiding spot in the direction the dealer had run. The skeevy dealer had provided a few more names and areas where dealers pushed prescription drugs. That’s how big cases tended to flow. One lead pointed a detective to three more until finally you had a break in the case. It could be tedious, but it was necessary, and in a case like this, where women were being killed, no one wanted to overlook a lead no matter how insignificant. Morans had mentioned a dealer named “Ernie” who hung out with the runaway population a lot and might have some info for Stallings. Ernie was now high on his list of priorities.
The squad bay was empty, as other detectives had their own leads and assignments. He heard someone come in through the back door and a moment later saw Patty Levine giggling at something Tony Mazzetti said. Patty giggling was not a sound Stallings was used to, and the fact that she found something that ass said funny was downright unnerving.
Both the detectives stopped midstride, like a cheating couple caught in public, when they noticed Stallings.
Mazzetti put on a politician’s smile. “Stall, turn up anything?”
He just shook his head.
Patty looked from Mazzetti to Stallings and said, “I have to get my stuff together for tomorrow.”
“Whaddya got tomorrow?” asked Stallings.
“Talking to a geologist at UF about the decorative sand found on the bodies.”
Mazzetti said, “You look beat, Stall. You should go home and get some rest. We’ll keep plugging away here.”
Suddenly, as if by Mazzetti’s suggestion, he did feel the weight of exhaustion wash over him. He’d been on a wide swing of emotions since yesterday morning, and maybe a little time with Charlie would put things in perspective. He just nodded and closed up his notepad, then walked right out of the Land That Time Forgot without a good-bye to anyone.
Fifteen minutes later he was still sitting in his car trying to get himself in the right frame of mind to go home. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to see them; he didn’t want them to see him wound up in his job. Disconnected. That’s how his father was even when he was sober. Drunk, he was too connected. Regardless, Stallings had made a commitment not to show up at the house when his mind was still on work. Too many cops did that and ended up with fucked-up families and kids who spent more time in rehab than they did in school.
So he sat, with the engine idling, trying to figure out what had upset him so much. Initially he had thought it was his meeting with Peep Morans and the memories the parasite brought up for Stallings. The day he’d found Maria, passed out on the bathroom floor, and her admission on the way to the hospital of her serious habit. She mentioned a man named Peep from Union Street, and that night Stallings did a little off-the-books law enforcement. It wouldn’t be the first time he failed to report crimes related to his wife. She needed protecting, and he was prepared to do it. That night, when he had the pusher from downtown cornered, he came as close as he ever had to killing someone out of anger. And it was because he had let his emotions and frustration carry him away. He hoped he knew a little more about himself now.
As he sat in the car he saw his friend Rick Ellis lumbering across the lot in his uniform. His gut was swaying as he walked, but he was still capable of inspiring respect just by his sheer size.
Stalling lowered the window and waved to the big sergeant, who turned his bulk like a giant cruise ship, easing toward Stallings’s car.
“Hey, Stall, you guys holding up all right?”
“It’s tiring. Big cases, big problems.”
“That’s why I like road patrol. No cases, no problems. And mine don’t lead the news. The goddamn TV reporters are all over this one. Times like this I bet you wish you were just a flunky firefighter.”
Stallings smiled and nodded. “The thought has crossed my mind now and then.”
Ellis said, “What are you guys working on specifically?”