Then there was the accusation that Stallings had hidden Jeanie’s disappearance. That he had concealed vital information. He had, and he knew it. His actions didn’t affect the search for her and protected what little he had left at the time.
His mind buzzed with the decisions he’d made on that lonely Friday night three years ago. Images of Charlie, too young to understand what was really going on, and Lauren, scared and looking for someone to cling to, and Maria. By that time Maria had already started to check out. And Jeanie’s disappearance was a blow that knocked her into an abyss.
Stallings continued to click through galleries of missing kids, recognizing many from fliers or leads he had run over the years. He felt connected to all of them. Then he came to a screen and found his eyes frozen on a photo of a girl from Cleveland who’d been gone less than a year. Her dark hair was long and she wore cute rimless glasses. It was a yearbook shot, he could tell, provided by some family member while their world was crumbling.
The bright smile on her face gave no indication of fear or loneliness or any of the other things that might push a kid to listen to a stranger about the wonders of a far-off city. It was hard to tell in the photo, but she looked small. The description listed her height as 61 inches. Five foot one. Then it all clicked.
This was the victim they had just found in the park.
Twenty
Stallings didn’t know why they were meeting in the lieutenant’s office. He felt that the information he’d gotten from the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children needed to get out to the whole task force. Instead, he, Mazzetti, Lieutenant Hester, and the temporary homicide sergeant were sitting around Rita Hester’s elegant dark oak conference table.
The printout of the newest victim from the National Center lay in the middle of the table. Her name was Trina Ester. She’d run away from home in Ohio ten months earlier and had made no contact with her family. She’d been a good student, involved in school, then, around the midway point of her junior year, she showed signs of drug use: lethargy, disconnection with her family, mood swings, slipping grades. Her mother’s efforts to help her were met with defiance, and she made a choice to run for greener pastures. Stallings sadly knew that there was no such thing.
Mazzetti shook his head, “Can you believe this guy’s fucking luck?”
The lieutenant scowled at him, then turned back to Stallings. “You did a great job identifying her, Stall. The analysts were going to start scouring the country today. We had them pretty bogged down with local leads from the community college yesterday. The media doesn’t have the first clue about our resources and passes on that ignorance to the general public. They think we can snap our fingers for DNA or have enough people to cover every lead in a few minutes.” She shook her head. “I wish we were allowed to punch those assholes at Channel Eleven.”
Stallings just nodded, but sensed something else was going on in the room. They weren’t just here because of his ID of the victim.
The lieutenant sighed and said, “Stall, you got any idea how the media knew we were at the community college?”
He shook his head and said, “My guess is someone out there called it in.”
“That would be my guess too except that you were mentioned as the lead on this case. You by name.” Her voice took a slight rise in volume at the end.
“What are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything. I’m asking. Detective Stallings, did you have any contact with the media in reference to this case?”
“No.” He knew not to elaborate. Just as he knew Rita Hester’s code for him to keep his mouth shut was to start a sentence with his title. On the street she used to say, “Officer Stallings, did we take a two-hour lunch?” in front of a sergeant and he knew not to fess up. There were times to admit things and times to keep your mouth shut. Right now he had nothing to admit to but knew this inquiry was serious.
Mazzetti slapped the table. “Bullshit. This has your name written all over it.”
Stallings ignored the excited detective and turned toward the lieutenant. “Is that all you needed me for?”
“You got any new leads?”
“I’m looking for a prescription drug dealer named Ernie.”
“You’ll keep Detective Mazzetti fully informed?”
“I have so far, haven’t I, Tony?” He contained a smile.
“I guess.”
The lieutenant said, “Can we support you in any way?” She gave him a slight smile to tell him she was enjoying torturing Tony Mazzetti a little.
“Yes, ma’am. Can I take Patty with me?”
Mazzetti sprang to his feet. “No, you fucking can’t.” His voice had more of an edge than usual.
The lieutenant said, “What Mazzetti means is that she’s on another assignment. She’s on her way to Gainesville to discuss some forensic aspects of the case.”
Stallings nodded, not asking for another partner. If he couldn’t have Patty he preferred to be left alone.
Patty Levine had driven her county-issued Ford Freestyle down 301 from I-10 to Gainesville earlier in the morning, saving a few extra minutes to have coffee with her gymnastics coach from her days on the team ten years ago. Unlike academic advisers in other areas, gymnastics coaches were never too disappointed you didn’t find a job in the field. Any occupation where you always peak before your twentieth birthday is a dead end anyway. Coaches are usually happy to see their former athletes healthy and happy and in this case she would’ve liked Patty to be married and having children by now, but she hid the disappointment about as well as Patty’s mother. It showed, but didn’t hurt their relationship.
Patty was a success in a field where it could be hard for a woman to excel. That success gave her a satisfaction most people missed in life. She knew what her mom and others expected, but she’d start a family when she was ready. Right now she liked how she could focus on an investigation and make a name for herself at the S.O. When the time was right she’d focus on her personal life, and she knew she’d be just as good of a mother as she was a cop.
For a change Patty didn’t openly flinch at the line of questions about her love life. She’d been on a date last night for the first time in months. She ate real food at a real restaurant. She’d even kissed a man she found attractive. There was some regret at ending the evening right there and sending the puppy dog-faced Tony Mazzetti home after a five-minute-long good-night kiss. He obviously wanted to stay but had been a gentleman and took a gracious exit. Patty noted that he hadn’t called her yet today. His tough luck.
The chat with her former coach had brought up enough unpleasant memories of competitions that she took a Xanax with her second cup of coffee. The way things were going at work and at night, she didn’t even think about weaning herself from the pills just now. She realized it took more and more Ambien to knock her out at night, and that concerned her, but she felt as if she had a handle on everything else.
After wandering around the campus she had known so well, she found Williamson Hall across Stadium Road from Florida Field, known as the “Swamp” to every college football fan in the country. She’d spent many Saturday nights in the Swamp, her mood tied to the football team, like every other student caught up in the fall exercise in futility. No matter how much she cheered, win or lose, she discovered the Gators football record had very little impact on her life.
After asking several receptionists and students, Patty found the office of Jonas Fuller, one of the foremost experts on particles and commercial geological issues. Or as the detectives back at the office called him, “The sand guy.” Now she sat across from him with the two vials containing a few specks of sand each that had been sent down here as soon as they were collected from the last victim Monday.