He was frozen with indecision when Stacey said, “I think we need to get moving now.” There was a hint of a slur in her words, but they were forceful enough for him to realize time was up. Then an idea popped in his head fully formed and ready: blunt trauma. A blow to the head might do the trick if not delay his research for several days while she recovered. He didn’t like the idea of overt violence on this precious girl, but he saw no alternative.
His eyes scanned the room frantically, finally settling on a lamp with a brass base resting on the end table on his side of the couch. Too hard, with sharp angles that might cut her scalp deeply. He didn’t want another bloody scene that took all day to clean up.
Then he considered the leather TV remote holder that was sitting atop the coffee table in front of him. Too soft. Although it had some heft, he doubted the cardboard under the riveted leather would be sturdy enough to deliver a blow that would lay her out.
Then he noticed the thick plastic-covered coil he used to work out his forearms. It was a simple matter of leaning to the side, almost like he was going to stand up, and grasping it. When Stacey stood and turned toward the door he could swing it and catch her in the lower back of the head. It would certainly stun her if not knock her out completely.
He said, “Yeah, we probably should get going.” Then he leaned across the couch and wrapped his fingers around the coil leaning next to the couch against the wall.
Next to him, Stacey rose to her feet, but he felt a shaky quality to her movement and noticed her waver slightly when she was finally upright.
He was standing with the coil in his hand when he noticed Stacey flail her arms in the air like she was surfing. She let loose with a “Wheeee!” as she turned to him and smiled with a whimsical quality that let him drop the coil, knowing one of the drugs had just hit pay dirt in her brain.
A smile crept across his face at the serene expression Stacey held as she barely maintained her balance. The familiar and now vital thrill shot through his body as he realized his plans had worked and he was about to dramatically advance his research.
More important, he would be able to spend a lot of time with this beautiful young woman.
Thirty
John Stallings missed a presence like Luis Martinez in the Detective Bureau. He was currently on a paid leave of absence because he fired his weapon and killed someone in the line of duty. There was no stigma to this kind of leave. It was standard and required to avoid the tough-guy police mentality. Once you worked with someone you didn’t realize all their qualities until they weren’t around. Aside from being a good cop, Martinez could translate for detectives trying to communicate to people who spoke Spanish, he never complained, and he had a sense of humor that lifted the entire Bureau. Stallings hoped he wouldn’t be too affected by the shooting. But you could never tell.
Shootings bothered everyone, whether they admitted it or not. That was one of the reasons Stallings had stopped watching most TV police shows years ago. No TV cops ever seemed to feel remorse for shooting. In real life that was the definition of a sociopath.
Patty Levine eased up to his desk. She looked tired, but Stallings knew she’d never admit to a problem. That wasn’t like her. This had been her first shooting, and it always took its toll on cops who shot or cops who witnessed the shooting.
Stallings said, “You okay?”
She shrugged.
He smiled and said, “It’ll get worse around here. If we don’t nab this guy in a week, we’ll all have to readjust our lives.”
“I had no idea it could be like this.”
Before he could say anything to reassure her, like senior detectives were supposed to, an analyst rushed past them to Mazzetti and the L.T. in the conference room. They all knew what that meant.
An hour later, six detectives crammed in the conference room viewing the video from a webcam set up at a park near Neptune Beach. The hazy, low-quality footage was designed to show surfers the wave height. The camera was secured on a utility pole in the parking lot and caught just one lane of parking. The twelve-second clip they watched over and over showed a small woman climb into a vehicle, probably a van, next to a white Ford Escort in the lot.
Stallings said, “How’d we get onto this video?”
Mazzetti said, “The manager of a sports bar”-he flipped over a sheet of paper and read out-“the Fountain of Youth, called in a missing waitress.”
“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.