Mazzetti didn’t look at him.
The lieutenant said, “You wanna tell us again how you haven’t been talking to the media about the case?”
“I can, but nothing’s changed.”
Now Mazzetti looked up. “Bullshit, Stall. I actually believed you. I was starting to think you might be worth a shit as a cop and then you do this.”
“Tony, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Ronald Bell slapped a stack of paper onto the table. “Your county cell phone records.”
Stallings picked up the first page and studied it, seeing his phone number and the Sheriff’s Office name and address at the top. “Do I have to guess, or will you tell me what to look for?”
Bell leaned in, feigning the outrage that most I.A. investigators can turn on or off in a heartbeat. “You slipped up, smart guy. You made a call to a Channel Eleven extension from your cell phone.” He pulled a page from the bottom of the stack and slid it across the table to Stallings.
Stallings picked it up and looked at the circled call and thought about it for a minute. “That’s the day Luis Martinez shot the pot grower with the underaged girl.”
“Exactly, and Channel Eleven was there before anyone else, even the paramedics.” Bell plopped back in his seat like an old-time defense attorney who had just made some major point.
Stallings shook his head. “I never called any TV station.”
Bell’s face was a deeper red than usual. He said, “Is it an error? Just chance that the number for Channel Eleven appeared on your bill?”
Mazzetti shook his head and said, “You’re pathetic.” Then he stood up and stomped out of the room.
Stallings was at a complete loss for words. Seeing Ronald Bell gloating across the table didn’t help matters. Then the lieutenant stood up so she could look down at him and said the one thing he didn’t want to hear.
“I’m sorry, Stall, but I’m taking you off the case. You’re going back to the runaway roundup unless the sheriff wants to take more serious action.”
Stallings swallowed hard, trying to lose the lump in his throat. This was the worst thing they could do to him right now. Didn’t they realize it would crush him? When he looked across at the smug smile on Ronald Bell’s face he realized that the I.A. investigator knew exactly what this would do to him.
Thirty-eight
John Stallings sat in his Impala looking at his sister Helen’s car next to his in the driveway. He’d spent an hour just driving around Jacksonville trying to make sense of what had happened. He was trying not to hate Ronald Bell for jumping to conclusions because if Stallings had seen the same evidence he would’ve jumped to the same fucking conclusion. But he knew he hadn’t called any TV stations. He had no reason to. The headache that had started to blossom hours ago pounded in his skull.
He wasn’t certain why he’d sat in his car for twenty minutes. Everything had piled on him at once: work, Maria, and his feelings of failure made the walk from his car to the front door seem like the Green Mile.
His phone rang and he dug in his pocket. It was Patty Levine again, and like the last few calls, he let it go directly to voice mail. He didn’t want to talk about the Sheriff’s Office or what a prick Ronald Bell was. He didn’t know exactly what he wanted to do right now, so he took in a deep breath and stepped out of his car, marched to his front door, and entered, feeling almost as much apprehension as if he was on search warrant.
Helen sat on the living room couch with a tearful Maria. His sister was patting her back and listening. She looked up and gave him a mild nod, then flicked her head to get him moving into another room.
Even with all the classes and counseling sessions he’d attended, it was still hard to imagine this sort of emotion without a specific cause. He knew a lot of it stemmed from Jeanie but why now, after more than three years? He didn’t try to figure it out anymore. His job was to keep the kids safe and support Maria any way he could.
In a weird way it made his problems at work seem less severe, until he thought about the dead girls and the fact that he wouldn’t be helping stop the Bag Man.
Patty called again. Another voice mail.
He walked into the family room to see Charlie and Lauren watching TV silently.
“What’s up, guys?”
They both mumbled “Nothing.”
Was this how he wanted to live? To let his family fade into immobility?
“Hey, I’m home a little early. Let’s go do something.”
Charlie brightened. “Like what?”
“Don’t know, sport. Dinner out.”
“Mom too?”
“We might need to give her some space.”
His phone rang with a number he didn’t recognize. He’d given the phone number out to so many people in the past weeks that it could be anyone. He still didn’t want to talk. He didn’t answer, then noticed a minute later whoever it was left no message.
He dismissed it. Tonight was about the kids.
Tony Mazzetti had a mountain of reports from the lab, other detectives, and even streamed video from city surveillance cameras. Someone on command staff had the bright idea that if the beach cam caught Stacey Hines, another camera might hold a clue. What they didn’t reason out was the volume and randomness of the tape. Sure, he’d have a secretary or intern take a cursory look at the video, so he didn’t have to tell some captain or major they were a dumb-ass, but the idea was as useful as standing on the corner and looking for a girl being abducted.
The reports from the other detectives were mostly about clearing up leads that had come in and then not been relevant to the case. Citizens calling in about weird neighbors, stolen suitcases that could be big enough for a body, and sightings of Stacey Hines everywhere from downtown Jacksonville to upstate Georgia. It never ended and was part of any big case with media coverage.
The lab reports mainly confirmed what the medical examiner had said. The girls’ bodies all contained large amounts of prescription drugs, including Ambien, Oxycontin, heavy sedatives, and assorted other narcotics. He kept wondering why the killer wanted the victims so doped up. What did he do to them? There was no sexual assault. No marks other than to show that they had been restrained. It made no sense in this world, but Mazzetti knew the world of a serial killer was vastly different and skewed. It was the difference between Gone with the Wind and a Bugs Bunny cartoon. What was rational in one world held no power in the other. He had to find the link between the two worlds and figure out what the killer was doing and why, in his own mind, it was important enough for him to kill people.
One report from the crime scene unit was on the orange thread found near Trina Ester’s body. He remembered the long, heavy piece of string. They had determined it was a carpet thread. Someone in the unit had even gone above and beyond the call of duty and talked to a couple of carpet dealers. He appreciated that they didn’t waste a detective’s time on a task like that.
One of the carpet dealers said it was an industrial carpet thread probably sold in large quantity to an institution like a hospital or school.
Mazzetti filed it away in his computer brain as something that might come up later, but he had more important matters on his plate right now. He’d lost one of the best detectives, or at least luckiest, when John Stallings was sent home. He didn’t miss the glory hound, but had to admit the guy got things done.
The other matter occupying his mind was of a more personal nature. When he looked up from his work and saw Patty Levine across the room he decided to handle that right now.
Stacey Hines woke up in the dark, silent room where she’d been held for a while. She didn’t know how long, because it was hard to tell time in this place, and she had no idea how long she slept each time he gave her a dose of drugs. This was the first time she’d ever woken up quickly and without the overhead light battering her eyes. The dark was almost as terrifying as seeing William standing at the door with a tray of food and that spooky smile on his face.