It was easier to be abstract away from the test subjects, whom he had allowed to stay conscious as long as they were quiet. The only thing that Detective Levine had said to him was, “These cuffs are cutting off my circulation. You need to loosen them.” It wasn’t a question or request, it was an order. He hadn’t been offended by it either. She was an expert in the use of handcuffs and she felt this set was too tight. He’d decided that after he dosed them and they were out cold, he’d loosen both sets of cuffs. It made sense. He didn’t want unnecessary pain and medical issues that might infringe on his findings.
Now, sitting in the family room, watching Casablanca with his mother, Dremmel shifted uncomfortably on the sofa with his mother’s wheelchair parked next to it.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart? You can tell me.” His mother put a small hand on his broad shoulder and started to knead the thick band of muscle. “C’mon, you used to share everything with me.”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“I can see in your eyes that something is bothering you.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know, something is stuck in my head.”
“What?”
“It’s some kind of memory or nightmare from my childhood.”
“Can you recall any details, dear?”
“It involves you and maybe a man.”
She smiled as she looked off.
Dremmel said, “It’s not a dream, is it?” It started to become clearer in his mind.
“What does the man look like?”
He hesitated. “A young black man?”
Now she was grinning. “Arthur. Such a sweet young man.”
“It’s true. You and him. In the…” He remembered it all and how it had ruined his life.
Forty-three
Tony Mazzetti had never experienced emotions like this. He was scared. Not the way he was scared of cockroaches or scared of the dentist; this feeling was on an entirely different level. Now, for the first time, he understood why families were so freaked out when someone was missing even if his experience told him they would turn up soon enough.
John Stallings had kept him calm when they were together, but now Stallings was out retracing her steps and Mazzetti was feeling the creep of panic rise in his throat with every phone call he made. He’d talked to Patty’s mother and tried not to alarm her; he told her he was a coworker of Patty’s. He doubted she’d been told of any real relationship between her daughter and him, but he sure as shit intended to start one up once he found her.
He focused on using his considerable experience and training to figure out who might know where Patty was. Whom she might have talked to. What she might have done. Somehow this was easier when he didn’t know the missing person and had no personal stake.
Lieutenant Hester was calling up some help right now to see if more people looking for her would make a difference as the command staff weighed the value of going to the media.
His phone’s ring made him jump as he racked his brain for ideas.
“Mazzetti, here.”
“Tony, it’s Hoagie.”
“Whaddya got?”
“We found her car at a Walmart a couple of blocks from her house.”
“Let’s get crime scene over there right now to see what we can find.”
“They’re here. Once they learned it had to do with a missing cop they got off their asses and were here at the same time as me.”
“Anything?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear about blood or anything else that would indicate she was hurt.
“Nothing.”
He relaxed, and, at the same time, was disappointed they didn’t have a lead to find her.
Christina Hogrebe said, “Tony, I mean nothing at all. Someone wiped down the steering wheel and driver’s door. There are no prints of value. We’re checking the store video now, but so far it doesn’t look as if she came inside.”
“Any outside cameras?”
“Not in the area where her Jeep was left.”
“Thanks, Hoagie. Keep on it.”
“Tony, you okay? You sound funny.”
“Just worried. We gotta find her.”
“We’ll break something open soon.”
He hung up without another word, hoping the young homicide detective was right.
William Dremmel’s head spun as the impact of what his mother had told him sunk in. He had seen her and the yardman’s son, Arthur, having sex. Many times. He would hide in the wide closet and watch them through the slats in the door. Arthur’s rock-hard, trim body and the way his mother would so carefully take him in her own small hands or how he would fondle her round breasts with pink nipples.
She was very pretty twenty-five years ago. She wore small, tight dresses and flirted with the neighbors. She even had her photo in the Times-Union once when they were all on Neptune Beach and she was in a bikini. The caption identified her as “Local beauty enjoying the sun at Neptune Beach.” She had the clipping somewhere in the house.
One Saturday in October, Dremmel remembered it was in the fall because he’d been teased by some kids for the Halloween costume he was previewing to everyone. It was a Wolf Man mask with hairy gloves he was supposed to wear with a long-sleeved shirt. Doug Cifers, from down the street, had called him a “were-dork” and made Dremmel cry as he ran back to his house, breathless and ready to tell his mom. He had vaguely noticed the old pickup truck with a hand-scrawled sign that said, “Whitley Yard Service,” parked down the block and Mr. Whitley pruning some trees as the sun started to set.
He rushed in the house, then toward his parent’s bedroom. The door was open just a crack and he froze, then peered around the door. His mother was on her knees, naked, and Arthur was standing in front of her.
He was fascinated. Arthur looked so happy as his mother’s head bobbed up and down.
Then he heard a noise, turned, and his heart almost stopped. Standing behind him also watching the show was his father.
John Stallings impatiently flicked open his phone, not bothering to even glance at the number. “Stallings,” he barked, keeping his pace on the sidewalk toward the front door to a family-run pharmacy.
“John, it’s Helen.”
He paused before asking what was wrong.
She added, “You know, your sister.”
“Funny, what’s up? I’m right in the middle of something.”
“So am I, and it’s called your fucked-up life.”
“What?”
“Maria is still sort of catatonic, and I think you need to be here.”
He sighed and stopped walking as he tried to think what to say and what to do.
“John, did you hear me? Your wife needs you here at home.”
“Are the kids okay?”
“Yeah, I drove them over to Mom’s under the guise that she needed help around the house for which they’d be paid a high hourly rate. But I could tell Lauren didn’t buy it.”
“Yeah, she’s smart. Nothing gets by her.”
“So let her see her father help her mother.”
Stallings shifted his weight from foot to foot, taking up the empty sidewalk with a nervous lateral shuffle. His mind raced through the responsibilities he had and the pressure of keeping it all together. He thought of Maria and how far she’d come. Then he imagined Patty in trouble, counting on him for a rescue. He needed a minute and took a deep breath, aware of the silence on the other end of the phone.
He almost told Helen he’d be right there, but he looked up at the pharmacy sign and thought of Patty. “Helen, I can’t make it right now. Something’s come up. We got a missing cop.”
“John, this is your life here. There’s always gonna be someone missing. You can’t be the only one looking.”