The Perfect Death

TWENTY-NINE

John Stallings intended to attack the day. He’d appreciated the rare Sunday afternoon with his family. His father’s odd comment about Jeanie haunted him. That’s why he was glad he was taking the old man to the doctor this afternoon.

This morning was about work. It was about finding the asshole who’d killed the girl found in the shallow grave at Pine Forest Park. He was learning all he could about what might happen to a runaway in Jacksonville who just disappeared one day. He couldn’t stop thinking about the girl found buried in the park. He wanted the man responsible. It burned in him like the start of an ulcer. Which Stallings realized really could be the source of the feeling.

Tony Mazzetti was welcome to make a case, to talk to the media, and to advance his career, but Stallings was going to catch the killer. He didn’t care who took the credit. He just wanted this creep.

He couldn’t help but consider Jeanie when he thought about Leah Tischler. Stop at the wrong bus stop, at the wrong time, and God only knew what could happen. A life could be gone like a wisp of smoke. He knew from experience that some of the killers who roamed the streets felt about as much from taking a life as they did from blowing out a candle. He hated trying to think like them, but sometimes it was the only way to catch them. That’s all Stallings wanted to do: stop assholes like the one who had killed the girl found at the park and the nursing student at the bus stop.

He wanted to punish the killer not just for the girl in the park or Kathy Mizell, but for all the Jeanies in the world too.

Tony Mazzetti was waiting at the parole and probation office in downtown Jacksonville when the portly parole officer strolled in with a bag of doughnuts in one hand and a giant container of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee in the other.

Mazzetti sprang from the uncomfortable plastic chair he’d been sitting in for thirty minutes while he waited. “Tom Laider?”

“Who’s askin’?”

Mazzetti had his ID out and open in a flash. “JSO. I need to talk to you right now.”

Mazzetti nodded to Sparky Taylor, who calmly closed his Popular Mechanics magazine and followed.

The heavyset parole officer led them down a series of narrow hallways. One was so tight the fat man’s sides brushed booth walls. Mazzetti worried that Sparky might be having the same problem behind him so he was careful not to turn around.

Once they were sitting in the miniscule, windowless office with drab, blank walls and the parole officer had wedged himself behind the desk, he said, “What can I do for JSO this morning?

“We need to talk to Daniel Byrd.”

“So do I.”

“What’s that mean?”

The fat man sighed and rubbed his face like it was 3:30 in the afternoon instead of nine o’clock in the morning. “It means I haven’t seen Mr. Byrd in two months. He’s never at the construction site where he tells me he’ll be. He switches apartments like most people switch underwear and misses every appointment I’ve ever set for him in this office.”

Mazzetti stared at the ineffective parole officer. “Why don’t you violate him? Send his ass back to prison.”

The parole officer shook his head. “Do you have any idea how much paperwork that’d be? Besides, you’ve seen the state budget. We can’t afford to house inmates anymore. The only way anyone gets violated is if they commit a new, violent felony.”

“What if I told you he was a suspect in a murder?”

“I’d say call me after you convict him.” The fat officer munched happily on an iced chocolate doughnut, then washed it down with a huge swallow of coffee. “Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’m very busy.”

“Busy! What do you have to do to keep busy? You’re not seeing anyone, not violating anyone, you don’t even get in the goddamn office until after nine o’clock. How can you be busy?”

The parole officer didn’t bother to acknowledge Mazzetti’s outrage.

Mazzetti looked at the parole officer, at his partner, and finally at the folder containing Daniel Byrd’s photograph and criminal history. He considered the few options he had to track the construction worker down. As much as he hated to admit it, this sounded like a job that Stallings could handle better than anyone else.

Lexie Hanover liked her independence. She worked evenings at Sal’s Smoothie Shack to earn extra money, but she really enjoyed working at a vet’s office during the day. The poor veterinarian was so busy in his personal life and made so little money at his beachside office that he relinquished much of the regular duties to Lexie. That’s why she knew that one day she’d make a great veterinarian herself. She had two more courses at a community college before she could transfer to the University of Florida and start the real competition for the limited number of spots in their veterinary medicine program. She knew she could do it.

Lexie rushed around her small apartment because she liked to make a good impression on people when they stepped inside. She recognized the building wasn’t new and didn’t look historical or anything like that. Not in an industrial section west of the interstate. Her apartment was tiny and therefore easy to keep clean, and her two cats didn’t leave much of a mess.

She’d been thinking about the guy she’d met Friday night. He had been very interested in her life, asking her all about her hobbies and family. Eventually he had gotten her talking about her hygiene, drinking habits, and the fact that she had never smoked a cigarette in her whole life. He had really liked that and had complimented her about her smile instead of her body the way most guys did. He had also been interested in her dreams and hopes and had told her that being a veterinarian was something noble to aspire to. He’d said he really admired people in the medical field and that his most recent girlfriend had worked at a dentist’s office. Lexie had a feeling that he was truly interested in her and she liked the way he told her she had the face of an angel. He seemed sweet and deeper than the average jerk who rolled out of Jacksonville Landing half drunk and completely immature. He had already talked philosophy with her and told her how he often contemplated eternity. Most guys talk about themselves. She definitely liked this change.

Stallings had already told Mazzetti and Sergeant Zuni he was splitting his day. He’d run down several leads in the morning and wasn’t looking forward to the afternoon. He was taking his father to the doctor for a real evaluation of his memory issues. He intended to come back and work in the early evening before he navigated to his little house and collapsed on the lumpy bed.

Right now he had a few minutes to take a risk and swing by his old house. He wanted to see Maria; something inside him said he needed to hear her voice. Even if all the voice did was tell him to get lost and leave her alone.

As he knocked on the front door he realized his attitude was dangerously close to a stalker’s. His stomach tightened and he considered chanting his mantra from work, Is today the day that changes my life? Standing at the door he felt somewhat like he did before executing a search warrant, nervous and apprehensive. The TV cops always looked cool, but they had never been shot at with live ammo.

The door opened a few inches and Maria’s beautiful face appeared. After a moment’s hesitation, she opened the door wide and said in a pleasant voice, “This is a surprise. Is everything all right?”

“I needed to talk to you for a few minutes.” He didn’t think it was a good idea to tell her he had wanted to hear her voice.

“I told you that we don’t need to explain ourselves to each other. You can have coffee with whoever you want to.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” Although now that she mentioned it, he still wanted to clear that up. “I wanted to talk about what my dad said yesterday about seeing Jeanie.”

Maria’s bottom left lip quivered, and she burst into tears.