The Perfect Death

THIRTY

Buddy parked his van more than three blocks from Lexie’s rat-hole apartment just west of I-95 in an odd neighborhood of apartment buildings and industrial warehouses. He knew the whole city pretty well and there was an antique hardware store he occasionally used for brackets and frames on the street. If for some reason someone asked why his van was parked in the area he could legitimately say he was going by the hardware store. The only thing that bothered him was walking three blocks in the heat of Jacksonville.

Lexie was an excellent candidate for eternity. Since their lunch, he’d been on fire with the idea of placing her last breath in the jar he’d finished the night before. He’d made this one especially for Lexie and her smooth, white skin. The glass he had blown had a light, creamy texture and was unlike anything he’d ever placed in his work of art. It fit Lexie perfectly. The jar was wrapped in tissue paper inside a Publix grocery store plastic bag along with a bouquet of flowers. He knew she’d immediately assume the decorative jar was some kind of vase for the flowers. And that’s what he wanted her to think. He wanted her to stay calm right up until the very end. He remembered hearing a farmer say at career day in sixth grade that he never let his pigs get frightened before they were slaughtered because it ruined the meat. Buddy had had all kinds of questions he wanted to ask before the teacher rushed the bewildered farmer out of the room. All the man had done was tell the truth. He had been honest enough to say that if the pigs didn’t know they were about to be shot in the back of the head it was a good thing. Buddy definitely saw the logic in that.

He turned the corner and instinctively looked in every direction. It was the middle of a workday and there was no one wandering the streets. Lexie had the day off from the animal hospital and didn’t have to work at Sal’s Smoothie Shack tonight. He had no pressing jobs to complete and felt like the stars had aligned to provide him with this chance to complete another section his work of art. He loved that Lexie cared so much about animals. Along with her angelic face, it was the quality he’d latched onto. He wouldn’t tell her anything about his experiments with his mother’s cats.

John Stallings sat on the couch of his former residence with his arm around his wife’s shoulder. Her sobbing had decreased to a sniffle. She turned to face Stallings, cleared her throat, and said, “I’m sorry I lost it. I just miss her so much. When your dad said he’d seen her, he got me thinking about so many things.”

Stallings didn’t say anything as he gave her a squeeze with his arm.

“And this week is the anniversary of her disappearance.”

He said, “I know.”

“It must be hard on you too. I never seem to remember that until it’s too late.”

“It’s never too late.”

Maria didn’t answer his comment as she stood, crossed the room, and snatched a tissue from a decorative wicker dispenser. She tried to remain ladylike wiping her tears, but finally gave up and blew her nose like a lumberjack.

Fifteen minutes later he found himself at the kitchen table eating a ham sandwich and chatting quietly with Maria. It was the first time in months he’d done anything like this. He missed the domestic life. The last few years he’d spent many lunch hours right at this table, doing the same thing he was doing now. It was his time in homicide that had screwed everything up. There were fewer lunch hours, then fewer dinner breaks. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to come home to three cheerful, screaming kids. He could remember holding an infant Charlie like a receiver with a football while Lauren and Jeanie vied for his attention. Jeanie, with her light hair and a smile that was infectious. Customers at restaurants would often comment about her brilliant and charming smile.

After several awkward silences, Stallings finally worked up the nerve to say to Maria, “I really wanted to talk to you about the woman I had coffee with last Friday.”

“John, I told you, you’re free to do as you wish. We don’t owe each other any explanations at all.”

“Does that mean we’re through?”

She took a moment to answer, making him feel like he was waiting to hear the results of a biopsy.

Finally Maria shook her head and said, “No, not necessarily. But I need some more time.”

Since he had her in a talkative position, he said, “What were you doing downtown anyway?”

“It’s personal.”

Somehow Stallings hadn’t realized that simple phrase could sting so much.

Lexie was thrilled to have someone in her miniscule apartment, interested in her and her life. She’d never admit to her parents how sad she got or how shallow most of the men she met were. Buddy seemed perfectly content to listen to her chatter on about animals or classes or working at the stupid frozen-yogurt shack. She never had the feeling he was just interested in her for her body. And that was such a nice change here in Jacksonville. Maybe it was like that in every big city, but she had really only lived in Jacksonville her whole life.

The bouquet of flowers he’d brought was as pretty as the first. He’d also brought her one of his homemade jars, which was too short to put the flowers in. She did like the milky-colored glass with bubbles rippling through it. She also liked how original it looked and felt. It had a thin, sticky film around it. Buddy told her it was from the glassblowing process. There was something decidedly uncommercial looking about the jar, and she was happy he wanted to share the artistic part of his life with her.

She set the glass jar on the windowsill between them, then leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips. Not a flirty or sexual move, but a gesture of how much she appreciated his present.

Buddy had already quizzed her about how much she loved animals. Now, out of the blue, he said, “Do you believe in God?”

“Sure. I was raised in a Baptist church and now I go to a nondenominational service a few blocks away. I don’t go every week, but I make it more than I miss it.”

“That’s nice. You don’t see that much with people anymore. Everyone wants to live for the day and gives no thought to eternity. If you think about it, we’ll spend a lot more time in eternity than we do shuffling around on Earth.”

“That’s a nice way to put it.”

“I was hoping you’d think that way.” He scooted the bamboo chair closer to her and coughed loudly in his hands.

“Are you okay?”

“One of the dangers blowing glass. Sometimes your lungs can be coated with film just like that jar. A small price to pay.”

Lexie liked the way he looked deep into her eyes as he gently stroked her cheek and then ran his fingers through her hair. She closed her eyes as he tilted her head back slightly and started to caress her throat.

Tony Mazzetti and Sparky Taylor stood on the opposite side of the procedure table watching the autopsy of the girl found buried in the playground at Pine Forest Park. Mazzetti went through his long list of tasks to accomplish on this case as he watched the assistant medical examiner go through her preliminary steps. He was a little annoyed at John Stallings taking off the afternoon for personal business. Mazzetti didn’t know what the personal business could be, but from his point of view there was nothing more important than an unsolved homicide.

Sparky made notes as he looked closely at the girl’s shirt and then her hands and wrists. He said, “One mark on her wrist here is from a crime scene tech’s trowel.”

Mazzetti said, “The goddamn rednecks we hire should be working for a landscape company like their DNA compels them to.”

Sparky shook his head. “The constant insults to Southerners in general and Floridians in particular are not helpful. It doesn’t make you, as a New Yorker, sound like you’re trying to fit in.”

“I’m just saying sometimes backwards rednecks down here annoy me.”

Sparky gave him a thoughtful look and said, “You know, Tony, the average New Yorker who moves here is less educated than the general population already here.”

“Then they’re getting a shitty education if they’re too stupid to dig out a body without destroying evidence.” He didn’t have time to waste arguing with a guy like this about a topic that meant nothing. But he found it hard to concentrate on the task at hand.

No matter how hard he tried, Tony Mazzetti couldn’t keep his eyes from the pretty assistant medical examiner. He liked the way her long curly, red hair was tied in a neat ponytail and tucked under a sanitary, Mylar cap. He normally didn’t go for redheads, but this girl’s features were pretty and her skin so creamy looking that he made an exception. He shuffled around for a better view of what she was looking at.

She caught his movements and explained that she was interested in where the clothes touched the victim’s body as well as all the marks. She said, “There was a chemical residue of some kind on the seat of her shorts. I’d like to see if it touched her skin and what effect it had.”

Mazzetti said, “We won’t know what the chemical is for a while. The lab has all that information now. We were able to identify her through fingerprints. Her name is Jessie Kalb and she taught preschool last summer so they were required to fingerprint her and run the prints through FDLE. She’s twenty years old and told her parents she wanted to travel the world before she got serious about school.”

The medical examiner looked up and let her blue eyes focus on Mazzetti. “See these bruises?” She pointed to the girl’s throat. “There is a faint pattern that shows a ligature strangulation. It was a decorative belt or strap. The other girl, Kathy Mizell, was killed the same way.” She straightened her lithe frame and stretched. “Based on the marks around her throat I’d say you boys have a real live serial killer.”

Mazzetti thought to himself. Tell me something I don’t know.