The Perfect Death

FIVE

He sat outside a McDonald’s not far from his warehouse with the living quarters above. He had a dream lease. The two-bedroom apartment covered half of the second floor above his shop and was nicer than half the condos in the city. He watched the two little girls in the covered ball pit. Blond heads bobbing up and down out of sight. The clouds and light rain forced him to stay under the overhang, but at least he had time to enjoy his Big Mac, fries, and Coca-Cola. One of the drywall workers he saw on jobs left the McDonald’s and waved to him.

The burly young man said, “Hey, Buddy.”

He lifted his half-eaten Big Mac as a greeting and nodded. As the only employee of his business he had no need to make close friends. He was either “Buddy” or “the guy from Classic Glass Concepts.” That was how most of the construction business worked. Since his custom glass business took him to only the high-end homes and businesses, he usually saw the same companies catering to the wealthy. He had hoped, when he first started out in business, that his glassblowing talents would allow him to make money creating works of art. He quickly learned that to make a living in the glass business, you had to adapt. Now only a few square feet of his warehouse were dedicated to the actual art he had studied for most of his life. The walls of the warehouse held sheets of thick glass, some etched with exotic designs.

That was how he’d found the victim three weeks ago in Rolling Hills. He was working in a fancy house down the street. All the rich people insisted he use an unmarked van so he was parked in a driveway and no one noticed him. The street was crammed with lawn and pool service trucks and three separate construction crews working on remodelings. The gate to the community was unlocked for all the workers. He’d noticed Pamela Kimble walking with her children one day. Tall and graceful, she had the gait of a runner sidetracked by a pregnancy, fast and deliberate with the kids trying to keep up. He waited until he was done with the job, then came back two days later and parked at a house where he had installed an interior etched glass panel. He knew the owner wouldn’t be home. He was careful to leave an invoice on the front door handle in case anyone noticed him, but no one did. No one ever did. Rich people use workers but don’t notice them.

He’d slipped into Pamela’s house in the middle of the day. She hadn’t even known someone was inside until he had his hand around her lovely throat. He’d surprised her as she took a nap in her cool, dark bedroom on the mammoth king-sized bed. Sprawled in workout clothes and a loose T-shirt, she was the perfect picture of a suburban mom.

He had used his hands to choke her, requiring him to wear simple rubber surgical gloves, so he fumbled with his homemade glass jar. An exact little cylinder like the others. He opened his fingers slightly to let her gasp, then exhale, only to tighten his grip harder. It was difficult to describe the peace he felt when her body finally went limp and he let her lie across his lap for a few minutes. She was definitely worthy of eternity. He thought, in the long expanse of time, she might see what he was really doing for her. For her essence and memory. He slipped back out of the house, her kids sleeping in front of the TV in the next room. It was a great moment.

He had been shaken by his experience getting rid of the body the night before. The idea that someone might surprise him in such a vulnerable position was terrifying. He’d made some mistakes. He hoped he hadn’t left a fingerprint or DNA somewhere on the body. He almost always used some kind of gloves. It was bad enough he had used the belt and been so flustered he left it. Not that it could be linked directly to him, but it was too unusual to be ignored. He liked leaving as little as possible in terms of evidence or clues. He wasn’t like the nuts in the movies who enjoyed taunting the police.

For so long he’d been patient and careful never to use a woman who could be linked to him as a subject for his work of art. He wondered if it was really necessary. Were the cops really that good at discovering minute clues? He doubted it. That was one of the reasons he had picked up the pace lately. He realized his work of art would take too long to complete if he only added a piece every other year or so. But last night had spooked him.

The buzz of the encounter had him pumped up. He felt like a kid on Christmas morning as he calculated how many more he needed. Not too many now. Soon he’d have a real monument. A memorial that would be special. He couldn’t help but smile as he thought about his work of art in progress for sixteen years.

He finished his Big Mac and took a long swig of Coke. A red plastic ball popped out of the pit and rolled next to his heavy work boot. As he bent down to retrieve it, one of the blond girls scampered out of he ball pit, red ribbons tying her ponytail, flopping over to one side. She skidded to a stop about ten feet away and fixed her blue eyes on him. A smile swept across her face, showing one missing front tooth.

Then his moment of humanity was shattered when he heard an unmistakable voice say, “Look who’s here, the squatter.”

He looked up slowly, knowing exactly who had the sneer in her voice. He was surprised it wasn’t just Cheryl, but her sweet, younger sister too. Poor Donna had a look of horror on her face as Cheryl marched toward him.

Buddy mumbled, “Hello, ladies.”

Cheryl jumped right to the point. “You ready to accept our offer?”

“I’m looking, but I do have six years left on my lease.”

“I can have that voided in court.”

“You keep saying that. If that’s true, why are you after me to move the shop?”

She growled in frustration. Her sharp features flushed red, while Donna looked on silently. He knew Cheryl had a chance to rent the warehouse for twice what he paid and was pissed her late father had made the agreement. But she was stuck. She also hated him because Donna thought he was sweet. Like their father had. Buddy always figured that was one of the reasons the old man had given him an extended lease. He wanted Buddy to hook up with his daughter. The old man’s drastically younger Lebanese wife had produced the two pretty daughters after he was fifty. He had done his best to make sure they were secure before their combined drama had sent him to the grave at seventy-seven last year.

Buddy had options in his living arrangements, but he liked annoying Cheryl too. He always kept a cheap apartment downtown. He had a few things there for storage and spent the night there when the power was knocked out to his warehouse and home a few months back. The place was cheap and on the outside chance this crazy chick got him out of his current place at least he’d have somewhere to crash.

Cheryl turned, shoving her sister in front of her, then stooped and wheeled on her heel one last time to say, “This isn’t over. We won’t be held hostage.” She followed Buddy’s eyes to her sister and added, “And stay the fuck away from Donna.”

John Stallings hung up the phone at his desk before heading into the conference room, where the other detectives had gathered to discuss the leads to be followed on the new homicide. The link to Leah Tischler put everyone into high gear because of the implications of a possible serial killer. He’d called to check on the kids and tell Charlie he wouldn’t be able to practice soccer with him. The seven-year-old took the news in stride. His fourteen-year-old, on the other hand, seemed relieved she wouldn’t have to put up with her father today. He didn’t bother to talk to Maria. She needed some space and he was doing his damnedest to give it to her. But he could tell she appreciated his efforts to stay connected with the kids and didn’t mind him swinging by the house almost every day.

Meetings like this, after normal working hours, were the biggest sticking point in his marriage. Although he had never realized how much time it took away from his marriage, police work had found a way to crush his family life. He wondered how cops with young kids ever managed to balance their lives.

The conference room was jammed with detectives. Tony Mazzetti sat at one end of the table, but it was Yvonne Zuni who was clearly in charge. She leaned on the table near the center as she made sure everyone understood his or her role in the investigation. The dynamics of an investigation had changed greatly from when Stallings had first started sixteen years earlier. In these lean economic times, overtime was a premium and management found a way around the expensive program by farming out leads to a number of different detectives. As usual, Tony Mazzetti would run the investigation. His new partner, Sparky Taylor, took notes as Sergeant Zuni explained the plan of attack.

Stallings liked the odd detective. The guy was a virtual reference book of the sheriff’s office policy and procedure. He could quote specific statutes under the Florida criminal code for the most common crimes they had to deal with. A graduate of Georgia Tech, with a degree in engineering, Sparky had a different way of looking at things from most detectives. Stallings appreciated new perspectives.

Mazzetti droned on about the scene and his brilliance in noticing the unusual buckle on the belt used in the homicide. He told them the victim’s brief background to give them avenues to investigate, like who she hung out with, boyfriends, and creepy guys in her classes, but the biggest detail was Leah Tischler’s belt. All Stallings could think about was where Leah was. Dead or alive, he’d like to find her and give her parents some form of closure. Her wealthy attorney father was already blaming his long hours for her disappearance. Stallings could relate. But now Stallings wondered if he thought Leah could hold a clue to his own daughter. Was this what he would find? Had Jeanie run away, then stumbled into a monster like this? He shuddered at the thought and looked back up at the crowd in the room as the sergeant started to talk.

Yvonne Zuni’s dark eyes flashed at Stallings. “Stall, we’re gonna need you to work your magic. Focus on Leah Tischler and find out if anyone noticed her around. There’s a good chance she had run away when this creep found her.”

Stallings just nodded. This was his strength and what he was needed for most often. Besides, he owed the new sarge and would do anything she asked. She may have been a pain in the ass administratively, but there was no one he’d rather have backing him up if he ever got in trouble again.

Tony Mazzetti stared down in silence at the plain chicken breast, tiny helping of pasta, and raw vegetables on his plate. It was tough staying fit while trying to make a relationship work. He glanced over at Patty’s plate of lasagna and basket of garlic rolls. As a kid in Brooklyn, a meal in a nice Italian joint was a special occasion. Now it was an exercise in restraint. Before he could feel sorry for himself he remembered he needed to talk to a supervisor at public transportation. He pulled out his pocket-sized, leather-bound notepad and scratched a one-line reminder. When he looked back at Patty, her blue eyes were focused on him like lasers.

He stuffed the notepad sheepishly into his coat pocket. “Sorry, I’m not used to having to balance a homicide and a relationship. It’s all new to me. And with no overtime to go out and hit the streets you have to make use of any time an idea pops into your head.”

She smiled that sweet smile and took another monstrous bite of lasagna. She looked tired, and he worried she pushed herself too hard in her search for runaways with John Stallings. But homicide was no piece of cake either and if she was gonna be running leads on this new case, she wouldn’t catch up on her rest anytime soon.

Relationships might be new to him, but homicide was old hat. He wasn’t sure what would happen in his romance. It was uncharted territory-a scary, thrilling adventure ride-but he knew he’d never be able to stomach an unsolved homicide. His phenomenal clearance rate was one of the few things he could point to as an accomplishment and he liked everyone at JSO knowing he kicked ass in homicide investigations. He told himself that was why they called him the King of Homicide. The murder he’d been working on until this afternoon had really eaten at him. Pamela Kimble had left behind a husband and two kids. She was no gang-banger or dope dealer gunned down by a competitor. He knew someone else would take up any slack on the Kathy Mizell case. Maybe even Stallings, who seemed to have a thing for young, confused women who ended up in bad situations. Everyone in the S.O. understood Stallings had some kind of deep-seated desire to make up for whatever had happened to his own daughter. He may not have been Mazzetti’s best friend, but there was no denying he was a hell of a cop.

Patty set down her fork, wiped her face, and said, “Do you really think the world would come to an end if we went public with our relationship?”

“There’s nothing I’d like better than to tell people you’re my girlfriend, but based on policy and what they’ve done in the past, one of us would have to transfer out of the squad. I figured we’d let things go until we have no choice.” He didn’t want to bring up the recent feeling that they were drifting apart. Maybe it was just the natural rhythm of a relationship and he didn’t have the experience to deal with it correctly.

“You mean you wouldn’t be willing to work road patrol instead of homicide just for me?”

He hesitated, not only unsure of his answer, but not wanting to upset Patty. She burst out laughing, covering her face with her hand. Then gave him a sly smile.

“I can’t believe you’d fall for something like that. I’d never put you in that position.” She reached across the small table and clasped his hand.

He liked her playful side and realized he had to loosen up. He’d been out of uniform and stuck working in the detective bureau for so long he’d forgotten what it was like to just play around. Every cop knew half the job was practical jokes, but somehow he had missed out on that because of his ambition. He’d never really minded being on the outside looking in, but now he realized there was nothing wrong with making a beautiful girl like this smile.

Even if it wasn’t as much as he had made her smile a month ago.