The Perfect Death

FIFTY-THREE

John Stallings couldn’t take his eyes off the garbage can in the custodian’s hands. Something in the back of his head was screaming at him, but he couldn’t hear what the voice was saying.

The older custodian said, “You guys keep some long hours. At least you’re not as bad as narcotics with paperwork crumpled up and thrown everywhere and day-old food sitting on every desk. It’s like cleaning a frat house.”

Stallings nodded absently, then suddenly recalled his conversation with Luis Martinez about interviewing a man at a glass company. At that moment he couldn’t pinpoint the source of his anxiety. He said, “Hold on a minute, Ben.” He stood and peered into the half-full garbage can and saw the sheet of paper Luis Martinez had tossed into it yesterday.

Stallings plucked out the paper, pulled it out at the corners to clearly see the ring with a hint of moisture still visible. He looked at the custodian and said, “Gotta go.” And hit the door of the squad bay at a full sprint.

Buddy couldn’t recall when his nickname had really caught on. It wasn’t long after he moved out of his mother’s house and started working the odd construction jobs. He always felt his real name, Arnold Cather, was formal and stiff sounding. His parents had never called him Arnie. Until the day his father died when Buddy was twelve he called his son Arnold. His mother had been no better. When she was happy with something he did she called him Arnold; when she was angry she called him Arnold. Now she didn’t call him at all.

He liked the informality and anonymity of the name Buddy. He especially liked the way the woman who ran the hotel, Liz, said it with such a pleasant smile and upbeat tone.

He had decided she was the final link. The chance to finish his work of art so it could stand for all eternity. He had the jar out, sitting on the rear shelf of his van along with the cord he had used on his last several victims. Now he was waiting for the right circumstance. He was certain he could do it sometime later today but was prepared to come back if he had to.

As he replaced the bay window, for the second time in less than a week he found himself whistling.

Stallings didn’t like to bully people, at least people who hadn’t committed a crime. But as he backed the lab tech into the corner, he realized the man was nervous because he feared actual physical pain. Stallings would never consider touching another employee of the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office in any kind of aggressive way. But he didn’t have to let this guy know that’s how he felt.

The tall, thin young man had initially told Stallings he wouldn’t be able to look at the paper with the odd chemical ring on it for several days and that Stallings should submit it through official channels.

Stallings said, “I don’t think you understand. This is urgent and relates to the multiple homicide investigation we have going on.”

The young man stammered, “I won’t be able to tell you exactly what the chemical is without checking a number of variables. Could take hours or even days.”

“All I need you to do is compare it to a previous sample we submitted from two other victims. You don’t have to tell me what it is, only if it’s the same chemical found at the other crime scenes.” Stallings stepped away from the man to let him relax slightly. “And I’m going to stand in the room until you get it done.”

The young man scurried to the other side of the lab and grabbed a folder of recent reports. He came back and took the paper Stallings had given him in an open plastic bag and examined the stain, first through a large microscope sitting at the end of the bench and then with a magnifying glass as he looked into the light. The young man went to a bench and pulled out a bottle with a small eyedropper and placed one drop of clear liquid on top of the paper. He then examined the paper again with the magnifying glass and touched the drop of liquid with a small piece of litmus paper.

Stallings fidgeted, trying to conceal his impatience. At least the young lab technician was doing his job and doing what Stallings had asked. He didn’t feel right rushing him if he was working diligently.

After a few more minutes and two more tests, the young man looked at Stallings and said, “It’s the same chemical exactly.”