The Perfect Death

FIFTY-SEVEN

Patty Levine drew her Glock.40 caliber and stepped through the door into the alley. The first thing she saw was Liz Dubeck walking toward her quickly.

Liz said, “Hello, Detective. I heard someone yelling in the lobby and I was coming to check it out.” Then she saw the gun in Patty’s hand and said, “Oh my God, what’s wrong?”

Patty said, “Where’s the glass guy?”

“You mean Buddy? He was out front changing out the window the last time I saw him.”

Patty motioned for her to follow and stepped back into the office, where the uniformed cop now had the guy from the lobby, cuffed behind his back and standing in the corner.

Liz said, “What’s going on? Is Junior under arrest?”

Patty said, “That’s not Buddy, the guy from Classic Glass Concepts?”

“No, Buddy is a little older and shorter than Junior.”

Patty exchanged looks with the patrolman, then headed out to the lobby. As soon as she looked out the window she froze.

The white van was gone.

Buddy sometimes wondered if his work of art had made him paranoid. He had no idea why the cops were hassling the carpet guy at the hotel, but he thanked God he’d heard them. He hustled around the outside of the hotel and peeked in through the office window to see a young woman and a uniformed Jacksonville patrolman pull the carpet guy roughly by his arm. They all seemed focused on the rear door so Buddy just slipped away. It couldn’t be a coincidence. He knew they were after him.

The realization that his luck had run out had caused him to drive back home and rush around his apartment, packing a few almost random items, as well as assess how he would move his work of art. In his bedroom, he opened a dresser drawer to grab a pair of underwear and froze. There, sitting right where he had left it, was Cheryl’s pistol. He hesitated but overcame his hesitation, stuffing it into the front of his pants like he had seen on all of the police shows.

Buddy came out in the living room and stared at his glass wall. He knew the dimensions off the top of his head. Fifty inches wide by forty-two inches tall. When his work of art was set on its base it stood almost six feet tall. Although he had hoped to keep it in one place to be admired by everyone for years to come, he had been practical and made it so that the actual glass structure could be transported separately from the base. He judged the glass to be about one hundred pounds. It would be tough, but he could muscle it down to the van. He’d already removed the magnetic signs. He could leave town at a safe speed. No one would notice a plain white van.

He grabbed the duffel bag full of keepsakes from his bedroom as well as the heavy comforter he intended to use to safeguard his work of art. His eyes were instantly drawn to the bottom right corner, the single empty slot left in the handmade blown-glass wall. He wondered if he’d be able to swing back by the hotel and use Liz Dubeck as his final subject. If not, he may not live long enough to find someone else. The idea of leaving it unfinished was the only regret he had in his life at this moment.

Then he heard a noise and froze to listen intently. There was someone on his flight of stairs. He reached for the gun in his waistband and hoped he’d watched enough TV to know how to use it.

It had taken longer than John Stallings would’ve liked to organize a few cops to come over to the warehouse of Classic Glass Concepts. Stallings left one patrolman with Liz Dubeck, who still didn’t know exactly what was going on. Now he, Patty Levine, and a burly patrolman who had worked with Patty on the road were carefully surveying the inside of the open shop used by Classic Glass Concepts and Arnold Cather. Another patrolman ran around the rear of the building and more patrolmen were on the way. Tony Mazzetti had asked Stallings not to do anything until he got there. Always looking for the credit of an arrest. Stallings would gladly give him credit for this arrest, but he wasn’t about to give this asshole a chance to slip away. They needed to act now.

Inside the shop, Stallings placed a hand on the grille of the white van. Still warm. He stepped back in the shop, looked at the curtained windows upstairs, and motioned for Patty and the patrolman to meet him at the base of the stairs. He took a minute to consider waiting for Tony Mazzetti.

Patty said, “Do we wait or do we go in?”

Stallings shook his head. “I wouldn’t mind waiting, but we don’t know who he might have up there. Maybe even Leah Tischler.” He noticed Patty wince slightly and recalled her own incarceration at the hands of another crazed killer.

Patty said, “Let’s get going.” She nudged him slightly until he took the first step, then started climbing as quickly and quietly as possible. The footfalls of three cops on the narrow stairs had to make a racket inside.

Stallings barely had time to mutter, “Is today the day that changes my life?”

He had a feeling it was.