The Perfect Prey

Forty-six

Tony Mazzetti turned to his partner, Christina Hogrebe, and said, “For a little fat guy, Pudge can be hard to find on the street. I just want to make sure he’s still okay and see if he could be clearer on his tip.”

Christina said, “He said to look closer rather than farther. Why don’t we go by the scene of the shooting and check around the house itself?”

“Good call. It’s not like we have a ton of other leads to follow up right now. I don’t want to be around the office anyway. Not with all the shit Stallings has stirred up. We probably have IA detectives all over the place.”

“Patty told me he’s all clear and back in the office.”

“What? He unloads on the wrong suspect and hits a cop and gets a pass on the whole thing? That’s craziness.”

“You sound like you’re disappointed.”

“I like Stall and everything, but there are certain rules we should all have to follow. That guy steps out of bounds more than a white NBA player, but he skates on any possible punishment. It’s more an issue of fairness with me.”

“You mean like how overtime is divided fairly as long as you get twice as much as anyone else? Where you get to choose most of your assignments? That kind of fairness?”

“Don’t be a smart-ass. It makes you seem petty.”

Christina Hogrebe was still laughing when they pulled in the driveway of the house near Market Street.

John Stallings was an interviewer. Every detective had strengths and weaknesses, and clearly his strength was talking to people. All those CSI TV shows had convinced the general public forensics solved all the problems. That was bullshit. Witnesses talked, and detectives still had to interpret results out of the crime lab. So sitting here in the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office crime lab, listening to one of the techs who specialized in chemical analysis, went against Stallings’s nature. Thank God he had Patty with him to interpret everything this geek said. It also seemed to him as if the young scientist had a fairly obvious crush on his partner.

The young man, in his late twenties, had a lean build and thick glasses. The glasses didn’t help any attempt the young tech made at looking cool. Right now he seemed like one of a dozen other crime lab techs wanting to show off how smart they were.

The tech said, “There has been a lot of X run through the lab recently. The one pill from the suicide victim, Kathleen Harding, matches exactly the three pills you submitted.”

Stallings nodded-this comfirmed his suspicion Jason Ferrell had made the Ecstasy Kathleen Harding used and the three pills the redneck meth manufacturer, Leonard Walsh, had provided Stallings. So far he could follow the young crime lab tech easily.

“All four of these pills were from the same batch. Chemically, they matched perfectly and were made by someone with some skill and training.”

Patty said, “Does the marking J2A mean anything to you?”

“I’ve done some research, and it appeared on a number of X tabs, but it has no chemical or pharmacological significance.” The young man flipped several pages on a clipboard. “The Ecstasy pill Detective Mazzetti submitted looks exactly like these on the outside, but chemically it’s much different.”

There was silence as Stallings and Patty stared at one another. Patty slowly turned to the crime tech and said, “What pill did Mazzetti submit?”

“The other day Detective Mazzetti turned in an Ecstasy tab under the case number for his triple shooting. I assumed you were all working together on it.”

“Do you know where Detective Mazzetti found the pill?” He had to work hard to steady his voice. So many years of dealing with the wily detective had made him skeptical of any coincidences.

The lab tech shook his head.

“How is it different chemically from the other pills?”

“It has about one tenth the potency of the other pills. Still has the same marking and colorations. It’s just very weak.”

Stallings turned toward his partner and said, “We need to talk to Mazzetti right now.”

Tony Mazzetti stood in the backyard of the house where the triple shooting had occurred the week before. A typical tiny backyard, bordered by a rotting wooden fence and fruit trees that hadn’t been pruned in years. He was trying to get a feel for the yard and where someone would stash drugs or other contraband if they had to. His partner, Christina Hogrebe, had a steel rod she was using as a probe in the soft dirt on the side of the house. They had agreed Pudge’s tip might mean they would have to search the house and grounds more closely. Until they found the street prophet, they had to cover every possibility.

Mazzetti walked over to the back door, sat on the small stoop, and gazed out over the yard, trying to imagine where he might stash something in an emergency. When he stepped to the yard he noticed an area of disturbed weeds and grass under a scraggly orange tree. He kneeled down and used his finger to dig into the dirt. His cell phone rang, making him stand, reach in his pocket, and pull it out.

It was Patty and she didn’t even bother greeting him. All she said was, “Tony, where’d you get the Ecstasy pill you submitted to the lab?”

He had to think what she was talking about, but before he could give her a straight answer his instincts asked, “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

He could hear the frustration in her voice and tried to explain it as best he could. “Jesus, Patty, you yell at me when I don’t submit stuff to the lab, and now you yell at me when I do submit stuff to lab. I’m just curious why you want to know about some nasty homemade Ecstasy tablet.”

“Because we may have found a link to our case.”

“You can link a triple shooting with a drug overdose of a spring breaker?”

“Tony, where’d you get the pill?”

“From the lady in the house across the street from the triple shooting.”

“Based on the neighborhood, I’m assuming she’s African American?” She sounded disappointed.

“She is, but she claimed her white boyfriend gave it to her.”

“Did you see this guy?”

“Just for a split second. A white guy about thirty with brown hair.”

“That guy is probably Jason Ferrell. He made the Ecstasy you found in Kathleen Harding’s purse.”

Mazzetti had walked into the carport of the house while Patty had yelled at him, but now he jerked his head up and stared at Miss Brison’s house across the street. Could her boyfriend-she’d called him Chuck, but she admitted that wasn’t his name-know something that could help him on this case? It didn’t really matter, because a fellow detective who happened to be his girlfriend was asking him for help. Finally Mazzetti said, “I think I know where we can find your X dealer.”

He loved to feel the cool breeze off the ocean and had already surveyed the park and surrounding beach. There were a few people around but not enough to interfere with any plans he might have with the beautiful Ann. He watched as she pulled the big Buick into the parking space closest to the beach walkway. He parked his Jeep in the corner of the lot so it was obvious when she drove in. He hustled down the sidewalk to greet her.

She surprised him with a full embrace and a kiss on the lips. He let the kiss linger and felt her tongue probe into his mouth and her hips grind into him. He’d definitely waited long enough for this one. Power surged through his body as he started to realize his potential as a predator.

Ann said, “You’re right-this place is perfect.” She opened the rear door of the Buick and pulled out a blanket. “And it’s nice and private down the beach a ways.”

He held out his palm, offering the last hit of Ecstasy. “Just for you.”

She plucked it out of his hand, held it up to the dimming light of the setting sun, turned to him, and asked, “What does J2A mean?”

“I have no idea, but it’s on every pill my buddy Jason has ever given me.”

She stuffed the pill in the front pocket of her tight shorts and said, “Thanks. I might do it later, but right now I need to concentrate.”

As long as she took the tab before he invited her out for a swim. That was his plan, and it excited him so much there was no way he was going to vary from it.