The Perfect Scream

FORTY-TWO

It’d been two hours since their interview at the Hickam house and still it was all Stallings could think about. They’d talked to the father of a young man who’d drowned while partying with some former high school friends. The man seemed very matter-of-fact and calm about the whole incident and had never suspected any type of conspiracy. He had accepted his son’s death and moved on with his life. Although they hadn’t been extraordinarily close, the father knew his son had never been involved with the fraternity and all details of the accident had made sense when the friends talked to the police.

Now Stallings and Patty were just finishing a sandwich at a Firehouse Subs off I-95. Patty looked up and said, “Are you still thinking about the Hickam interview too?”

Stallings nodded.

Patty continued. “It was just weird from start to finish. All that security. And the guns. It looked like the armory of midsized police department. Who has that many guns? Who puts them on display like that?”

Stallings nodded as he said, “I’m going over the same details in my head. This kid is definitely part of whatever is going on at the fraternity. He may have been the start of it.”

“What’s our next move?”

“Something tells me the first one of these fraternity brats we talked to, who was also the last one we talked to at the house, is holding out on us.”

“Bobby Hollis?”

Stallings snapped his fingers. “That’s his name. Bobby fucking Hollis. This time we talk to him my way.”

“And if he was telling us the truth?”

“I’ll apologize.”

“That’s quite a promise coming from you.” Patty nodded her head as if she was resolving herself. “I agree, this is too important to let some snot nose from the fraternity throw us further off track. But this time we’re in it together. And don’t you try to protect me from command staff if something goes wrong.”

Stallings’s phone rang and he dug it out of his pocket and flipped it open without looking to see who it was. He heard Sergeant Zuni’s voice say, “You guys need to come back to the D-bureau.”

“Why?”

“Something to do with IA.”

“Did they say what it was?”

Sergeant Zuni said, “No. Is there something you want to tell me about now?”

“Not that I can think of, but you never know how people take different comments.” He closed his phone and turned to Patty, saying, “We’ve got to get back to the office.”

“Why?”

Stallings just shrugged and said, “The usual.”

Lynn sat at an outdoor break area behind the main building of the Thomas Brothers supply company. She’d been on her cell phone for almost twenty minutes as she chatted with the nurse she’d befriended from the hospital in Daytona where Alan Cole was being treated. She didn’t rush the conversation and listened as the nurse told Lynn about her own family problems involving a teenage daughter who was smoking pot and skipping school. Lynn wasn’t so cold as to not care about the nurse’s problems. But the reason she’d spent so much time talking to her was she was the only one who ever gave her any information about Alan’s condition.

Lynn had explained that she was Alan’s pregnant girlfriend and that his parents didn’t approve of her. She didn’t want to cause drama and avoided coming to the hospital. She had just enough detail to make it sound right and had caught just the right nurse with a story.

After the nurse had finished telling her about her daughter’s most recent incident, Lynn said, “I had a few issues in high school too. It’s probably just a phase she’ll grow out of. My biggest problem now is the fact that Alan’s parents think I’m some kind of slut.”

The nurse said, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. They’ll warm up to you. Once they have a grandchild on the scene there’s no way they’ll be able to stay away. I’m just sorry you and I haven’t been able to talk in person.”

“You weren’t on duty the couple times I’ve been down there.”

“I’m sorry. I would love to sit and talk with you.”

Lynn said, “How was Alan today?”

“The doctor sees more activity. He’s conscious but not completely responsive yet.”

“I’ll come down closer to the weekend.”

The nurse said, “I’m off on Saturday so try to come either Friday or Sunday.”

Lynn thanked her and they said the usual good-byes. As she closed her cell phone, Lynn realized she had to avoid the nurse at all costs, which meant she’d be driving down to Daytona on Saturday. She had plenty to do to keep her busy until then.

Before Stallings had reached the main doors to Professional Standards, or, as most cops called it, Internal Affairs, he and Patty had been met by Senior IA Investigator Ronald Bell. As usual, he was dressed in some expensive suit and looked more like a maitre d’ than a working detective. That wasn’t the only thing that bothered Stallings about the fifty-year-old investigator. They had a long history. Stallings recognized that Bell had a job to do, but he didn’t like the way he went about it. When Jeanie disappeared three years ago, Bell had thought the circumstances of her disappearance were suspicious. In a way he was correct. But it was actually only the reporting of her disappearance that was suspicious. Stallings had been late reporting the missing teenager because Maria’s drug habit had gotten seriously out of control. By the time he was able to cope with his near-catatonic wife, almost a full day had passed before he realized Jeanie wasn’t around the house.

Bell had also been a little too zealous in his efforts to find some missing prescription drugs from the office. He had put Patty under the spotlight, and that had not sat well with Stallings. To his credit, Bell had apologized when the drugs showed up in an undocumented evidence locker, but Stallings still thought he was a prick.

Bell smiled and held out his hand like a slimy used-car salesman. “It’s nice to see both of you appear when you’re not under the gun for something.”

Both Stallings and Patty ignored his offered hand. Stallings said, “Cut the bullshit, Ron. We got things to do, and once again you’re wasting our time.”

“It’s Ronald.”

“Whatever. Why are you bothering us now?”

Bell let a sly smile slip over his face and said, “It’s not me this time. I have a visitor in my office who’d like to talk to you both. This time I don’t think you did anything wrong except being oblivious.” He turned and the two detectives followed him back through the offices of Internal Affairs into a rear conference room.

When Bill opened the door, Stallings saw a casually dressed man with a lean, hard look sitting on the far side of the table.

Bell said, “John Stallings and Patty Levine, this is Ed Wiley with the DEA.”

Lynn listened intently as her mother sniffled on the other end of the phone line. The first few minutes of the call had been very disconcerting as Lynn tried to understand exactly what had happened. Finally Lynn’s mother had calmed down enough to say that two detectives from the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office had visited the house. That made her even more nervous until her mother explained that it had to do with her brother Josh’s death.

Lynn said, “Did they give you any other reason for the visit?”

“No. Just follow-up on Josh. Why, are you worried they had a hidden reason?”

Lynn knew her mother’s concerns about the police and her own were two entirely separate things. Then Lynn said, “So they have no new leads on the incident? I mean, no new information.”

“No. Why? Do you think it was something besides alcohol poisoning?”

Lynn sure as hell did think it was something besides an accidental alcohol poisoning, but she couldn’t say anything to her mother. She couldn’t risk throwing her back into the emotional abyss that had almost destroyed both her and Lynn’s dad.

Lynn’s mother said, “They did ask a few questions about the Tau Upsilon fraternity.”

This time Lynn felt like the phone had literally shocked her. She tried to regain her composure but realized whatever she was going to do she had to do it fast. She still had time to finish her mission and return to a normal life.

Ed Wiley looked like the typical DEA supervisor, dressed in jeans and an untucked, button-down, long-sleeved shirt. He was about Stallings’s age but had more of a weathered appearance to him. Stallings guessed the guy had spent some time down on the Mexican border and the sun had taken its toll. He had a lot more gray in his short cropped hair than Stallings.

The DEA always worried more about being effective and less about being formal and official than many of the other federal agencies. The agents tended to work long hours and bonded closely with the local cops in every area. Every cop agreed that they enjoyed working with both the DEA and the ATF. They never really had anything particularly positive to say about the FBI. Stallings chalked it up to the fact that most of the DEA and ATF agents had been street cops at one time in their career. They understood how dangerous and difficult the job could be. They hadn’t lost touch with what was important about law enforcement. And certainly one of the things that wasn’t important to this DEA agent was how nicely he dressed when talking to the local cops. Stallings appreciated that kind of attitude.

Stallings sat directly across from the silent DEA agent. No one at the table spoke. Stallings had a slight smile because he knew he could win at this game.

Finally the DEA agent said, “Can I ask why you visited the residence in Hyde Park today?”

Stallings gave Patty a quick glance that told her not to answer. He intended to have a little fun in the IA offices for a change. He tapped his forehead and said, “We did a lot of interviews in the last week. Maybe if you told me what the house looked like I’d have an idea of where you were talking about.”

The DEA agent was not amused. But he didn’t have to cut his eyes over to Ronald Bell for assistance. This was a tough guy who dealt with tough people. He said, “Okay, then I guess I won’t be able to help you on your investigation with everything I know about the Hickams.” He scooted his chair back and stood.

Stallings raised his hands in surrender and smiled. “Okay, okay. You win.” He waited for the stern agent to take a seat again.

“We’re in the middle of a possible serial killer investigation and part of it involves looking at deaths previously ruled accidental. The Hickams’ son, Josh, died a couple of years ago from alcohol poisoning. We were doing follow-up on that.”

The DEA agent nodded slowly and said, “I remember when the son died. Tragic.”

Stallings could tell by the way the man said it, he didn’t mean it. One of the problems with working narcotics was you developed a battle-like attitude toward the dealers. There was no middle ground where some people were right and some people were wrong. It was just good guys and bad guys. Stallings could tell the DEA agent thought Mr. Hickam was a bad guy.

The DEA agent said, “The whole Hickam family are big-time marijuana smugglers. Bill Hickam and his brother are responsible for almost thirty percent of the marijuana that enters the United States along the south-east seaboard. We’ve had cameras up on the house for months as we put together a major RICO case. You can imagine our surprise when an unmarked JSO car rolled into the family’s driveway.”

Stallings said, “Was the son, Josh, ever involved in the family business?”

“It looks like the father wanted to keep that entire generation out of the family business. I know the boy was suspected of selling some pot on the side while he was at the University of North Florida. I don’t think he ever progressed further than that.”

Just that piece of information, the fact that Josh Hickam could’ve been a minor pot dealer, made Stallings look at the case from an entirely different perspective.

The DEA agent said, “Is there anything that we can help you with?”

Stallings shook his head while he still looked off in space and said, “I’m not sure, but it’s given me some ideas to look into.”

The young doctor looked down at his watch and realized he should’ve eaten dinner by now. That explained his headache. At least today he had a reason to feel lousy. When he’d accepted this job right out of the University of Southern California, he’d had no idea what a shit hole Daytona was. He’d pictured it like Southern California. Now he thought of it as more a waterside Western Appalachian community. Nothing but bikers and rednecks and no chance to study the diseases of the brain he had hoped to. Plenty of trauma from motorcycle accidents and fistfights and the occasional boating accident, but nothing any ordinary doctor couldn’t handle. And the fucking University of Florida. The graduates from UF medical school were like the stormtroopers from Star Wars. They were everywhere and they never shut up about the fucking Gators.

He paused in one room and sat down to write a few notes. Then he looked up at the patient who had been brought in almost a month earlier. When the doctor stood, he noticed the patient’s eyes move toward him. He stepped closer and said, “Can you hear me, Mr. Cole?”

The doctor noticed him nod his head ever so slightly. He’d been able to do some math the last few days. Yesterday, Mr. Cole had cleared his throat and tried to speak for a moment. This was both encouraging and scary. A series of infections had inhibited the accident victim’s recovery. He was still in terrible danger. But his brain function seemed to be improving. That’s what the young doctor felt positive about. At least he was making progress. All the doctor could hope for was to help the few patients he could while he was stuck in this backwater hellhole. In the past months he’d lamented several times that he had never been on spring break here. If he had, he never would’ve accepted this job. He should have known when they were so thrilled to get a USC grad that there wouldn’t be much here for him to do.

He looked down at the patient and said, “Mr. Cole, tomorrow you and I are going to actually speak.” He thought he noticed a slight smile on the man’s face. He hoped the conversation wouldn’t be the man’s last words.