FOURTEEN
Sergeant Yvonne Zuni sat at her desk after having made more than twenty phone calls regarding the fight in the squad bay. Her only real concern was the condition of the injured detective, Dwight. She'd worked with him in narcotics and despite his odd appearance and goofy nature, he was one of the best detectives she'd ever supervised. She was starting to see that the detectives who'd worked in the tech unit all shared the similar attributes of being extremely smart, working hard, staying diligent in their paperwork and steering clear of trouble off-duty. Usually detectives had three of these four attributes. Every detective had a different three. Some were smart and hardworking but ignored paperwork. Some were smart, stayed out of trouble off-duty, were current on their paperwork but also avoided work at all costs. The tech guys seemed to be the only ones who were reliably stable in all departments. She knew even though Sparky Taylor had some odd habits, he fell into that exact mold, spending every night with his family, giving the job everything he had while he was on duty, and definitely staying clear on policy, procedure, and paperwork.
About every fourth call the sergeant made was to find out if there was any new information about the injured detective. Head injuries were a tricky business and could leave lingering issues. Right now all she knew was he was being evaluated at the hospital and had drifted in and out of consciousness since the paramedics took him from the squad room. Sergeant Zuni knew that Dwight had two young girls at home and his wife was a teacher. She shuddered as she considered the worst-case scenario.
She also had to brief command staff on the incident. The agency was blessed with leaders who'd worked their way up through the ranks and understood many of the issues officers and detectives had to deal with. In this case they understood it was necessary to use serious physical force to overcome the disruptive prisoners. All anyone seemed genuinely concerned about was the detective's injury, and that made Sergeant Zuni feel good about the department.
She heard a light rap on her doorframe and looked up quickly to see the senior internal affairs detective, Ronald Bell, standing in the doorway looking like a model who'd just walked off the runway. He was tall and handsome with light gray hair and a rugged smile, but what set him apart from all the other tall, handsome detectives was that he almost always wore extraordinarily expensive, exquisitely cut suits. Today he had a dark blue suit with a white shirt and pale yellow tie. He looked like one of the ads in
Men's Health
about how to become successful and attractive.
Bell said, “Awfully quiet around here?”
“Open homicide cases tend to keep the detectives busy.”
“I guess big-ass brawls do too.”
“Don't make me go over my whole day. I wish I could have a Bombay Sapphire martini right this second.”
Bell said, “Sounds like you had a rough day.”
“Please tell me someone hasn't made an official complaint that requires Internal Affairs to come down and look into this thing?”
“By all accounts your detectives did a great job. It wouldn't hurt if they were maybe in a little bit better shape or had a couple more ASPs available. I heard your man Stallings took a pretty big blow to the arm from one of the tactical guys who had an ASP.”
“You know Stall. Something like that's not gonna slow him down. He had a bruise, but he wasn't complaining too much when he ran out the door to look for another missing girl.”
“I know John Stallings very well. I'm surprised he didn't crack someone's head open.”
“Although it may seem like it to you, he's usually not the violent type.”
“I have several Jacksonville residents who might disagree with that analysis.”
“Have any of them ever filed a complaint?”
Ronald Bell raised his hands in surrender, stepped into the small office, and pulled the door quietly shut behind him.
Sergeant Zuni raised an eyebrow and said, “Is this something serious or are you going to say something romantic?” She stepped from behind her desk and reached to embrace her secret boyfriend. In the two months they'd been seeing each other she was certain no one had become suspicious. She didn't want Bell to get in trouble for dating one of the sergeants in charge of the detective bureau. It was his job to investigate complaints against officers and detectives, and he was known as a ruthless enforcer throughout the department. But she'd seen another side of the fifty-four-year-old internal affairs investigator. Aside from being smart he was extremely sophisticated and had used much of the money he'd inherited from his mother's side of the family to create a lifestyle in stark contrast to that of most of the cops in the agency. But it was the way he treated her that made her want to see him more and more. He made her feel like she was the only woman in the world and would listen as long as she wanted to talk about anything she wanted to talk about.
Bell said, “This is nice.”
“Too bad you're in IA and I'm a conflict.”
“No one's complained so far.”
“That's because you're used to keeping secrets.”
Bell said, “If I could, I'd shout it out so everyone would hear.”
Sergeant Zuni laughed for the first time all day. She liked this guy and what they had.
But the relationship was not without pitfalls. Sergeant Zuni saw the irony of her keeping a secret relationship with an internal affairs investigator while Patty Levine and Tony Mazzetti struggled to keep their burgeoning relationship under wraps. The sergeant had figured out the two detectives' attraction to each other some time ago, but she didn't like to meddle in other people's affairs, especially two of the top producers in the bureau.
She stepped back from Bell and looked into his handsome face. “This isn't a social visit, is it?”
“I'm afraid not.”
“What's up?” She knew better, even with her boyfriend, than to make specific inquiries. If Internal Affairs didn't already know about it she wasn't about to bring something to their attention. Even inadvertently.
“It is somewhat related to the fight this morning in the bureau.”
“In what way?”
“Narcotics is missing two hundred fifty of the Oxys they confiscated this morning.”
“And this relates to us how?”
“The missing pills were part of the evidence the detective was bringing in to sort out. As close as we can tell they had to go missing from somewhere up here and probably during the fight.”
“Have you been able to ask Dwight what he did with them?”
Bell shook his head. “He's still being evaluated and is in and out of consciousness.”
“There was no one here but our detectives. No visitors, lawyers, or reporters. Just cops.”
“My first thought was some attorney had grabbed them while he was up here talking to a client, but when I checked all the rosters I saw no one had been up to the squad bay this morning.”
“So you really think one of the detectives stole seized evidence? You don't think it's more likely they just miscounted?”
“That's what we've been trying to figure out and it's going to take a little more time. But I needed to give you a heads-up either way.”
“I appreciate that and I'll try to show my appreciation later. But for now what's our next move?”
Bell pulled his collar like he needed more air and said, “We're gonna keep our inquiry strictly low-profile. We don't want to screw up any cases, especially a murder investigation. The sheriff is conscious of any political fallout.”
“What's that mean?”
“It means I have a hell of a lot of work to do.”
FIFTEEN
Patty knew she was expected to run the show during this interview. Even though Stallings was a veteran, with commendations and an obsessive interest in all the cases they worked, he knew when to step aside and let her handle things. Despite being a parent, Stallings recognized she'd be better at dealing with a teenage girl.
Unlike the other girls they'd interviewed during the day, Patty sensed this girl, Tonya Hazell, was frightened. She wasn't sure if it was the intimidation factor of having to speak to detectives or something else, but there was no bravado or swagger in this girl.
Tonya, dressed in the school uniform, was small and delicate with intelligent green eyes and shoulder-length blond hair. She had given up looking at Stallings at all and now focused her attention on Patty. She answered the first several questions with mumbled yeses or nos as she appeared to be assessing Patty's reliability.
Tonya said, “Yes, Leah told me she was going to run away. We talked about it for more than two weeks before she really did.”
Patty stole a quick glance at Stallings. “Do you know where she is?”
That's when the girl started to cry, her tears quickly morphing into uncontrollable sobs as Patty yanked on the roll of paper towels sitting on the desk behind her and waited patiently as the girl dabbed her eyes and blew her nose with a deafening honk.
Patty knew that meant the girl didn't know where Leah had gone, but she waited for an answer anyway.
Finally, Tonya looked up and said, “I haven't heard from her since Friday afternoon when we said good-bye at school.”
“Do you have any idea why Leah would run away?” She hoped it was a clue as well as a reason.
Tonya looked down at the ground floor and wiped her eyes with the soggy paper towel.
Stallings looked at Patty and shrugged his shoulders, obviously having no idea what to make of the sobbing girl.
Patty placed a hand on the girl's back and said, “Tonya, it's very important we know everything you know. We'll hold anything you tell us in the strictest of confidence. But we have to do everything we can to find Leah now.”
After another few seconds the girl lifted her head and said, “I loved her and she loved me.”
Patty took a moment to make sure she understood the simple comment. “Why would that make her want to run away?”
The girl sniffled and said, “You think her dad wants to acknowledge a lesbian daughter when he intends to run for the county commission? That's all he ever talks about. He's a big-time lawyer with big-time contacts, and he can get anything he wants done in this county.”
Patty listened to what the girl had to say, then moved to the seat next to Tonya and placed her hand on top of the girl's hand. “Tonya, would you tell us if you'd seen Leah since she ran away?”
Tonya stared directly into Patty's eyes. “I swear to God I haven't seen her.”
“Any ideas where she might have gone?”
Tonya paused, her eyes shifting between the detectives. “She has a friend in Tennessee or Kentucky.”
“How do you know about the friend?”
“We fought about her.”
“What's her name?”
“I never got it. I know they met through a music festival in Jacksonville. This other girl came down from Knoxville or Memphis and impressed Leah. She's a college student and blond. That's all I know.”
Patty took some quick notes. This was worth following up if they had the time. She looked back at Tonya. “Anything else you can think of?”
She sobbed and grabbed a gulp of air. “Please find her. I'm so worried I can't do anything.”
The lump in Patty's throat gave her a hint of what John Stallings must feel every day.
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Tony Mazzetti had been hopping all day. Two interviews first thing in the morning, a quick meeting with the medical examiner, an interview on a midday news talk show about how hard it was to be a homicide detective in the Bold New City of the South. The reporter also asked him about what it was like growing up in New York but living in Jacksonville. Mazzetti worked hard not to use words like “redneck” and “dumb ass.”
Now he was glancing over a few reports from the other detectives. He was particularly interested in anything Stallings and Patty had found out about the missing girl and the belt discovered around Kathy Mizell's throat. Patty usually filled him in on stuff in an informal way, but he liked to be on top of things anyway. The fight in the D-bureau had thrown off everyone's schedule. He'd hung around to make sure he wasn't needed. There was nothing he could do to help the situation and he had plenty of leads to investigate.
The phone on his desk rang and it took him a second just to determine which phone was ringing. In the era of cell phones, landline phones had become almost obsolete to most detectives. He picked it up, barking his name in the receiver as a means of greeting.
A voice equally as gruff, said, “Tony, it's me, Joey.”
“Joey Big Balls?”
“Yeah, I'm calling about our conversation from the other night.”
“You got any names that popped out at you?”
“Like you said, there are always a few weirdos around. I guess in your line of work that's important information, but for me, as long as they can plumb a line or hang drywall halfway decent, I could give a shit less about what they do in their spare time.”
“I know, I know. I'm not lookin' to thin out your ranks, but this is a bad guy we're looking for.”
“That's why I'm helping out, but you gotta keep this between you and me.”
“Joey, do you really think I'd fuck you, a fellow Italian from up north? You're good as gold.”
“Were you full of shit growing up, or did it happen after you became a cop?”
“I guess a little of both. What've you got for me?”
There was hesitation on the line and Mazzetti could hear voices in the background so he didn't push it and gave the big man a second until he could speak freely.
Finally Joey Big Balls said, “I got five names I'm gonna give you, but that means you don't come by and bother me anytime you feel like. Capice?”
“Now we're paisanos?”
“Business associates, that's it.” Joey went on to give him five names.
Mazzetti said, “You got any identifiers on these guys?”
“Like what?”
“Descriptions would be nice.”
“They look like construction workers. All of them. They could double as bikers on the weekends. White guys and all of them have raised red flags with us for something they said or done. And I don't mean like stealin' tools or punching someone in the head. I listened to what you said and gave you names of guys who act a little creepy when it comes to women or kids. You can do whatever you want with the names as long as no one ever knows I gave them to you.”
As Mazzetti was about to thank Joey Big Balls, the line went dead. So much for friendship.
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It had taken almost an hour to pick up the flat sheets of tempered glass he had for a job next week. These weren't even etched, but he didn't care because they paid up front and he needed the money. He'd never worried much about money except when he had almost starved trying to make a living as a glassblower. But for the last ten years or so, he had lived very comfortably, even saved a little now and then. Now money and saving didn't seem that important to him. He could afford to eat most meals out and appreciated having one less worry.
He stopped at the Starbucks near Shands Jacksonville Medical Center to grab a cup of green tea, which he'd been told to drink on a daily basis. He waited in the short line until the barista greeted him with a big smile.
“Don't I usually see you on Mondays?”
He smiled and nodded, mumbling, “The usual.”
The barista produced the local Starbucks version of tea, and he shuffled to an open table in the rear of the store.
Buddy worked on a crossword puzzle he'd downloaded from the
New York Times
site. The
Jacksonville Times-Union
was not known for complicated mind and word games. He enjoyed the few minutes he had to himself while he planned all the things he needed to complete in the next few days. Chiefly among them was finding a place suitable to deal with Donna's sister, Cheryl. He'd blocked off a few hours this afternoon to see what he could do about that.
He glanced at his watch as he filled in the final word in the puzzle. It was “corpulent” for “a fancy fat man.” He didn't solve it all in one sitting, but he'd done it in under twenty minutes. He didn't think that was too bad.
From the corner of his eye he saw someone squeezing down a narrow part of the coffee shop to the table directly across from him, so he shifted in his seat. He casually let his gaze drift up and saw it was a nurse on her way into a shift at Shands. He did a double take when he saw the girl's wide, beautiful features and light brown hair braided down the back. She may not have been the kind of girl who turned heads at a party or in the club, but to him she was everything he looked for in a woman. The fact that she was in the nursing profession enhanced her beauty twofold.
She plopped down with a large latte and a pastry, flipping through the
Times-Union
to the crossword. She glanced over to him and saw his completed crossword, saying, “That's not from the local paper, is it?”
“
New York Times
. I downloaded it.”
“That's a great idea. I don't know why I waste my time on this silly thing, but I do it every day.” She smiled and said, “You look familiar.”
“I'm in here all the time and I'll try to remember to bring in a crossword for you next time.”
She reached across the narrow aisle and patted his hand and smiled. “That's very nice of you.”
He tried not to stare, but all he could think was how beautiful she was. A deep-down, personal beauty. Some would call it an eternal beauty.