John Stallings told himself to keep cool and not do anything stupid. There could be an explanation. Rick might not have anything to do with it, and this could be a waste of time. But something in the sergeant’s face told Stallings that was all bullshit. He had his man. He acted as if Stallings’s threat to kick his ass was just a joke.
Ellis stayed calm and casually strolled to the rear of the cruiser, cars on the road all slowing down as they approached, fearing a speed trap or rubbernecking to see the poor jerk who got stopped already. Once away from the road and between the cruisers, the big sergeant wrapped an arm around Stallings’s shoulder and said, “What can I do for you, pal?”
Stallings gave him every chance. “I got removed from the Bag Man case.”
“No shit? Why?”
“They claim I called Channel Eleven.” He kept his eyes on Ellis’s face, which didn’t let out any hints.
“That’s crazy, Stall. You wouldn’t do that.”
“I know that, and you know that, but they still believe it.”
“Why? What’s their evidence?”
“My cell phone. There’s a call to the station from my phone.” He noticed Ellis swallow hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“That can be a mistake. Shit, the cell companies keep records as accurately as a terrorist smoking pot.” He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “They’re all riled up and clueless at the same time.”
Stallings intensified his stare. “Rick, the call was made the day Luis Martinez capped the pot grower.”
“There you go, it couldn’t have been you. You were on the scene all day.”
Stallings clenched his fist, ready to revert to his own ways of doing things. “Cut the shit, Rick.”
Ellis stared at him then said, “Whaddya mean?”
Just the stare from Stallings made the big uniformed man wince.
The sergeant took a step back and held up his hands. “Don’t rat me out, Stall, I’m in my last year.” Then he started to cry.
Stallings released his fist, and all he could do was shake his head.
“Why?”
Now Ellis couldn’t look at him. “It’s a job for retirement. The company that owns Channel Eleven needs a director of security and this was my ticket.”
Stallings just shook his head and turned around.
He had to find Patty and explain it to her.
William Dremmel caught himself humming while he used an electric griddle to cook scrambled eggs, ham, and pancakes. Although it was early afternoon he knew his two houseguests would be waking up soon, and he wanted them to feel like it was morning. Plus the meal he was making had plenty of protein in it.
His mother had surprised him early by rolling out of her room, across the walkway, and into the main section of the house. She had clear eyes, and her complexion gave her a healthy look he’d not seen in almost a year. She wore a bright yellow blouse that showed off her cleavage and nice form for an older woman. As always, she wore a long dress to hide her battered and unused legs. Even he hadn’t seen her legs in a long time. Her smile and pleasant greeting made him feel a twinge of guilt for keeping her so heavily sedated. He’d thought she was fading and initially justified the heavy narcotics as a way to ease her pain, but that was rubbish. He needed his privacy, had thought about how his father had been pushed too far, and decided to take matters into his own hands. In his defense he had no plans to tranquilize her again today. She was safely down the steps in the family room watching the big-screen TV and enjoying the sun shining in through the rows of jalousie windows. Without his help she couldn’t wheel herself up into the living room, then past his bedroom all the way to his darkroom/lab.
This was a day of firsts. His mother was alert and connected to reality, and he had not one, but two test subjects. He hoped to keep them in the trial for a very long and interesting time. And he had called in sick for the first time in his entire life. He let the manager at the pharmacy think he was upset by Lori’s death and told the head of the science department at the community college that his back had gone out and hinted that it might be the result of teaching too many labs on the hard floors. Just the idea of a worker’s comp issue made the professor encourage Dremmel to take off as long as he needed.
Now he was doing exactly what he wanted-running a serious experiment with two beautiful women and nothing connecting him to any of the recent crimes. He had slipped Patty Levine away from her complex after he put up her groceries, fed the cat, and moved her personal Jeep to a Walmart lot three blocks away. It was a risk to leave the unconscious detective for the few minutes it took to move the Jeep, but he thought it would pay dividends in confusing the cops when they tried to figure out where she was or what had happened. She didn’t regain consciousness until she was secured. He used a lot less of his homemade chloroform a few hours ago when he dosed her again. He wanted her up and awake soon.
He looked at the clipboard that held the data sheets for both women. Stacey was becoming quite regular in her habits based on the dosages he had been administering. Patty’s chart was blank, but he intended to start her on the heavy, powered Ambien with some hydrocodone this evening. He wanted both the women on different drugs to see the effects. He didn’t have the time or resources to test each drug on each subject.
His mother appeared in the doorway but was unable to roll up the steps.
“What are you looking at, William?”
“Data on an experiment I’m running.”
She beamed. “How interesting. You’ll have to tell me all about it.”
“I will, Mom, after we eat.”
“You’ve made a lot of eggs and pancakes for just the two of us.”
“I’m trying to bulk up a little, so I’m gonna eat all day long while I work in the darkroom. If I let you stay up and in the family room, will you promise to let me work?”
“I promise. Will you spend a little time with me later?”
“We can watch Jeopardy!”
She clasped her hands. “Just like we used to. That’s great.”
He smiled back at her, but something about her voice and her manner made an ancient memory flash through his brain. It felt like a faded image reflected in a mirror. It made no sense, but he felt its power over him.
His stomach turned as he stared at his mother, smiling contently in her chair.
John Stallings was a little worried about Patty when he couldn’t get her on the cell phone and the secretary at the D-Bureau told him she hadn’t been in yet. He didn’t want to be seen in the office yet as he considered how best to explain what had happened. He had a couple of leads he could work without being officially back on the Bag Man case anyway. He hoped that Rick Ellis would come forward and explain everything himself.
Now Stallings was at Patty’s little condo in the southeast part of the city, where a lot of the college students lived. The neighborhood had an arty vibe to it as he imagined Greenwich Village did or some sections of New Orleans. Her modern, plain condo building seemed out of place among the older, Southern-style houses with porches and tin roofs. As he pulled into the small lot he immediately noticed Patty’s county-issued Freestyle in a spot closest to her door. He didn’t see her Jeep anywhere.
Stallings slowly marched up the walkway, looking to see if there was any activity around any of the other condo units. He knocked on Patty’s door and waited, then knocked again and called out, “Patty, it’s John.” Then he called her again, but the phone went directly to voice mail. That was odd for Patty, who always wanted to stay in contact and was too conscientious about work to just ignore calls.
He turned to leave, dialing the office again to see if the secretary could reach her. He couldn’t think why she’d be ignoring his calls, but anything was possible. As he reached his car he stopped, looked up, and was surprised to see Tony Mazzetti getting out of his county Crown Vic.
Mazzetti said, “What’s wrong, Stall, need another source of info for your TV pals?”
Then without consciously knowing he would do it, Stallings punched Tony Mazzetti in the face so hard it knocked the larger man off his feet and onto the sidewalk.