the first one was an overdose. No big deal. You know how it is.”
Stallings didn’t bother turning to face him. “You claimed a body inside a suitcase was an accidental overdose? No, Tony, I don’t have any idea how something like that is. I know that helps the clearance rate, but it sure fucks up everything else.”
The pudgy computer crime sergeant turned and said, “Stall, she was naked with no ID. We honestly thought she had overdosed in a drug house and someone decided to dispose of her in the bag. There was no sign of trauma, and she had Oxycontin in her system. A lot of it.”
“What about Lee Ann Moffit?”
“We’re waiting on the toxicology, but it looks like the exact same thing.”
Stallings started to stand. “Are you fucking kidding me? We gotta get on this before this asshole kills someone else.”
The lieutenant held up her hand. “Not so fast, Stall.”
He eased back down into the chair, waiting to hear that other shoe that always seemed to drop. But after hearing that the same killer had struck twice he doubted she could say anything that would be more fucked up than that.
The lieutenant considered her words, then nodded. Her pretty face hid the fact that on the street she was known as the “Brown Bomber” for her devastating strikes with her baton. “You’re on the case, but this is Mazzetti’s show. You’re gonna look at leads related to the runaway culture and use your contacts there. You will assist Detective Mazzetti on leads as he sees fit. You will not give Mazzetti any shit in front of the other detectives. And you will keep your mouth shut about the how the first homicide was initially handled.”
“You mean how it was fucked up?”
“I mean that if I have to waste time explaining how to act for one more second you can go back to the ‘runaway roundup’ and we’ll somehow manage to carry on without your help.” She stared him down. “Do you understand everything I just said?”
Stallings swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am, I understand.” It was hard to argue with a good cop.
The lieutenant cracked a brief smile. “Good to hear.”
Now that all issues were settled, Stallings leaned forward in his chair to leave, but as he started to stand up the lieutenant placed a hand on his shoulder to have him wait.
Mazzetti hesitated when he saw Stallings was sticking around, but a glare from the lieutenant chased him out the door.
The lieutenant waited a moment as the door clicked closed, then looked down at Stallings. “We need to talk privately for a minute. Just Stall and Rita, not detective and big-black-bitch-who-can-bust-him-back-to-patrol-if-she-needs-to.”
She was still funny. “Sure, Rita, anything you need.”
“The girl you found with the predator yesterday. I know you popped a crack dealer from Houston Street and then sent him on his way with no official action. But just like every other time you kicked someone’s ass, you said or did something that kept it quiet. You’ve never had a serious complaint against you. You get results. That’s what we need on this case—results.”
“So you want me to break the rules?”
“I want you to find this killer. Talk to all your snitches, scare the street dealers, I don’t care. Mazzetti will do most of the investigative work, find where the luggage was bought, see if some pharmacy is missing Oxycontin, find forensic links between victims. But you’re going to be doing your thing too.”
“What about following the book?”
“We will follow the book. But John Stallings is going to be John Stallings no matter what any book says. That’s what I need.”
Stallings wasn’t certain, but it felt like the first time anyone in command had ever told him it was time to kick ass and take names.
Seven
By the time John Stallings marched into the homicide squad bay in the detective bureau, Patty had already grabbed her computer and the metal pad case where she stored everything. The dented and scratched case said a lot about Stallings’s partner; she was practical, didn’t care what others thought, and was tough as nails, just like the case. The back of it had the indentation of a smart-ass pimp’s forehead for suggesting Patty would be a good addition to his stable. Luckily the man didn’t want his reputation to suffer because a petite, pretty, female cop had knocked him unconscious, and he never said a word about it. But everyone knew after that not to smart off to the diminutive detective from Crimes/Persons.
Stallings trudged down the hall nodding to several of the detectives already in place. Tony Mazzetti intercepted him at the doorway.
“There’s a dress code here, Stall. This is homicide.” His smirk would’ve earned him a punch on the street. His trimmed mustache and perfect hair moved in unison as he broke into a full smile.
Stallings gave him a smile as he shook his head. “A suit like you? Too hot outside.” He started to push past.
“C’mon, Stall, we got an image. Your pullover and the whole exposed badge and gun on the belt thing doesn’t fit in.” He straightened Stallings’s collar. “Maybe just a shirt and tie would be okay.”
Stallings stared at him. “Where do I sit, asshole?”
Mazzetti just pointed to a desk stuffed all the way inside the old, unused holding cell that was a remnant of the building before the jail was built next door with booking areas and interview rooms. A gray computer monitor took up an entire side of the desk.
He ignored the ancient, lingering urine smell and then scooted the desk out into the squad bay, careful to balance the gigantic monitor as he did. He didn’t look up to see who was laughing or who was in on the little joke. When he sat at the desk with his files on top, he noticed most of the detectives were watching him. There was another joke on its way. He opened the bottom drawer to put his files in order and saw it immediately. Sand. All the drawers were filled with fine, white sand. Someone had carted up bags of the stuff to dump in his desk.
He knew how to play it off. He’d pulled the same prank on rookies coming in the bureau before. Stallings rolled back his chair, left the files where they were, and headed out the door.
On his way he looked over at Mazzetti. “I got a lead on the case. I’ll call you if I make an arrest.” He knew the vague hint at a break in the case would eat at the lead detective.
A smile crept across his face as he walked out of the D-bureau. Behind him he heard Mazzetti calling, but he kept walking right into the open elevator door. What timing!
Patty Levine wasted no time grabbing the two thin case files on the previously unrelated deaths and started to do her thing. She was an organizer, a task-oriented, detailed, precise investigator who often found things in records that other detectives missed. She’d located more than one runaway by painstakingly looking through e-mail records the family had provided, then determining who might hold the key to the missing child’s whereabouts. She’d used bank records to help uncover a drug suspect when she was pulled out of patrol for a temporary duty assignment, or TDY, in vice and narcotics.
It was that kind of investigation that fit her pack rat mentality.
