The Perfect Woman

by James Andrus

Genres: Police Procedurals; Crime Fiction

Synopsis

"ONE OF THE BEST COP NOVELS TO COME ALONG IN YEARS." --Jeffery Deaver

Pharmacy clerk William Dremmel is hooked—on drugging pretty young women and lulling them into slow, blissfully quiet deaths. Then he packs his victims in luggage—a nod to the cops that he works alone. Dremmel's no fool, he's also a college professor. He just likes using his intellect for darker purposes. . ..

"AN INSIDER'S VIEW OF HOW A TRUE POLICE INVESTIGATION UNFOLDS. IT'S AS CLOSE A LOOK AT POLICE WORK AS YOU CAN GET." –Elmore Leonard

Haunted by his own daughter's unsolved disappearance, Detective John Stallings is committed to finding runaways and busting their abductors. When a series of girls is found dead and stuffed into duffle bags, he's consumed with capturing "The Bagman"—at the risk of his marriage, his career, and possibly his tough-as-nails partner, Patty Levine. . .

"A FASCINATING AND FRIGHTENING THRILLER. YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO PUT THIS BOOK DOWN!" –Kevin O'Brien

As The Bagman grows more brazen in his crimes, the clues line up. But when he draws terrifyingly close to Patty, Stallings is determined to play by his own rules—and they won't be pretty—or quiet. . .

"A PERFECT THRILLER FOR HOLLYWOOD TO GRAB." –Joseph Wambaugh

Release date: April 1, 2010

Publisher: Pinnacle Books

Print pages: 384

Sample

Lee Ann Moffit sprawled across the slick leather couch with a brown stain on the middle cushion and let her head slip onto the guy’s broad shoulder. Why not? It was a clean house, and he’d been nice to her all evening. He bought her a fried shrimp dinner at Popeye’s (the big shrimp dinner, not the snack meal), gave her a couple of Vicodin to keep her sane, and now he sat quietly with her as she drank a Rolling Rock and watched some cheap rip-off of America’s Next Top Model. It had been awhile since she was someplace she could watch TV this time of night, especially a show like this. One of the few fantasies she still held was being a supermodel on the cover of Sports Illustrated. Everyone at Sandalwood High had told her she was pretty enough to model. She was convinced of it too until she scraped together three hundred bucks for a “photo-shoot.” She believed the tubby, bald photographer when he said she could be a star. It wasn’t until she found out what kind of star he meant that her dreams came crashing down.

Now she realized that at an even five feet she was too short to be a model, even if God had given her good cheekbones and an athletic body. Her high school career had been as successful as her attempt at modeling. Aside from playing lacrosse, she didn’t accomplish a whole lot in school. She was nice to people and loved kids, so why was it so important to find France on a map or know that President Reagan didn’t free the slaves?

She had fights with her mom and new stepdad that she now understood were useless. It was just her way of showing she was growing up. Her stepdad wasn’t that bad of a guy. Even her new stepbrother and sister didn’t seem so annoying. Lee Ann had to prove she was independent and knew what was best, so she moved out (her mom called it running away) at fifteen. She’d been on her own for a few months when she was found dancing at a strip club off the interstate and sent back home.

Then, at sixteen, she moved out for good. Or so she thought. It was frustrating six months later when the same cop found her, bought her lunch, then took her back home to live. She even knew the cop a little. She had played lacrosse in the same league as his daughter, and that embarrassed her mom.

The third time was the charm. She was close enough to eighteen that her mom didn’t even bother calling the cops. She’d moved out and was on her own. Now, Lee Ann didn’t like where she had ended up.

It felt like her luck was changing. The right guy might give her the chance to turn things around. Lee Ann was working two different jobs. During the day she was a clerk at a copy/printing place. She liked the word “clerk,” and that’s what she told people when they asked what she did for a living. It was nice to have a legitimate job. A couple of nights a week she still worked as a dancer. The money was too good to ignore, and she no longer looked at it like a lifetime job, what most people called a career.

She didn’t have a drug habit like a lot of the dancers at the Bare Belly Club. She only used prescription drugs, because they were safe. A few painkillers a day, some Oxy when she had the cash, and then the Lunesta to sleep. It all helped and kept her drug-free. That was important to her. She always bought her “safe” prescription drugs from the same two guys. One was a friend of hers named Malachi and the other guy, Ernie, was a sweet college kid who made sure she only took pills that wouldn’t hurt her long term. He always stressed that she couldn’t get addicted to pills; that’s why he sold them instead of crack.

Now, in this pleasant house she felt a thick arm wrap around her bare shoulder. This guy was quiet but smart, really smart. His whole house was wired with cool electronics and he used a few words she had never even heard. He was some kind of teacher in college and seemed just that brainy. The guy also worked at a pharmacy, and that’s what interested her. If she got a good hookup in a pharmacy and introduced him to Malachi, things might get better for her. She told Mal she’d met a pharmacy worker, but he told her to play it cool for a few weeks before asking him about supplying some pharmaceuticals or “Farm Aids.”

This guy was built too, with a hard strap across his shoulders and biceps she couldn’t fit both hands around. She knew how much dedication it took to put on muscle like that. Her old manager, Jamais, who now went by his real name, Franklin, had the same kind of build, only a little taller.

“You okay, Lee Ann? Can I get you anything?”

She purred and gave him a peck on the cheek.

He held out his hand with a couple of Oxycontin pills.

She just nodded and he set them on the coffee table, then used the bottom of his glass to mash them into a light powder. A black cat scurried past when he started to grind the pills.

The guy said, “That’s Mr. Whiskers IV. He’s a little skittish.”

Lee Ann smiled, scooped up the powder, then licked her hand to take in every grain of it. She gulped her beer to wash away the bitter taste.

The room already had a hazy quality to it, and she felt a slight whirl. This was some good shit. She reached for the green Rolling Rock bottle again and knocked it onto the throw rug on top of the hard, cold terrazzo.

“I am so sorry.” She meant it, but the words sounded slurred. She hoped she hadn’t frightened the cat even more.

He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.” He stroked her face, then added, “You wanna go into the bedroom?”

She didn’t really, but he’d been so nice. “Maybe just to lay down for a few minutes. This stuff is really hitting me.”

He stood and helped her to her feet. Earlier she’d stepped off the path to the front door and her left foot slipped out of her shoe into the decorative sand. Lee Ann was afraid she had twisted her ankle, but now with the Oxy in her system she couldn’t tell. Since then she’d carried the shoes around the house with her. Now she discarded the clogs with three-inch heels next to the old couch and allowed him to lead her through the small house. She tripped twice on funky little steps between rooms. It was weird that each room was on a different level. She stumbled once more as they stepped through a doorway near the front of the house.

She paused as he flipped on the overhead light. The room was bare except for a mattress on the floor. Her knees buckled and she lost her balance, but he steadied her. What a gentleman.

An empty duffel bag lay on the terrazzo floor next to the bed.

Lee Ann said, “I’ve never had Oxy hit me like this before.”

“That’s because it’s not just Oxycontin.”

She stared at him, but her eyes couldn’t focus well. She felt herself falling, but he helped her land on the soft mattress. In an instant he had slipped off her tank top and was working the hook on the back of her bra.

Before she could protest, her breasts swung free as the room seemed to turn at odd angles. For the first time, she was worried, twisting her head around to see where he was standing. Her heart started to pound.

He chuckled and said, “Lay down. This’ll be fun.”

His powerful hand pulled her flat onto the bed, then jerked her arms over her head. A pinch around her wrists made her squirm to look over her shoulders. Now her stomach had a block of ice in it as she realized the guy had handcuffed her to some kind of hook in the wall. Fear washed over her, making her head spin faster, like the whirly-wheel at the fair.

She lost track of where he had gone. Her jeans were unsnapped and roughly yanked off along with her favorite pair of panties. She tried kicking her legs, but they felt like cement as he secured her ankles with another set of steel cuffs. Lee Ann thought she might vomit from fear.

Now he sat on the edge of the bed, writing in a small blue journal. His eyes focused on the precise movements of his pen.

“What are you doing?” She couldn’t form the question in her mind.

He smiled, revealing strong, healthy teeth. “Just a few notes. All has to do with my pharmaceutical work. I think I gave you just the right amount of Oxy and 200 milligrams of Anafranil, but I want to see what happens.”

Panic surged up her throat. “Right amount for what?”

“We’re gonna see how long I can keep you here quiet and happy and with me.”

 

Detective John Stallings scanned the front of the shitty old lime-green motel, nasty parking lot, and the alley that led to the beach behind it. The low clouds and light drizzle gave the whole image the perfect accent of grime, gray, and grit. Typical Jacksonville.

A behemoth in a cheap jacket standing in the front of the building was his main concern. Just some guntoting crack dealer from Springfield hoping to stake out a new zone over here. He was a mountain of “show” muscle, all chest and biceps, probably an ex-jock who used his gym time to look scary but not necessarily to stay in shape. All street cops could tell the difference. Probably scared the damn hotel owner into silence and set up a stash in one of the rooms upstairs. That’s why a lanky kid in a Patriots hoodie was at the base of the stairs. If they moved in too quick the whole place would know the po-po were on-site.

Hidden a couple of blocks north with his black Impala in front of them, Stallings twisted his six-foot frame to stretch a kink out of his back, then looked down at his partner and said, “I just see the two assholes. The one that looks like a Jaguars lineman out front could cause some shit.” He had a good sense of danger. At least danger to himself. After sixteen years with the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office he trusted his judgment when it came to tactical operations. It had taken a few too many beatings, a knife wound, and a bullet in the leg to teach him that, but no one acquired knowledge without suffering or work. Sister Mary had taught him that his first day in kindergarten.

Patty Levine nodded at his assessment, then said, “We should get narcotics in here for these two, then check out room 2-B.” Her blond hair hung in a loose braid down her muscular back. Stallings thought she looked like a cheerleader who would kick your ass. And he had seen her do it on several occasions.

“No time for the street team. If she’s up in the room, we gotta move right now.” He didn’t want to get his younger, more ambitious partner in the shithouse with the agency, but this was what kept him going. Finding a young girl who had run away with some middle-aged jack-off gave him the will to move in the morning and fall asleep at night. At least on the nights he slept at all. Unlike most of his fellow detectives he needed work to give him a break from home once in a while. And he needed lucky tips like this one to feel like he was doing all he could for these kids. God knows he hoped some cop somewhere was doing all he could for his Jeanie.

Stallings had asked to be assigned to the missing persons unit. First time they had ever had a detective transfer in. Usually it was just a way for a patrolman to make detective, then move on to the more interesting narcotics or high-profile homicide. For Stallings it was logical, after everything that had happened, to work in crimes/persons and handle missing persons. Even if the other detectives called it the “runaway roundup,” he didn’t care. It meant something. It also gave him the schedule to see his family more, to coach soccer, and to help Lauren with her homework. Maybe he could correct the mistakes he’d made with Jeanie. He knew his partner, Patty, wanted to try robbery or homicide if she got the chance, but this was the only unit that made sense to him now.

They had the run of the county, and way out here in Jacksonville Beach, fifteen miles east of their main office, he had the freedom to make choices and do the right thing no matter what policy said.

Patty saw his mind drift and smiled at him. “What is it you like to say? Is today the day?”

“C’mon, I know you went through the academy ten years after I did, but they had to still be preaching it. ‘Is today the day that changes the rest of your life?’” He glanced back across the two blocks to the monstrous crack dealer, with a neck like a spare tire, in front of the hotel. When he was sure no one had moved, Stallings turned his attention back to Patty. “It’s a way to stay focused on the job. I’ve said it before every assignment, and it keeps me alert.”

Patty said, “What if I don’t want a change today? What if, and I know this sounds crazy to you, we call for backup before we tangle with a drug dealer who looks like a brown Incredible Hulk in a cheap vinyl jacket?”

Stallings let out a quick laugh. Patty was a great partner: smart, tough, and knew when to crack a joke or two. It had been hard to be around him the past few years, but she never complained or let him down. He hoped he could return the favor. But right now he was on a mission. Keeping his eyes on the mountain of dark flesh and the young lookout at the base of the stairs, Stallings untucked his shirt to cover his Glock and gold badge clipped on his belt.

Patty flipped over the cover of the battered gray metal notebook case she carried everywhere that stored all aspects of their work and her life, including her schedule, to-do lists, her family’s birthdays, and a complete schedule of the University of Florida’s sports teams games. She slid out a small photograph of a fourteen-year-old girl with bright orange hair holding a small black dog.

Stallings glanced at the photo. “I saw her picture before. If there’s a girl in that room she’s coming with us. I don’t care who she is.”

“And if there’s a man with her? We got no PC or warrant. Just a shaky tip.”

“Jail is the least of that creep’s concerns if he’s in a hotel with an underaged girl.” He looked down the empty street again. They’d have to walk down there, because the Impala the county issued him was too obvious. “Can you handle the guy by the stairs?”

Patty gave him a sly smile. “No sweat.”

Stallings never had to worry about Patty having his back. She could kick just about anyone’s ass and moved like a leopard in a fight. Her looks sometimes lulled men into thinking she wasn’t a threat. They were always wrong. He gave no more thought to the smaller thug by the stairs.

He was about to start walking when he saw someone at the base of the stairs of the little hotel. Stallings paused, then slowly ducked back into his car and retrieved a small set of Bushnell binoculars with the logo for the Ponte Vedra Inn and Club on the side. He surveyed the area under slightly more magnification and then said, “Shit, hold on.”

“What is it?” Patty held a closed ASP expandable baton in her small hand.

“A family is gettin’ ready for a trip to the pool. Looks like an Asian family with three little kids.” He checked again and saw one small girl holding a bright pink plastic tube as her mother bent to adjust her tiny suit.

“Who’d go swimming in this weather?”

“Let’s wait a minute. I don’t want to ruin these kids’ vacation if this is the only place their parents could afford.”

Finally, after several minutes of waiting, the little troupe moved down the walkway toward the pool at the rear of the building, and Stallings watched as Patty slipped down onto the beach across the street to approach from another direction.

Stallings crossed the two-lane road and then started strolling toward the hotel and the giant sentry out front. He didn’t hurry; that way Patty had time to set up. He also didn’t want this monster to have any reason to suspect that Five-0 was in the area. This wasn’t downtown; he probably expected a more polite police force. That assumption would be shattered in the next minute.

Stallings wasn’t cocky. He knew he could be the one on the wrong end of a fist or a cheap pistol, but he had surprise on his side. He focused on the academy mantra: “Is this the day that changes my life?” It really was something he’d said his whole career. The hell of it was now he really did need a change. He needed a miracle to get back all he had lost.

There were cops he knew who were quick to mix it up with a suspect. They liked the thrill and violence. Violence accomplished a goal, whether it was an arrest or a lesson; physical aggression was just another tool in a good cop’s bag of tricks. If you took it too far you had to be prepared to explain yourself. He could admit, at least to himself, that he enjoyed confrontation with the right thug. Bullies, pimps, and predators often didn’t understand anything but a good thumping. And sometimes he didn’t know how to deal with them except with a good thumping.

A Ping-Pong ball bounced around inside his stomach as he got closer to the hotel. He drifted to the inside of the sidewalk so the bulky dealer wouldn’t see him until he was at the next building. His heart picked up a few beats as he nudged his pistol under his shirt and hoped he didn’t have to use it. Through this entire ritual of checking his gear and his attitude he didn’t lose sight of the mission: save the girl. He knew if he could grab her before anything serious happened up in the room, he might not have to look for her as a runaway later. That was the key, identifying a problem early and acting. He only wished he’d been that smart for his own daughter’s sake.

Now he was near the hotel and visible. A small smile crept across his face when he saw Patty step up next to the skinny lookout near the stairs. The dumbass didn’t even know she was behind him. Patty was letting him focus totally on the giant man leaning on the battered and rusting chain-link fence. He was younger than Stallings, maybe thirty-five, and taller by at least five inches. The monster had to go six-five and over two-fifty without as much fat as Stallings had originally thought.

Stallings gave him a casual nod as he came closer but kept looking down the street like his destination was another cheap-ass hotel or maybe one of the ancient, beat-up condos that mostly housed aging snow-birds. That little maneuver allowed him to walk right past the man without telegraphing his intentions. Just in front of the giant man, he spun and threw an elbow under a prominent chin, then a knee into the side of his leg. The man crumpled as Stallings’s knee connected with the common peroneal nerve.

Stallings turned toward the stairway as the surprised lookout stood, prepared to rocket up the stairs and sound the alarm. Instead, Patty popped open her ASP with a flick of her wrist and tripped him as he started to take flight. She had a size-six Rockport boot on his chest before he knew what had happened. The twenty-eight-year-old detective looked like a big game hunter posing with an unfortunate antelope.

Stallings wasted no time with his man on the street, thumping his head against a metal fence post, then reaching to his waistband to retrieve a Taurus nine-millimeter from the dazed man.

The dealer gasped, “I ain’t holding. You got nothing on me.”

“I got this gun, you dumb shit.” He tucked the cheap pistol in his belt, then shook the man by the collar to make sure he had his full attention. “This is just a warning. Leave this hotel alone and head back over to Phoenix Avenue or this shit will happen to you every fucking day.” He wrapped his hand in the front of the crack dealer’s shirt and jerked the man’s face up to him. “Are we clear?”

The crack dealer’s shiny head bobbed as he caught his breath and tried to regain some composure. The thug may have weighed more than 250 pounds, but right now he was looking up into blue eyes that conveyed the threat of violent injury better than any pistol ever made by Smith & Wesson.

Patty led the other young man over, tugging him by his ear, then thrusting him into his cohort. She said to them both, “Give up your cell phones.” Her voice left no room for argument.

“What?” asked the skinny lookout.

She snapped her fingers. “Phones, hotshot. Then you can scurry off.” She paused and added, “If you behave.” She took the BlackBerries from the men, then casually dropped them onto the asphalt and crushed them under the heel of her boot.

There was no protest.

A few minutes later, Stallings and Patty were on the stairs ready to go into room 2-B. They had allowed the dealer to call his partner in the stash room to clear out. Stallings thought it was a good idea so they wouldn’t bother the hotel owner later. He knew the dopers had flushed a good part of their profits before they had piled into a tricked-out Escalade and fled back to Jacksonville proper. He didn’t give a shit about the dope.

Patty leaned in close and said, “If there’s a man with her up there you can’t hurt him.”

He just stared at her.

“That’s not Jeanie up there. Nothing you do will change the past. We’re cops, not vigilantes. We need to hear the whole story.”

“Whole story! If there’s an adult male with a fourteen-year-old up there it’s a crime. He can’t even try the Roman Polanski excuse. Those days are past.” He dialed it down before his voice carried up the stairs and across the open hallway. Patty had a point. She always did. But in cases like this she really didn’t understand. He would save the girl, but if he got the chance to teach this pervert a lesson he’d do it for every father in the country.

As they eased up the stairs, Patty stooped down and picked up two towels in front of 2-A. She just looked at him and smiled, then motioned him to the side of the door with a nod of her head.

He knew she was street-smart, so he stepped to the far side of the door to 2-B, where he’d been told the girl was staying, and let his partner do her thing. She stood directly in front of the door so anyone inside would see her standing there, holding towels like a hotel employee, then knocked on the door firmly.

From inside he heard shuffling, then a man’s voice said, “What? Who is it?”

Patty calmly added a slight, Latin-flared accent and called back, “I got towels and a new TV remote for you.”

There was a pause. Patty turned and whispered, “No man will turn down a new remote.”

Sure enough the door moved with a chain keeping it from opening all the way. Once the man got a look at Patty by herself, he shut the door, removed the chain, and then opened it wide with a predatory grin still on his round face.

Stallings stepped from around the corner and shoved the man hard, back into the room.

“What the hell?” shouted the man as he steadied himself against the cheap dresser. He wore only a stained, white towel around his waist and looked like he was in his early thirties. His chubby body and touch of gray made it hard for Stallings to guess his exact age other than it was old enough to get his ass kicked.

He looked around the room quickly, but didn’t see anyone else. He nodded for Patty to check the bathroom as he stepped up next to the startled occupant.

Stallings smiled and said, “Nice day, huh?”

“What the hell is going on?”

“C’mon, you’re not an idiot.” He lifted his shirt, exposing the gun and badge. “You know why we’re here.” An old trick, but one that worked. Usually people started jabbering about what they were doing. Not this guy. He clammed up immediately.

Patty tried the door then knocked softly. “Hello?”

No answer.

The man in the towel said, “I don’t know why you’re here. Why don’t you explain yourself, Officer?”

“It’s Detective, and I’d rather have your guest explain it.”

Patty jiggled the doorknob again and tried to force the door.

The man said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You just violated my civil rights.”

Stallings kept his cool and started to ease toward Patty. If this guy was alone he had some ass-kissing to do and he wanted Patty out before the guy got her name at least. He stood next to Patty and tried the door. He thought he heard a faint noise from the other side and slammed his shoulder into the old, hollow wooden door. It popped past the lock and opened into the empty bathroom. Uh-oh.

He stepped inside and then over to the tiny open window. Glancing out he saw a young girl, wrapped in a towel, on the lower roof of the office below.

Patty slid in next to him and they both said, “Shit.” Then they sprang into action. But once he had gotten back to the main room he froze, because it was empty too. He turned and said, “You get the girl, and I’ll go after the man.”

Patty darted out of the room at least knowing the last location of the runaway. Stallings shot down the closest stairway into the trash-strewn parking lot. Nothing. His head swiveled in every direction as he dashed toward the street. He looked in both directions on the main street but only saw a few pedestrians and a couple of cars. The panic of a parent who’d lost their child at the mall built inside him. He didn’t want this scared runaway to screw up her life. He raced back toward the hotel and down the hallway between the one-story office and two-story hotel. As he crossed a doorway to the covered parking area he slammed into someone like two trucks on a highway.

Stallings dropped backward onto the ground, already apologizing and trying to see who he’d run into. Then he froze as a smile washed over him. On the ground next to him was the pudgy man from upstairs, his towel unwrapped and blood dripping from his cut lip.

Stallings sprang to a crouch, but the man didn’t move. He stood slowly, making sure none of his middle-aged bones were broken, then looked down at the unconscious man.

From the end of the hallway Patty called out.

He looked up and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her with the girl, unharmed and crying like she had just found her older sister. Patty wrapped an arm around her and said, “Let’s go get you some clothes.” She had worked in the unit long enough to realize how confused this girl was and the fear of being caught with an older man. It was not the typical detective’s assignment. Not cut and dried, guilty or innocent, but layered like a counselor’s job, with several sides to every story. For every kid that ran from abuse and neglect there was another who left for reasons no one could ever explain.

 

A few minutes later, Stallings sat with the motel manager, a neat Pakistani man with a name tag that said WOODY. He had asked for all the registration slips from the hotel and Woody had pleasantly complied.

He waited while the little Asian family, who had rushed in from the pool after the excitement, checked at the desk to make sure everything was all right.

Stallings stood next to the manager like another employee and said to the father, “We’re sorry for the inconvenience. We’ll be happy to give you your room free for three nights.”

This caused Woody to turn and stare at him in shock.

The Asian man beamed and thanked them as he turned with his kids in tow and headed out the door. The little girl turned and smiled at Stallings, who returned it. That felt good.

Now Stallings looked at the manager and said, “Relax, I’ll pay for the room.”

Woody said, “Forget it. Chasing away the drug dealers will help me more than milking that guy for a few nights. Besides I charge sixteen dollars a day to park.” He winked at Stallings, but saw the look on the detective’s face and tore up the parking card as well.

“How long have those jerk-offs been bothering you?”

“Maybe a month now. They came over two days a week, threw some cash at me and said they’d burn the place down if I called the cops.”

Stallings nodded as he went through the registratio. . .