grabbing all the fresh fruit and orange juice in his kitchen, he had not left his bed since yesterday afternoon. The way they had been going he wondered if he might need to invest in a heart rate monitor if he intended to continue dating the assistant medical examiner. She was all energy, enthusiasm, wavy red hair, and soft white skin. It was a cliché, but this thirty-year-old made him feel young too.
She snuggled in next to him and he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She said, “I wish you had a TV in here so we could watch the college football games on today.”
“There’s no decent games the day after Thanksgiving. But there’s Florida–Florida State tomorrow.”
“Are you planning for us to stay in bed until tomorrow?”
“I could plan it, but I wouldn’t survive it.”
Lisa giggled. She turned her head and stared up at the ceiling and said, “Practically all I watch on TV anymore is sports and comedies. God, those TV police shows . . .”
“I know what you mean. If our CSI guys talked to me like that I’d have to crack one of their heads open with my ASP.”
“I know, right? I love how the crime scene guys get in more shoot-outs than the narcotics guys on that show.”
Mazzetti realized that even though Patty Levine was a couple of years younger than Lisa, she was more mature in her attitude and speech. Lisa sounded like a college student more than a college grad. But right now, when she wasn’t yakking about medical school or the medical examiner’s office, and he felt her warm, soft body against his, he didn’t care one bit. Maybe she wasn’t too bad. He couldn’t compare everyone to Patty Levine. If he did, he was afraid he’d be disappointed the rest of his life.
They lay there comfortably for a few more minutes before Lisa said, “I forgot I traded weekends and have to work tomorrow anyway. As slow as it’s been, it’s not going to be a big deal.”
“That’s the way it is in homicide. It’s like a roller-coaster ride with a lot of ups and a few downs. We call it the feast-or-famine syndrome and we’re definitely in a famine right now. That’s why I’m so frustrated I still can’t solve the shooting of the auto parts manager from a few months ago.”
“I’m sure something will break on it soon. I saw something that reminded me of the victim earlier in the week.”
“What’s that?”
“We had an UNF student who died of an overdose over the weekend.”
“The one Luis Martinez is working?”
“Yeah. It looks like a simple overdose. The kid was a known drug user and big drinker. We’re just waiting for toxicology. Anyway, he had the same funky tattoo on his right ankle as the victim from your shooting.”
“The one with the Greek letters from a fraternity in the bed of a red pickup truck?”
“The exact same one.”
“No shit?” He started to calculate the odds of two fraternity brothers dying, when he was distracted by Lisa starting to kiss his chest, then his stomach.
Lisa said, “Now I think I need some more protein.”
Mazzetti felt himself respond but not like he had yesterday. He might need some protein himself. If this kept up he might need a regimen of vitamins.
Or something stronger.
F IFTEEN
A quiet, rational conversation with a woman like Sonia always put Stallings in a positive frame of mind. He felt like he had accomplished something and he was doing his best to find his daughter and piece his life back together. He knew it was a tremendous long shot, but it was better than brooding at home.
Now he raced down Interstate 75 toward Orlando and his surprise interview with Kyle Lee of Winter Park. As he came through Ocala, Stallings had to pull off to grab something to eat. He slipped into a Firehouse Subs shop and ordered the first thing on the menu board with a Coke and took the whole meal out to his car. He ate the sandwich as he continued south on the interstate. His car looked like it had been attacked by terrorists. This was not like
She snuggled in next to him and he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She said, “I wish you had a TV in here so we could watch the college football games on today.”
“There’s no decent games the day after Thanksgiving. But there’s Florida–Florida State tomorrow.”
“Are you planning for us to stay in bed until tomorrow?”
“I could plan it, but I wouldn’t survive it.”
Lisa giggled. She turned her head and stared up at the ceiling and said, “Practically all I watch on TV anymore is sports and comedies. God, those TV police shows . . .”
“I know what you mean. If our CSI guys talked to me like that I’d have to crack one of their heads open with my ASP.”
“I know, right? I love how the crime scene guys get in more shoot-outs than the narcotics guys on that show.”
Mazzetti realized that even though Patty Levine was a couple of years younger than Lisa, she was more mature in her attitude and speech. Lisa sounded like a college student more than a college grad. But right now, when she wasn’t yakking about medical school or the medical examiner’s office, and he felt her warm, soft body against his, he didn’t care one bit. Maybe she wasn’t too bad. He couldn’t compare everyone to Patty Levine. If he did, he was afraid he’d be disappointed the rest of his life.
They lay there comfortably for a few more minutes before Lisa said, “I forgot I traded weekends and have to work tomorrow anyway. As slow as it’s been, it’s not going to be a big deal.”
“That’s the way it is in homicide. It’s like a roller-coaster ride with a lot of ups and a few downs. We call it the feast-or-famine syndrome and we’re definitely in a famine right now. That’s why I’m so frustrated I still can’t solve the shooting of the auto parts manager from a few months ago.”
“I’m sure something will break on it soon. I saw something that reminded me of the victim earlier in the week.”
“What’s that?”
“We had an UNF student who died of an overdose over the weekend.”
“The one Luis Martinez is working?”
“Yeah. It looks like a simple overdose. The kid was a known drug user and big drinker. We’re just waiting for toxicology. Anyway, he had the same funky tattoo on his right ankle as the victim from your shooting.”
“The one with the Greek letters from a fraternity in the bed of a red pickup truck?”
“The exact same one.”
“No shit?” He started to calculate the odds of two fraternity brothers dying, when he was distracted by Lisa starting to kiss his chest, then his stomach.
Lisa said, “Now I think I need some more protein.”
Mazzetti felt himself respond but not like he had yesterday. He might need some protein himself. If this kept up he might need a regimen of vitamins.
Or something stronger.
F IFTEEN
A quiet, rational conversation with a woman like Sonia always put Stallings in a positive frame of mind. He felt like he had accomplished something and he was doing his best to find his daughter and piece his life back together. He knew it was a tremendous long shot, but it was better than brooding at home.
Now he raced down Interstate 75 toward Orlando and his surprise interview with Kyle Lee of Winter Park. As he came through Ocala, Stallings had to pull off to grab something to eat. He slipped into a Firehouse Subs shop and ordered the first thing on the menu board with a Coke and took the whole meal out to his car. He ate the sandwich as he continued south on the interstate. His car looked like it had been attacked by terrorists. This was not like
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