Thinking about his childhood had sapped William Dremmel of his energy. He could only flop on the couch next to his mother’s wheelchair with another black-and-white movie on the TV. He thought he recognized Errol Flynn but couldn’t be sure because his brain was on overload. Sweat poured from his face as he tried to suck in enough air to live but not be too obvious to his mother. He wiped his face with the tail of his untucked shirt, staining the bottom as if it had been dipped in a pool. He tried to clear his head as memories kept flooding back. His heart ticked along like a two-cylinder engine. Then he felt as if he had a grip. A tenuous one, but a grip on reality.

He turned away slightly from his mother and looked at the clean, off-white wall with the window set in it. His eye was drawn toward the floorboard where a floor lamp stood and he noticed a design. That was exactly what he needed. Something to focus on. Something to drawn his concentration.

The circle and lines meant something, but he couldn’t dig the meaning out of his confused thoughts. Then he realized what he was looking at: a blood spatter from the unfortunate incident with Trina. Somehow he’d missed a spot of blood that was obvious. Obvious enough to ruin everything and send him to jail for the rest of his life. How could this have happened? He was careful. He was smart. This opened a new line of questions in him. Has he made other mistakes? Did he take on too much by trying to keep the lovely Detective Levine for his experiments?

He made a quick decision. She had to go. He sat up on the couch, thinking where he had a suitcase large enough for her. She was taller than any of his previous subjects. Then he saw where he’d made his mistake. Pride. One of the sins. He didn’t have to get rid of her in a suitcase. In fact, that would offer too much to the cops. Instead he’d find a place to leave her body where no one would ever find it. A Jimmy Hoffa, that’s what he’d pull.

This would take a little planning and maybe a trip to scout out the location. He didn’t want to frighten Stacey, so he’d use a strong dose of an Ambien-based cocktail tonight and by the time Stacey awoke tomorrow she’d be back in a single room.

He had started to push himself off of the couch, when his mother turned to him and said, “I don’t want to go back to being drugged all the time.”

John Stallings’s conversation with his sister had shaken him. He wasn’t being a good husband or father by working so much. The result wasn’t much different than his father; they just arrived there by different routes. It killed him that Maria needed him at this very moment and so did Patty. This wasn’t a normal investigation. His partner was missing. Now he’d made his choice and decided to go full throttle.

He had already hit three of the pharmacies that Patty had visited two days ago, spending almost no time at any of them. He asked a few questions, then moved on. He wasn’t trying to build a case, he was trying to find another woman who had disappeared. No matter what he did it seemed like he spent a lot of time looking for people. This time he knew Patty wasn’t the type to just run off. At first he suspected that she and Mazzetti had argued and she was just pissed off. Now, as the hours had passed and there was no sign of her, he suspected something more sinister. Had she crossed the killer somehow? He’d find out.

The pharmacy Stallings was in now had several locations all across the city. He quickstepped to the rear of the store, where the pharmacy counter was set into a solid frame behind glass to discourage robbers. He eyed each employee to see if any matched the description of the blond man given by Ernie the dealer. So far he hadn’t come close to finding any employee that drew his interest except one pharmacist earlier in the day. He had looked at the blond man’s personnel file and asked him a few questions about his personal life, but he didn’t come close to the profile of the killer. He was married, owned a dog, not a cat, and had two teenage kids. Stallings could tell pretty quickly this wasn’t the guy.

Now, in the back of the store, he noticed several customers waiting at the register and two more at the pickup line. Stallings stepped off to the side and waited until the young pharmacist in a white smock looked up. Stallings held up his credential holder so he saw the gold JSO detective shield on the outside of the holder.

The younger man looked around nervously and hesitated like he was considering making Stallings wait. To ensure that wouldn’t happen he tapped the badge on the glass and signaled for the pharmacist to come over to him right now.

The man scampered up to the glass, then turned toward the rear wooden door entrance and opened the door a crack like he thought Stallings might be a robber. To satisfy the man he opened up the credentials to show the pharmacist his photo and name.

“What can I do for you, Detective?”

“First of all, you can open the door so we can talk in private.”

“I’m sorry, but we’re pretty busy now. Can it wait?”

“No.”

“Look, I’m trying to be polite.”

“So am I. Now let’s go in back and talk.” He pushed the door open and forced the younger man to back off, then turned and led him to a messy stockroom.

The pharmacist faced the detective, putting on his best arrogant, impatient act, when Stallings clearly read him as scared. He wore a University of Florida Alumni pin on his collar, his hair was neat with a little too much hair gel, and his smock and shirt underneath were pressed and clean. This guy wanted to project a certain image.

“Now, Detective, what’s this all about?”

“Did a female JSO detective come by here yesterday?”

The smirk on the man’s face told Stallings the answer was yes before he said a word.

“You her badass cop boyfriend?”

“What? No. Did she talk to anyone besides you?”

“Why?”

“Look, pal, I wish I had time to explain, but right now I need to know if she talked to anyone beside you.”

“Hey, I don’t appreciate your tone.”

Stallings grabbed his smock, wadding it in his hand and pulling him right next to his face. “This better?” He flicked the man back as he released his grip.

The pharmacist lost his arrogance as he carefully smoothed out his smock with both hands and tried to compose himself.

Stallings said in a low, calm voice, “Now, did she fucking talk to anyone else?”

“I, um, I don’t know. She sat in here and looked over records for a while. When she left she said good-bye. When she first arrived we chatted about UF and her boyfriend.”

Stallings knew that meant the pharmacist had hit on Patty. He looked him over, getting a sense of him. He had dark hair and seemed too button-down and straitlaced to ever sell drugs under the counter.

The pharmacist snapped his fingers. “I just remembered.”

“Remembered what?”

“I think our clerk walked back here and stayed a few minutes.”

“What’s the clerk’s name?”

“William Dremmel.”