The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [81]
He pulled off the last patch and held the huge dark blue uniform up to the light. It would do.
He set aside the uniform and turned to the items on the floor. He selected the Silly Putty first, pounding it out, molding it, and inserting it into the plastic sandwich bags. When tucked inside the mouth, the pouches would give the appearance of jowls. He cut off the legs of the nylons, filled them with pillow stuffing, and closed the top with a few quick stitches. Instant thunder thighs and Buddha belly. The wig and makeup would be applied at the last minute.
He pulled out an old shoe box and sorted through his collection of badges and name tags until he found what he wanted. He’s started stealing badges five years before. Detectives and rookies were the easiest—detectives because they were so arrogant they never thought anyone would rifle their jacket pockets, rookies because they were stupid. Jim had realized such things as authentic badges would always come in handy. He’d built his stockpile carefully. Then, two and a half years ago, when he’d realized his activities were suddenly being monitored and two plainclothes officers were following him, he’d made his final preparations. He’d found the perfect lair. He’d stashed his badges, a fake ID, a ton of cash, and, yes, two passports.
His diligence had paid off. The police never found his cover and he spent two years in prison, knowing that sooner or later opportunity would present itself, and he could pick up right where he left off.
He selected the appropriate badge and went to work sewing on the name patch. God was in the details.
His conversation with Sergeant Wilcox had gone well, particularly once he’d taken the man out to lunch and pumped him full of Halcion. The good old sergeant had slept like a baby as Jim had driven him out of the city, tied him to a tree, and prepared his Swiss Army knife. It hadn’t taken long to get all the information he required.
He’d called the sergeant’s wife and explained that Wilcox’s assignment now required absolute secrecy. Her husband would not be home for a few days, nor would he be allowed to call. By the end of the week they would be able to tell her more.
Then he called the task force, spoke to the officer in charge, and said he was Wilcox’s doctor. Wilcox had come down with an extreme case of food poisoning and would be out for the next twenty-four hours. Of course he’d return to duty immediately after that.
Sooner or later the authorities would ask more questions. That was fine. Jim just needed twenty-four hours. It would all be over then.
He rose, stretching out his long, toned body. Three hundred push-ups, five hundred sit-ups a day. Not an ounce of fat on him. Ed Kemper might be bigger, but in an arm-wrestling match, Jim was confident he would win.
He shook out his arms and legs. Four hours of sleep was all he needed nowadays. A deep calm had settled over him. Tonight his plan entered phase two and he was prepared. He had thought of everything, accounted for anything. He was invincible not because that’s what he wanted to be; he was invincible because he worked at it.
Two years he’d rotted in Walpole. Two years of living in a six-by-eight cell in maximum security, allowed out for only one hour a day, Monday through Friday. Even then he was placed in handcuffs and leg shackles before being escorted by two guards to the maximum security rec area—really just a new six-by-eight cell outside, enclosed in wire mesh and nicknamed the dog cage. No more than two maximum security prisoners were allowed outside at once, and then they were put in distant cages so even conversation was difficult. Not that it mattered. Walpole was run by the Latin Kings these days. Like he wanted to mingle with a bunch of fucked up, coked up spicks.
They’d wanted his ass. He had seen it in