Midnight Rambler_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [104]
Then she screamed.
“Jack! Help me!”
I had a shot at Perez. But I was just as likely to hit Melinda. I didn't take it, and Perez hit the gas and attempted to run me over. I leaped out of the car's path and rolled onto the grass. Before the Mustang had reached the street, I was on my feet and got off several rounds. There was a loud Bam! as the right rear tire exploded. The car drove away, sagging to one side like a wounded animal.
I stood with my gun hanging by my side and Melinda's voice ringing in my ears. I reached for my cell to call Linderman, then remembered I'd given it to the girl. I began to tremble. This wasn't how it was supposed to end.
The sound of a car horn brought me back to reality. Linder-man was burning down the alley in his 4Runner with Buster occupying the passenger seat. He braked in front of me, and I hopped in, sharing the seat with my dog.
“Perez and his buddy got away with Melinda,” I said.
“For the love of Christ, Jack,” he said.
He drove to the alley's end and hit the brakes. “Which way did they go?”
“To the right,” I said. “How's Theis?”
“The medics arrived a couple of minutes ago. He'll live.”
“How about Cheever?”
“He'll live, too.”
We drove around the neighborhood in silence. The gunfire had sent everyone inside, and the streets were clear. There was no sign of the Mustang save for several pieces of shredded tire lying in the middle of the road.
“I got one of his tires,” I explained.
“Describe the car,” Linderman said.
I described the getaway car. Linderman called the Broward County Police Helicopter Unit on his cell phone and passed along the information to a dispatcher. Hanging up, he jabbed me in the arm with his forefinger.
“You need to start going to the firing range.”
“I didn't want to hit Melinda,” I explained.
He shot me an exasperated look. “Jonny Perez is a cold-blooded killer. Our responsibility is to get him off the streets before he kills again. You had two cracks at him, and he got away.”
“You think I could have taken him out, but didn't?”
“You said you wanted to talk to Perez about the victims. I'd like to question him as much as you would, but this isn't a perfect world.”
“Question him about what?” I asked.
At the next intersection Linderman hit the brakes. He took a stack of photographs from the backseat and dropped them in my lap. I leafed through a dozen black-and-white glossies of an apartment complex taken from the outside. In one shot, a sign was visible. It read University of Miami, Coral Gables Campus.
“Theis found those photographs on Coffen's computer,” he explained. “Your daughter's dormitory,” I said.
“Yes, my daughter's dorm. They were taken five years ago.”
“Is that when she disappeared?”
“Yes, Jack, that's when she disappeared.”
I leaned back in my seat with my dog pressed to my side. Lin-derman had found evidence that tied Skell's gang to his daughter's disappearance, and yet he still wanted me to take out Perez.
It said a lot about who he was and how he viewed his job.
I looked at the badge pinned to his lapel and thought of the badge resting in the desk in my office. I supposed that was what separated us. He was always going to be a law enforcement officer, and I was never going to be one again.
His cell rang. He took the call, then looked sideways at me.
“A police helicopter just spotted Perez's car abandoned on the shoulder of 595. Want another crack at them?”
The offer surprised me. I'd figured Linderman was finished with me.
“I sure do,” I said.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Fort Lauderdale has three categories of drivers. Crazies, blue hairs, and people without licenses. Despite the blue flasher on the dashboard of Linderman's 4Runner, not a single vehicle on 595 got out of our way.
“Screw this,” Linderman said.
He drove onto the shoulder and hit the gas. I held on to my dog while looking for the getaway car. Less than a mile up the