The Night Monster_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [18]
“Only he wasn’t.”
I felt my face burn, and shook my head.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Burrell said.
“I made up for it.”
“How so?”
“I had a choice of units when I became a detective. Missing Persons was brand-new, just a cubicle and a desk. I took over, and immediately started looking for Dunn. I’ve never stopped looking.”
“Where did you look?”
“I contacted every police department in the state, and every hospital. When that didn’t pan out, I contacted police departments and hospitals in other states. Nothing turned up.”
The red button on her desk phone lit up. It was the office’s private line, and only a few select people had the number. Burrell answered it.
“Excuse me, Mayor Dawson, but I have someone sitting in my office,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to put you on hold. I’ll be right back.”
Burrell put the call on hold and nestled the receiver into the cradle. Her eyes had not left my face the whole time.
“Let me see if I get this straight,” she said. “You think Sara Long’s abduction is connected to an eighteen-year-old case, and the culprit is some big guy with mental problems that there are no records of.”
“I know it sounds stupid, but yes.”
“You once told me that criminals don’t operate in vacuums. They live in regular neighborhoods and shop for groceries and do other normal stuff. If this guy has been running around for that long, how come there’s no record of him?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “He works with a partner called Mouse, so maybe Mouse is the visible one, while he stays undercover.”
“A mouse and a giant.”
“That’s right.”
Burrell drummed her desk. The sound gave a nice beat to the blinking light on her phone. I could tell she was growing exasperated with me.
“The mayor wants me to formally arrest Tyrone Biggs,” she said.
“Why is the mayor involved?”
“Because the case has become political. If I don’t make an arrest soon, the city stands to lose the women’s NCAA basketball tournament next month. We’re talking millions of dollars of tourism revenue and lots of TV exposure.”
“But Tyrone Biggs is innocent. Someone else did this.”
“Jack, be reasonable. You got hit in the head, and your mind is playing tricks on you. What other explanation is there?”
I rose from my chair. I had told my story to three detectives, and none had believed me. I needed to find more evidence to prove my case. If I didn’t, Sara Long would end up like Naomi Dunn.
“Who’s got my gun?” I asked.
“I do.”
“Can I have it back? Or do I need to take a sanity test first?”
Burrell removed my Colt from her desk. There was a slight hesitation as she handed it to me. Like she thought I might have gone off my rocker, and could hurt someone with it. I slipped it into the holster in my pocket and went to the door.
“Tell the mayor I said hello,” I said.
CHAPTER 11
drove to the Bank Atlantic Center where my daughter’s team was practicing. Entering through a service entrance, I walked to the arena without seeing a single cop or security guard. Had I still been running Missing Persons, I would have assigned a pair of cops to every practice until Sara Long was found.
I stood beneath a basket and canvassed the arena. The Lady Seminoles were at the far end of the court, practicing their jump shots. I waved to my daughter and also to her coach, who I owed a dinner. Then I looked in the stands to see if any suspicious characters were hanging around.
Satisfied that Jessie and her teammates were safe, I went to the lobby and tagged a maintenance man mopping the floor. Maintenance men were good sources of information, and had helped me many times during investigations. I handed him my business card, which identified me as a retired detective with the Broward County police.
“My name’s Jack Carpenter,” I said. “I was wondering if you were working the basketball game last night.”
The maintenance man studied my card. He was pushing sixty, with snow-white hair worn in a buzz cut, and bloodshot eyes that said he was no stranger to the bottle. Stitched