The Night Monster_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [3]
“Here’s what I’m thinking,” I said. “The appearance of the substitute upset Bobby, so he took off. Most autistic kids go to confined spaces to vent their anger. Bobby could be hiding in a closet, or maybe squeezed himself into a refrigerator.”
“Oh, Jesus—”
“Tell the uniforms at the school to start looking in every hidden space they can find. Also tell them not to call out Bobby’s name. He’ll hear them, and only make himself harder to find.”
“How soon can you be there?”
I grabbed my gun off the night table, and slipped it into the concealed holster in my pants pocket.
“Give me fifteen minutes,” I said.
“You’re a lifesaver,” Burrell said.
CHAPTER 2
nterstate 595 was the asphalt spine of Broward County, and ran from the ocean’s sandy beaches to the Everglades’ swampy marshes. Soon I was hurtling down it with the wind blowing in my face and Buster hanging out the passenger window.
I was waved through by a guard at the front gate of Lakeside Elementary. The school consisted of three mustard-colored buildings connected by covered walkways. It sat on a barren tract of land, surrounded by a six-foot-high chain-link fence that encompassed the entire property. Leashing Buster, I hurried inside.
A uniformed cop stood outside the principal’s office. His nameplate said D. Gordon. His tanned face bore more lines than a roadmap.
“You must be Jack Carpenter,” Officer Gordon said. “It’s good to meet you.”
I might have left the force under a dark cloud after beating up a suspect, but I still had my fans in the department. I asked Gordon for an update.
“Two groups of teachers and all of the maintenance men have turned the school upside down,” Gordon said. “We haven’t found a trace of Bobby Monroe. I’m beginning to think he’s not here.”
“Do you think he left the grounds?”
“That’s what my gut’s telling me.”
“There was a guard at the front entrance when I drove in. How would Bobby have gotten past him?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t think Bobby’s here. We’ve looked everywhere.”
Gordon looked about fifty. Age counted for something when you were a cop. If Gordon’s gut was telling him that Bobby Monroe wasn’t here, he was probably right.
“I want to speak with the kids in his class,” I said.
“Follow me. What’s with the pooch?”
“He helps me find things.”
“Good. We could use some help.”
Gordon led me down a hallway to a classroom doorway. We passed a number of rooms filled with kids that were in lockdown mode. Until Bobby Monroe’s whereabouts were determined, none of the children in Lakewood were going anywhere. Gordon put his hand on the doorknob and glanced at me.
“Be careful what you say to the substitute teacher. She’s a nervous wreck, and I don’t want to send her over the edge.”
“What’s her name?”
“Ms. Rosewater.”
We entered the classroom. Ms. Rosewater stood at the blackboard, a plump, pale, bespectacled young woman with her hair tied in a bun. About thirty kids sat at their desks, facing her. Seeing my dog, they stood up in their chairs and started chattering loudly.
“Class, be quiet,” she said.
Her voice sounded ready to crack. I introduced myself.
“I’d like to speak to the children,” I said.
“By all means,” she replied.
I faced the kids and made Buster lie on the floor. My dog was a brown, pure-bred Australian Shepherd with a docked tail—not a common breed. The kids stared at him like he was some exotic animal in the zoo.
“Good morning. My name is Jack Carpenter, and this is my dog Buster. We’re going to help the police find your missing classmate. Before we do that, I need to ask you some questions. Who was the last person to see Bobby Monroe?”
A little girl in pigtails sitting in the front row raised her hand.
“What’s your name?”
“Missy.”
“Tell me what happened, Missy.”
“We were going to gym. Miss Rosewater had us line up by the door. Bobby was right behind me. We went into the hall, and I asked Bobby if he was feeling okay. He didn’t say nothing.