The Night Monster_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [34]
“He’ll be driving something big. Like a van, or a small truck.”
“Why not a car? They could drill airholes in the trunk, and hide Sara there. That’s how most serial abductors move a victim.”
“His partner would have a hard time fitting into a regular car. He’s about six-ten and three hundred pounds.”
“You weren’t kidding when you said he was huge.”
“He’s also a killer.”
Linderman punched a button on his desk. His secretary appeared, and he handed over the CDs and explained what he wanted done with them. She left, and he got on his laptop, and began typing.
“I’m going to send an e-mail to the other CARD teams around the country, and see if these guys might have struck before,” he said. “Give me the details again.”
I repeated my story to Linderman, and he wrote down every word. When he was done, he read back what he’d written, and asked me if I was satisfied.
“Yes,” I said.
Linderman punched a key on his computer and sent the e-mail.
“Now let’s hope someone has seen this pair before,” he said.
I leaned back in my chair and felt the air escape from my lungs. It was the first time that I’d told someone my story, and hadn’t had my sanity questioned.
I was getting somewhere.
CHAPTER 18
purchased two bitter cups of coffee from a vending machine down the hall from Linderman’s office. Linderman was busy on his laptop when I returned, and I came around his desk and placed a cup on his blotter.
“Cream, no sugar,” I said.
“You remembered,” he said.
I took the opportunity to glance at his computer screen. While I’d been gone, he’d sent e-mails to the National Crime Information Center, the Justice Department, the Florida Department of Law Enforcement, the U.S. Marshal’s Service, and the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children, alerting them to our pair of serial abductors. He was casting a wide net, and leaving no stone unturned.
“Any word from the CARD teams?” I asked.
He checked his e-mail inbox. “Not yet. You’re going to have to be patient. It might be a few days before some of them get back to me.”
“Can’t you goad them along?”
“This is the FBI, Jack. I can’t goad anyone. Why don’t you have a seat?”
Sitting still was not one of my strong points. Nor was being patient. I went to the window. Darkness had set, and a carpet of twinkling lights stretched clear to the Atlantic. Although I could not see the ocean, I could feel its presence, and it calmed me.
Through my mind flashed everything that had happened that day. The sexy image of Sara Long in a bathing suit on the news stood out. By showing Sara half-dressed, the media would make people think she had somehow been complicit in her assault. No victim deserved that.
In the window’s reflection Linderman rose from his desk.
“You’re driving me up the wall,” the FBI agent said.
“I can sit in the hall if you want.”
“You’ll be poking your head in every thirty seconds, asking to look in my e-mail.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I’ll call you when I learn something, okay?”
Linderman was throwing me out of his office. I could have been angry, only there was a flame in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. I’d seen that same flame when we’d hunted together for his daughter. It was the undying passion of someone who refused to quit. He was not going to let me down.
At the door, I asked, “Can I call you later to see how things are going?”
“Of course. And Jack? I’ll make sure the street cameras are turned on.”
I took the elevator downstairs and signed out at the reception area. Outside the temperature had dropped, the heat no longer rising off the macadam like a sauna. I found Buster sitting behind the wheel, an impatient look on his face.
Leaving the FBI Building, I drove on 167th Street west, then headed north on I-95 into Broward in rush-hour madness. Maniac drivers raced illegally down the highway’s shoulders while a posse of highway patrol cars pulled them over.
I checked the time. Jessie’s basketball game had already