The Night Monster_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [36]
I stood on my toes, and spotted Long talking to a TV newsman named Chip Wells. Chip was one of the reasons I was no longer a cop. He had done a series of unflattering pieces after I’d beaten up a suspect, calling me “a stain on the conscience of the community.” It hadn’t mattered that the suspect had murdered eight women, and would have killed more had I not stopped him. I’d stepped over the line, and Wells had made me pay for it. I handed Schwartz the beers.
“I need to talk to Karl,” I said.
“Be careful,” Schwartz said.
I sifted my way through the crowd. Long was shaking his fist in Chip Wells’s face, and looked ready to punch his lights out. Wells was the picture of calm, and kept politely nodding his head.
Something didn’t feel right. Maybe it was the smug look on Wells’s face that bothered me. Or maybe it was Wells’s cameraman, a smarmy guy with a limp ponytail. The cameraman had his camera down by his side, and appeared not to be filming. Only the red light on the camera was blinking. I hurried toward him.
“Excuse me,” I said.
The cameraman looked my way. “What’s up?”
“Got a light?”
“Don’t smoke.”
I pretended to trip and fell forward. The cameraman let out a startled yelp, and we went down together in a heap. His camera banged on the floor. I grabbed it, and stood up. “Sorry about that,” I said.
The cameraman got up, and dusted himself off.
“Give me my camera,” he said.
I feinted giving the camera back, then opened up the back, and pulled out the film.
“You can’t do that,” the cameraman said angrily.
I shredded the film in front of his disbelieving eyes. Then I looked at Long. He was staring at Chip Wells, and the murderous look in his eyes told me that he understood what had happened.
“You son-of-a-bitch,” Long swore.
“Now wait just a minute,” Wells said.
Long smacked Chip Wells in the head. It was a glancing blow, but I sensed that he was going to unleash all his rage on the newsman if I didn’t stop him. I grabbed Long by the arms, and steered him toward the men’s room.
“Let go of me,” Long said angrily.
“We need to talk,” I said.
“I’m going to rip that shit stain’s head off.”
“Come on. It’s about Sara.”
Long snapped out of his rage and looked me in the eye.
“You know something?” Long asked.
“Yes, but I don’t want them hearing it.”
The anger left his body almost instantly.
“Of course,” Long said.
During the drive over, it had occurred to me that Long needed to hear the things that I knew about Sara’s abduction. He was a rich man with powerful connections, and that power might prove useful down the road. I didn’t like the guy, but that wasn’t going to stop me from using him any way I could.
We stood in front of the sinks, and Long crossed his arms.
“Tell me what you know,” he said.
I glanced beneath the stalls to make sure they were empty. I tended to be overly cautious, and I turned on the water in the sink before I spoke.
“Despite what the police are saying, Tyrone Biggs did not abduct your daughter last night.”
Karl’s mouth dropped open. “Are you sure about this?”
“Absolutely. The real culprits are a pair of serial abductors. They’ve been following Sara around the state, and chose to strike last night. I was able to obtain a film of one of them from the Hard Rock Casino. The film is now in the hands of the FBI. They’re going to use it to try and catch them before they leave the area with your daughter.”
“Is Sara … alive?” he asked.
“I think so.”
“What proof do you have?”
“These two men stole your daughter because she fits a profile. Abductors who do that rarely kill their victims.”
“What kind of profile?”
“Tall, blond, and athletic.”
“What do they want with her?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“You’ve dealt with men like this before?”
“Yes. Many times.”
Long suddenly stopped speaking. It was like he’d run into a wall, and the pain had just hit him. He covered his face with his hands and let out a muffled cry. I ripped a paper towel from the dispenser and handed it to him. Long dried his eyes and tossed the