The Night Monster_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [44]
Linderman pulled up to the curb and jumped out of his vehicle. His face was flushed, his eyes betraying a tinge of desperation. Traffic in south Florida could turn the sanest people into lunatics, and he looked ready to rip the head off a live chicken.
“What happened?”
“They got away. I called the vehicle make into the Hollywood police. They’re running them down right now,” I said.
“How long ago was this?”
“Five minutes.”
I was trying to sound optimistic. The Hollywood cops were as good as anyone at running down a stolen car, but Mouse and his partner were proving far more elusive than I would have guessed.
A pair of uniforms had gotten out of the cruiser and were coming toward me. I was in luck. They were both cops I knew.
“I need to talk to these guys,” I said.
“Be my guest.”
I gave the uniforms a blow-by-blow account of what had transpired while Linderman searched the garage for clues. While one of the uniforms scribbled down my story in his notepad, his partner examined the broken soda machine lying on the sidewalk.
“Someone threw this at you?” the uniform asked incredulously.
“That’s right,” I said. “He was on one of the elevated levels of the garage, and tossed it down.”
“What do you think this thing weighs?”
“I don’t know. Maybe four hundred pounds,” I said.
“Was this the same guy who beat up Officer Georgian?” the uniform asked.
“Yes. He’s a crazed giant, and unbelievably strong.”
The uniforms exchanged funny looks that told me my sanity was once again being questioned. They took a statement from me, and asked for a phone number in case they wanted to follow up with more questions. Then they left.
The sun had broken out from behind the clouds, and the pavement was baking. I ducked into the shade and waited for Linderman to come out.
I stared at Linderman’s car. The FBI agent had been living in Miami for over a year, but still hadn’t bothered to change his plates. Although he’d never said so, I’d assumed that once he found out what had happened to Danielle, he planned to move back north.
Linderman came out of the garage. The frantic look had left his face and his brow was gleaming with sweat. His jacket and tie had to be killing him, only I knew from past experience that he wasn’t going to take them off.
“Take a look at this,” he said. “I found it on the second floor.”
From his hand dangled a white paper bag with the McDonald’s logo printed on the side. He tossed the bag to me. Opening it, I found myself staring at an assortment of greasy fast-food wrappers and crumbled paper napkins. One of the napkins caught my eye. It was smudged with pink lipstick. Kneeling, I dumped the bag’s contents onto the ground, and began sorting through them. I was certain that Linderman had already done this. Now, he was waiting to see if I drew the same conclusions.
The bag contained ten fast-food wrappers. Nine of the wrappers were for Big Macs, the wrappers stained with the secret sauce that made Big Macs so tasty. The other wrapper was for a fish sandwich. There was also a french-fry container with a few loose fries stuck to the bottom. And a receipt containing the time the food had been bought, and the amount paid. I was staring at the remains of last night’s dinner.
My eyes kept drifting to the napkin with the lipstick stain. Picking it up, I saw tiny bits of food stuck next to the lipstick. I sniffed them.
“Smells like fish,” I said to Linderman.
“That was what I thought,” Linderman said. “Do you think she’s talking to them?”
That was what I wanted to think. Only I needed verification before I jumped to any more conclusions. Removing Karl Long’s business card from my pocket, I called his private number on my cell phone.
My call went through and rang several times. Then I heard a man’s voice that was unmistakably Long’s. Harsh and loud and no pretense at being friendly.
“Who is this?” Long demanded.
“Jack Carpenter.”
“I’m on the other line. Let me call you right back.”
“Hang up the other fucking line. This is about Sara.”
Long gasped. Maybe no one had talked to him like that in a while. Or maybe