The Night Monster_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [57]
“Get that beast away from me!” the defense attorney bellowed.
“He’s really a nice dog, once you get to know him.”
“Away!”
I reined Buster in. Snook was a real mess. His upper front tooth was busted, and there was a purple swelling above his upper lip.
“Who gave you the knuckle sandwich?” I asked.
Snook started to reply, but then he realized who he was speaking to.
“Carpenter! You son-of-a-bitch!”
“It’s been great catching up.”
Hurrying past him, I entered the house. A cyclone had swept through the kitchen, with pots and pans and broken dishes scattered across the floor. Men who molested kids tended to be cowards, and I envisioned Richard Knockman throwing the items at everyone in the room, and running for his life.
I ran down the hallway to the front of the house, and found Burrell consoling Rebecca Knockman in the living room.
“I’m sorry things turned out this way, Mrs. Knockman,” Burrell said.
“He hit me with a sauce pan,” Rebecca Knockman said under her breath.
“I know. You need to call your daughter, and tell her to come home.”
“How could Richard do this?”
“Mrs. Knockman, listen to me. You have to call Suzie. It’s important that we get her home right away. Please.”
Rebecca Knockman pulled out her cell phone.
“Of course,” she said.
The front door was wide open. Outside I found Snook’s chauffeur sitting on the lawn.
“Is my boss okay?” the chauffeur asked.
“He’s just dandy,” I said. “Where’s Richard Knockman?”
“Mr. Knockman came outside waving his arms, and told me that Mr. Snook had a heart attack,” the chauffeur said. “I got out of the car, and Mr. Knockman jumped behind the wheel, and took off.”
I went back inside. “Richard Knockman’s stolen a car,” I said.
“He won’t get far,” Burrell said. “I posted patrol cars at both ends of the block.”
Back when I’d run Missing Persons, I’d always had a cruiser parked a block away from a crime scene, just in case. Burrell had done me one better, and used two cruisers. Back outside, I cornered the chauffeur, who’d thrown his hat on the ground in disgust.
“Which way did he go?” I asked.
The chauffeur pointed west, and that was the way Buster and I headed.
I don’t know why I ran down the street. It wasn’t my case, and I was probably never going to see Rebecca Knockman again.
I’d arrested many men like Richard Knockman, and I knew the damage they were capable of causing. Not just to their victims, but also to every living soul around them. They were human cancers, not fit to be loose in society.
The block was long and the air was hot. Soon I was drenched in sweat. On the next block a cruiser was parked on the grass, its bubble light flashing. I picked up speed, and soon was staring Richard Knockman in the face. He was tall and rather thin, and wore his hair stylishly long. He’d driven Snook’s town car off the road, and into a cluster of royal palm trees on someone’s front yard. The hood was crushed, and the engine was spewing black smoke. The car was a goner.
A pair of uniforms had handcuffed Richard Knockman’s hands behind his back and were reading him his rights. His face was covered in bright red cuts and he looked dazed. It was impolite to stare, but I did anyway.
“Jack Carpenter,” I said to the uniforms. “I’m working with Detective Burrell.”
One of the uniforms called Burrell on his walkie-talkie and confirmed my identity. The uniform handed me the walkie-talkie.
“Detective Burrell would like to speak with you,” the uniform said.
“Your boys got him,” I said into the walkie-talkie.
“Great,” Burrell said. “Keep your eye out for Suzie Knockman. She’s holed up in an abandoned house in the neighborhood. Her mother called her, and she’s walking home.”
“Will do.” I handed the walkie-talkie back to the uniform. “Detective Burrell said that it would be okay for me to shoot your suspect.”
“Want me to take the cuffs off?” the uniform asked.
“That’s probably a good idea.”
Richard Knockman’s head snapped so hard that I thought he had broken his neck. The uniforms held their stomachs and laughed.
Buster saw her first; the wisp of